Survival Strategies

I dropped the wine. All over the subway platform. What used to be my wine supply for the next two weeks was now a puddle of White Rioja and Sauvignon Blanc mixed with shattered glass and soaked lables, encased in my Trader Joe's wine tote. This mess of mesh and fermented fruit juice sat there, staring at me, indifferent to how I might have felt about the situation. Scorned, I turned my back and moved farther down the train track, praying for a Queens-bound train. Needless to say, it has been a trying and tiring few days.

During my truancy from writing (my sincerest apologies), I have been working, auditioning, and welcoming a new roommate into the apartment. A month into my move, it seems I've established a bit of a routine: work on the weekends, audition during the weekdays, eggs in the morning, cocktails by night. I've gotten used to seeing the same set of people at auditions, know a few of their names even, and have gotten friendly with some coworkers. I've even seen a drag queen do the same number twice; indeed, I have been here a month. Work is going well, I didn't have any major spats with my favorite Italian, and am beginning to actually make instead of solely spend money. I am headed back there tonight; assuming it goes off without a hitch, I might just be able to survive this New York life.

We have welcomed a new roommate into our apartment and wished another well. Erin went to school with my other roommate Megan, and we are all becoming fast friends (well, I guess I am becoming their friend - lucky them). Erin is also in theatre, a stage manager in fact. Which means she is blessed with common sense, patience, hand/eye coordination, and fine motor skills: qualities Megan often lack. In her short time here, Erin has already fixed our loose deadbolt and tightened the towel rack in the bathroom, tasks Megan and I could never have accomplished and the previous tenants ignored for who knows how long. It wonderful to have things hang on the wall via a nail instead of packing tape. Who knows, this apartment might feel like home one day.

Today, I auditioned for the upcoming OFF-Broadway production of Dear Edwina. Although I was not called back, I did get "typed-in," so I was able to sing. I managed to make them laugh, but their cause for laughter remains vague, perhaps even troublesome. My audition for the principal of Cabaret went much the same way: my new friend Paula Sloan smiled and laughed at my song, but a callback she did not give me. At least she knows my name by now. The audition season looks to be closing, which, admittedly, is alright by me. I am looking forward to getting some more work (and money) rolling in, eventually getting new headshots, and beginning work with a new vocal coach (who I met at a piano bar). So, by spring I am looking to really be a contender. I may even move beyond my current 5-song-audition lineup. In other news, I have finished the Dorothy Parker biography, and have begun The Time Traveler's Wife per my friend Amy's referral. I thought I could benefit from something a little lighter than Dorothy Parker's troubled and seldom sober existence. Tomorrow is time for laundry, cleaning, and recharging my batteries for the rest of the week. I will attempt to bring my purchases from the wine store, but I can make no guarantees. It certainly is more fun to drink your hard-earned dollars than drop them on the floor and watch them shatter to pieces. I hope that's not an omen . . . for now, I continue to trudge on, learning, stumbling along the way, and attempting to survive - maybe even live. Wish Stefano and I luck tonight.

PS - Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou everyone who reads my little blog. It means the world to me.