This week I’m dedicating this blog to BALANCE.  Balance has a variety of different meanings if you go to the online Merriam-Webster’s dictionary.  I liked number nine.

BALANCE:
9 : mental and emotional steadiness

This week I’m seeking balance.  My third week at the new job.   The truth is, I really enjoy getting someone a job.  I’m excited when I’m able to open a new door for them.  Perhaps it stems from the doors that were constantly shut in my face when I was searching for that first production job out of college.  I still shiver at Lyle Lovett’s Doppelganger telling me I was just “too spirited.”  Can someone really be “too spirited?”  That’s my question.  I know for a fact I’ve gotten bitter in my old age.  Which I know isn’t old.

My friend Chris, a few years wiser, told me that he could now take me seriously as a thirty year old.  I think I understand what he means.  I take myself more seriously.  But maybe I’ve become too serious.

Regardless, back to the job, as long as I am good to the job, the job will be good to me.  I enjoy the daily Jean Valjean/Javert duets I have with my boss through the glass window that separates us.  Sometimes it does seem like we are visiting each other in jail, but it makes our duets that more realistic.

Back to BALANCE.  During my time off from the corporate world, I’ve started my buisness, began many projects, and have tons of stories bouncing around in my head.  I’m like a dervish whirling.

“Treating Myself Like a Precious Object Will Make Me Strong,” is painted above my desk, and I believe that’s the truth.  The only person really standing in my way is myself, and I think it has to do with my lack of balance.  I have career goals, but I don’t have any personal goals.  I’m not in touch with my body, I’ve meant to swim everyday for the past three weeks.  I hardly have time to date, and I think my whole self was telling me to slow down.

I’m devoting myself to finding balance in my life.  I think this will help me prevent tantrums at the people I love the most.  I just had a very successful play go up on 42nd street in New York City!  That has  to count for something.

This weekend I”m heading to Coney Island with Kristin to brainstorm our Kristin and Amy Day of Fun book, and also visit the NY aquarium.

Balance.  First on my list of finding balance, shutting my computer down to watch LOST.

I hope everyone has a great night.

101 days to Balance.

It’s Tuesday night, and I just remembered that I have a weekly goal to finish my blog.

Right now I want to crawl into a hole.  I do.  I think instead I will write a poem to the corporate world.

Dear Corporate America,

I have returned to you out of fear

Although my art I hold so very dear

I decided to listen to my lobster friend

But don’t think I’ll ever do that again

I’m so tired my tears are dry

All I want to do is stomp and cry

Although I know this too will pass

I want to break my drinking glass

I feel like I have three full-time careers

All I want is to drink some beers

Beers will make me fat for sure

So instead I think of the word pure

This blog makes zero sense

I just know that my body is tense

Why can’t women have equality in the theatre?

Why can’t I refill my own parking meter?

I know that I shouldn’t publish this silly letter

But if I do I have faith it will get better

I have a meeting with Tiffany tomorrow

She will help break through the sorrow

One day I will only concentrate on the things I love

Now I just ask for help from above

I must try to get into bed

And dream of winning a Tony instead

One day I know it will all come together

There isn’t any storm I can not weather

The End

Creating a piece of theatre from inside yourself, and watching it take its first breaths of air, is like birthing a baby.  Or, so I’m told.  Who in their right mind would start a new job the day they go into labor?  I guess some people like labor pains.

Yesterday I went back to work, as a legal recruiter, because it felt right.

Tomorrow my play, G.I. Joe Jared opens at Manhattan Rep on 42nd street, because it was the next logical step.

Sometimes I don’t have time to think, I just do.  Somehow I keep getting one foot in front of another.  I’m literally kept on my toes.

G.I. Joe Jared marks the first time I’ve ever put the directors hat on.  It’s interesting just trusting your gut, and seeing how it unfolds in front of you.  Luckily I’m working with dear friends, and their warm support made it an easy transition.

Tonight, after our dress rehearsal, I felt so proud of how far they’ve come, how willing they were to push to do more, and how they have selflessly given their time for the sake of art.  I would like to thank Kerry, Billy, and Sal for their ongoing friendship, and enthusiasm for collaboration.

I hope to see you at the show!

I’m tired, but I wanted to stay true to my weekly blog.  Now, I have one problem.

Do I change the name?  Thoughts?

Everyday is no longer like Sunday, now I’m going to treasure Sundays more.

I hope you have a great night.

Amy

Tommy, my super, who lives one floor below me in the exact same apartment, offered me his cat.  “I’m allergic,”  I lied, pretending that his cats were warm and cuddly little creatures.  I even put my hand down to pet one.  I’m trying.  They’ve got to do something right since they are granted nine lives, although I would like to think that I’ve been granted nine lives as well.

I think I’m on my fifth.

Falling out of a moving vehicle at three, my mother retells this story many times, as she was the driver of the vehicle.   She was motionless as my step-grandfather managed to get out the words: “Kid. Out. Of. Car.”  Something like that.  Although I have no real memory of sitting on Prospect street waiting for someone to scoop me up, I do have a memory of sitting on our back porch with a scratch shielding my grandmother from the near death experience.  Truth was, I suffered no injuries.  Miracle On Prospect Street.

At seven I almost choked to death on the mozzarella cheese from a slice of pizza.  My oldest brother stuck his hand down my throat being the good Eagle Scout he was.  Maybe that’s why I have such a love-hate relationship with mozzarella.  Every time I gain weight I blame the mozzarella.  Every time I need comfort,  I look to the white square of love, and try to fulfill my need.  That need is never met.  I often microwave a chunk just to eat the gooey goodness, but it never seems to satisfy me enough.  I blame this near-death experience.  I vow to give up mozzarella for good, if only I didn’t love it so!

At twenty-two I experienced an emergency landing in Sweden on Ryan Air.  The plane filled up with smoke form the brake pads, although when I originally retold the story I added flames and black smoke.  Truth was it was just a little smoky, but enough to cause a stir amongst the passengers and crew.  I looked out the window and saw a line of fire trucks waiting patiently for us on the runway.  My fellow passengers frantically spoke to each other in Swedish as I cried good old American tears.  Thankfully the nice Swedish man with crystal blue eyes on my left comforted me in broken English.  We arrived safely.  I do attribute this “emergency landing” to my need to drink wine or have a little pink pill before I fly.

Lastly, I almost fell down a cliff as a newly thirty year old this summer in Ecuador.  In Mindo I was promised a beautiful hike that could be done in my sandals.  What I got was a steep hike that had me slipping in my shoes every five minutes.  I wanted to give up early on, but my leader promised that the waterfall would be worth it.  Truth was, I had seen better waterfalls in Ithaca, but I kept up with my team.  As we returned from the gorge, I slipt on a wet rock and lost my balance.  My new friend, and travel companion, Tiffany May held my hand and talked me through achieving solid ground.  I have a scar on my knee to prove it.

This means I have five more lives to go, If I happened to be a cat, which I’m not.  However, I do believe that perhaps my adjustment in attitude, along with Tommy plugging up some holes under my sink, has led the mice to a new home.  Perhaps torturing my next door neighbor who treats her cat like a newborn baby.  I often run into her in the hallway with her feline cradled in her arms, or on a leash for a long winters walk.  She often is talking to the cat in Polish, or Greek, or perhaps a combination of both.  Maybe I’m doing that cat a favor by offering it some gourmet mice meals.  Who knows.

Tomorrow morning I actually have my first real job interview since the big lay off.  Although, I’m worried that I might fall back into my old pattern of misery.  Please, oh faithful readers, please give me some advice. Since I only have five lives left, I want to make the best out of them.  Please comment on what career path you think I should choose.

a) Go back to Legal Recruiting

b) Stay true to my writing/acting/producing and keep doing what I’m doing.  aka random gigs, 24hour Festivals, Submitting my plays.

c) Work a meaningless job as a legal secretary, get paid decent, and be able to spend time writing at the job but never have time to travel

d) Go into teaching.

e) fill in your own blank.

This is a fun little experiment.  I would love to hear from you all!

Have a great night, and stay warm!

Amye

On New Years Day I killed two mice.  I didn’t hear, or see the creatures, but when I came home well after midnight all I could see was the red light blinking.  Blink, Blink, Blink.  Just a few hours before I went out to celebrate the transition of decades I had discovered the mouse cave.  Underneath my sink, a cabinet I only go into on the rare occasion I decide to scrub my floors, I found mouse poop everywhere!  I could feel the blind creatures laughing at how naive I was, thinking I had caught the one mouse.  I declare WAR!

Who knows how long the little clan of mice have been occupying this cozy corner of my apartment, but I know that after spending two hours scrubbing underneath the sink I would not let them win.

I moved the rat zapper, on loan from my wonderful friends Tiffany and Mark, and in eight days I have caught six little vermin.

I find some comfort in the fact that I do not see or hear the little soldiers.

On Sunday, I was beckoned to South Jersey by my parents for a relative filled evening of fun.   I was afraid to leave my apartment unattended for two nights.  I had a feeling my new roomies would know that I was gone, but I  went down to my parent’s house regardless to celebrate “Little Christmas”.  The problem was I couldn’t get the red light out of my mind. The light haunts me, and when my Blackberry’s little corner red light goes off, I get the chills, I feel like I’ve caught another.

A few minutes ago, as I sit and write this weekly blog of love,  I experienced an execution.  Sitting in silence alone by my Christmas Tree, which I will not take down until Valentines Day, I heard a short buzz, followed by a long buzz, followed by another short buzz, and silence.  I peered over into the area of my kitchen sink, and saw the red light freshly blinking.  Mouse number eight.  The terminator is coming tomorrow to patch up all the holes.  I am leaving the dead carcass for the night, because I have learned I deal much better with trashing the mice during the day.  I even look at them now.  I’ve come a long way from my Cowgirl Hat and Sunglass days of  long ago.  Most of them have been grey, and I’ve had one white mouse.  Although that was the mouse I saw on New Years Eve, fresh in from drinking.

Now to the serious part of my blog:  I understand that I am being punished.

I know I have hurt some of my readers feelings in the past about my dislike of cats.  Some of my single male friends have not spoken to me because I publicly scorned them.   My mom’s cousin dangled one of her four cats in front of my face to see how I would squirm, and squirm I did.

I do not like Cats, but I do like the people who own them.  I love the people who own them.  I wish cats no harm.  I have been reminded over and over by my neighbors that if I had a cat, I wouldn’t have mice.  So yes, universe, I understand this is my punishment, but don’t you think I’ve been punished enough?  I would like to come home one night without a red light blinking, without the fear of witnessing yet another execution.  Please, faithful readers, send positive thoughts my way, and I will even come over and pet your cat.

Here’s to being open to love cats owned by single men in 2010~

Gnight

Amye

A Special Edition.

Six months ago this very day I woke up thinking I would never be warm again.

I was in Quilotoa, home of the westernmost volcano in the Ecuadorian Andes.   My cast was staying in a home where the tin roof wasn’t quite finished, and blankets were spare.  Unlike some of our fellow travellers, we did not have a space heater, and I wore every article of clothing I owned to try to sleep sound.  The nights were worth the beautiful hues of the morning sky.  Travelling with Dramatic Adventure Theatre, I never expected to spend my thirty birthday away from home without the ability to make a phone call to my loved ones.  Six months ago today I found inner peace as I entered a new decade.  A decade I have feared, but have also welcomed with open arms.  My thirties are going to be the best of times.

Today I decided I was going to take myself out for my half-day.  I dressed up, straightened my hair, and decided to make my way down to Broadway to try for the lottery at Ragtime the Musical.  Apparently everyone had the same idea, and my pessimistic attitude did not help me win tickets to the closing show, although it did remind me of one of the reasons I love New York City.  What other city can you just roll out of bed, hop in the shower, and just decide to see a Broadway show? ( I realize Broadway is only in NYC, but you get my drift) I love New York.  I heart it.

After realizing I would not be a winner on 52nd street, I decided to be half-ass and go to the movies instead.  I walked the ten blocks to 42nd street and found that Up in the Air was playing.  I settled into my seat behind a cute single boy complete with buttered popcorn and hope for the potential entertainment, on this, my half-birthday.  The cute boy smiled at me, and for a moment I contemplated moving my seat, but decided I needed to have my own date for my half-day.

I heard the buzz about the movie, but didn’t realize it revolved around a man who’s job was to fire people.  The words he spoke to those he was letting go, were very similar from the words my boss told me when she was letting me go.  As fate would have it today is also my bosses last day.  She was let go from Corporate.   Now we are equals.  I decided to really listen to the philosphy, and know that this is my opportunity.  I need to learn to live for me.  I have to be selfish, so many other people I know and love are able to put themselves first, so why can’t I?

Today, on my half-birthday, I reflected on the many friendships I have.  I’m truly rich with friends, but sometimes you need to really take a moment to cherish those friendships.  I had a long phone conversation with my friend Jnine, I have many Jnamed friends, I think that’s my friendship letter.  My mother has always said that Jnine reminded her of me, and I think it’s true.  We have a lot of similiarities, and she was excited to learn it was my half-birthday, and happy to learn I was treating myself to a homecooked meal and a bottle of wine.  Sometimes friends dissapoint me, and maybe I have high expectations, but I realized today how blissful I can feel on my own.  Celebrating me!

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I have HALF a glass of wine, HALF my homeade chili, HALF a conversation with ADOG, HALF accomplished my writing goals for the night, and HALF assed this blog entry.  I wish everyone a very happy new year!  I will be celebration with M&B tomorrow night!

Isn’t it great to know that the best is yet to come!

HAPPY 2010~

Amye

I just managed to trim my Christmas tree four days after Christmas.  In fact I just managed to buy a Christmas tree the day after Christmas.  I think I will leave it up until February.  The lights are soothing.

At this moment the wind is trying to break through my walls and wont take no for an answer.  The wind, I feel, is symbolic to the tumultuous decade that is exiting.  Like a new life being born, and another dying.  Intersecting and tossing ideas, feelings, and thoughts around the streets.  A mixture of the past and present, trying to ground the future.  I am not good at reflecting on a year, or even a decade, so I simply will say that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be at this moment.

It feels like negative four degrees in New York City, and since I have no reason to go outside, I decided to stay inside.   I put on Little Women took my newly bought fake tree out, and decided to order some fat pasta, and have my own little Christmas.  Just me, my tree, the wind, and my last self-indulgent meal of the decade.  Tomorrow my groceries will arrive with the intention of starting my yearly cleanse.   I’m proud to say that yesterday I joined the Long Island City YMCA!  To my surprise it was more than half the cost of my old GYM, and Bigger, Clean, and equipped with an Olympic sized pool!  I can’t wait to swim again!

Tomorrow is my half birthday, and I am looking forward to having a half-assed celebration.  I remember once, on December 30th as a Child, I was with my father in MACY’s.  I wanted to go to Santa land, even though Santa was long gone, and somehow I convinced my father to buy my a Snoopy Doll.  I didn’t really have a good answer to why I needed another present so close to Christmas, but quickly calculated that it was my half birthday.  From that moment on, I have always acknowledged my half-birthday.  So tomorrow I will turn thirty and a half!  Happy Half-Birthday to Me!  Maybe I should make a symbolic adventure to Macy’s and buy myself a well deserved half-present!

I spent Christmas at my oldest brother’s house in New Hampshire, and realized how magical it is for a child to try to sleep on Christmas Eve.  My nephews were a bit jealous of the fact that I got to sleep on the couch right in front of the fireplace.  My potential Santa sighting was making them anxious, and they both were determined to sleep on the couch with me.  That would have been a great idea if “Santa” didn’t have to assemble two gigantic castles, and wrap some more presents.

Upon my brother’s request I went upstairs to try to get my nephews to fall asleep.  I made myself a bed on the floor as Taiter Bug, quickly followed by O-man got under the covers with me.  They each laid their heads on my shoulders and we talked about Santa.  Taiterbug proclaimed that he didn’t want to see Santa, just wanted the presents.  O-man was wondering if Santa would like the comic he made him.  Finally close to eleven the three of us were dreaming of sugar plumbs.  My sleep was quickly disrupted by “Santa” who needed help putting together some toys.  We were up until 2am.  That’s the true meaning of Christmas. Staying up with five adults putting together toys for the children asleep in their beds.

It was all worth it when through blurry eyes at 6:40am I heard Taiter Bug run down the stairs, see the castles, and yell that’s what he wanted!  Isn’t it exciting when Santa brings you what you wanted already assembled?

I’m wishing you all many magical assembled things for 2010.  Happy New Year, and thanks for reading!!

amye

The snow started slowly on Saturday afternoon as I sat with a tall haired man on a Brooklyn street.  We talked as I tried to catch a snowflake with my tongue.  He told me he liked my childish nature.  I was insulted….for a moment, but noticed his curious brown eyes looking at me affectionately.  I had made a pact with myself to never get involved with another brown-eyed male after Jim Morrison in college.  I decided at that moment that his eyes were a light brown, so that could pass.  He also was a head taller than me, which as everyone who knows me,  knows that is a deal breaker.   Granted most of his height was in his tall hair, I decided that still counted.  I wanted to share that snowy evening with “The Tall Haired Man”, but I had to run off to take care of some children on the Upper East Side.

Often we call a weather person’s bluff.  They predict fifteen inches and we only get a slight dusting.  As I left my tall haired man, I promised I would meet up after the children were snuggled in their beds, but Mr. G, the local weather man was right.  I walked out of the Upper East Side apartment starring in my own New York City snow globe.  It took me over an hour to go four subway stops, but I made it home.  When I arrived in my apartment that snowy night a red blinking light was waiting for me.  The mouse had been caught.

At first I wanted to call my super to have him come up and discard of the mouse, but was pretty sure he was drunk at the bar across the street.  I called my new Astoria friend to see if he wanted to be a hero, but the snowstorm was preventing anyone from making heroic moves.  I knew I would have to finish this battle on my own.  I thought of putting a blindfold on, picking up the trap and singing while I discarded the mouse in an extra duty garbage bag.  The blindfold seemed a bit dramatic, so I fished around for my cowgirl hat and put it on slightly over my eyes.  I was worried that the trap would be heavy, and I had been living with a giant mouse pet, but no, it was pretty light.  It didn’t even make a large thump when I put it in the bag.  I was scared of a baby mouse.  I hope it didn’t suffer.

The next day the fresh white snow greeted me, and I decided to take a leisurely walk through Central Park.  As I walked noticing the squeals of children letting loose on sleds, families making snowmen and snowwomen, and couples keeping each other warm as they carefully stepped along the paths, I saw him.  My red-headed backpack boy.  I run into him everywhere.  On the Staten Island Ferry, Battery Park, Duane Reade, Central Park.  I know he now lives with his boring girlfriend in Tribecca, but why do we keep running into each other?  I was running late for an appointment, and wanted to talk to him, have a real conversation with him.  I miss his friendship, but I kept going with the thoughts of red-headed backpack boy in my head.  As I wondered if I had made a mistake by letting him go many years back I received a text on my phone, Tall Haired Man.  He wanted to see if I was making snow angels in the snow, and I was disappointed in myself that I wasn’t.  The Tall Haired Man intrigues me, and so does the fact “The Lobster” has found my blog.  Coincidentally on the day he decided to take his pinchers out of the boiling pot, and redeem himself for the public to read, my readership tripled.  Interesting….

Tomorrow I leave for five days in the cold north to celebrate Christmas with my family.  I received a phone call today from my four-year old nephew who couldn’t contain his excitement, but sadly I learned of my fate.  “Aunt Amy, I’m going to tie you to a tree when you’re here. But don’t worry, I’m going to tie you to the highest branch so you can see Santa when he comes.”  Very considerate for a young four-year old who wishes his Aunt nothing but frostbite for Christmas.

Happy Holidays to all, and to all a Good Night!

Amy

It’s 10:32 pm and I’m at a Hanukkah party at Agent Brown’s apartment trying to fight my midnight deadline, and wondering if my new room-mate is waiting for me to come home.  

My friend, Mr. Mouse, moved in about three days ago, approxiamtley.At first it was a phantom shadow I saw scurry across my kitchen floor.  A figment of my imagination, but it happened.  The moment.    

There is a moment when you see a dropping, and you think to yourself, no that can not be right!  You are clean, you tidy up, you refuse to have bread in your house, anything else is in the refrigerator, and yet the black pellets appear.  First it’s one pellet that you convince yourself is a crumb from last nights dinner, and then a pack of pellets, until you can no longer escape the fact that, YES, you have a mouse.

I have lived alone for just over two years, and I’ve had the occasional water bug.  They don’t bother me, because they visit in the summer, they are ugly enough to spray, and I can crush them with a shoe, throw a paper towel over them, and presto they are gone.  But a mouse, a mouse is a different story.  I don’t dislike mice, if you stare into their eyes, you could consider keeping the mouse as a pet, but not to share your living space freely.  If only I liked cats.

In my last apartment that I shared with three other people, I came home once  to mice having a pizza party in our shared kitchen.  My roommates were famous for ordering pizza,and we had a leaning tower of pizza boxes in our apartment, and about five mice enjoying them complete with party hats.  Since I lived on the second floor, I ignored the mouse problem, and let my roomie who was fearless take care of the carcasses when we caught one, and we caught many.

For two years I have lived in bliss, being told by my landlord that my apartment was safe from mice because of the cats below me, and next store.  I slept in peace, I dreamt of sugar plumbs and roses, until last night when I heard it.  I was busy googling random useless information when I heard my new frenemy run across my living room.  In the morning it was confirmed when I saw the droppings on my stove.

Why must they poop and run, poop and run?  When I walk into some strangers house, I don’t leave behind a present.  I think Mice should at least be clean.  If they want to visit, if they want to stay over for a night or two, they should at least be clean.  

Right now as I sit on Agent Brown’s couch trying to write about the mouse, I picture him in a night-cap sipping tea, and perhaps reading a Christmas novel with my night-light glowing softly.  

When it comes down to it, the mouse must die.  It must die.  I was out with a dear friend for lunch, and she mentioned a contraption she had that zaps mice without ever having to look at them.  A glowing light comes on when you have caught one, and on Friday she is going to bring it over to my house.  

So, dear mouse, you have three more days to live.  Perhaps you should reconsider your living arrangements, because I’m bringing on the taser gun, and you will die.

It hurts me to say that because I am not a murdered, I am a writer who likes to live alone free of mouse droppings, free of furry little visitors.

I’m thinking, for a moment, that perhaps this is my punishment for my dislike of Cats.

Hanukkah must be celebrated, and I will sleep with my shoes on tonight. 

Good night mouse, good night.

I’m still jobless, which was the point of this blog.  To chronicle my struggle to be a thirty year old unemployed artist, but I realized I am employed.  Now labor department don’t come knocking down my door because I didn’t land a job yet, but I have been working.  Working my ass off.

I don’t stop, I hardly have time to write this blog, but since I made a goal for myself I need to accomplish it.  Last night I volunteered at Celebrity Charades, which was a benefit for LAByrinth Theatre Company.  A friend asked me to do it, and I decided that it could be fun.  The small detail I forgot was my acting class was having its showcase the night before, I am running a fundraiser tonight, and have the big PlayFUN festival this weekend.  Just looking at all that in writing is causing an anxiety attack to sneak into my system.  Beware anxiety, I will beat you and win.

That’s it for this week.  I might do a special Thursday edition, but I have no time.  I could tell you about how I had Julia Roberts credit card information for a minute, how I danced into the wee hours of the morning at the Hudson Hotel, or ended up at a diner eating cheese fries and gravy like the good Jersey Girl I am, or I could write about how this poor girl donated all her money just to get a chance to stand on stage with celebrities, or how I felt like a celebrity myself when someone snapped my photo at the end of the night.  Maybe they thought I was a bloated Maggie Gyllenhaal? I could tell you all these stories, but the only thing I can really say is I’m tired.  My apartment is dirty, and I really need to find a job.

Stay tuned for a special edition of Everyday is Like Sunday.

amye