Haters Gonna Hate

Actors can be real assholes. It's usually rooted in deep insecurity, which causes them to feel like they have to screw someone else over to make it in this business.

Here's the thing: if you have the luck to make an amazing career for yourself, it doesn't have to be at someone else's expense. In fact, the only way I want to make it is surrounded by people I love an respect.

I'll never be like Kirsten. (Pronounced Keer-stin.) I'm sure there are other lovely Kirsten's out there, but this one was, as the Duchess call, a hater.  

The ladies of Duchess Riot have been having great luck lately due to the success of our show at the Comedy Central stage. I'm so grateful for that, and I know the best is yet to come. However, it seems the more success that comes your way, the more haters you acquire. Yesterday, a few of us were called in for an audition at Paramount. Five Duchesses, one non-duchess, one role. We were all called at the same time, and we were chatting while waiting in the lobby area.

"Do you all, like, know each other or something?" Kirsten asks.

"Yes! I'm Suzanne," Suzanne extends her hand to Kirsten and she tentatively shakes Suzanne's hand while looking at her like she has leprosy.

"We're all in the same comedy group." Katie says.

"Oh, where does your little comedy group perform?" (This sentence was said so patronizingly, it was palpable.)

"Comedy Central asked us to perform at their stage a couple of weeks ago. That's actually how we all ended up here. LOTS of casting directors and industry attended." I said, with a smile because pretty much the only time I'll brag is when I'm faced with a condescending twat who is trying to tear me down.

"Oh. So, what are you going to do when one of you gets this part and the others don't?"

Did I mention this chick was a HATER?

"Be really excited for that girl and go celebrate with drinks!" Dione said.

"Right. Well you better make the girl who gets it PAY for the drinks. Can you even drink? You all look like you are sixteen." woofed Kirsten.



First of all, Kirsten, telling a group of actresses they all look super young is NOT an insult. Second, you suck. And the one thing we have learned as a group, is that we are going to have sucky haters, and we will kill them with kindness. (But I WILL blog about you later, as an example of the kind of actor I will never be.)

Go ahead and believe that we were naive and didn't notice you were being condescending. Laugh at us for all waiting for every Duchess to get in and out of the room, so we could walk out together. Tell yourself that if one of us books something and the other doesn't that we would be anything less than THRILLED for each other. It's not going to change the fact that we love each other and celebrate each other's successes. And trust me, Kirsten, we got a LOT of success coming our way.

Wet n' Wild

In an attempt to be fit and active, I hopped on board at my local gym when they offered a discounted rate for a yearly membership. I was spending WAY too much going to Cardio Barre and I wanted some variety. My friend Dione (a fellow Duchess) joined as well so we could take classes together. After a couple of weeks of Zumba classes, it was time to shake it up! This morning, I got a text from Dione saying, "Let's try the water aerobics class at 9:30!" Awesome! Here's what I was picturing:

Maybe a little of this:

I mean, who doesn't need a hand with pool noodles? Those things are so hard to manage! Water aerobics is the premise for the Magic Mike sequel right?

Instead, Dione and I donned our cute bikini's, grabbed our towels and noodles, and walked in to this:

Those ladies are having too much fun though. It was more like this:

Bad disco music was pumped through the chintzy pool speakers. The young, super fit and enthusiastic instructor was so thrilled to see us. , we were determined to have fun and make the best of it! Everything was great, until I put my foot in the water and it was freezing. That's where I draw the line.

I will accept that my dream of a fun, Vegas pool-party style water aerobics class at my local gym is dead. But I will not accept being cold and wet before 10am. Those bouncing, buoyant grannies are tougher than me, I'll be the first to admit it.

Next class? Spinning! If anyone has gone, can you tell me if it's more like this:

Or like this:

I'd love to have a head's up this time.

What's up?

Well, hi! It's been so long since my last blog that I have to figure out the new set up and format of Blogspot. As if life weren't tough enough, amirite?!

After about six months of dead air, I'm back. Mostly because my mother gets joy from reading my blogs and sharing them with her friends. The other reason is that, as always, I love writing. Any excuse is fine by me.

So, what's up?

For me, a lot! Career, life, EVERYTHING has gotten steadily better and better this year. I can't complain. I do complain, often, but I shouldn't. If we just automatically reached our goals, they wouldn't be as sweet, right? Sure! Let's go with that.

I won a fellowship from Writer's Bootcamp to develop my pilot and have a shot at a development deal at the end of all of it. I am really proud of this. After having a successful reading for my 2 Broke Girls spec at iO West, it's been the first tangible confirmation that I'm headed in the right direction by pursuing the writing side of my career with more tenacity. I'm halfway through my first draft of AmericaLand (my pilot, based on my year in Singapore) and I'm having a BLAST recreating that world.

The other source of ridiculous pride for me lately is my all female comedy group Duchess Riot. We were invited to perform at the Comedy Central Stage, a prestigious step for a comedy group in LA, and sold it out, got a standing ovation, and accolades from many casting directors and industry folks. Missed the show? Not to worry! We were invited BACK to the CCS and also have a few shows a month that you can catch whenever you fancy. www.duchessriot.com

The reason I get such joy from this group is that these ladies have become my closest friends. Yes. Every single one of them. You may say, "A group of 8 women and you ALL get along?! Yeah, right!" and to that I laugh! I say, "Pffft!" Come see a show. You will see 8 chicks who love each other to pieces and come alive when they get to share a stage together. It's the most fun I've had performing in years!

I'll catch you up on more and have stories of me being a total weirdo soon! Subscribe, follow me on twitter (not you Mom,) or FB.

Thanks for reading!
Love!

My F*cking Apartment

Let me preface this blog by saying I am wearing neon orange air traffic control strength earplugs as I type away.

I woke up this morning to 90's electronic rock blaring through the wall my headboard lies against, at 8am, on a Saturday. It's important to note that it is 90's electronic rock because it is the same creepy beat over and over again. No lyrics. No break between songs. Just a continuous string of cacophonous crap pounding through my bedroom for about an hour. I want to bang on the wall and go, "HEY! How 'bout some Tone Loc?! I'd be down for some LLCoolJ, TLC, or Salt n' Peppa if you insist on the 90's but PLEASE put down your glow sitcks!!" When that stopped, my downstairs neighbor, who has the patio in the courtyard of our apartment, started playing with her dog. When I say, "courtyard," I want you to understand that means the area where every sound is has a deafening echo that seeps into each unit whether your windows are open or not. Each of the ground floor apartments has a 10 foot by 10 foot AstroTurf fenced in patio and whatever they choose to do on that patio reverberates through the courtyard for all 4 stories of our apartment building to share. My downstairs neighbor has two gears: playing with her dog, defined as her continuously saying, "GO GIT IT! GO GIT IT!" in a high pitched baby voice while the dog barks, OR her and her boyfriend screaming at the top of their lungs about how much they hate each other while pacing in and out of the apartment, slamming the sliding glass door. At this point, there is unity amongst my neighbors. We all creep over to our windows facing the courtyard and look down at the train wreck that is the 1st floor relationship, with a shared look of, "Here they go again!"

For the past 3 months, my elevator has decided it does not stop on the 2nd or 3rd floor. I happen to live on the 2nd floor so this is an unfortunate turn of events. I got used to using the elevator to go to the 4th floor and then walking down two flights of stairs. There isn't any staircase from the lobby to the apartments so you can't just conveniently take the stairs at your leisure. You have to take the elevator to another floor, then take the stairs. In these 3 months, they have renovated the elevator with new paneling and faux hardwood flooring. It looks absolutely GORGEOUS as it continues to sail past the floors where have of it's tenants live. One day, I accidentally found a loop hole. If you hit the first floor button just as the elevator passes the first floor, it will stop at the second floor!!! The "trick" spread like wildfire! I even had a guy SHOW ME MY OWN TRICK the other day. I proudly said, "Yeah, I invented that." I instantly earned his respect. It was a good day.

The upside is that I have a flippin' amazing room mate who has become a close friend, I own the bedroom furniture I've always wanted and, ya know, I have my own bathroom, so it could be worse.

And in a few years, when I'm sitting, wrapped in a silk robe at my house in the hills, in a chaise on the patio by my infinity pool, I'll miss the high-pitched shrieks of, "GO GIT IT! GO GIT IT!" and the incessant booming of a 90's rave pumping through the wall. I'll feel sad and pout my Chanel glossed lips when my glass elevator stops at the correct floor.

Nope. No, I won't. But I might have less to write about so, today, let's count it as a "win."

The Beauty of the Present Moment

I was reading my tattered old handwritten book of inspirational affirmations and quotes this morning because I was feeling a bit disheartened and hallow. I woke up thinking, "Yep, another day waiting tables and not getting to act. Poor me." I knew I needed to snap out of that mind set. No matter what mood I'm in, I always seem to come across one of the quotes in this book and it will hit me as if it were the first time I've read it. Mind you, I've read these probably hundreds of times. I read them, and added to them, every single day in the last half of my time in Singapore to get me through.

"Don't spoil the beauty of the present moment by wishing for something else."

I'm so blessed. I have so much and I spend a lot of time wishing for more. It's great to want and strive for more, of course! But, if you aren't appreciating what is right in front of you, what's it all for? Last night I decorated a tree and had hot cider with my wonderful room mate and then got to snuggle with the man that I love watching TV while getting a foot rub. If I were a working actress, it wouldn't have made a difference. Yeah, the tree would have been real and my apartment would have been bigger but who cares? The only thing that mattered last night were the people I shared my time with and it was beautiful.

So that's what I'm thinking of today. There's no big detailed story, no funny anecdote. I'm just going to concentrate today on the beauty of the present moment. I'm going to go to my job (I HAVE a job, how lucky am I?!) where I work with fantastic people, owners who I adore and be finished within a few hours with the amount of money lots of people have to work an entire day or two for. Then, I have the rest of the beautiful day to do whatever I want!

Today is beautiful and I'm grateful.

Opening a Gift

I'm not proud of it, but I have come clean to my family. It was a real problem, that I couldn't control through much of my childhood. I hid it, and I completely got away with it, too. My parents never suspected that I would do such a horrible thing.

I opened my presents before Christmas.

After the illusion of Santa was crushed, (and I remember EXACTLY where I was when that happened . . . a story for another day), my mom would put the immaculately wrapped presents under the tree as she bought them, sometimes weeks before the big day. Did she have no idea what this would do to me? Was she under the illusion that I had self-control?!

My parents were asleep . . . I went to the living room to watch TV and there was the beautiful and majestic Christmas tree, with it's twinkling lights and years and years of homemade ornaments. The paper and cotton ball Santa, crumpled and held together with tape, that my dad made when he was in elementary school, Miss Piggy with angel wings and halo (my FAVORITE ornament), and dozens of multi-colored tinsel umbrellas that my mother had from her mother, just to name a few. There's nothing like my family Christmas tree. It's always crooked, the limbs are weighed down with far too many ornaments, and it'll never be the kind of tree you see on TV in a Christmas special, but it's the most beautiful tree in the world to me. And underneath that tree, dozens of mysteries wait to be unraveled . . .

It started pretty innocently. I casually strolled over to the tree, taking a peek at the "to" and "from" cards. (I liked to compare the size and quantity of my presents compared to my brothers . . . solely for research purposes. I'm not competitive or jealous, you see.) And, oh, one of the presents "To Erin, From Mom" is in a gift BAG. "Well, maybe I'll just lift the present, to see how heavy it is. Hmm, I don't suppose it would hurt if I just PEEKED inside . . . if the metallic green tissue paper shifted to the side, that's not MY fault . . . " And just like that, a red-headed, flannel pajama wearing, present snooping maniac was born.

It was SO EASY that year to pretend that I didn't know that the gift bag contained my yearly decorative socks! My performance was pitch perfect! "Oh! Socks with kittens wearing sweaters?! Thank you, Mom! I love them!" And she BOUGHT IT!

After that, there was no stopping me. I'd wait until my parents went out, and I'd get to work. As the years went by, I become such a pro. I could unwrap the Fort Knox of presents and rewrap it with the greatest of ease and no one ever suspected. I was untying and retying decorative bows like a ninja (if ninjas were into untying and retying bows). And I was getting more and more convincing with the shock and awe I would portray opening the gifts that I had previously unwrapped . . . which, let's face it, over the years became all of them. I'd even start to unwrap a couple of my brother's presents (for research, remember?) There was no stopping me.

At around age 14, after opening all of our family presents, I had a hallow feeling inside. My parents had bought all of these amazing and beautiful gifts, as they always did, and I felt like a jerk because I wasn't EXCITED. It didn't feel magical, as Christmas should, because I had known for days, sometimes weeks what everything was. I took that joy you get from giving someone a special gift away from my parents, and the crummiest part was, that they didn't even know (CURSES for being such a good actress!) I had this huge moment of recognition of how spoiled I was. (I still AM, but at least now I know it and I don't open my gifts.)

Years later, I casually mentioned, "Oh, yeah, I used to open all of my Christmas gifts," much to my mother's shock and accusations of, "Oh, you're bad! You're BAD!" And I really do feel bad about it. Why couldn't I stop myself? What a shithead! I'll never get those moments of surprise back.

So, to my wonderful Mom and Dad (and let's face it Dad, it was MOM doing all the shopping), I'm sorry I ruined the magic of holiday gift-giving for years. I guess the only way we could get it back would be . . . hmmmm . . . I mean, I promise I won't look . . . more presents?

Something that belongs to someone else

I am, once again, trying to get back to writing daily, so I cracked open my A Writer's Book of Days for some inspiration. Today, I write about "something that belongs to someone else."

The first thing that comes to my mind is my heart. Throughout my life, I feel like it's almost uncomfortable for me to have ownership of my heart. I give it away too freely sometimes and I've certainly had it returned in a million pieces. Right now, I feel pretty safe with the person who has it. He wouldn't frivolously toss it aside or do anything careless. It was definitely handed to him cautiously, and covered in band-aids. Every once in a while one of those band-aids loosen and I get scared. I worry about it breaking again because I feel like it's pretty close to having it's last punch so I try to build a wall around it or take it back, but he soothes my heart and mends those tricky wounds.

My friend Jamey put together a show a couple of years ago with artists in all different mediums. There was one scene that has really stayed with me. There were no words, just music and a man and a woman. They both wore a beautiful heart made of metal wires with long pieces of yarn hanging from it on their chest. As they portrayed "falling in love" they would attach one of their yarn strings to the other persons heart. Then, as so often happens, they started to grow apart. The actors moved farther apart in distance, stretching the heart strings to their limit. Finally, one of the actors took scissor and cut right through the strings, eliminating any attachment they had to one another. It was heartbreaking and elegant.

We build connections to each others hearts and sometimes it's really hard to detach. For some, it's easy to just cut right through those connections . . . for others (like me) it takes a long time to detach the strings, one by one, and let it go.

My heart belongs to someone else. He knows who he is. I hope he is as careful with it as I am with his because his is pretty tattered and beaten up too. Maybe that's how we ended up feeling safe enough to let someone else in again, who knows. I'm just glad that I'll never give up trusting there will be someone to take care of it forever.