Monday, March 17, 2008
 | Bestest Place I got five hours of sleep on Saturday night. Not only was I behaving irresponsibly the night before a race/audition - drinking margaritas and Coronas, shouting in a smoky karaoke bar, batting my eyes at a Complicated Situation - I also had nerves that wouldn’t rest. I awoke at 6:30 with anxious blood pumping through my veins and got up because I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. I was so stressed out. I wanted to wish the day away so my stomach would stop doing gymnastics. I ran the Shamrock Run in 48 minutes and 41 seconds. During that run I told CS the entire Douchebag story (from about ten minutes before the gun went off until Mile 2), did cartwheels up Barbur Blvd (sometime after Mile 3), threw back a mini-cup of green beer (most of which slopped down my chin - Mile 4), and ran like Phoebe across the Finish Line. My knee didn’t hurt until the last mile, to which CS suggested I hop on one foot. That only was fun for about five hops, so I just sucked it up and powered through. I placed 93rd out of 199 females ages 20-24. Clearly I wasn’t competing for any substantial award, but it was nice to know that in my first race ever I was faster than over half the girls my age. By 10:45 I was back at my apartment and getting ready for my callback. My runner’s high lasted through my shower and breakfast, but began to crash as I blow-dried my hair. By the time I left the house I had declared to my roommate at least three times, "I’m not firing on all cylinders." I don’t quite know what that means. But I wasn’t. Then from 1:45 to 5:00 I sat among the other Broadway Rose hopefuls. I looked at all of the young girls called back for Eponine and had my first legitimate age crisis. Am I old? I’m old. I’m too old to be here. Why am I here??? The director seemed to think the same thing. After I sang, he sweetly asked how old I am and then suggested I come back in to sing for Fantine instead. So after more waiting, I went back in and sang I Dreamed A Dream. Now I realize as a musical theatre girl who grew up in the 90s I should know that song forward and backwards, but I don’t. I also noticed that not only had I been the oldest Eponine, I was then the youngest Fantine to be called back. Whatever. I couldn’t care too much. I needed electrolytes and protein. I needed sleep. Except that at some point during my time chilling and mingling in the common waiting room, I had agreed to someone else that I would drive even further into upper-class suburbia to sing for his show that night. I hadn’t even planned to audition for that show because of my schedule, but suddenly I couldn’t control my mouth that formed the word: "Yes". The next thing I know, I’m in another studio looking at music I’ve never even heard before. But the thing is, I wailed. I belted an E. But I didn’t just belt an E. I sang that note like someone else would belt an E - someone better, someone more trained or committed. Someone who is not me. I belted an E as easily as I can type an E on a keyboard - without hardly breathing, without hardly realizing what I’m doing. E. You know, like that. Strength and courage are used in varying degrees throughout the course of each day, yes, but then there are the moments that hang proudly in your mind like little ribbons on a bulletin board. I received several little ribbons in a 24-hour period. I have the "I Ran 8k Without Walking, Getting Hurt, or Finishing Last" ribbon. I have the "I Sang Confidently in an Audition Even Though I Don’t Take Regular Voice Lessons or Diet Obsessively Anymore" ribbon. I have the "I Said No to a Very Complicated Situation Despite How Much I Enjoyed Cartwheels and Coaster Flipping" ribbon. They look very nice there, dangling in my mind. I clutched onto these ribbons today when I told the Douchebag’s friend over the phone, "I’ve got a lot going on and, frankly, don’t have any interest in getting together and chatting with you." They were my talismans against douchiness. Cintia finds out Wednesday if she gets her Visa. If she does, she’ll be living with my parents for a year and becoming my sister more than she already is. I would offer to send her my ribbons, but I’m pretty sure hers are cooler than mine anyway. |
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