With my 5 month summer standing contract drawing to a close, I thought it pertinent to explore my employment history. I have always been highly employable. I have been a secretary, a baker, a masseuse, a mortgage sales girl, an event coordinator, a retail therapist, an actor, a marketing rep and promoter, a coach and just all around glad hander. You name it I have tried my hand at it. And even if I didn't like the company or my job or my boss or all of the above; I always gave one hundred and ten percent. But 110% at $8.50 an hour doesn't work out to a whole lot in the end. Also my bosses have always loved me; with the exception of two of the craziest most hurtful women I have ever met. They were practically perfect in every evil way. Congratulations! It's tough to be the best at being the worst.
In my entire life I've only been fired from two jobs- Job 1- My boss was one of the previously mentioned crazies and I truly believe I was fired because of my great performance and her inability to follow through with commissions promised. The second was as a teenager I was denied my Bronze cross, though not a job exactly it would have led to my becoming a lifeguard, getting a wicked tan and ultimately getting a free ride at Penn State as a high-diver and all this because I wasn't serious enough... Chaw. Please. Like anyone has ever taken the Hoff seriously.
Having a steady job can be great. That solid stream of income. The sense of community you build with your coworkers. It's nice. though doing something you don't love can be hard on you...but as an Optimism Expertise, I decided to take what I could from the experience and create my ideal job position.
The dream job description:
A job that has me traveling. Travel can be continental as well as global and even astrological. Going to strange places for interesting reasons. A semi-full-time position attending fun events to promote having a great time. Where I talk to media about something really cool that gets people excited. And inspires them to start and keep doing something. I want to meet with people and discuss fascinating new ideas about global issues and I want to host really great events. I want to ambassador something. Something special. I don't think that's asking for much. I am free to start as early as Monday. Is there an opening in that department?
P.S. Is it weird that I didn't even quote salary? I guess a job you love is its own payment. Ha!
Is lying to yourself really lying? I mean if you truly believe something about yourself, could it really be wrong? Growing up things are black and white. Stealing is bad. But the older you grow, the greyer things get. Stealing to feed your hungry family is bad, but not for the same reasons. It has been a long time that I have been telling myself I am a better person than I might actually be. I have been telling myself (and you) that we can be the people we want to be. It’s just not as simple as I hoped. Being a good person is the most difficult thing I have ever tried to do. The effort required to make the person you are on the outside into the person you dream to be on the inside is an ongoing struggle. With obstacles rising up to meet you every single day. Temptation to be mean. To be selfish. To be too tired to be the best friend you hoped to be. To be strong in the face of adversity. To really stand up for what you believe and what you’ve told yourself to be true. To gossip. Being a good person is the most challenging person to be, it's a never-ending battle. That’s what makes a good person so special.
People say that life is short. And all you have is today. Though there are times when you feel you’ve lived this day before. The hours dragging before it's even time to start. Starting something and sticking to it. Sounds easy enough. But I feel like I’ve been waiting to start my whole life; I just didn’t realize that actually doing it- this whole living the good life thing- would be the hardest thing I’ve tried. It’s exhausting. High kicking and selfless giving and trying, I mean really trying. It scares the crap out of me. Living like you're dying is tiring. I am tired. I have been lying to myself, thinking that I was doing this just for me. And I am not; I am doing this for you mostly. And also how I feel about me when you’re happy. The fear of disappointing those who believe in me is greater than this weariness. I started this brand new me in hopes that I could force myself into believing that it was true.
There are days when I can’t bring myself to smile. Days when life has piled up and things have started falling. Dropping, despite my efforts to catch and juggle everything. This blog has benefited from my tenacity. But my body has suffered because of my laziness. My Hubby doesn’t get the attention he needs, because I am too busy working at a job that doesn’t help me feel good about myself. My Puppa-Stinkeroo misses me 5 days a week. My Kitty is back to being aloof- because I am not there to wear her down. My friends haven’t seen me. My dream is in a holding pattern. Well, I guess I lied to myself that this steady job was worth all the things I wouldn’t have time for. The very best thing I found is that I have learned so much about who, how and why I yam what I yam. I need to have the freedom to live life as the best me. Stop lying to myself and stop lying. Period . Everyone is all to fast to remind me of what a great paycheck it is… Yeah, but c’mon wouldn’t you rather I be a happy broke ass instead of lying to yourself that money is what you want? It’s never been about the Fame, the Fortune, the Fanfare. It’s all a lie anyway. The only thing that I am not lying about is how great I feel trying to be the best I can be, even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. But you know what they say: Fake it ‘til you make it. And I am gonna make it this time. And that’s no lie.
Every girl I know has a deep jean drawer. A drawer filled with varying sized jeans. The dressy jeans, the fat day jeans, the great ass jeans and the jeans that are just waiting to embarrass you by splitting from seam to seam while at your local farmer's market, not that that's happend*insert awkward throat clearing. Then there's your skinny jeans. The jeans that you can only fit into on the skinnest days of the month. The jeans that you bought on the day you were feeling better about yourself than you have ever felt since. The Skinny jeans, a beautiful and terrifying thing. Let me introduce you to: The Skinny Jean Experiment. Heretofore known as The SJEx.
The Skinny Jean Experiment was born out of a need to prove something to myself: I can-too fit in these jeans. Well, let's just say there's a titanic distance between fitting into and feeling comfortable in them. I would have even settled for not cutting off the circulation to my overflowing muffin top. *Gasp* I mean I had to wear the long flowy shirt, just to pretend they were alright. The SJEx wasn't so bad at my house. Surprise, surprise they're okay in my comfort zone...But in the big bad outside world, she's a different story. I barely made it down the stairs. It was four floors of trying to build up momentum only to be stopped when my jeans reached their maximum stretch. Back when TLC was amazing, I used to watch Stacey and Clinton help curvy women get into something structured, creating a flattering silhouette. And I finally get it. *Ding Ding! Catching my shadow's larger than life silhouette projected as a giant on the wall...sigh. I would like to create a totally different one. I finally understand straight lines and something structured on the curvy gal. Floppy makes your curves look like fat; the less you are bending a line the slimmer you look.
The SJEx wasn't so hard in sloppy Parkdale. There are quite a few fashion misses as you roam West Queen West. I was almost confident, until... and I can barely believe the place that brought the SJEx to a crushing almost tearful halt: The Grocery Store. As The SJEx and I are waiting in the checkout lane with 18 items or less grabbing at my waistband which was digging into my soft belly, I looked back. My eyes scrunched with discomfort were met with 3 model types buying cottage cheese and blueberries with lean turkey slices. And I have Doritos, Bits and Bites and my way-too-tight-super-skinner-than-they should be jeans. I feel embarrassed and big and stupid, though I am not sure why I feel stupid it's just all connected somehow. Then the Starving Artist pipes up, in my head of course; You're already starting. They are Starving Artists too, just at a point closer to their goal. But it doesn't make me feel better. I want to be the best now! So, when I got home feeling sorry for myself I teared up and put on my jogging pants and ate Bits and Bites. The SJEx done for today.
The scientific and logical part of my brain knows I am the reason I am where I am physically, emotionally and career-ically. Having had a great experience on Friday night; my first acting gig, I mean actual acting gig in over a year. It was fast and fantastic and furious and soaking wet and never as special as I hope it will be. And like one of those signs indicating how many days it's been since a company's last accident; Today restarts the daily count. Then my full time job ends Friday. So what am I to do with myself. I'm grasping at hands before pointing down in this oubliette of a business, so I thought this Starving Artist Blog would keep me busy. But I worry that Dieting can be all stick and no carrot. Or rather all carrot stick.
It amazes me how making progress can make you feel worse than standing still. I have been lamenting my poor luck in this industry for almost 10 years. I have been killing myself trying to make my dreams come true. I've been standing there, one my mark, waiting. I've been working so hard behind the scenes that I now have a matching set of under eye baggage. I have been hob-nobbing and being myself and telling jokes and being a sympathetic ear and not giving up on myself. And all those things actually worked. It really worked to be myself. So, why do I feel like I don't deserve the amazing opportunity I've been given?
I feel like I have slipped in the back door. Like if I had gone about this in the real way I wouldn't have gotten it. Popular opinion varies. BFF & Hubby think that this is well deserved. That I have proven myself and am getting taken seriously, because I am serious. Oh and talented, they may have said that too;) My Parents think any news is good news, and the important part is that I got it. My work colleagues are happy to work with someone who knows how they work. But I feel like I have been fighting against being that type of backdoor artist. I want to walk in the audition room and have them see what it took these guys 5 months to see. That's on me.
The nerves I am suffering from are a shock. It's as though my body knows I didn't get this gig on talent, I got it on personality. I am scared of letting people down. Or even worse, I am scared of being worse than the worst person I've seen all season. I am hoping that my confidence will kick back into gear. Cuz to meet me you'd never think I had a confidence issue. Though maybe it's my lack of self esteem that will help me to be a braver performer. It certainly has been pushing me in the past few months. I know I can do the work- and its not that it's hard, it's just a challenge. One that I hope I am up for- despite all the second, third and fourth thoughts I've had to the contrary. I just hope I am as good as I've been pretending to be all these years. So, I guess that puts me here. Standing waist deep in chilly water in September. The shivering is partly the early stages of hypothermia, but mostly I think it's nerves.
The ability to relax is one that many people lack. Trust me. Having worked as a masseuse for almost 5 years. Five years of telling people to breathe. Telling people to let me do all the heavy lifting. With our 70 hour work week, we have forgotten how to relax. Taking our work home with you and trying to fit your love, your family, your friends, your animals, your dreams, your life into your already over stuffed schedule. We have forgotten the art of relaxation.
Today though my no Good Friend from Winnepeg reminded me that I do deserve to relax, feel beautiful and relax...wait I said that, sorry I am so relaxed. While spending our day in saltwater whirlpools, saunas and eucalyptus steam rooms. We felt great. The art of relaxation isn't something that comes easy to either of us. We're go-go-goers'. As with all art it takes practise unless your a savant- a rare and beautiful breed in itself. Relaxing takes focus. You must focus on your breathing. Make sure your brain is where you are instead of the billion miles away it usually is. Laugh. That's a good one laughter aids digestion and is a mild abdominal workout- a peripheral benefit. While working and accomplishing tasks is important, you only get one body and one life.
Wearing joggers and bumming on the couch can be calming but there is still a chance you will be interrupted by a Hubby, a needy Pupparoo or laundry. The key to artistic relaxation is extraction. As anyone whose ever had a facial knows-extracting yourself dermally and positionally is imperative. Remove all distractions- including a perstering blog and sit with yourself or add a friend for the fore mentioned ab workout. There is a strange beauty to be found in the sheer indulgence of body and soul. So when you want to finally master the art of relaxation. Take the weight of the world off your shoulders- let someone else take a turn carrying it. Relax so you can do a better job on your next shift. And a kind suggestion from this masseuse "Relax and breathe." Then stand or lay back and admire the art of relaxation. With a little more technique you could be a relaxation Renaissance Master someday.
While trolling through my own FB page I noticed something...I still own most of those clothes! No matter when the photo was taken; I still got it. The turquoise wrap sweater, the black and white satin dress, the grey business suit from 1999; you name it, I still got it. Yesterday someone said I looked like a hoarder! Oh please! What does that even mean? I don't own more than my fair share of cats. I flush the toilet every time I go. I don't have a spare bedroom filled with fast food containers and old Reader's Digests. But man- have I got clothes. And most of them I've had for years!! I mean it, yee-ears. They are pilled and frayed and I keep clipping and tucking and yanking, stitching and hoping for the best.
Today however, I congratulate myself. I have culled the herd- again. Donating my too short t-shirts and throwing out ugly undies. Collecting uncomfortable shoes and mis-matched socks. Pulling out the shirts with missing buttons and skirts with dropped hems. Tossing anything stained, streaked or discoloured. In an effort to be seemingly more polished. I have given away my "party" shirt that's been a staple for 5 years. I'm convinced the only thing keeping those sequins attached was my wishing. I am sentimental about my Chicago and blue Batman tees, so I kept them, though now they're tucked away safely and quietly under the bed. My stack of work clothes keeps growing. Downgrading some of my 'nice' clothes to work clothes to make room for the new phantom pieces I should add. Now, I have only 3 casual tees and 2 skirts.
The real war being the cost vs the worth. Which brings me to another crossroad. Do the expensive products differ in value to the cheap stuff? The short answer is hell YES! Now, shall I continue with the long answer? Yes. You must've noticed the difference between the Payless pleather and the Steve Madden leather. The way your hair shimmers, shines and stays when using salon products. How the dermatologist tested and clinical skincare line is better; limiting breakouts, irritation and premature aging. With the adage of getting what you pay for ringing loudly in my mind, I've tried to KISS it. (Keep It Simple Sweet-cheeks) But how do you apply this when it comes to clothing?
Understandably, the fickle nature of fashion is a strange mistress. But I am a vintage lady with classic tastes. Maybe that's the reason I've kept so many untimely timeless pieces? Hoping that they will come back around style-wise, though they never will 'weather the storm' I will keep my fingers crossed that a white tee and jeans will never go out of style. Shopping vintage has it's advantages, it's also the toughest type of shopping. It might be easier to have clothing made...which brings me to alterations. I want my clothing to fit me, but I am between sizes on top, bottom and in the middle. The only realistic thing to do would be buy a bigger size and nip-tuck it. But why spend $25 in alterations on a $35 shirt? Because it will look way better!?! What's it worth to look better?
So, FB we've reached an impasse. I am sad that my wardrobe is on constant photo album repeat. What would it take to photoshop in a new look? Would it be cheaper to alter my photos or alter my wardrobe? Well when stacked up side by side I think: It all comes out in the wash.
I haven't been sick in over a year. I have been working hard and fighting off viruses with enthusiasm. But to everything turn, turn, turn, there is a season. And 'tis the season for an end of summer cold. Les Sigh. When I was at performing arts post secondary school, surviving on Mrs Noodle and suffering from low blood sugar and pre-anemia, I would get a master blaster of a summer cold that would knock me down for weeks. Then linger till Christmas. But since I started eating like a grown up; my health is much better and I haven't suffered from any long drawn out illnesses. Believing in my own invincibility I let my illness avoidance techniques lapse and as punishment I was dealt a cruel hand- filled with snot rags and cough lozenges.
Now, I have worked in many jobs. Jobs where plenty of the staff have imbibed during work hours. They could perform their duties drunk, or nearly drunk. I drank at work once, ONCE! and realized I could not perform my tasks without broadcasting my intoxication. As an already clumsy girl drinking on the job was not a great idea. However now that I am suffering from this horrible nasty cold; this squatting in my sinuses and dragging it's nails down my throat kind of cold, I could use a hot toddy. Quite unpleasant indeed. Since drinking at work is wrong I decided instead to take the medication recommended for this... And let me tell you it was more intoxicating than alcohol. And better because it's not illegal to take cold medication at work. I've been drifting around the building in the fluffy white haze of a sleepy head. How can I not be a work hazard? Bumping into things and sneezing on people, I would call WSIB on me!
Cough, cold, flu and pneumonia have drawn their swords and started the charge. I can only hope that by taking way too much medication right off the hop I can nip this virus in the bud. But drinking 5 glasses of tea before lunch, having 2 dissolvable vitamin C tablets, 4 shots of nasal spray, the coughing fits, a throat spray, a drippy watery nose, the sneezing, 4 Advil cold and sinuses, and 1 very soggy run in with a netti pot; health can be overwhelming for someone who hasn't been ill in a long time. I forgot what it was like to be sick, in more than just the head.
While attending my second industry TIFF party of all time I realized. There is a lot of really great hair in here. Great hair, great outfits and huge egos. The ego though I think is inflated by nerves and the constant fear of making an ass of yourself. People celebrating at these events are typically over-anxious about their art house film that took them 11 years and their entire line of credit to complete- not to mention their parent's money and a friend providing craft services just to keep it going. A labour of love will give you painful contractions.
Watching the potential success of others can be inspiring and disheartening at the same time. With the limited implied value of that little movie your making it's an emotional pregnancy. From conception to birth and even after; all through the awkward teen years until they go off to university. And even then your grown up little baby will always be your baby. The sad thing is that if it took 11 years just to birth it, that is a slow growth rate. The worst part is that my concept zygote is still awaiting fertilization- and by the time that bundle of joy arrives I will be 41! And I never wanted to be an older mother.
Little baby film idea, your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting so long, wishing for you, dreaming of your future and how you'll complete our lives. So TIFF I promise you, you don't know me now but within the next 11 years I will be ready for you to meet my baby. Baby Movie concept: You'll be smart, witty and full of surprises. You're already keeping me up all night and have spoiled my figure, so I have nothing left to loose. It would be great to have an amazing hairstyle though, but I guess I have 11 years to get it right.
When my jogging pants were tight... I knew there was a problem. For the last 8 years I have been half-heartedly chasing my "dreams"- which for the most part are shifting and unspecific. The only constant being my love of performing. Of which I have achieved very little "success". I put success into air quotes because as an artist "success" is subjective, relative and intangible, except we all know what it feels like when it happens. Oh and let's not even discuss the italics. So where am I? I am 30. I have found a job that pays my bills. My loving parents support my every artistic whim. My Puppa loves me and the Kitty likes me most of the time. I have a BFF that really gets me. I am happily married to a Hubby who takes very good care of me. I have been married for 1 year and marriage agrees with me- if you know what I mean. I am supposed to be happy. But there is something missing. I have been working on the periphery of this acting business for almost 10 years, but I haven't really been trying. Whoa, that was hard to admit. Well, I've tried a little but not enough to really make a difference, just enough to keep up appearances. Mostly just wishing and hoping. Fingers crossed that someone, somewhere with some sort of power over something would see me and recognize greatness. Well, that's stupid. I thought by not really trying that I couldn't really fail. Well, that's really stupid. I was also hoping that my stubborn nature would help me to be the last one standing. Stupid, who wants to win by default? So, things have got to change. Knowing that nothing great comes without hard work I have set myself a challenge. Thrown down a gauntlet, if you will, the contract is as follows:
I, Melicious Manners, heretofore known as the talent am willing entering into this contract. The talent is going to GO for IT! There will be some serious changes in the talent's career. She's going to track her physical, employment and emotional progress. In this, the talent's 31st year, half measures will not be tolerated. This will be a full court press. The talent is going to start putting in the required effort. Which includes but is not limited to; Physical appearance, Agency representation, Professional betterment, Style and General emotional well-being.
I the Talent approve this message.
The Starving Artist will be released every Monday starting Sept 17. And I want to invite you to see what I can do. Plus I would be lying if I didn't admit that this blog is one of the reasons I started to actually believe in myself. Finding out that even things this hard have benefits beyond expectation is the most rewarding lesson I've learned. Lesson 2: The more daunting the endeavour the greater the reward. The time is now, there will never be another today for me to better myself. Today is all we get and I am tired of being stupid. But I am ready to be hungry. I am looking forward to impressing you:)
While at film sleep away camp I was put up with a roommate. She's sweet and funny. She's also a fan of this blog, a bonus. And I could tell right off we were gonna be pen pals for a long time. I was even thinking about wearing my friendship bracelet for the whole month of September, just to prove to my other friends how wicked my film camp friend is- but she lives in another town, so you don't know her.
Our 'cabin' however was not so sweet. It was soggy and furry and smelled of hot sweaty feet wearing thick socks in shoes that recently got wet and now they just smell that yucky shoes smell...you know the one. It was just like ruffing it. But felt more like a punishment. Fearing our sensory's saftey we fled to find comforts in the 'camp cantina'- a Moose of a place with everything on the menu but marshmallows. The first evening was eventful and endearing. Building new friendships and inside jokes that my friends at home wouldn't get cuz they just had to be there. These grown up campers singing songs and telling scary stories around the glow of the patio. As taps began to play we were all sent off for lights out.
Before we'd even gotten into our jinkies, my bunk mate remarked on how regimented I was. Which surprised me because I always considered myself more of a Walter Matthau than a Jack Lemmon. But then I really thought about it... I am a lemon. With my outfit laid out for the next day. And all the nerdy facts I know, the way all my clothes go together and all my quirks, I guess she's right. Every night my skin- gets washed and buffed, polished and moisturized. My clothes get organized, worn and put back into the suitcase folded, taking special care not to let them touch any surface in the hotel. My 3 pairs of all weather shoes lined up side by side in the closet by the door, awaiting every change in weather even though camp is only two sleeps. These patterns are what keep my film camp fire life burning. Though if I were honest I would admit it was my Momma's early onset OCD. Yeah! One Camper's Delight!
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