A Harried Attempt

**This was not recent, this was written a while ago. My eyebrows are not as jacked up currently***

I should probably never drink a lot of coffee and then try to get ready for an audition. It was the afternoon before I had to go to work at the YMCA and I had just gotten off of work at Starbucks. I had an audition later that evening so I knew the only time I could really prepare was the few hours between Starbucks and the YMCA. After Starbucks I was still feeling sleepy so I order a triple tall peppermint white mocha, my first mistake of the morning. Since the tall drink is fairly small, I had finished about half of it by the time I reached my house. I was doing great on time so far and I was starting to feel the first inkling of energy. Once I was done showering I finished the rest of my drink and now everything was moving in slow motion around me as I whipped through my chores. Laundry, done. Dishes, clean. Acting submissions, sent. Taxes…later. Everything was ready as I printed out my newly updated resume and organized it in a folder along side my headshot.

Now all I had to do was maintenance my face. It had been a while since I had an audition so things were starting get a little out of hand, mainly my eyebrows. Now I’ve never been very good at keeping up with my eyebrows, its just one of those tasks I dread doing and I’m too lazy to go get them done every other week, or however often you’re supposed to. So I do what I find natural, I look up instructions on You Tube. I sift through all of the instruction videos geared towards male upkeep of the eyebrow (I never realized this was a thing for men as well) and I find a fairly homemade instruction video. She begins with all the tools you’ll need in order to accomplish this task and I nod along as she lists tweezers and an eyeliner pencil for touch ups. But then she mentions a pair of small scissors. “I have a pair of mustache scissors, which work very well for eyebrows,” she says and I start to scramble. What once was energy fueled by three shots of espresso, quickly becomes fuel for an overactive anxiety tantrum.

Tiny Scissors!? I don’t have tiny scissors!?

Maybe my roommates have some!

And I begin to rush through the bathroom like a whirl wind all the while justifying my borrowing by saying “I’ll clean them thoroughly after!” As I open every drawer and cabinet, the instruction girl ideally carries on about the benefits of the various kinds of eyebrow wax. Finally I flop down in front of the computer, puffing air in and out as I hold my foot long pair of scissors that are normally used to cut large pieces of paper, or boxes. The girl flippantly throws out the warning that one should only use a pair of scissors that are small so as to maintain precision. I pause, considering her warning, and finally choose to ignore it as the minutes tick by closer to when I’m supposed to leave for work.

First, eyebrow girl goes into the general cleaning up under the eyebrow, and I start to skim through in order to find where she talks about trimming. With a fancy little eyebrow brush she combs her eyebrow up and talks about the importance of line and eye placement, while I suddenly start frantically searching for something resembling a tiny brush. At first I just use the tip of the tweezers, but as my eyebrow slowly sinks back down I realize I’ll need something else. I grab hold of my hair brush with the plastic knobby bristles and haphazardly start to rake my eyebrow upwards, occasionally taking my eyelid with it. All the while, instructional eyebrow girl shows the exact way to hold your tiny scissors, as I lower my airplane sized pair closer to my face. She makes quick concise cuts as I take my eyes away from the screen in order to watch the destruction I’m about to inflict on my face.

I snip a large chunk off of one brow. It looks reasonably good!

So THAT’S how people make them smaller… Ooohh.

Excited I look down at the clock, only 8 minutes left before I should leave. Panicked I start trimming a little too much. Suddenly I look in the mirror; my left eyebrow has a large gap in it while my right one looks like a caterpillar run over with a lawn mower. I start to panic even more, the caffeine coursing through my veins, blood pounding in my ears as I go red and blotchy with embarrassment and anger.

Umm, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR FACE!?!?!

Silently I hear the voice of one of my class clowns saying “Miss Katie your eyebrows are jacked UP!”

I scramble, the eyebrow lady is just touching on the subject of how to cover up any mistake with eyeliner. I grab my set of pencils that were mainly used for shows and old age makeup and go to town. 5 minutes left. My right eyebrow looks like Charlie Chaplin’s stunted mustache as my left lazily stretches out perfectly across my brow. I freak and try to correct only making the right one larger and. I start back peddling by trying to make the left one match. Now I have 70 year old man-brows darker than asphalt. 3 minutes until I need to leave…

In order to start over I furiously wash my face making it bright as a cherry; which becomes neon in comparison to the suddenly very pale patches in my eyebrows.
I should cancel my audition, I think to myself.

Oh stop it just take a deep breath, and try again. You look funny but you can still act.

Ugh, fine.

So I take a deep breath acknowledge I may be a tad late for the YMCA and continue to fill in the blanks on my face. Slowly but surely my eyebrows suddenly resemble… well, eyebrows! I look at them from side to side, they seem alright. I pack my things quickly noting all of the papers and clothes I’ll need to take to my audition.

I rush out the door in a flurry and make it to the YMCA only 5 minutes passed my usual time. As I sit in the office my co-worker, and the local office teaser, talks to me while glancing every now and then above my eyes. She says nothing about them. I breathe.

Just don’t rub your forehead.

~Goof

Frued Is Messing Up My Flow

When I start working on a project I get overly excited about the idea. I dream big. Everything and anything is in the realm of possibility and I feel like my resources are limitless.

Then it hits.

One minute I’m flying on the wings of an idea the next I’m face planted into a cement wall of doubt. I start thinking, you can’t do that. Or my God why on earth would that ever work? Or even, do you realize what you’re doing by starting this project? Yes, ruining your career. That’s what you’re doing.
Now this may seem harsh but my conscious is the only one to clearly pose these questions. It’s my sensor that helps me double check whether or not I’m headed down the right path. I hate listening to it but I feel like it’s been placed there to at least to keep myself in check.

When I was studying psych we constantly talked about that pesky subject, the id ego and superego. I had a high school teacher originally explain this theory to me in my Junior Humanities course. He said that the Superego was that tight ass who wore the button up shirt underneath the checkered sweater vest all the while adjusting his glasses, where as the “id was well…” Then he proceeded to make various caveman noises and grope the air. This meaning that the id was our caveman side who only sought the basic needs, food, shelter, sleep, and sex. Between these two is the ego trying to ration with each side and choose the most logical outcome.

It’s a simple explanation, I’d later go on to understand it more in depth, but to a Junior in high school it was the perfect visual.

I think my superego is off the hook. That little tight ass is driving me nuts. It keeps me in check but it also gives me doubt and heightened frustration. Every project I start isn’t good enough. Every idea I have falls short. All the while my id is off in the corner distracting me and pulling me off topic, usually with food. I’ll be writing or working on an idea when out of nowhere it starts in…
Id- “Food”
Me- (or maybe it’s my ego…) “You just ate a snack five minutes ago.”
Id- “FOoOOoOD”
Me- “But I’m working, give me a few more minutes”
Id- “apple and peanut butter”
Me- “Oh. That does sound good…”

And off I go. Sometimes it’s an ice cream sandwich and my superego jumps up and tells me how unhealthy that it. And on and on they go.

Here’s my diagnosis, I have developed a shy ego. My monitor between the two needs to step it up and take over. Time to stop being a pansy and just enjoy the moments as they come.

But I wonder, where does my insane need to be n facebook come from?

Time to back to writing. Or maybe taking a shower…

~Goof

Perseverance

“It all started when I accidentally gave him the finger”

Day jobs.
If there’s one thing about the actor’s life I still haven’t meshed with it’s giving up my day jobs. I know it’s ruining my availability to audition but not having one also destroys my ability of having enough money for rent.

In the late afternoon my second job has me monitoring several preadolescents. With that comes many hilarious quotes.

“It’s called Sharks and Meadows, duh!”

Seeing these mistakes on a daily basis only leads to me believe that my position as a young actress is very similar. In a recent letter to a dear friend I wrote that post graduation is like becoming a freshman all over again. Only this time you’re a freshman in life. You’re awkward, you’re lost, and for the first time you are truly on your own.

“I hope we end this war with the Vietnamese”
“You mean the Iraqis?”
“Same thing”

Trying to explain agents and casting directors to my parents amounts to little more than the discussions my preteens have. I have no clue what I’m saying and even as I’m pretending to know what this business is all about I find myself explaining only what I’ve heard other people saying.

“They asked me to spell IHOP. I. H. O. P. I don’t get it?”
“Do you mean ICUP?”
“Maybe…”

A friend of mine who works in the business gave me a gem once, “Never trust ‘what they say’” This meaning that people talk all the time but until you experience it you never truly know what’s going on.
So on I trek through all the muck and mire trying to figure out what it is that will get me into a real audition. But I can’t help but feel everyone is trying to prey off of my youthful innocence. Audition after audition all I hear is how I need to pay for participation. I had a notice for an audition sent to me about a stand up gig. I was excited to get working on the new project when suddenly I started reading the fine print. Ah I see.
“There are monthly dues required to be apart of this program”
Great. The last thing I need to be doing is paying someone else to get me onstage.

“Miss Katie if you were a warrior cat what would your name be?”
“Wha-...uh…Shining Phoenix”

The only solution I can think of is to commit. Fully commit. Throw myself out there into the thick of comedy clubs, auditions, and talent shows. Maybe I’ll get back into background work. I really don’t know. And I have no clue if I’m going to regret it in the end. But I guess the whole point is to keep trying and grow beyond paying dues physically and financially.

~Goof

A Snarky Year in Postgrad

"Are you getting a higher education or do you like working at Starbucks?"
That's not exactly what was said but.... allow me to back track a bit.

"I'd like to buy a gift card"
I looked over from the bar and saw a short woman anxiously awaiting to be rung up.
"Oh is this a thank you gift card?" says Marcie, my co-worker on the till.

It's Starbucks, we're masters at small talk. Ranging from the innocuous to the obscene we own at any conversation start up.

"No, my nephew's graduation"
"Oh that's great," I chime in (It is the duty of the barista to butt in at all moments and provide the color commentary, especially during a customer lull). "For high school or college?"
"College" she proclaims proudly, "Boston University" she adds.
"Impressive!"
She looks at me as though she's concerned, she pauses. Then timidly... barely audible, she adds "I hope... you too are working on..."
She trails off avoiding her chance to say something to the effect of ".. getting a higher education or do you like asking would you likp whip cream with that?"

"Oh I've already graduated college"
"How great what did you-"
"Double degree, actually" im bragging now but its really what needs to be said.
"Oh..." She trails off again concerned once more for my sanity and tottering dangerously on the edge of calling me a liar.
"Alright," a customer behind her speaks up, "what were the degrees?"
"Psychology," I say matter of factly, "With an emphasis in Child and Family Development. And Theater" A silent shock of spreads through the small gaggle of customers as they try to work out the math.
"And now I work here," I add, "At Starbucks." I spread my arms amongst the several varieties of liquid sugars, "Yay Economy"

I'm almost exactly one year out of college, I'm living in Southern California and auditioning every other day for productions that read like they're written by a prepubescent in the dark of his room. The entries that follow are the chronicles of those adventures and the discoveries made as I venture futher into the bowels of Hollywood.

~Goof