Two Truths & A Lie

I like my life. Pretty much everything about it. Even my name. But let's not forget I'm an actress. So sometimes...I like to lie and pretend I'm someone else.

Let's also not forget we're in NYC. A very neighbor-friendly city where people like to chat you up on the street and the subway or in line at Whole Foods. And as a young woman, you just want to be careful that you don't give out too much information to a stranger. Unless you want him to stalk you or take you out on an awkward date.

So here I am in Whole Foods. (Which describing that scene could be a blog post in itself because that store is massive, crowded, and overwhelming.) I'm picking up snacks last-minute for a friend's house party as everyone else is stocking up on organic, free-range, soy products for the impending blizzard. I have 1,2,3,4,5 things. An express line would be ideal. But I get herded like cattle into what the salesboy is calling "the checkout line" at the same time as 12 other cattle. Five minutes later, as I'm holding my 5 items awkwardly, still in line, a voice to my left says, "Hey, do you mind me asking...if you've only got 5 items, why didn't you opt for the 10 Items or Less Lane?"

"Oh, I didn't know there was an express line. I just got shoved into this one."

He laughs at me. "Yea, you can save yourself time next time. You're the perfect candidate for that line."

I laugh at him. "Yea, I don't really ever shop here, so I didn't know that."

Which was also - I guess - my invitation for him to continue speaking. "Oh, where do you normally shop?"

It's Saturday. We're in a very long line. I'm in a good mood. I like talking. I like people. So...I decide I will let this man flirt with me. But I will change a few things about myself so he's not actually flirting with me.

"TriBeCa. That's where I live." (Lie. That's where I would want to live. If I become a famous actress or go back in time and was reborn as a trustfund baby.)

"Oh, are you a student at NYU?"

Yes, I still look 20!, I think, as a coyly respond, "No, not anymore. I work in advertising." (Lie. And please don't ask me where...Oooh, I can prevent that!) "What about you?"

And this goes on, and we make comments and jokes on the line and Whole Foods and the blizzard, and he asks me where I'm going tonight.

"A friend's house for a get together." (Truth.)
"Where?"
"Uptown." (Lie.) Are you kidding - I'd be stupid to reveal my evening's location. I have a prestigious degree in Adverting, after all.

Aww, I know where this conversation is going. The poor guy is going to ask for my number because we've had a pleasant conversation and I'm not going to give it to him because he thinks I'm somebody else. Even if we went out and fell in love I'd eventually have to reveal my true identity and he'd never forgive me for lying. I can always resort to "I have a boyfriend" if it comes up. Then his heart won't crumble into 10 pieces or less here in the checkout line.

But he doesn't ask for my number. Instead, at that moment when I'm about to proceed to the cash register, like a gentleman he holds out his hand and says "I'm Rob. Here, let me give you my card." He's a senior assistant district attorney. "Give me a call if you're ever in trouble...."

"Taylor." (Lie.)

"Taylor. You look like a Taylor. Good talking to you, Taylor."

Need I prove why I love my life? (Truth.)

Sunshine

I. Hate. Snow.

Yes, a strong objection for the girl who has "LOVE" written on post-it notes all over her bedroom walls. But seriously, I hate it. And can you blame me right now? It snows every other day. And no, New York City does not magically expand to accomodate for the massive amounts of snowfall.

As you avid readers might recall, a year ago as we entered 2010, I vowed to fall in love with winter. And fall in love, I did, for about two weeks. Seriously, Mister Winter, how could anybody still be happy after we've had the snowiest January EVER in NYC?

So now, I vow - and challenge all of you, too - to ignore the snow.

That's right - ignore it. It's not there. Like when little kids cover their eyes and think they've disappeared and you can't see them. I am covering my eyes to the snow. (My family likes to remind me I will always have the mindset of a 4 year old, here.)

In fact, noticing now that there's no snow outside, I'm feeling better. In fact, I'm radiant daydreaming about all the things that do make me smile (besides a sunny day):

~ When my students give me hugs and laugh at my funny faces...and make them back at me
~ When I go to the theatre and Chris gives me a huge hug because we've chosen working at a children's theatre over making lots of money a few more blocks downtown
~ When I make my tea in the morning
~ Yoga class
~ When my students say the simplest things that make me laugh or want to cry, like when I say "repeat after me" and they actually say "repeat after me," and "Miss Jodie! Look I'm a cat!" when all they're doing is running around in a circle
~ When we get into heated debates in grad school about the necessity of arts in the schools
~ When I saw my sister at her track meet a couple of weeks ago
~ When my dad texts me something like "it's the weekend, time for a beer" and thinks he's tweeting
~ When the 2 year old I babysit reads books to me
~ When a good song comes on the radio and I get up and dance in front of my mirror
~ At improv, supported by a group of genuine, down-to-earth friends
~ Wrapped up in a certain someone's arms
~ When I'm onstage
~ When I'm playing a character and she feels something so incredible I feel so lucky I get to, too
~ When I feel something incredible
~ Walking around the city exploring new places
~ Looking at the skyline of New York City from the subway platform in Queens and thinking..."yea, I made it. Here I am."
~ Running along the river, thinking..."yea, here I am."
~ Being with those I love, thinking..."yea, here we are."

So I was walking through the mist of a light wintery mix this morning and a bluejay stopped right in front of me. I couldn't remember if I've ever seen a real bluejay up this close. I smiled. And stood there for a minute. In the gross snow and sleet and slush and cold and wind in the dead of winter. I thought, this is where I am right now. And that's really all I've got. So smile - even if the sun isn't out.

If we're all smiling, maybe we'll create enough sunshine on our own to melt all this snow.

Library Love Affair

Me and the New York Public Library don’t exactly get along. Odd, I know, considering both myself and libraries are for the most part non-confrontational. If I had to personify a library I’d say it was the quiet, docile, wallflower type. Perhaps my outgoingness is clashing with the library’s more reserved features?

I was so excited the day my library card came in the mail in 2007. My membership will let me borrow books for the price of nothing! It will let me pour over play scripts and musical scores. It will provide me with entertainment and enlightenment on my 45 minute commute into the city. I intended to take advantage of my membership like no other little actress has ever taken advantage of the Public Library system before. And did you know, there’s over 87 branches of the NYPL and you can use your card at any one?! So many possibilities!

How quickly you let me down, Library. The first time I went to drop off my books on their due date was a Friday in November of 2007. It was cold. And raining. It was just a quick stop to the library before taking the train to visit my boyfriend in CT. But the doors were locked. That’s weird, it’s 10:32…aren’t libraries open by 10 on weekdays? Oh, well I’ll drop these off in the…where’s the drop-off box? I circle the whole building, twice, as the clock ticks and I suddenly realize I’ll be late for my 11:15 train. No drop off box? How are you supposed to drop off books if there’s no drop off box? Oh! Security Guard! You can’t hear me because there’s a huge glass door between us, but can you read my lips: “Where – Do – I – Put – These?” He must have read the anxiety on my face because he’s coming over to me. Hopefully to take these books off my shoulders. Did I mention their heavy, too? They’re hard-cover musical scores of Cinderella, Kiss Me, Kate and Songs For a New World, along with a Neil Simon play.

“Sorry, miss, we’re not open,” says the little old Indian man. He’s rolly-polly and about 5 feet, and his front teeth are chipped. “Oh, ok,” I smile ever-so-politely – as that’s the only way I know how because I’ve only been living here for a month and not quite a New Yorker yet – “can I just drop these off, then?” “Oh, no, you can’t do that. We’re not open. We open at noon.” WHAT?! What about us morning people? We go back and forth because I’m having a hard time fathoming this flaw in the library system. And I really can’t wait for 12pm. Then I’ll definitely miss my train. “Well, would I be able to hand them to you, and you can drop them off for me at 12?” “Oh no no no, miss,” and he turns his back on me as if I’ve just asked him to give me his first-born child. With desperation in my voice, because it’s hitting me that I am just a little girl in this big evil city and that even the rejection of the little jolly old elf-looking security guard at the library can knock me off my feet, I ask “Well then what should I do?” He points to the north. “One block up, there’s another library.” “Thank you! Thank you!” I shout as I run with my track-star speed down the stairs of Lincoln Center, my heart lifted again at the hope this city offers and the pay-off of my persistence.

I approach the giant doors of Library #2 of 87. Good, I see people inside, that means…wait, why is this door locked? Hello, can you let me in please? Three librarians stare at me as I try to break in. C’mon, you are right there on the other side of the door, just let me in. They shake their heads no. I put my hands in prayer position and mouth a “please!” Point to my figurative watch. Motion I have to go. They shake their heads no. I slowly drop my plastic bag of books to the ground and put my arms up as if I’ve just dropped a weapon and am backing away slowly when the tall hipster librarian man shoots me a glare through his black rimmed glasses and mouths “don’t’ you dare.” Fine! I throw my arms up in anger and disbelief, shooting an equally menacing (in attempt) glance back at him. It’s 10:59. If I run, I will make my train to the safe haven of CT and although I’ll have to pay a fine for overdue books, at least I’ll have a good weekend. And I do. Until I find out that the fine for my late library books is $11.50! I could have bought one of the darn books for that! Or a cocktail!

The fury of my late fee, the absurd hours, and absence of drop-off boxes has put an end to my love affair with the library. In fact, I don’t go back until a Monday in January. I've even looked up the Monday hours on the website. Full of optimism and forgiveness I march up to the glass doors to find out... it’s closed! For Martin Luther King Day! Strike again! Reminder notices should be posted around the city and the internet that things like libraries are closed on holidays such as this.

My relationship with the Library has been a long, difficult road these past three years. Every time I try to learn from a mistake, I seem to then make another. In fact, I’ve taken up an affair with Barnes & Noble to curb my reading fix. Inspired by the new year, though, I logged onto the Library’s website ready to request some books last week. After 20 minutes of selecting my browsing and selecting my books, I find out…my library card expired…yesterday.

This relationship is just not meant to be. Good thing there's other things in this city to take advantage of...