Going Insane

Remind me when I'm having kids of my own not to have 20 at once...

My Kindergarten class is a handful, to say the least. I'm coming home with marker stains on my hands and shirt, cupcake frosting in my hair, a headache, a hoarse voice, and a quenching thirst for red wine.

All day long I hear, "Ms. Jodie! Look!," "Ms. Jodie! Help!," "Waaaa! Ms. Jodie!"

"Peter pushed me!" "Kyra kicked me!" "Jayvon hit me in the eye!" And Peter, Kyra, and Jayvon all say, "Jayrel hit me first!"

"Stop hitting each other," I say. "Keep your hands to yourself," I say. "Don't touch each other," I say.

But a minute later, they're at it again. So either 1.) They don't listen to me, or 2.) They hear me and choose to hit anyway. So maybe I should just stop saying "Stop" and let them tear each other apart? Hm...something seems wrong with that solution.

Maybe my true test this year is to see if I can remain sane while insanely repeating the same things all day long? They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Well then I'm officially insane: I keep telling these kids to stop hitting, expecting them to listen to me and stop - even though they never have, and it seems they never will.

I don't know what's driving me more insane: their constant bickering or my own voice saying "Stop!"

Regardless, in the ingenue's effort to remain ever-positive, I must focus on the joys these 5 year olds bring to my day in order to retain some bit of sanity. Today I had them pick a name out of a hat of another student in the class. They then had to make a card for that person with nice pictures and nice words on it. Then I made a big deal of presenting each child with his or her homemade card. Even the meanest kid in class made a card! And putting my acting skills to use, I made the biggest deal of these cards. "Oh my gosh Shakira!!! Maxwell made you a card!!! Isn't that so nice of him?!" (as if it was his own unique idea, not my explicit directions...)

And for five brief minutes, no one hit and no one complained and no one was mean and Ms. Jodie didn't have to say "Stop!" For five brief minutes they were nice to each other. And that gives me hope that I'm not insane - just persistent.

The Trifecta

A girl only needs three things: a boyfriend, a perfect job, and a cute apartment.

I'd like to take full credit for this idea, but I stole it from one of my beloved chick-lit novels (from which the genre of my existence is based upon): Single girl trying to establish her career and love-life while trying to find time to breathe amongst the excitement and challenges of the big city. The typical heroine, a 20-something single gal is a little quirky, a little insecure, and sometimes loses her balance while juggling a few shopping bags while wearing really cute heels. But when she achieves all three basic needs, the stars align, the clouds part, and she enters womanhood. This is called The Trifecta. (And I can take full credit on the name.)

But for most of the girls out there, struggling in rise to the top of our entry-level jobs, sifting through the eligible and not-so-eligible bachelors of New York City, and living in shoe box apartments the size of the closets from our suburban childhoods...the stars very seldom align. In fact, studies show that most New York girls balance on a 2 out of 3 ratio. Which, if you were dealing with a Devil Wears Prada boss or a Sex & the City line-up of men, probably isn't all that bad. Mediocrity, in this scenario, is pretty common place. But in a quest for beating the odds and achieving her Trifecta, this New York City Girl started getting closer to not 2, but all 3 of her essential ingredients to the good life.



Things started turning around for her when she kissed goodbye to her quiet Astoria apartment and sought the greener pastures of Manhattan. She found a 2-bedroom converted into 5, complete with 5 other roommates, including the chocolate-eating mouse that likes to hide in dresser drawers and ovens, with an open room that fit her things but couldn't fit a window. Doesn't look so hot on paper, but it was Manhattan, baby!, and that was what mattered.

Apartment: Check!





Then she met a guy who not only helped her moved into this new shoe box, but offered to! And took her out and cooked her nice dinners, and came to see her in plays, and made her laugh. And listened to her when she complained about the mouse, and laughed at her when she imitated the kids she taught, and made her heart beat faster than the express train she was now taking every day.

Boyfriend: Check!





Then she started getting more teaching artist jobs, and didn't have to hostess at the fancy french restaurant anymore. Then those jobs lead to a full-time job. And finally she was getting benefits and paid to do what she loved. Like a real normal person!

Job: Check!


She had done it! The Trifecta was in place! Her world was shifting and birds were singing and people were dancing as she walked down Broadway and life was one giant music video.

And then, on July 19, 2011, between the hours of 3:30 and 4:30pm... it happened. "We're cutting the theatre program," and "I think we're going to lose the apartment! Something's wrong with the lease."

It was too good to be true... She knew it. The odds were too low of actually achieving the true, eternal bliss of being a woman.

She met up with the boyfriend, who asked her what happened. And instead of crying, or screaming, or crumbling to the ground and disinegrating into thin air as she would have done four years ago... she laughed. Because somehow she knew, in that moment, that the world wasn't going to end, that she had what it took to get through what was just a bump in her road. If there was one thing she had learned in New York was that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere...

Besides, she still had one element of the Trifecta. And that one was a pretty good one. And really, somewhere hidden in the meaning and value of what "boyfriend" stood for, she realized all this time that she had been aiming for the wrong elements in the Trifecta. Silly girl! All that mattered now was surrounding yourself with the people you love, believing in and loving yourself, and staying on the path to fill your life with joy by doing what you love.

A girl really only needs three thing: Love, Love, and Love.

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.)