Food for Thought

If you want a bowl of french fries covered in marinara sauce, meat, and cheese delivered to you at one o'clock in the morning...done.

That's just one of the amazing things about New York City. Sure, Times Square, Empire State Building, and Rockefeller Plaza are all pretty impressive, but late night delivery really takes the cake - which I also ordered a slice of. 

Thanks the the manic hours of shuffling dishes and folding napkins that keeps me up winding down until the wee hours of the morning, I'm also far too stressed to gain weight. In fact, I just keep eating the pancakes and shedding the pounds. 

I know what you're thinking. "You skinny bitch. How dare you taunt us with tales of your trim thighs and skinny stomach." Guilty. 

So cheers to you, America, living the dream. Cheers to your cheeseburgers and bagels and shmears of all sorts at all hours. 

Basically, the delivery guy went to my old address and I'm wasting time. 

DOORBELL, 

TJB: Making It

Waiting for Some Dough

I've been in NYC less than two weeks, but it feels like another two years.

Time flies when you're broke.

Gone are the days of steady paychecks on the 1st and 15th, and here again are the times of tips and chips on my shoulder left by perturbed tourists who expected their lobster to come with a side of fries.

Surprising, but I don't really mind waiting tables anymore. There was an adjustment period. The person who's upset is no longer on the other side of an e-mail but staring you in the face and refusing to move their iPhone away from their water glass (seriously, I will drown it and not feel bad). Still, once you get used to smiling your way through an esoteric wine description and assuring that all dressings will be placed on the side, autopilot kicks in and you can focus on the important things in life...

like what day of the week it is, because I seriously have no idea, this life is anarchy.

I would like to tell you that I'm belting my face off every day at callbacks and step-ball-changing into dance calls. However, I have 7 headshots left and had half a pack of oatmeal for lunch. The pavement will be pounding me for a while.

I'm OK with that. For the first time since graduating college, I don't feel like I'm in a race anymore. The first week of being back, I did feel panicked and confused. Then, as I was washing my hands in the bathroom one morning, I made eye contact with myself and - impulsively - gave myself the middle finger.

There's a strange confidence that comes from telling yourself to f*ck off.

I'm getting really good at Xbox,

TJB: Making It

Humble Beginnings

I was so excited to get back into the audition circuit that I woke myself up with the sun.

Actually, the sun just wakes me up because my bed is next to a curtain-less window that faces east and if I don't wake up my face will melt. Nonetheless, it was a convenience more than a nuisance on this day. Since I am once again an unrepresented nobody, I'm back to early mornings of fending for myself among the non-union hopefuls, showing up early to sign up for a chance at the big, broad way.

I threw on an outfit that said, "I got this," (which means I currently own three outfits and this one was the least wrinkled) and strutted to the train. On my way up the stairs to the platform, I tumbled forward and fell flat to the stairs. I thought about God and why he wanted me to fail. I laid there for a second to let the drama sink in. Then, I brushed myself off with a swipe of resilience and put in my headphones to drown out the doubt.

I arrived to the audition studio one hour before sign-ups began. 16 people were in line. Great. Not only did I tell myself I didn't have time to get coffee, but only 3 of those 16 were union and would get to sign up before me. Within the group of 16 was one old man, four nerdy types, and three bros who wanted everyone to recognize their presence. They seem to have woken up that morning with a marketing degree and thought, "Hey, I could be an actor. I have nice hair."

They will likely book it.

There was also one 19 year old white girl, who has either never seen The Book of Mormon or really just didn't have any f*cks to give.

I feel you, girl.

I signed up for a later appointment to give myself time to print new resumes. As I stood in FedEx stapling my newly designed "I'm a single actor" resumes to my "I used to be this young" headshots, I noticed something strange. Normally, the agent's contact information would be at the top and bottom of my resume. As a single actor, my own e-mail address and phone number glow below my name. But that wasn't my phone number.

It was my mother's.

I didn't even know my own phone number. I took the stack of hot-off-the-press mommy's cell resumes and threw them in the trash. I had no time to go back and edit my resume on my computer, so I had to call in a favor...to Chicago. Poetic justice. My graphic designing Best Friend Work Friend pulled through for me and edited the snafu before I could even pour the zero-calorie sweetener into my Starbucks.

I was golden. I went back to my audition just after lunch with a spring in my step. I could practically taste the production contract as I smirked at the 10 schmucks in line behind me. Though they all had agent's letterheads on their resumes, they were SCHMUCKS I SAY!

I entered the room, gave a glowing smile, and belted higher than I had ever belted. I sounded like an angel.

The casting assistant looked up only once and thanked me for coming in a well rehearsed congenial tone.

So this is what the cold hard ground feels like. You were right, T-Swift.

Please nobody call my mom,

TJB: Making It

i still don't know my address

I've made myself emotionally unavailable for a few days  to assist me in the moving process. I was given cards full of well wishes and photos filled with people that made the last seven months of my life seven of the most memorable. I didn't even know some of these people before I moved to Chicago, and who the hell was I to get so attached in such a short time? Apparently, my chronic-bitch-face wasn't chronic. I would have to work on that.

Had I not simply thrown up some middle fingers to the Windy City skyline, I probably would have been curled up in a ball on the twin bed I bought for $300 and sold for $50 worrying that Ramen will raise their prices. Luckily, I had something very special to keep me moving forward...

my dreams. 

No, just kidding. I had a run-down frat house in the Greek capitol of the U.S. filled with a guy I hated in college and two complete strangers. Now that I've arrived, I'm in Heaven. I'm sweaty, exhausted, and confused why the toilet only flushes 3/4 of the time, but in Heaven. 

There are a lot of times in my life where I've thought, "I'm not sure how I got here, but I know this is where I'm supposed to be."

Whow...that sounded so gay. 

But this is one of those moments. Through the help of a former frenemy and two complete strangers, I feel that I'm where I belong. 

Except for the time that guy totally crashed our roomie lunch date and talked about himself for an entire hour...but he was cute, so I let it happen.

Look it to book it, 

TJB: Making It

Which pile do I put my pride in?

Not until your belongings are in piles and it's after midnight do you really believe that you're moving. I remember every time I've moved - and I have at least once every year since freshman dorms - saying, "I NEVER want to do that again!"

How soon we forget.

But here I am only 3 Miller Lights in (I can't remember what buying craft beer feels like) with one pile condemned to Michigan, and one pile destined for NYC. Deciding which stuffed animals make the trip will be a much lengthier debate. I'll probably need at least one more beer and a few shed tears.

I moved to Chicago 7 months ago without a job or a home and I had a pretty stellar run. I'm moving back to New York with both of those, so that has to count for something. Right? I'm just going to shake that good omen for all it's worth.

If there's one thing I've learned from re-watching the entire series of Sabrina, the Teenage Witch it's that

if it's meant to be, it will be.

And if it's not, you still get to date a lot of really cute boys and cats live a really long time.

My tap shoes were covered in dust,

TJB: Making It

She ought to be in bed.

I always loved my hair the day I had a haircut scheduled. I would spend the entire day staring in the mirror thinking, "Damn. I look GOOD. Why should I mess with this?" So, I stopped scheduling haircuts. I've spent the last few years as a walk-in. Haircuts have become my spur-of-the-moment, fuck-the-world response to living.

I think that sort of trickled into other aspects of my life...like moving. Since moving is a little more momentous than a haircut, "I Love My Hair Day" has expanded to "I Love My Life Week". 

As soon as you know the scissors are coming, you suddenly don't want to cut it. 

I just had the perfect weekend. Literally, I walked in my door ten minutes ago singing "I Could Have Danced All Night". I spent every single minute of this weekend surrounded by friends. My body looks so good, I ran in a TANK TOP. I had dinner with the woman who inspired me to be an actor and saw The Book of Mormon for the first time (and I didn't throw anything at the stage!)

I can't remember the last time I felt this happy and loved and thin 

and I have never been more scared in my entire life that I could be making the biggest mistake ever by walking away again. 

I scheduled a haircut for next Wednesday. It's my last night in Chicago. I know I will spend the entire day looking in the mirror thinking, "Damn. Life is GOOD. Why should I mess with this?" 

The best thing about friendships is that they always grow back, just like hair. Even when you have to shorten them, it's never long before they're back in your face and irritating the shit out of you. 

And I have AMAZING hair...friends. 

OK I also started drinking,

TJB: Making It

nobody is surprised

I'm moving back to NYC.

I planned to write something really extensive, try to justify the move, explain my reasoning...but then I remembered I don't owe you anything.

A lot of people tried to say I didn't give Chicago a fair chance, or that I wanted this so much. I did. How can I just turn around and go back? I'm a fast learner. Since most of my relationships last an average of 3 months, maybe I have a fear of commitment thrown in. Talk to me when I'm 30.

Moving to Chicago was the best decision I ever made. I always said that I loved people who live in Chicago because they actually want to live here. The people in New York feel like they need to live there. I realized I need to live there. I spent so much time telling myself not to look back, but now I realize maybe I was looking in the right direction and moving in the wrong one - like those seats on the train that face backwards. Maybe they know what's up.

Yes, Sonya, I can hear you. "You suck at moving to New York!" Hey, third time's a charm, right?

Chicago, consider this my two weeks notice.

New York, I wish I knew how to quit you.

This time we make it,

TJB: Making It