Drink Myself Skinny

I'm going to drink myself skinny. I mean it. A theory that has been in development for months, I find I am now in possession of the ultimate diet plan. Now, you may think this sounds a bit debunct, but let me explain how liquid consumption can lead to a thinner waistline.

1) You Gotta Drink Water

Water, water, water. O calories, and if you are at home (or anywhere else really), free refills. Load up on that water and not only will be burning extra calories with all those extra bathroom trips, but being super-hydrated, you won't quite notice how hungry you are. Need a boost? Use your favorite flavor of Emergen-C. Personal favorites include the Pink lemonade (fight breast cancer!) and orange flavored Joint Health (not affiliated with any "herbal" usage). At 10 calories a pop, they won't break the bank and may trick your brain into thinking it's real food. I mean look at all those vitamins! Ride that rush of vitamins all the way into the next mealtimes! As a general rule, I drink one glass of water per caffeinated or alcoholic beverage. Hence, I am always in the bathroom. And if you need a change-up, just go the sparkling water route, its added gas making you feel that much fuller. Your body will be so busy juggling all that extra water, that it won't notice you neglected to feed it! Ample water also makes for better skin and will ease any tension in your vocal folds. Drink up!

2) If it's Hot, It's Almost Food

Tea or coffee? Yes and both and more! These brewed beverages are great hunger fighters and are filled with caffeine, keeping you going without actually ingesting solid food. Tea is full of antioxidants (and in my mind, coffee is too), helping you look and feel great. Without all the preservatives or sugar of sodas, these Hot beverages are the superior pick-me-up, even if you have to add a little milk, sugar, or honey. In fact, green tea especially has been shown to boost the metabolism and is a common ingredient in many diet pills and weight loss supplements. Instead of a nice hot meal, gulp down a nice hot beverage.

3) Get Naked

Looking at myself naked is usually reason enough to put down the Big Mac. In all honesty, I am talking about Naked Juice, the power food in a bottle. Coming in a variety of flavors, these juice drinks pack a large portion of your fruit and vegetable intake as well as health supplements like minerals or even protein. Favorites of mine include the Green Machine and Wild Berry Protein. Sure, some of them may look like pond scum, but what better way to get in touch with Mother Nature than to ingest something that looks like it came directly from her bowels! With these drinks you can get fiber, protein, vitamins and minerals, all natural and without actually putting something solid into your mouth. They make for great meals on the go. Shake extra rigorously before indulging to get that extra arm workout you have been missing.

4) Drink well, Drink often, Drink less

You want to lose weight and feel great about yourself, bring on the booze! This may sound crazy (and maybe is), but better boozing can lead to a better waistline. Just think how much more likely you are to dance the night away if you've had a few stiff ones. Opt for better quality liquor (i.e. put down the Boons Farm) as these are better filtered, have less additives, make you feel super cool, and will make you sip slower as gulping can prove rather costly. Skip the mixers, juices, and colas, and opt for your beverage on the rocks, neat, or with a little club soda. Champagne makes a great toast, and at only 90 calories a glass, will leave even Jenny Craig smiling. Plus, those added bubbles will make you feel both giddy and full. When it comes to drinking to your health, wine is where it's at. Time and again, red wine has been proven to give all sorts of health benefits and white wine can even lower insulin levels after one glass. Instead of drinking three bottles one ill-fated night, allow yourself one or two drinks a day, moderation as opposed to binges into the dark side. Go for dryer wines, as they contain less sugar and usually have a higher alcohol content. Knocked out by a nice glass of wine, your body will forget all about that cupcake you didn't have. As a general rule, I don't allow myself to start drinking until I have first been to the gym or yoga. As I enjoy drinking very much, I have frequented the gym more often of late, sometimes very early in the morning.

5) Eat Pray Love

Don't go see this movie as it will only leave you craving amazing food and wondering if this film was supposed to come with a plot. Instead, drink a big glass of water and meet your friends for happy hour. Skip the nachos and park your car as far from the bar as possible. The longer walk to your vehicle will help burn those extra calories as well as sober you up before getting behind the wheel.

Finally Fall

Though the temperature may deceive you, it is finally fall, my favorite season. The leaves are turning color, the nights become cooler, and the vacation lull evaporates. Fall is my season, the time I feel freshest, when all is possible, probably due to all those years in school. It is the time to start getting all the things you meant to do in 2010 (or whatever year) done before the year ends. Being a fall baby, I feel in my element, in my prime, secure at my current age and ready to enter the next year. As we start to pull out the sweaters and zip-ups, we look towards approaching holidays, festivities, and family gatherings. Fall is time to harvest, to celebrate, to find meaning in our accomplishments and begin storing up for next year.

Of special note to myself (and many of you out there), fall is also the official start of the season's interesting plays and movies. Kicked off by Fashion Week and all the buzz it has to offer, we can wave to bye-bye to the mostly disappointing summer blockbusters, special effects goliaths relying more on sound and editing than story or acting. Instead of Big Stars staring Big Movies (aka Eat Pray Love), we get smaller films with actors stretching their muscles and bigger films making riskier moves, hoping to earn some Oscar buzz. The theatre all but hibernates once the Tony nominations have gone out, this summer's exception being Bernadette Peters and Elaine Strich's jumping into A Little Night Music and Al Pacino's Shakespeare in the Park performance (The Merchant of Venice - which is headed to Broadway this fall). Television returns from its hiatus, bringing old favorites, promising an even more exciting season, and new offerings, hoping to make the cut. Thanks to hulu.com, I have already been enjoying my share of Glee, Nurse Jackie, 30 Rock, and Gossip Girl. Yes, as the climate changes, we return from our summer adventures, put away the white shoes, and nimbly outfitted in as many layers as the requires, begin to head to theaters, both for movies and plays aplenty. Last night, I ventured over to Playwright's Horizon on West 42nd St to catch one of their newest offerings, It Must Be Him. Starring a getting-older Peter Scolari, the play was a bit wonky, awkward, short in minutes but packed with a lot of good intentions. While I could try to describe or tell you what it's about it, in short, it's not really that kind of piece. Entertaining, it certainly was and the perfect play of which to have free tickets (thank you Quinto's trendy job). WhatI can say is that it's about a middle-aged gay man getting older, struggling for love and success, but then, that is so many plays that have "come out" in recent years. Now, what I am dying to see is Playwright Horizon's other offering Me, Myself, and I, the new work by theatre icon Edward Albee. Starring Elizabeth Ashley, whom if memory serves me right was in August" Osage County when I saw it, the play is his usually absurd story about a set identical twins each named Otto and their forgetful parents. Im ready. In all honesty, if the plot of the play was "Edward Albee drinks a cup of coffee," I'd be there. Moving a couple blocks east to the Broadway neighborhood, a lot of exciting offering are popping up there as well. The revival of Noël Coward's Brief Encounter, transferred from an Off-Broadway turn downtown, promises to sparkle, as does Laura Linney's return to Time Stands Still (which I missed last season). The mammoth Spider Man musical will finally open, come November. Let us hope that what happens onstage is half as exciting as the musical's troubled journey to Broadway, full of delays, big spending, broken promises, and big star pullouts (thanks for nothing Alan Cumming). For Big Stars in Big Plays, there's Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones in Driving Miss Daisy and Cherry Jones in Mrs. Warren's Profession, both with the potential to Most Likely Put You to Sleep. What I'm most excited about is Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, the new musical based on the Pedro Almodóvar film and starring yours and my favorite Patti LuPone, alongside Sherie Renee Scott, Laura Benanti, Brian Stokes Mitchell, and a slew of other talent. If this one flops, I'm going to start watching Nascar. In movies, there'sThe Town, with my new friend Gossip Girl's Blake Lively, Easy A, this summer'sInception (which I still need to see), Devil, which I saw this week, and a pair of Facebook-tinged movies The Social Network and Catfish. While one chronicles the origins and rise of Facebook, the other serves as a cautionary tale to the excesses of Facebook. Both have been the buzz of the New York papers and advertisements and have certainly made the must-see list. Changing gears, a pair of romance-laced movies, The Romantics and Woody Allen's You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger promise to amuse and titillate (though I'm vying for Stranger to be the better of the two). Of course, this is all the tip of the iceberg (or shall we hope). As the weather continues to cool and the first chances of snow rear their ugly heads, the Oscar and Tony races will be in full swing, cranking out would-be hits and flops. Let's hope that we the audience, are again on the winning side. While summer is for play and activity, fall is feasting, something I plan to do well into the New Year.

The One Year Blog Post

A year? I've been here for a year? Well, over a year now that it has taken me a few weeks to get myself up and blogging. No longer a newbie, I call this city my home, my base; the streets of Astoria and beyond have become my stomping ground. When I pass through Times Square, I am no longer accosted by the men selling bus tours, watches, and bric-a-brac to unsuspecting tourists. I have even been deemed a rude New Yorker a few times and am somewhat proud of that fact (They should learn to get out of my way). Now, there is a whole new crop of New York arrivals, myself slowly sinking into "the establishment." So much has happened in the past year, a lot of it chronicled in this blog, a lot of it kept in my heart and head and shared with some of the amazing people I have met here. My head is filled with questions like, "What have I done in a year? Where am I going? Where have I been? Was this move a good choice?" Daunting questions for someone who has trouble picking a restaurant or getting out of bed sometimes (and yes, technically, I am still in bed at this very moment. my bed and I are very close). While I don't any Equity or SAG card to show off after one year or major booking to brag of, I have myself to show off, for perhaps that's what I have been working on the most. I have grown and learned so much since being here and experienced a whole myriad of things, some good and some bad. Like a sponge, I have soaked up and tasted as much as possible. The long subway rides and audition room waits have helped add to my reading list, I have duly exercised both my Blockbuster and library card, and between my iTunes account and the library's collection, my own library of music has steadily increased, the lineup on my iPod markedly different after one year. I've seen more Broadway shows than I ever have in my life, upping my theatre and movie attendance and even meeting a few of my idols. My mouth has taken full advantage of New York's rich set of restaurants and groceries, falling in love with things like Campari, oysters, beets, Swiss chard, quinoa, blue cheese, and falafel. I have walked more than I ever have in my life, my pants fitting better for it, and I have become more than familiar with both the Laguardia and Indianapolis airports. New York magazine now has my undying allegiance, as does Chelsea Handler, Naked Juice, and the 1.5 L bottles of Poland Springs that tend to line my kitchen. This past year and in fact even now seem a time of marinating, of sowing seeds and setting my roots, a glorious harvest somewhere on the horizon. I have become hungrier for my craft, for success, for the good things in life. Loss more painful than I could have ever imagined have made me clinger tighter than ever to the beautiful people and things around me, helping me loosen up, and see what is truly important in life. I feel closer to family than ever, though now and again I do enjoy the multiple state distance between us. I look at myself and see a stronger person, more secure in who I am, where I've come from, and what I want. I'm more able to stand up for myself and to not sweat the small stuff. Closely following my one year anniversary in New York, comes my anniversary with Locale, the job that for better or worse has enabled me to live here. From the restaurant, I have learned a lot about food, wine, beer, and service, become a master in the art of bullshit. In all, I am happy I am here and don't see myself leaving for at least another year or two (is that graduate school I see lurking out in the distance somewhere?). So, let this be the start of chapter two of my New York life and what wonders await me there. Having worked Gossip Girl for the second time yesterday, I have been keeping busy and continuing to meet new and fun people in the city. Let us hope for more work and direction to come my way soon. And let us hope now and again I make it to my "new" computer to write down all that happens - well, almost everything. After all, what is anyone without their secrets?

What I'm Reading: The End of the Affair - Graham Greene

What I'm Watching: Eat Pray Love, All About Steve, Alfie (the original), The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio, A Little Night Music (with Bernadette and Elaine), Gossip Girl

What I'm Listening to: "Bulletproof," Fleetwood Mac, Jeff Buckley, The Scissor Sisters

A Tale of Two Restaurants

Last week, blessed with both Thursday and Friday night off, I decided to treat myself to a couple of wonderful dinners with friends. To start my dining excursion I met my good friend Esther and a Locale regular at LIPS restaurant on the Upper East Side. Not always located on UES, this is not your average restaurant. Part show and part dinner, LIPS specializes in the very best of "drag dining." All of the servers, bartenders, hosts, and, of course, performers are drag queens. Clearly, this was a "must" on my NYC to-do list. After a few failed attempts and some botched planning, we settled on Thursday as our date with LIPS. Formerly situated in the West Village, I expected something kitschy, campy, draggy, bitchy, and maybe even a little dingy and musty (what do you think is happening under all that makeup, hair, and padding?). While the décor was certainly draggy, it felt more like Medieval Times on ecstasy, very faux glamorous, disco balls a shining. Situated in its new location across from the Outback Steakhouse most often frequented by Liza Minnelli, its new neighborhood gives it distinctly, corporate, unbelievably conservative feel. If I am at a drag show in New York City, one wants tits, dicks, drugs, and swearing, right?

As we made our way to our table, not only did we realize that we were arriving late to the part, but also the memo that everyone else in attendance would be a white girl under the age of 20. Now, we all love young white girls, but they are not my typically accompaniment to a quality drag show. When asked if we were celebrating anything special this evening, I simply retorted, "Thursday." Unbeknownst to us, everyone seemed to believe this was the perfect location for a bachelorette or 18th birthday party as opposed to a dressed up Thirsty Thursday. "Oh Jesus," I thought, as I ordered a Frozen Cosmo, their signature cocktail. This drink proved a metaphor to the restaurant itself: tacky, supersweet, icy, and overpriced. The food was a big OK, living somewhere in between good bar food and average hotel fare. My sole with crab was tasty, but only so because of lots of butter and salt, with unfortunately unexciting texture. Esther found her pasta primavera, the only vegetarian option on the menu, decidedly bland and leaving her wanting more. As for the service, well you know I love me some queens, but they did seem a little preoccupied (we didn't arrive early enough for the balloon show - who eats dinner before 9 anyway?). As one of the only males in the room, I feel I received more than my due personal attention (aka one of them humped me), but how do you raise a fuss with a 6 foot drag queen when your friend doesn't receive a dessert menu? The show itself was entertaining, the highlight being Jesse Volt's fabulous Joan Rivers monologue and Morgan Royale's dead-on Mary J. Blige (it was celebrity impersonation night). However, I was left wondering where would these "girls" be without their glitter, gowns, and jewelry? One has surely never had this thought about yours and mine favorite Tiffany Simone Alexander. At the show's conclusion, Ester and I quickly found the check and attempted to make a somewhat quick getaway, dessert or no. After dishing out more cash than I anticipated, we ventured to our next venue, New World Stages, for the final round of Karaoke Idol, starring my good friend Alissa (who as first runner up, was ROBBED). Causing our usual mix of mischief and ruckus, we popped in and out of the bar, saying hello to friends and locating Esther's dessert just in time for Alissa's fabulous performance. Sure she had the prize in the bag, I politely excused myself, noting the next day's early film shoot. Though perhaps not wowed, this was a fun night in NYC, one I won't soon forget, and a bonding experience for me and the dessertless Esther. She now is working in a macaroon shop and doing quite well.

The next night was quite the different experience. After a day of extra work on Law & Order: SVU, I had plans to meet my good friend Ali (Velma Von Tussle in Millbrook's Hairspray) for dinner. Taking advantage of a special deal on Opentable.com, we decided on Essex Restaurant in the Lower East Side, serendipitiously close to the day's film shoot. Finishing filming a bit early, but without enough time to go home, I wandered around LES for a while, before deciding to step into the restaurant. Soft, loungy music playing, candles already lit, I informed the hostess who I was and that I would be camping out at the bar. After an extended bathroom trip that not only included emptying my bowels but also changing clothes, I reemerged fresh and ready to dine. Citing a corner barstool, I opted for a glass of Brüt and whipped out my usual ensemble of book, notebook, and magazine. After cautiously sipping my first cocktail (I didn't want to overshoot the runway after all), my dining companion arrived just as I was polishing off my glass. Escorted like VIP to our table, my suitcase in tote (it was a "wear 1, bring 2" day at L&O), we settled into our little corner table on one of the restaurant's upper decks. I immediately knew this was going to be the perfect quiet (well except for our respective cackling), intimate dinner after a long day's work. Oozing with gossip and lots of long time no sees, we eventually opened our menus and began to plan our dinner. Drinks, the first and most important matter settled, I decided to stick to Champagne while Ali cocktailed it to her heart's content. Eyeing their oyster selection, we couldn't resist starting with 6 of each, raising our glasses to a very fun evening. After more gossip and storytelling, we finally decided on our dining strategy. After trading favorites ("I'm feeling the duck" "I had salmon for lunch"), sharing stratagems ("If you do the scallops, then I'm doing the crab cake), and pairing palates, we established the course of the evening. "To start," I said, "We are going to share the scallop appetizer and the trio of tartares, and you know what, we better get the calabaza salad as well for something green? Then for the entree, we are going to split the duck." "Medium?" she asked. Mischief in our eyes, we replied, "Medium-rare," throwing caution and credit card balances to the wind. The oysters were delicious, slipping down our hungry throats with the coolest of cool, dressed up with hot sauce, red wine vinaigrette, or simple lemon juice. It was decided that in this battle of East Coast vs. West Coast, the West was the winner, as Ali snagged the majority of those rocky wonders (smart girl). A tray of ice and empty shells remaining, we exchanged our defrocked mollusks for our round of appetizers, thinking that perhaps our eyes were a little bigger than our stomachs. The scallops were perfectly cooked, soft, melting in my mouth, complemented by summer peaches, water melon, croutons (which I could have done without), and balsamic. Ali's trio of tartare was a little intimidating, served with tortilla chips to encourage dipping. The salmon was fresh and lemony, the tuna spiced with just enough scallion and horseradish, both sitting well on a crunchy tortilla chip. The steak tartare, while good, was a little too extreme for both of us, looking a little too much like dog food, and not tasting quite good enough to forfeit our remaining calories (as if we were counting). The salad was unique and yummy, arugula and mixed greens served with sheep's milk cheese, pumpkin seeds, and roasted pumpkin. Creamy and rich, the salad was good, but probably didn't belong amongst all of our summer seafood. Next time, we will know the wiser and order in November. Slowly eating, gabbing away, we finally finished our appetizers to see our duck was on its way. I informed the waitress that would be needing a midcourse of tobacco and nicotine, and to please keep the duck warm. Of due note: smoking kills and if we were at the Locale under my own supervision, a customer's entree never arrives until the appetizers are finished, cleared, and silverware replaced. (Become a fan of Locale on Facebook and read our smashing new review!) After puffing away, taking in the cool (thank God) night air, we returned to the table to gorge on our duck. The duck was tender, perfectly cooked and dressed with a soy-ginger sauce. The accompanying bok choy was yummy and refreshing, though the egg roll was a little to be desired. Then again, perhaps it was crispy and delicious 10 minutes before when it arrived at our table. Licking up the last bits of duck and sauce, we settled for dessert in a glass for our final course, Ali trying their Blood Orange Mojito while I opted for their Green Zinger (green tea vodka, lime, mint, and Pimms). Buzzed, but not falling down, we saddled up with our server Valerie, and headed out into the New York air. Decidedly content, we caught our appropriate trains, one returning her to Brooklyn, one taking me to Queens, having experienced a marvelous, if perhaps a little expensive, evening together. That night I slept very well, waking Saturday refreshed by my two days of galavanting, ready for another long day at the Locale.

Getting My Affairs in Order

Ahhh. The carpet is swept, the Febreeze has been sprayed, rent check written, and bank deposit made. What a busy day for this Broad Meadow New Yorker. Now of course it helped that today didn't start with a bourbon on the rocks or a hungover recollection of what I may have done last night (just kidding mother . . .). You may think going to the gym, tanning, and getting your back shaved are shallow pursuits, but they are very important to a young actor living in New York. Clearly you don't live in an area where people have ready access to the beach all the summer (not that I've been, but that's a different story). I won't say that I have become shallower since moving to the city, but I will say that I certainly have had to up my game. A typical lack of fast food drive-ups and giant Gulp size sodas seems to make for a fitter, more attractive population. That and a greater abundance of wealth and Botox. Running through my errands, carefully marked down in a neat list on a stolen Locale waiter pad, some tasks took only a few minutes ("charge phone," "look up the Arthur remake"), while others required considerably more time and energy ("gym," "blog"). After hitting the gym, I did usual circuit of tanning/library/bank/grocery, looping from my place to Steinway, to Broadway, and back again. While the tanning and the iced green tea from Starbucks that accompanied it were fairly easy, both the bank and the library attempted to throw me a curb ball. Checking out my usual load of books and movies (it's research, I swear), the automated self-checkout informed me i owed $21 in fines. Having just paid a large set of fines the day before, I informed the attendant that this simply was not true. While she tried to make sense of the squibbles on the screen, my persistent righteousness and piercing glance told her she better get her braids in a ball and call the supervisor. Enter a very white male librarian. After he too was confused by what he saw on the screen, yet tried to tell me I had no idea what I was talking about, I pressed harder for freedom, eventually getting him to wave the fees. Sucker. Now, such a sanction would never have been granted, if I was the Latina lady standing next to me with her litter of children. Sorry bout it. Crossing the street to the bank, I got in the long line to deposit to tiny checks. Enter my next customer service wonder, a plump business woman in shiny spike heels and business coat named "Ntina." Like a siren, she lured me to her desk to complete my deposit, me thinking I was some sort of Chase VIP. After filling out my deposit ticket, she confirmed my name, address, telephone number, employer, shoe size, Zodiac sign, and eye color. Then she offered to open another credit card for me, a savings account, a rewards program, and a new feature called "Person2Person Pay" that allows you to email people money. After fervently saying "No," to each of her questions, I finally had my transaction completed. On leaving the bank, I duly noted there was no line. For some reason, the Chase associates make me feel more naked than a 7th grade physical.

Returning home from my Astoria circuit, I took a shower and gatehred steam for my last to-do. In my quest for completeness, I ventured to industrial Woodside, walking next to a major highway, in search of my case of Zagat-recommended wines. Noticing a great deal in the mail, I could not pass it up, exchanging my credit card # for 12 bottles of wine plus this special offer of 4 tasting glasses and tasting notes for each wine (!!!!). After a few failed deliveries, and one troubled conversation with 1.800.Fedex.Go, I realized that I would have to put in some real work to get my discounted wine. Having lost one online purchase to the Post Office, I was determined to Get That Wine. Noting the chain metal fences and broken down cars, I was glad I was performing this chore in daylight. How quickly cheery little Astoria melted into deserted streets, warehouses, and highway. After trekking on foot to the Fedex Home Delivery Office (not as flashy as your regular Fedex/Kinko's), the associate helped me locate my package, kindly letting my Indiana ID slide for proof of age and residency. If my cardinal-embossed license should attempt to interfere with my next wine pursuit, I may just have to make a visit to the local BMV (the NYC/Queens BMV? Now that is a blog waiting to happen). After noting its exorbitant weight ("Shit, that's heavy. Oh, excuse me"), she retrieved my package from the back, scanning it into the system as "picked up" and looking at me like I was crazy for walking to the Delivery Center. "Don't worry," I said, "I am going to call a car." Pushing SEND on my contact "Taxi Cab," I hustled my box to the corner and waited for a creeping black car. After an initial worry the car couldn't find me, I waved my hand, large box in tote, attracting the attention of another yellow cab and strange looks from the local residents. Waving the cab along, I stepped into the car sent especially for me. Wine in the trunk, I did my best Anna Wintour, sitting cross-legged with sunglasses mounted on my face in the back seat, silently taking in the car ride. I recalled that moment at the end of The Devil Wears Prada when Meryl Streep turns to Anne Hathaway and says, "This is what everyone wants to be." Looking over my crazed afternoon, I thought, "Yes indeed."

And How Do You Like Your Eggs, Honey?

I have a special phone voice. Well, not so much a special phone voice as that my voice is special, and that quality particularly translates well via the telephone. Now, I know there are many things that make my unique voice wonderful (thank you, Patsy Rodenburg), like the fact that in my opinion, I enunciate my words clearly and speak a somewhat educated version of English (unless, of course, I am calling you 2+ martinis in the bucket). But perhaps its most special quality is the fact most people think I am a woman on the phone. Yes indeed, a woman. Not even a girl, not a young, pretty thing, but a full fledged woman. As my voice teacher Will put it, I have a "grande dame" quality about me (this came in quite handy for my audition on Tuesday that consisted of a monologue from Love! Valour! Compassion and my Judy-inspired version of "Smile").

Now, as a young male-child growing up in rural Indiana, this specialness really bothered me. Countless times, tele-marketers, family, and some of my mother's more colorful friends would ring up our home on 400 South and immediately greet Susie and ask how she is and such. From some of these greetings, one would get the impression that my mother is a very fun gal. And while I thought such mistaken identities would end after puberty, I now know to answer any phone but my own with, "This is Bradley." After initial embarrassments, I have moved on, moved out, and moved East where I capitalize on my superpowers whenever possible. Many times at work, owner Johnny has called upstairs to "discover" the cute, female bartender has developed a cold. No she has not; the person on the other line is Bradley. Or yesterday, as I waited on hold, begging Chase to give me even more credit, I was referred to as "Ma'am" for the majority of the phone call, despite the fact that my name, address, spending habits, shoe size, and who knows what else lie in plain sight on their computer screen in Mumbai. Even this morning, I unknowingly played a trick on the man delivering my omelette (in fact, it's on its way now). He wanted to know what I would like, kept calling me honey, kindly asking me for my phone number, address, and how I liked my coffee. Considering he now knows this personal information about me, he may be somewhat disappointed to discover that his mid-morning coffee date was with a fairly hairy Midwestern boy by the name of Bradley. Alas, no worries. He never has to know. When singing, my friend Esther and I have generally agreed that most times I sound like a mix of Elaine Stritch and Stevie Nicks, with a few moments of show choir boy clarity. Of course, this is all fine and dandy, both these grande dames earning equally impressive accolades for their vocalizations. But when I try to tell a casting director I am a young Stevie Nicks, it for some reason just does not communicate all that I want it to. My fine-tuned whiskey voice of a 50 something woman works great when I give an inspiring performance of "Poor Unfortunate Souls" at Uncle Charlie's, but somehow falls short when attempting "If I Loved You" from Carousel. However, this is no means for alarm or caution, for my talents are many. It's often been confirmed that I have the best legs in Astoria, and there are few waiters who have given such rousing renditions of the daily specials as I do each night at Locale. Boy, oh boy, a man of many talents am I. Oh, I think my omelette has arrived! I hope he doesn't mind I didn't shave this morning.

If any of you out there should ever be taking my breakfast order:

1 Spinach Omelette

Made with Egg Whites

Fresh Fruit instead of Homefries

Wheat Toast

Coffee with Skim Milk and 1 Splenda on the side

or if I am really hungover and/or being a fucking fatass:

1 McDonald's Bacon, Egg, & Cheese Biscuit Combo

Very Large Diet Coke

(and if it's a really unhealthy day)

1 Breakfast Burrito with Hot Sauce

Movies and Mayhem!

How busy this summer has been! After my stream of blogs and days off, my time has been taken up with lots of time at the restaurant, keeping in contact with my NYC friends, and even trying to get some sleep. On top of that, I have been doing some "extra" work for Central Casting. This past Thursday, I made my major motion picture debut on the film Friends with Benefits starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Cunis. From sundown to sunup, I portrayed a Times Square passerby (along with many others), who for reasons unbeknownst to us, break out into a choreographed routine surrounding the young starlets, abruptly stopping and reengaging in our NYC lives just in time for Mr. Timberlake to say, "Huh." Tomorrow (OK, this has also actually already happened), I am scheduled to work on Gossip Girl. After an unsuccessful formal wear attempt with Wall Street 2, this time I am armed with my tuxedo (which I haven't worn since high school) and ready for an artificially fabulous gala. Perhaps there will be champagne? Work has been just fine, just work and a lot of it, as my coworkers take turns taking vacation each week. In my reading quest, I just finished Chelsea Handler's third installment Chelsea Chelsea, Bang Bang to much pleasure and a few LOL on the train. Following her example, I too have been contemplating how I might better use such devices as lying and storytelling to enliven my workplace. Whoever said a little mischief is uncalled for? Any success in said exercises will appear in this blog forthcoming. On the audition front, there has not been a lot going on. I was planning to attend another round of auditions for Naked Boys Singing, but to my mother's joy I will be working on Gossip Girl instead (where I will likely not be naked or singing). This past Sunday, I brought my songbook to a new venue as my vocal coach Will had a gig at the Path Café in the West Village. Belting out my best Judy Garland, Willie Nelson, and Noël Coward numbers, I made friends with the owner-bartenders and sampled a majority of their wine list (big surprise!). No doubt, they will welcome me back with open arms this week (in fact, they did - and there was more wine and even some cheese tasting). Oh! And in Indiana news, my first friend in the whole world Ashley Rae has given birth to her first child, a girl, Laney Sue. Once the Post-partem disengages, Ashley will realize that I, in fact, named her child during a drunken night (ie me being the drunk) sitting around our kitchen table in Indiana. Hopefully, one day I will have some Ling-Ling or brown babies for Ashley to name for me. I am really looking forward to holding Ashley's new little munchkin. I wonder when I will be in IN next? (Can I just say that at this point, I have been trying to finish this blog for 9 days??? clearly my life has been reeling out of control. It's time to hit the brakes and get my life in order!). Tomorrow (yes, the real tomorrow), I am traveling to New Jersey to audition for a bunch of theaters at a big unified audition (my first one!). Let's hope I can shake off the restaurant rust and give them a sparkling performance. I am scheduled for tomorrow at 5:30. If you can, think Liza thoughts for me. That's all for now, I promise to write something really earth-shattering next time. For now, I am going to go tanning and get some f-ing Starbucks. It's hard out here for a pimp!