Ma’ Skillz

I can do a pretty badass Australian accent. It’s confusingly good. Now, I’m typically a modest, humble person, but this is something I’m not shy about. I can also whip up some pretty rad UK dialects, starting with Received Pronunciation and moving onwards and upwards towards Manchester, slipping back down for some Cockneye. I can rock a German accent, though it may come out as vaguely Austrian, and top it all of with some Spanish verses straight from Barcelona.

I’m good at dialects. I am.

But what am I supposed to do with that skill?!

I  can do a pretty good Pocahontas impersonation in “Colors of the Wind,” make some pretty satisfying soups, make a snake out of my hands, and lull my cat into a deep slumber by hypnosis.

BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THESE WORTHLESS SKILLZ?! 

That’s right. Skillz with a “z.” All the more demeaning.

I have recently been trying to determine what to do with my life. By recently, I mean for the past 3 years. And it has not come to much. I am too devoted to finding something that I equal parts value, like, and am good at. I find that very few people find careers that honor those three criteria. Not because their lazy, but because it’s too damn hard.

I may be good at something that I don’t like. And I may like something that I’m not good at. Making the search ever the more difficult is a career’s value. For me, that is a path that is fulfilling on a deeper lever, that gives back in some way and goes beyond a paycheck. That need makes the search nearly impossible.

And based on my skill set, it’s hard to miss the difficulty :

1. Dialects
2. Disney Showtunes
3. Soup Making
4. Hand Origami
5. Cat Hypnosis

Then…there is always writing. A path that I deeply, deeply fear.

Having gone to school to become an actress many moons ago…alright, just a couple of years, I’m only 24…I thought that was my destiny. I felt an intense amount of joy and excitement throughout my entire “career” as an acting student. I was a part of a fairly prominent acting program and thought that I was on my way to achieving great things. I was worked to the bone, memorizing lines, attending our mandatory fitness classes, and managing to dabble in the sciences and humanities at the same time. Nothing mattered, as long as I was able to perform. THIS. WAS. IT. I loved it and I was good at it.

And then it…fizzled out right before graduation. I had no desire to audition, to throw myself at will into that dirty, dirty game. I knew that it would be a lifetime being at the mercy of every director, casting director in the world,  but mainly at the mercy of my own motivation and inspiration. That was not something I could depend on.

My final semester at school, I took part in a playwrighting practicum in London. I loved it, but in a different way. I was in control of my work. I didn’t need to be cast in a show, I was casting that shit. I also received a lot more respect in return. As an actress, I was just a brunette, vaguely ethnic looking blob. As a writer I was Tootsie Woo, recognize. I had ideas and they were heard. Not only did I have ideas, but those ideas would be converted into text and some sad sack would be asking me if they could recite them! A-whhhaaaaatt?

I liked writing. I was decent at it. And I valued it. Value.

So then…why not pursue that? Because I’d still be at the mercy of my own artistic inspiration, wouldn’t I?

When I wrote my first play in London, I experienced an intense high. I would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, scrambling to get all the lines down as quickly as they would come to me. When I watched it performed I nearly cried, and I still believe that is the greatest thing I’ve ever created. But after that deep experience I did not feel the urge to write for a few years. What if the same thing happens with writing that happened to acting? What if I’m unable to inspire myself, to be inspired? And walk away.

Even this blog is difficult, at times. I want to keep writing, to keep producing. But it’s hard when it all has to come out of me.

Where is the mindless, art-less desk job where I don’t need to be “on” every second. Or even better, a job where I can just speak in an Australian accent all day while cooking soup and cooing at cats?

I know it’s out there.

 

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I rushed to help a woman lift her stroller up the subway stairs before realizing it was a homeless man carrying a stolen stroller full of garbage. One of the many harsh realities of urban living.

Thirst

I just drank out of a cup of water my cat washed her paws in. I am the Everest of laziness.

And here we are.

It’s been a while since my last true post. I really couldn’t tell you why. I have this disorder where I purposefully avoid doing things that would be the most beneficial. Paying bills, applying to jobs, combing my hair, etc. I had reached a personal sweet spot, where I just craved writing. Throughout the day I would jot down little notes to myself, keeping track of every little gem that came across my mind so I would be able to
blog about it later. I would write until 4 am, with three or so posts to show for it and would only publish one so I would have something for a rainy day.

And here I am, literal years later, and I am really sad it’s been so long. It’s hard even to find where to begin because with so much space between then and now my life is truly on a who different plane, and where would I even begin?

Well, I found something I wrote 2 years ago (2 years!!) on a forgotten bog that I want to share. Though things have really changed for me since then, after I read this I realized I’m still the same doofy, little, turd muffin I was then and I should celebrate that by continuing “Adventures of…” So here’s my post, and here’s hoping some of you are still out there:

“I love to blog. And I hate to blog.

I love to blog because it gives me an opportunity to spew my asinine thoughts, musings and idea. It is an outlet for all the crap that is floating around in my head and posting something gives off the impression that it is going somewhere. That someone, even maybe one person, is reading it. And that give it validity.

I hate to blog for the same reason. It gives everyone a false sense of importance, as if these words were published in The New York Times Magazine or even as if having a blog was the equivalent of having a book or two on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. For most of us (me included) this is not the case. In the course of our day we find a few minutes to ruminate over what happens to apple seeds when you swallow them, we put these thoughts in a clever, little (hopefully) well-written post accompanied, perhaps, by a cute little picture of an apple…

…and clicke “Publish,” as our words fly into the mysterious world of the internet (WHAT IS THE INTERNET, AFTER ALL? DOESN’T THAT FREAK ANYONE ELSE OUT?), while we contentedly sit back, thinking of all the hearty chuckles that our post might create and we grab an actual apple from our respective fridges.

Look at me for instance. Metaphorically, of course. If you’re actually looking at me either you’ve cut a whole in my wall or I’ve had a senior moment and have wandered into your room…But look at me. I’m in my bed at 4pm on a Monday, in pajamas, and I’m writing a post about posting. What is it all for? Who is it for? And not only is it a post but it is my first post EVER on Tumblr.

Well this is what it’s for…

I’m Tootsie Woo. That’s not my birth name, if you haven’t guessed, but for all intents and purposes it is my name here. I’m 22 years old, I’m of the female persuasion, I’ve recently graduated from college, and I’m a wannabe actress. Now if the rambling, “I hate to blog,” portion of this post didn’t scare you away, then the “wannabe actress” part certainly did. And if you’re still reading after that, I don’t think I want you as a follower anymore…I kid, I kid, all followers are welcome: cat stranglers and drag queens and bears, oh my. Ok, bears aren’t welcom because of an irrational fear I have of them, but cat stranglers and drag queens certainly are, especially drag queens, as I have an irrational love for them.

Back to why I’m writing this. As an actress and a writer (yes, I’m one of those), I believe the best way to get better is by practicing, so that is what I’m doing. I’m practicing how to write and I’m acting as if someone out there gives a damn. Here I will share my hopes, dreams, plans, goals, anecdotes, and lunch menu, just for the hell of it. I’ve heard that a blog needs a defined theme or purpose to actually succeed but I am pretty purpose-less at the moment and that is why I’m writing this to begin with. So hopefully my blog (aptly entitled “Adventures of Tootsie Woo”) and my life will both take a more defined shape as time goes on and as the writing continues. Here’s hoping. For now, enjoy my sporadic posting, my filthy language, and my odd, rambling stories and I’ll enjoy pretending I have an audience.

 

( Y ) Tootsie Woo”

 

Stay tuned to learn which aspects of the post have changed and which remain the same.

And thus we begin…

Adventures of Tootsie Woo: Part II

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vegan: Days 1 and 2

Not that bad.

Surprisingly not that bad…

Pretty easy actually.

Very doable in reality.

I can’t believe I’m still sane, to tell you the truth, but here I am feeling pretty good and not like I’m missing out on anything. Strange. I normally have a pretty large latte during the day, with real milk, and I have a dinner consisting of mainly meat, chicken, or fish. And don’t get me started on all the processed shit that I normally eat throughout the day that contains diary or eggs or a number of other animal-derived products because I just don’t give a shit.

I admit, I did cheat a tiny bit because me friend made this drink that was a little vanilla ice cream whipped with Jack Daniels that he insisted I try but I was just being polite! Otherwise I’ve been going strong. I’m sure that true vegans are a little more intense than me and some might only eat things deemed “vegan” but if I don’t see the food culprits on the label I don’t have a problem with the food.

Now that I’ve gotten through the first few days easily I might kick it up a notch and really keep an eye out for what I should be avoiding just to make sure I’m doing this up right.

But if things continue this way, this easily, I might have to put my foot in my mouth. Though I won’t because I’m pretty sure human flesh is off limits.

( Y )

“Hippies Use Back Door”

 

The other night I saw the movie Wanderlust, starring Jennifer Aniston, who I have a love-hate relationship with, and Paul Rudd, who I have a love-obsessed-possible-restraining-order relationship with. I saw this movie for obvious reasons, one being my love, love, LOVE of Paul Rudd, and two being I love that a hairy, chubby, naked man is smushing grapes making wine in several different scenes. Where else can you see some weird shit like that?

The movie was surprisingly good and REALLY funny (so I recommend it!!), but that is not what this post is about. For those of you who have either seen the movie or at least the poorly descriptive preview that literally just has two seconds worth of shots of people running and jumping with the text “WANDERLUST” at the end (HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT IT IS ABOUT!), you know that it is about a couple that stays at a semi-nudist, vegan commune while trying to escape their money problems in New York.

I’m well aware that it was a comedy that was not exactly showing a commune in a true light, but their lifestyle, I hate to say,  looked so appealing! I know it sounds crazy to have that sort of response from such a ridiculous film but it was beautiful. Everyone lived off the land and formed a self-serving, inclusive group that just took care of each member. I must sound like good cult-bait from this but I’m normally I’m so against that type of lifestyle!

Reasons I Would Suck on a Commune

1. I hate camping and living off the land. Eating nuts and berries like a little, coked-out squirrel and using poison ivy as toilet paper? No thanks.

2. I am emotionally attached to many technological implements: cell-phone, computer, laptop, other personal things…It’s sad but if I were forced to live without them I might fling myself off a balcony. A first floor balcony, but still…

3. I hate hippies (except if a hippie is reading this…you’re the one I don’t hate…). They are so damn convinced that they are living the right way it makes me want to stick wads of gum in their dreads. Although that would be pointless as they wouldn’t find it until their next shower. Five years later.

4. I like wearing deodorant. Call me crazy but when I’m pushed up against someone in the subway I’d rather not remind them of a barrel of rancid Indian food.

5. I loves me some meat. Love it. There is literally not a type of meat that I don’t like. My Austrian ancestors passed along a love of the good stuff that definitely lives on in me.

6. I hate the holier-than-thou vibe that communities like that thrive off of.

But despite all the reasons I should of been so appalled by the community represented in the movie, I couldn’t help but find aspects that were enticing…

Aspects that were Enticing

1. I wouldn’t have to shower that much. If it was socially acceptable to shower once or twice a week I would do it. But as it stands, society insists I take care of my self so I’m obliged to bathe more frequently. If I lived on a commune I would roll out of bed, jump into a lake somewhere, lay out in the sun and be deemed “clean.”

2. I would get beautiful, farm-labor-related muscles. Gyms stress me out because they are literally just skinny factories. You and some hairy, 300 lb. lawyer are next to each other lifting weights probably because you hate to look at yourselves naked. Let’s be real, people who LOVE their bodies don’t feel inclined to go to the gym as often. If I worked on a farm I would be accidentally getting defined muscles without trying too hard.

3. I wouldn’t have to have a traditional job. Need I say anything more?

4. I would always be gloriously tan from working outside. Yes I would prematurely wrinkle and sure as hell wouldn’t have a dermatologist to go to, but I would be lovely and sunkissed for a decade at least before things went south.

5. And…ugh…though it pains me to say this…I would kinda, maybe, sorta like to know what it would be like to…BE ONE WITH THE EARTH. There, I said it.

So I am going to go on a hippie challenge.

I normally look pityingly on my vegan friends because I just don’t get it but I am going to try it for a week and see how I feel. All those sissy, tree-hugging, brain-dead vegans (once again, if you’re vegan I’m obviously not talking about you, dear reader…) say they feel “so good” all the time, just so energetic and alive so I’m going to give them a run for their money and see what the fuss is about. I will report my findings for all you carnivores. I also will be taking more yoga classes, spending a lot of time “being one” with the two inches of open earth in NYC, whatever the fuck that means, and I am going to play the best hippie I can for that week or so and see if some of that East Coast cynicism washes off.

Who knows, I might even try it for an extra week or so. But it will probably all end the next day over a rack of ribs and bucket of Ben and Jerry’s. In tears.

 

The Hangover: Part Embarrassing

I have ended too many nights recently like this:

I have recently moved from the rural-ish town I was living in back to the glorious city I love and I was making up for lost time. I saved up all my drunk chips (you can purchase yours at drunkendisaster.com) and have officially cashed them in. It’s not that I think there is something wrong with going out for a night on the town and experiencing the many delights of the city, it’s just that there is a limit to what a person can take. And by person I mean a sleepy, petite, poor girl of questionable drinking stamina who does not know how to say no when there is a drink offered to her. The other night I experienced a new first when the lights where thrown on at the bar I was at and they announced they were closed. Looking down at my watch I saw it was 4 am, how did that happen?! But I mean, who cares it was a Wednesday after-all…Wednesday, wow, it was a Wednesday…yikes. Yup, I definitely need to set a limit.

It’s just actually really difficult to say no!! Can I get a witness!?

Reasons Why It’s Hard (that’s what she said)

1. I don’t have a job yet, so I have nothing to wake up early for

2. I don’t have a job yet, so I need I distraction

3. I don’t have a job yet, so it’s time to live it up before I am held back by said job

4. I don’t have a job yet, so I need to drink to feel better about not having a job

I’m looking for some pattern, something linking all of those things together but, call me obtuse, I’m not seeing one.

Ok, fine! I need a job, I need to make that my priority and then I will be going out a “healthy” amount of times, if “healthy” can be used to describe having a drinking contest with a 300 lb tourist on a dare. That was off the record.

So conclusion: job equals balance and money and purpose.

( Y )  …my sign-off that I totally haven’t used

Bear Attack!

I have an irrational fear of bears.

I wish I could explain it to you better than that but I can’t.

And not only am I afraid of bears, but I am afraid of them in the most irrational places. Those irrational places being EVERYWHERE.

Taking a delightful stroll at sunset in my non-bear-inhabited neighborhood? BEAR ATTACK.

Walking in and out of the non-bear-inhabited gym? BEAR ATTACK.

Riding “It’s a Small World” in Disney World? BEAR ATTACK.

Looking for tuna in the supermarket–uh-oh bears like fish don’t they–? BEAR ATTACK!

I am constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure a hungry grizzly isn’t lurking in the background, which is quite stressful! I can’t go to the zoo or follow Chicago-area sports! And until I get over this unpleasant phobia I will continue perfecting the slowly walking away, and helicopter arm-swinging I am told will put an aggressive bear in its place if they ever approach me. I guess it’s my cross to bear.

Or my bear to cross.

And now some music, courtesy of Grizzly Bear, “Two Weeks.” (I’m sorry, I thought the song would be about a Grizzly Bear, how misleading…)

So I dyed my hair

So I dyed my hair like I said I would.

It was less than mind-blowing and life-changing, to say the least.

I went in the salon like a complete nerd, pictures of styles and colors I wanted printed out neatly in order of how much I liked them, but to no avail.

Desired end: Sun-kissed, blonde-ish hair

Actual end: Auburn (red + brown= ok, but not even close to what I had painstakingly planned)

Don’t get me wrong, my hair is a fine, reliable color now, just not what I wanted. And after my speech about getting my hair done to embrace change blah blah blahdy frickin blah I look like a wang. This is less of an experiment on how to deal with change and more of a lesson on how to deal with a situation when doesn’t go as planned.

Well, You Can\’t Always Get What You Want.

Also, I’m not very good at disputing hairstyles or speaking up for myself in any situation where I didn’t get what I asked for so I was planning on walking out of there pretending to be in love with whatever the end result was, but that wasn’t the case this time! Go me!

And you know what? It turned out the colorist agreed with me, that she was going for lighter too and that my hair is just so dark it eats up all that is light and joyful in the world, so I am coming back in a few days to lighten it some more.

At least I was able to speak up for myself. It must be the red in my hair, it gave me balls gumption.

I like gumption.