Month: June 2016

Ohhhh… Check out the blog makeover! I really just brightened the place up a bit, but I’m proud of myself considering I’m about as tech savvy as Fred Flinstone.

Today, I want to talk about bodies. I want to talk about my body and your body and how we feel about them.

I’ve been on a cleanse for the last ten days. No, not a juice cleanse (please, that’s so 2012), a “flat tummy cleanse”. Basically, it’s a 14-day meal plan full of food that will add alkaline into your diet and take acid out of it. The book says that when our bodies become too acidic, that’s when we start getting sick and tired and bloated and, well, those things sound awful so I was all, “bring on the alkaline!”. I’ve stuck to the meal plan (even when it forced me to eat scallops at 6am last Thursday), but I’ve also snuck in some snacks here and there (like I literally just ate a bag of dried mango, and that is not flat tummy approved). I don’t feel or look much different on this diet, probably because I’m shoveling dried fruits and cubes of cheese into my mouth as I binge watch Game of Thrones every night. My point is, I’m trying to feel better in this sack o’ skin, and though my self-control is lacking, I’m figuring it out.

One bonus to giving up alcohol is all the good stuff it does for your body. I LOVED my sober body last year and I’m excited to get back to it. Why did I love it so much? Well, my skin was super clear and bright, I could run five miles a day (and enjoy it), I had a ton of energy, and I was skinny.

I know that sounds a bit shallow, but when you’re a twenty-something actress in LA and LA has decided that you fit in the “Bikini Girl #1” box, the pressure to stay skinny can be intense. To sum it up, I’ve been told about 100 times that if I want to work, I need to keep the weight off. (Terrible, yes. Shocking, no.)

Feeling that pressure was a big, if not THE biggest reason why I smoked for as long as I did. Though, alcohol makes you fat, cigarettes make you skinny. Cigarettes speed up your metabolism, and slow down your food cravings, so you don’t eat much, but when you do, it comes out pretty fast.

You can probably imagine what it’s like to quit smoking then. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will say the reason I bought this “14-day Flat Tummy Cleanse” book in the first place is because someone hash-tagged it on Instagram, “#foodthatmakesyoupoop”. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, folks.

And I have been SO desperate to get back to the way I looked and felt this time last year. I’ve been anxious about going out in public and going to auditions because I’m legitimately concerned a casting director is going to ask me how far along I am.

How many times have you rolled your eyes reading this so far? Let me just say, I started this blog post a few days ago, and since then, I’ve learned a thing or two.

It all started on Monday night. Monday was a particularly warm day in the valley, and I don’t have air conditioning, just a ceiling fan, which, in this heat, makes my bedroom feel like the inside of a blow dryer. Monday nights are my favorite because by 8pm, the sweats are on, the licorice is out, and The Bachelorette is streaming. Due to the heat that day/night, I had to forgo the usual sweatpants and dig way down into the deep, dark corners of my PJ drawer for something a little lighter. The only thing I could find was a pair of ex-boyfriend boxer briefs (which ex they belonged to is anybody’s guess, really) and a very old, very loose, very see-through white tank top. I looked homeless, but being able to expose 80% of my body to that glorious ceiling fan felt better than watching Jojo and Wells kiss for the first time. By the time the show was over and my Bachelorette fantasy league score was tallied, Dub-G (my dog, Warner) was giving me the, “Yo, Ma, like you gonna walk me or nah?” look. I glanced down at my rolled-up man shorts and my raggedy old tank top and I considered putting a bra on but then I figured, “eh, it’s late enough, no one will spot me”.

Obviously, that was a foolish thought to have.

I walked outside and was greeted by a family of twelve (I’m not exaggerating, I counted). I quickly threw my arms over my chest and tugged my shorts down as they walked by. I was almost in the clear when I heard “Excuse me, ma’am?”.

“Shit.”, was my first thought and “Who you callin ‘maam’?!”, was my second thought. I turned around (arm still over chest area, dog leash in the other hand), and I smiled politely. “Would you mind taking a picture of us? We haven’t seen each other in a long time!”, the age-blind stranger asked me. There was a small army standing behind him so, I mean, what was I going to say? No?

All twelve of them pulled out their cellphones and started walking toward me as I began praying for a third arm, but the wise old lady in the group (there’s always one, isn’t there) had an “ah-ha” moment and suggested they just give me one phone and that person would be responsible for tagging everyone on Facebook. Good plan, Granny.

So, I take one phone in my left hand, while Warner’s leash rests on my right wrist and my right hand is clutching as much chest as possible (which, I thought would be a lot more considering I have man-hands, but alas, it was not). The group gathers on a nice looking set of stairs, Granny is in the middle, and it’s go time, which meant I needed both man-hands to hold the phone and take the picture. I bring my right hand up to the phone, unleashing any decency it may have been holding onto, and I take the freaking photo. The group thanked me, I gave back the camera, and I ran away, yes, literally (in fact someone in the group yelled out, “Wait! What if we need to re-take it!” as I was running and I pretended I didn’t hear them).

When I was finally back in the safe humidity of my own bedroom I started laughing and posting a condensed version of the incident to my Facebook status. Now that the whole ordeal was over I could enjoy the irony of the situation and chuckle at my own stupid, self-conscious brain that has been programmed to feel shame for my God-given curves. I realize I’m starting to sound like your super liberal aunt from Vermont, but bear with me, I have a point.

My point is this: NO ONE, not a SINGLE person in that gaggle cared that my nipples felt the need to say hello. There were twelve people, of all ages, and none of them said a thing or gave me a look or made me feel judged, not even for a second. I mean, they may have wondered if I was mentally stable, and they may have felt a small urge to offer me a real pair of pants, but if they did, they certainly hid those thoughts and feelings well.

That whole ordeal was in my head. I was the one making myself feel embarrassed and ashamed and inappropriate. I was the one wishing I had a baggy shirt on to hide my gut. I was the one worried about a nip-slip and wondering if the ten-year-old boy in the group was about to be scarred by a premature “birds and bees” lecture based on his interaction with the skanky dog-walker. I was the one tugging down those damn boxer-briefs, trying to hide my butt checks and the cellulite around them. WHY?!

Because I’ve seen and heard enough negative reactions regarding my appearance to force my auto-pilot function into assuming that anyone I interact with either thinks I’m fat or slutty.

AND THAT IS CRAZY!

After this self-realization, I ran to my bathroom mirror and stared at myself till I was almost in tears. I needed a quick, harsh reminder that my body is not a negative thing and I do not deserve to be told otherwise by anyone, including myself.

So, I left the house without a bra on! Ladies, TRY IT! It feels AMAZING! (Unless you’re running, then it hurts). So, my shorts were “too short”, who even gets decide what qualifies as “too short”? Probably a group of white men that have never rocked a pair of Daisy Dukes and felt great about it. So, I cheat on all my diets, a lot! I feel good about my progress and where I’m going, and at the end of the day isn’t that what all the Oprahs and Dr. Ozs tell us is most important, to FEEL GOOD!?

Phewwww…. Ok. End rant.

I guess, in conclusion, I learned two very important life lessons this week: Scallops should never be eaten for breakfast and bras are always optional.

 

I’m a few days into sobriety: the sequel, and I realized I left something out. I forgot to mention something that drew me back to drinking again, something that, I hate to admit, has continued even after I decided to go sober again. In fact, I’m doing this something right now, as I type.

I started smoking again.

I know, SO GROSS!

I never thought I’d be a smoker, growing up, I couldn’t stand the smell and would get instant headaches from second hand smoke. I remember quietly judging smokers I saw in my high school bathroom or walking down the street. I remember thinking “how can you do that to your body!?”

Then, acting school happened. Everyone in acting school smokes. I mean, I used to bum cigarettes from teachers during our class breaks. I made friends by smoking. All the cool kids smoked!

I clearly remember the first time I had a cigarette. I was 19, and had only been in LA for three days. One of my first roommates was a smoker. On the night we all moved in, we got an older kid to buy us some beer (totally against the rules, rebels), and about four sips into my Rolling Rock, my roommate announced she was going outside for a cigarette and she invited me and my other roommate to join her. I was the only one who had never tried it, so I thought, what the hell! I remember thinking, “there’s no way I could ever get addicted”, and “what’s wrong with just one?”. Well, kids, it’s true what they say in D.A.R.E. class, it only takes one.

Turns out, I really liked smoking, I felt cool (gross) and skinny (gross) and the combination of alcohol and cigarettes was a sweet one (gross, gross). It also always gave me something to do in between classes and on the weekends.

Fast forward to almost ten years later and I just made an appointment for a chest X-Ray. I’m not sounding the alarm bells or going into (full blown) panic mode just yet, but in the last few weeks, I’ve noticed a lot of pain in my chest and upper back, I’m easily winded or short of breath, I tire out a lot faster. These can be scary symptoms for someone who has smoked off and on for as long as I have, scary enough for me to book a doctor’s appointment and that was a huge wake up call. My family and friends have assured me that it’s probably “nothing”, but the fact that I thought “lung cancer, COPD, pleurisy”, as soon as the symptoms started happening was a big red flag (WebMD didn’t help calm those thoughts either).

My body isn’t getting any younger, and I only get one of these things, so it’s time I start being better to it.

Which is where you come in. I struggled a lot with posting this. I feel like a bit of a fraud. Last year, during my 365 challenge, I didn’t smoke at all. That was a huge reason why I decided to go sober again. It would be impossible for me to quit smoking if I were still drinking and I know that about myself. What I didn’t know, was that this time around, cutting out the booze wasn’t going to be enough. These two addictions no longer go hand-in-hand. I haven’t had a drink in four days, but I have had a pack of cigarettes.

I think what I need now is some more accountability. I need to make this struggle and my decision to quit public. I need to promise you guys that the cigarette I am smoking right now will be my last.

And it will be. I promise.

How many of you called that or at the very least thought, “oh man she should be sober again”, in the last six months? Yeah, me too.

There’s a few differences this time around. The biggest difference being, I don’t know how long I’m going to stay sober. My choice to be sober again isn’t about a 365 day challenge, there’s no end goal. It’s more an overall lifestyle change.

That being said, I’ve been thinking about future events that could make it difficult to abstain. For instance, my wedding. I can’t imagine not having a glass of champagne at my wedding. But then again, I’m nowhere near that day and I’m not even sure I’ll ever get there (although my psychic tells me otherwise),  and if I feel the need to drink at my wedding after not drinking for ten years, then maybe I shouldn’t be getting married. But, what do I know, I haven’t been this single since 4th grade so I should probably stop worrying about future nuptials and focus on the more realistic concerns I have with sobriety.

What about those really bad days? You know the ones I’m talking about. You blow a big audition and get stuck in traffic coming back from Santa Monica and you realize you’re an unemployed, struggling actor with a six-figure student loan debt, and a degree in Theater. Maybe that’s just me, but you get the point. The only thing you have to look forward to is a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and a pack of American Spirits, am I right? No. I figured something out recently that made this excuse to drink, null and void.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: Last year was the hardest year of my life. When I decided to go sober for a year, the universe responded by breaking my heart in every way possible. I dealt with almost too much last year, but when I came out of it, I knew I was a better person for it and I was grateful to have gone through all of it. This year, any and all of the drama I’ve experienced has been self-inflicted and alcohol-induced, and I’m not a better person, I actually kind of suck because of it. I would take life lessons over manipulated drama any day. (But like, hey Universe, if you can go a little easier on me this time around, that’d be cool too.)

Ok, how about this one. I’m turning 30 next year, and isn’t there some rule that says you have to go on a pub crawl in Weho for twelve hours that day while wearing a ribbon that says “Dirty Thirty”? I did a post last year about birthdays, mine more specifically. I talked about how the last eight(ish) birthdays before my year of sobriety had all been saturated with alcohol and bad life choices. My birthday during my sober year couldn’t have been more opposite and it was definitely my favorite birthday of my 20’s. And then this year, I went right back to alcohol and bad life choices, and woke up the next morning thinking “who the hell am I?”. That physical and emotional hangover is what planted the going sober seed.

I never, ever thought I’d say this, but I miss being sober. I miss going out at night and not having to take an Uber. I miss waking up the next morning and knowing whatever I said or did was 100% me. I miss not having to apologize for choices I’ve made. I miss the cheap bar tabs and dinner bills. I miss being able to “DD” for my friends. And I really, really miss my sober body.

I thought after my year of sobriety, I could be one of those cool cats who just has a glass of wine with dinner or a couple drinks with friends. I thought since I showed myself I was good enough without alcohol and learned all these lessons last year, that it would all carry over into this year when I went back to drinking. Nope. I basically picked up right where I left off in 2014, before going sober.

I think my relationship with alcohol is a little more “nature” and a little less “nurture”. I have a history of alcoholism in my family, which biologically, makes it a lot harder for me to be a “just-one-drink” kind of gal. I’ve said this before, but I think it’s worth repeating. I don’t think I am an alcoholic, but I know it wouldn’t take much to get me there. One positive thing, actually, probably the only positive thing that comes from seeing different family members struggle with alcoholism, is that I know what I don’t want for my life and I can recognize that drinking isn’t worth the negative affects it could potentially have on my goals.

So, there you have it. Presently Sober is back in full force. Maybe I should change the title of this blog to Permanently Sober?

 

 

I started writing a post on here today about all things acting and business. I like to think of myself as a pretty business savvy actor and I’m proud of the fact that a lot of my actor friends and acquaintances come to me when they have questions about “the industry”. A friend of mine posted something on Facebook today that inspired me to share what I’ve learned on a larger platform.

You guys are going to have to wait a few days for that post. BECAUSE…

As I was writing this straight forward, matter-of-fact, black and white post, my mind started to wander and I started to reflect and ask myself some really big questions, questions I’ve been asking myself for a while, and today, I finally gave myself some answers. (I spend most of every day talking to myself, in my head, in case you haven’t figured that out yet).

I was thinking back on my career thus far and remembering what I did, and who I met, and the lucky breaks I got to get me where I am today, right now. I was doing the classic-“well if this hadn’t happened, then this wouldn’t have happened, and I wouldn’t be doing this”-type-reflecting until I got to my present moment.

As I previously mentioned, I’ve been working this year, like, really working. I got home from a three week film shoot in Arizona and three days later, got a call that I booked an episode of a TV show that I’m shooting next week. WHAT?! This never happens to me… Which made me wonder… Why is it happening now?

I tried to come up with a logical explanation, like, the 10,000 hours explanation. I thought “maybe I finally hit my 10,000 hours of preparation and now it’s all paying off” (if you haven’t read Malcolm Gladwells’ ‘Outliers’ then you should read it to understand this reference and also, because it’s great). I tried to think of some scientific or mathematical, or sheesh, any kind of tangible reason that would make all of this make sense.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t find that and I’m never going to find that.

So, what changed? How did I go from a year of not booking a single job, to a year of booking at least one job a month?

I stopped seeking out validation. (Oh, here she goes with that hippie-dippy shit again).

I’ve spent a lot of time seeking validation from others, my parents, my siblings, my friends, my boyfriends, teachers, casting directors, producers, etc. And not just seeking validation, but needing it, the way I need air. I’ve always looked for something more to add to my life. I’ve always needed someone to re-assure me that I’m okay. Frankly, I’ve been pretty freaking needy.

My year of sobriety taught me to stop seeking that validation from the people in my life. My sobriety taught me that I was enough. I feel like, when it comes to relationships,  I’ve been a lot better about sticking up for myself. And more importantly, trusting myself; trusting the good thoughts I have about myself and allowing myself to feel unapologetically wonderful about who I am.

My career had a little catching up to do on this whole “positive vibes” thing.

I realized today that I’m booking now because I’ve stopped seeking validation during my auditions, and classes, and meetings. Some people call it “letting go” or they say that they “stopped caring”, but we’re all talking about the same thing.

I no longer allow my career ups and downs to dictate how I feel in my own skin. I recognize that a job can add joy to my life, but it can’t take joy away. I will welcome work with open arms and recognize that what doesn’t happen was never meant to be because something else will be.

From here on out, the only validation I seek will be for LA’s overpriced valet parking.