Archive | July, 2013

The Ghost Part 3

26 Jul

Here are some of the happenings that have gone on in my apartment since the last Ghost Post:

I gathered up my courage one day and went to check out the saw in the attic, which my former roommate, H,  also had no recollection of. It’s pretty old and in bad shape.  Despite the suggestions of my mom and H, I haven’t moved the saw.

H also reminded me of the sheet music we found up there, which I had squirreled away in my desk and located when I did a huge clean up/out of my room. It’s really old- falling apart old-and is dated 1922. which is before the house was built, so someone moved in with it at some point. I think it’s Christmas music, but I can’t remember the song. I also found some old layaway/store credit tickets from a department store in Boston that I didn’t recognize the name of. I have all that stuff saved in a folder now.

In the basement, there’s a stack of old home inspection slips nailed to a post going back to 1961 which show that the house had the same owner (either James Shea or Shea James- it’s unclear) from 1961 to at least 1997, which is pretty cool. A Google search of the name(s) and the address have yielded nothing, though.

Ok, none of this has been about the ghost- I just think it’s neat. Moving on…

I’ve been hearing stuff moving around in the attic at night fairly frequently. It’s not every night, and it doesn’t last long, but there are definite thumps and creaks and what sometimes sounds like boxes sliding around. I guess it could be the wind or the house settling, but it still makes me jump every time.

The ghost has also figured out how to open candles. I’ve found two different candles in two different rooms open on two different occasions, and I KNOW no one had been using them. I keep the jars closed when they’re not lit. At least he (I feel like it’s a “he”) hasn’t figured out how to use matches and actually light them. That could be dangerous! I’ll have to teach the ghost about fire safety if it ever comes to that.

Two nights ago, my boyfriend woke up because he thought the ghost had hit him. It turned out that I had hit him (I was having a dream in which I hit someone and must have actually spazzed out and slapped his arm in my sleep), but he was still pretty freaked out and couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. In the morning, he told me he had been hearing bells (like hand bells) ringing right above his head, loudly. I hadn’t heard these bells, nor have I ever, but I don’t think he’d make that up.

Plus, we all know how much the ghost likes bells. Ugh.

Song of the Day: Drumming Song by Florence + The Machine

Friends and the City

16 Jul

New York City is the biggest small town. I’ve been here 7 years and it didn’t take me long to call NYC home. The friendships I have made in the past 7 years are some of the greatest connections I have ever made and will possibly ever make. But there’s something different about New York friendships. Actually, probably any city based friendships. They are fleeting. They are short. They are intense firecrackers that whistle off into the night. And it took me 7 years to finally realize this.

I make friends easily. I always have. Therefore New York was a piece of cake for me. I lucked out with one of the best jobs in the world, working at Tarzan the Broadway musical and I met my first New York friends. Somehow, against all odds, every last one of those people I still talk to at least once a month and out of those, I have a few incredibly unique and close friendships that will last a lifetime. This…was a fluke. This is the only job where I continue to involve every last person who worked there in my life. I thought that’s how they all would be.


Last night of Tarzan

In New York, you can find someone to fill a specific void in your life at any place and time. That is not saying all friends in New York are place fillers. They are more…heart fillers. They give life to pieces of you that may have died or have not yet lived. They compliment your world for that short time they are a part of it and then they are gone.

I love how new friendships start. Any friendship. You don’t know if it’s going to be forever or if it’s just for a day. But you meet someone and you mention a film or maybe quote an obscure lyric or Buffy dialogue and the person to your left screams “OH MY GOD!” or “IT MUST BE BUNNIES!” because they get it, they know, they like it or love it or breathe whatever it is just like you do. It may be a moment of laughter or a moment of pain that brings you together. It doesn’t matter how it starts. But when it does, it’s like magic. New York is so full of these magic moments I sometimes imagine it as Neverland and full of happy thoughts and the happy thoughts are people and they help you fly through whatever it is that is happening in your life at that time.

In the New York world I live in, people are always changing jobs. It is probably because of my age, my career path of an actress, or just the state of living in New York in general. If you come here to pursue anything it seems you have to have at least 6 jobs before finding the one that fits. Working in the service industry, you become very close with your coworkers almost immediately (if it’s the right job). You bond over angry guests and being broke. You converse about the acting industry or books you’re reading or television and movies. You start realizing you spend more time with them than anyone else in your life and that’s actually great.  The coworkers I have met and befriended have helped me through breakups, moving days, late nights, hangovers, bad tips, deaths, jealousy, summer days, winter days, rainy days, plays, movies, Halloweens, New Years, brunches, shopping excursions, manicures, and birthdays. My coworkers are the people I think I am my best with sometimes. They bring out a fun and team orientated side of me. I become involved in their lives and concerned about their troubles as well as their joys.

However, last summer, I had a moment that broke my heart. I was outside at a popular bar in midtown and there were people I used to work with at Hard Rock sitting near me and the friends I was with. I had dated one of them and obviously remembered his name…but there was one in particular that I couldn’t remember his name to save my life. And I had been to his house!! We had gone out together countless times and partied in his apartment. I had met his girlfriend! We were best buds! And I couldn’t remember his freaking name. It destroyed me because I felt so horrible that I could forget someone who made me laugh and cheered me up every time we worked together. This guy was my bro! I was surely going to hell or some deep dark hole for being the worst human ever.

It came to me a few days later. It was then that I realized it didn’t diminished this coworker’s effect on my life at that time because I forgot his name. The moments we shared were still there. I just hadn’t seen how quickly they disappear. I had never tried to hold on because I didn’t think I could forget so much so soon. I was still an asshole but only like a baby asshole.

It’s the same as an actor. You do tours, plays, musicals, movies, web series, commercials, etc and you make friends. You may have the friend for a day which I like to make on sets when I do background work. I’ve lucked out though and on the set of Mildred Pierce, I was lucky to befriend some ladies I have since gotten together since the production filmed. The people I toured with I still see except for a few of them. Every show I’ve done, I’ve been fortunate enough to make very strong foundations for friendships.


However, the trick to these friendships is not to be offended when they fizzle out. In the past few months, I have realized how sensitive I have been when I discover I haven’t spoken to a certain individual that was once in my everyday life in months or possibly even years. I automatically started thinking, “Well, they hate me.” But that’s not it at all. I mean, they might, but more than anything it is just losing touch. New York is a big small town but the metropolis part creeps in sometimes and you realize it’s kinda hard to travel to Brooklyn to have that drink or Queens to see that show sometimes. People get new jobs, new shows, new apartments , new relationships and kind of drift away. Again, they don’t lose their value and you don’t lose yours to them. They just…aren’t there any more. You aren’t there either. Maybe they are thinking the same thing about you and what’s happening in your life. Maybe they stalk your Facebook or Instagram (which backfires sometimes because you FEEL like you’re in touch with them, but you’re not). It’s hardly ever one person’s fault over the other.

I consider myself very blessed with the people I have met so far in my few years here. Some are forever and some are just right now, but they are all special to me and we help each other through this hard knock life in the Big Apple. I still don’t know if it’s like this in other cities, but I hope it is. It’s an incredible feeling to walk down the busy streets and see people you haven’t seen in months, like a small town grocery store. Those little moments of catching up as you’re running errands or to rehearsal or work are pure magic and remind you how surrounded by love and support you are in a city that can sometimes mask it with obstacles and failures.

And if anyone I’ve lost touch with reads this, I am always up for catching up even if it seems I have drifted away…I’m still here for you as you were for me.

The Road (A Random Entry)

5 Jul

I haven’t written in a bit. I have a list of stories to write about and some drafts started but then I found this. I had written it a few years ago as a release of some sort. It wasn’t about any event or person in particular. I think it was after my tour, when I had just come back from experiencing the desert. It was just a short story about a girl and the road.

And there it was. The bluest sky she had ever seen. The emptiest place she had ever been. The loneliest feeling she had ever known. She paused, foot pressed lightly against the brake. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. She could feel the cool leather under her burning fingertips. She took a breath and felt the burn of the desert air in her throat. She closed her eyes and everything flashed before her against the dark lids. Flashes of color like when you press your hands hard against your eyes. Bursts like fireworks. They formed into visions and scenes from the past few days.

She saw him. She felt him. She closed them tighter, trying to squeeze him out but instead it only intensified the image. She heard the words, felt the slap. She saw herself making the realization. Then packing. Then slamming the door. She smiled at herself remembering she hadn’t even taken a moment to look back and survey the carnage.


Now she opened her eyes slowly. She was still sitting in her car on the road. The empty road that lead to nowhere. A surge of emotion hit her. She had never been alone in her entire life. This was the moment people talk about when they leave their lives behind. The epitome they have when they realize they only have themselves. Where you know you don’t ever really know anybody. You can never trust anyone. Where you realize your heart is yours again. And she screamed.

She screamed so loud she thought he would hear her from five states away. Part of her wanted him to. To hear her cry of anguish and pain and victory and freedom and come running to save her. To be the man he was. The man she wanted. Then she stopped. Her mouth hanging open, gasping for breath, she lay her forehead against the wheel. She felt the sobs coming. She gasped and panted and moaned. She hit the wheel with her palms and kept on yelling. The curses flew. She felt her stomach twist and turn. She let the sobs keep coming. How did she get here? She had to go back. She would just hit reverse and turn around and knock on their door and beg forgiveness. After all, it was her fault.

She was too difficult. She asked too many questions. She was insecure and she let that get in her way of letting him love her. Letting him in and letting him protect her. She should have trusted him more. Let him hold her more. Listened when he told her she was acting crazy. She shouldn’t have bothered him so much. Pushed him away.


“What the fuck?” She sat up. She opened her mouth again but this time laughter came out. And it filled her entire body. She let it shake her and control her. For once, her smile felt good, natural. Not forced. She laughed. How the fuck could she think it was her fault? Was this a moment of madness? She was so clear when she ran. She knew she had to leave to get rid of the rock that was turning into a mountain that had taken residence in her stomach. The mountain that wouldn’t let her sleep or eat for days at a time. The mountain that looked like a face that she woke up to every morning, watched every day, fell asleep to every night. A face she questioned constantly and even when rewarded with an answer, it was never satisfying. It was never the truth. So she laughed.

“God, what a fucking idiot.” She was speaking of herself. Then she laughed that she was talking to herself. “This is what happens when you leave everyone behind. I am my own best friend.” Not bad company, she thought. Then she stopped for a moment. She had forgotten that she was great. She had forgotten who she was without him. She didn’t even know who she was anymore.

 She stared back at the road. Perhaps this was a beginning of a new friendship. She stared at the hard blacktop and realized this was the first moment since she had driven away that she had thought of anything. She had gotten in the car and gone. Just drove to nowhere. She took random exits, following the signs that said west. And here she was in the desert. She always read and heard about people finding themselves in the west. Isn’t that where everyone went in books and movies? The wicked witch found her place there…and her death…not the best example. Of course her pigment was a natural peach and she had no desire for ruby red slippers (although that would be an improvement to her current wardrobe). She looked down at herself and laughed at the fact she was wearing sweatpants and her ratty Zeppelin shirt. She had been wearing this outfit for four days straight. She didn’t even dare look in the mirror but she felt the wind in her hair and half imagined it filled it with sand and grit, making her filthy and caked with grime. She liked the feeling.

                The road still stared back. Then it spoke to her.

“I am open, endless, free. I am your answer. I am everyone’s answer. I am unforgiving. I am mysterious. I am a liar and sometimes a cheat. I give time and I take time. But I will never let you down. I will only lead you onward. That is a promise.”

I am talking to a road, she thought. Great. However she found the road had more personality than those she had left behind. She glanced at the passenger seat and saw her phone blinking again. 14 messages. She assumed they were from him. Of course, they could be from the girls she was supposed to be having dinner with the previous night. Or her boss. Probably her boss. She should have called. No, she shouldn’t have. That wouldn’t be leaving the way she wanted.

She wished for a destination. She always heard New York City was where people went to follow dreams and when they were homeless and alone. But she wanted sun. She wanted California. That name just seemed magical to her. Perhaps her passion for the 60’s drew her there. She grabbed one of her duffel bags and pulled out her CD holder. She flipped through until she found the Beatles. She placed the CD into the slot and turned it up. Then she took her foot off the brake. The car began to roll slightly. She pressed it back down heavily, yanked the car into park, and cranked the dial again. She opened the door, jumped out and stood there on her friend, the road. She felt the heat of the sun and lifted her arms up as if offering herself to the sky. And she screamed again. Not in panic or pain but in pure victory. And then she danced. She felt the song and it made her chest ache with memories and pleasure. She danced in circles. Pounding the pavement, doing pinwheels, laughing and singing. She pretended she was the girl they were singing about. She was the face he had just seen and she was the girl like no other. And maybe she was. The chords faded out and the next song came on.


“Nothing’s gonna change my world,” she whispered. She laughed. She was destroying her world and actually living in someone’s else. Or everyone else’s. The big world. She had left her bubble and taken her broomstick and flown west. And now she was here, standing in the desert, dancing to the Beatles.

It’s funny to take yourself back years ago. Mostly you go back to your childhood or another time when you were stressed and freaked out over something small and think “Shit, who would have thought I would be lead here in this moment?” You have plans for yourself but rarely that is what actually happens. Usually it’s a different version of the play you write for yourself. And here she was, starring in the epic journey of another brokenhearted dreamer.

She got back in the car and a new song began. Hard guitar, angry vocals, perfect. She shut the door, pressed the brake, and put the car back in drive. She took a breath. A real deep breath and let it fill her whole body with the dirt from the air and the sun from the sky. Her skin tingled with the heat. She stared back at the road and thought, “Ok, here we are, you told me the truth and now I expect you to keep your promise. You lead.” She took her foot off the brake and began to drive. Still, even with her eyes open, she could still see his mouth. The mouth she longed to kiss and could still imagine how it tasted. She licked her lips and tried to erase the salty cigarette taste she remembered. Maybe she could keep that one memory…just that one…

                She let the road lead on….