Silence

This year is coming to a close and I'm just not feeling it. It's this thing we do. This thing I do. It moves in my head. I feel it on my back and under my skin. Slowly trying to make sense of it. Of me. Of what it's to become. This year. Another year. In the darkness. In the light? Perhaps. Perhaps. In no time it will all become clear. What's to come next. For me and for you. The uncertainty overwhelming as I pass through from one state to the next. Making it happen. Overcoming it all. For good or for bad. Something to think about or something to shun. Something to live and breathe and be while you sit on the sideline with your noise maker. Just do. Just feel. Know that everyday is another day and it's just a date on a calendar that makes people scramble. Thinking of it all as though it means something but really it's your life. Another child born, another elder dies. It does not matter on what day that happens. This is the time. The place. The one you've been waiting for. To break the spell. To start anew. To end the chapter. To ring out the new? Peace and love and mass texts. We spell it backwards and forwards again out into the great abyss of another year coming round. What makes them declare when I start my new year? Why does it need to be on that day, with the punks out in Times Square making a mockery of a closing year. For new. For old. For something blue. I leave it to you. Quiet whispers. Just Be. Just do. 

Dr. Dog

Did you know that there was a miracle on 34th street?? Or that it is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year?? Oh. You did? Okay. Just checking.

Every single thing about this holiday emits a sense that unless you are in the holiday spirit, you are a scrooge. Scrooge. Thank goodness this is the only time of year that if you are a little less than chipper, people can use the expression that you, are indeed, a scrooge or a grinch for that matter. Nothing I haven't heard people.

For as long as I can remember I loved celebrating Thanksgiving with my family. It's an enjoyable holiday to me filled with food and good times. While, I'm sure when I was little I loved Christmas, that changed slowly as I got older, and it keeps changing. 

I will just say it...I am not a fan of Christmas. Take a moment. Take it in. Breathe. Okay keep reading.

The food (for my Italian family); the shopping; the expectations. I never really feel in the Christmas spirit. But I don't think this defines me or any one else that just isn't in the spirit. 

Expectations at this holiday. There are many. First one is being in a certain place at a certain time. Next the gifts you give, as maybe opposed to the gifts of others, be it cost, creativity, size, etc. Next: Church. I don't go to church all year long, why on this one day am I going to go because it's expected...yes I'm aware that we are celebrating Christ's birth, but supposedly he was actually born in the summer, and is this really the way he wants us celebrating? Being a glutton and spending excessively when there are countries that can't afford food on a daily basis? Again. Just a thought. 

With my 27th Christmas upon me, I think it's okay to not be in the Christmas spirit. So if you aren't, go with it. Just be. If you want to treat it as just another day, embrace it! If you love the family time, hate the food, go with it! If you love the food, hate the family time, make it short! Christmas should be whatever you want it to be. And if you aren't in the Christmas spirit, have a glass of wine and a rum ball, and keep rolling with the punches and know that it's okay to not have an emotion that is expected of you.

Just a girl, looking for her Christmas spirit, while knowing that sitting in an exit line at the mall is not it, and finding her way back the love for the holiday.

Buddy Holly

As I walk by, he glares at me with wonder and resentment. He sits. Watches. Waits to be acknowledged. He doesn't know how he got to this place. Alone. Cold. He worries what will become of him if it goes on for just one more day. I walk away hastily, not wanting to be judged of things I did many moons ago... He just stares.

The next day it happens over. And the day after. He wonders when he will feel the love he once had...again. He longs for it. Thinks of all the scenarios in his head when he was a large piece of my life. And now, it's come to this.

Underneath the clear cool plastic, smushed up against others and feeling the rejection of the situation. But it's one of those things in life. I moved on and he's still in the same place. Beneath the plastic, so to speak. He can no longer help me, and he knows that. 

But wasn't it easier, when he was the one I came home to. Snuggled up with. Let all my bad day moments diminish as I talked it over with him. Got into bed and held him in my arms as though no single being could replace him. And waking up next to him, gave new inspiration to each day. Days filled with love and giggles.

 I didn't mean to let him go, I just had to, for my sake, for his, for the life that was to come. That I waited for. But what happens to him now? What happens to all of them that get put under the plastic so to speak. 

I think of someone else snuggling up to him, but when this thought enters my head, I somehow become quite jealous over the situation. As though his love should not be shared with anyone except me, it is mine and I still do cherish it, but do not need it, any longer. I don't want him, but no one else will have him. Isn't this what we do?

Just a girl, thinking of Harold J. Pottomoose, and all the unloved stuffed animals, and what we do with them once we have moved on, but forever cherish them in our hearts.

Nirvana

Looking down at the very large script resting on my lap, I thought to myself, "wow, this is all mine".

I sat in the top row of the theater, my director sitting an aisle away. It was a table read, of sorts, and when we got to the fifth page of this huge script, the character named "Temple" came into play. I knew, she was mine. I knew I would have a lot of work to do, and lots of highlighting. My favorite thing about a new script...getting to highlight the lines that are mine. MINE! All mine! I couldn't wait.

As I opened my mouth to speak my first line, I heard the scratching at the door. I tried to ignore it, truly not wanting to lose this moment. But I heard it again and was jolted up. I had to let her in. I did it as quickly as possible so that I could get back to where I was, but sadly, it didn't work. I couldn't find it. Where was that theater again?

Night after night I go through this. Sometimes not wanting to get back to that place, but as I rest my head on that pillow, I am taken to situations that I never thought possible. Be it running through the island with the losties, visiting old friends that I haven't seen in over a year, or sometimes, them visiting me for not so great reasons. More recently I even visited the afterlife...with it's flowing fields and classical music on my ride there. "so silly," i thought.

Sometimes it's fulfilling, and sometimes it just gives me a taste of what could be possible. I wake up wanting more. Or feeling renewed with fresh ideas in my head. Is that how it could have turned out?

But sadly, it's always just a dream.

Just a girl, with some bad sleeping habits, and the most vivid dreams, taking her to places...well...she's never dreamed of.

Bob Dylan

It is the most endearing, yet intensely awkward moment I can ever encounter with a person. Worst than, "what college are you going to;" as well as the latter, "what have you been up to since college?" Even worst than my grandmother still asking me about boyfriends I had a lifetime ago...in front of the new one.

It can be so bad, that in recent years I've lied about what I actually do with my life. I try not to say that I am an actress, but rather, "i work for deutsche bank", or "oh, i work for this children's arthritis foundation in los angeles". all because i do not want the inevitable being asked of me.

In short, when asked, by absolutely anyone, what I do, and the response is, "i act"...the inevitable follow up question is, "what have you been in? anything i've seen?" Hmm...anything you've seen?? Well, how do I know what exactly it is you like. If it's foreign films, the answer is no, unless you count the Italian Gas Company commercial I shot which aired in Italy. Oh, big budget, mainstream movies you say? Well no, that's not it either. Indie movies right? Well...they were all indie of sorts, but, no...

In that moment, I respond with a horror film, that unless you are from Croatia or Europe or any other country outside of America, you have no idea what I'm talking about and you are trying to keep the look of surprise on your face just long enough for me to follow it up with, "Yes, I was in Juno, didn't you recognize me? I was the pregnant one". 

It is then that you repeat the name of the movie to me, and thus, you call it either Play Time, Play Town, or anything else that sounds like what I just said. It's awkward, yet sweet that you want to know what I'm up to...but...at the same time making me think, "hmm what have i actually done?". Uncomfortable. And any other adjective that tells you that "you haven't heard of anything I've been in but, hey thanks for the support."

Just a girl, working her way around that inevitable question, and trying to get cast in something that yes, you may have actually seen and or recognize.

She & Him

Nothing is coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. It is what it is...but is it?

I've always, in part, believed in fate. The hit television show Lost obviously does, and thus has gotten into my head about such matters. Nothing is an accident. I know all this now...but I'm just wondering at what point it all pays off.

Every moment of my life has led to this point. And tomorrow's point. And the one after for that reason. There's a reason I moved to New York. And then, subsequently Los Angeles, when I had no business going there alone and I could have easily just stayed in New York. There's a reason I've chosen the career of being an actress; why I've dated the people I've dated; why I stopped being vegetarian; and importantly, why I rescued a dog (or two as it were).

For a long time now, I have been convinced that I am destined for something greater. It started somewhere around the time that I had the small dream of acting. I've always felt it. And soon, I believe it's all going to come together. I'm not sure how or when yet, but it will. 

Fate is a curious thing. For instance, let's take exhibit A. A being my current boyfriend. A guy that I have known in some way or another for the last 9 years. First in a math class that we hardly spoke to each other, next being the good friend of his old girlfriend, then reconnecting while I was 3,000 miles away, only to realize that there was a genuine connection, more than just that of an old buddy. There is a reason for this I do believe. 

Or, there how about this acting thing. For all this time I've been home, I've been trying to get "real" full-time work, but I haven't. I just haven't been able to, while I am incredibly qualified for the positions I'm applying for. But then, just like that, after on a whim contacting my old agent, he says he has an awesome agency connection for me in New York....while I'm not sure how this will play out, it's all in the hands of fate and where I'm supposed to be...in the grand scheme of things.

Where we are all supposed to be. Maybe you are meant to be reading this blog. Maybe we don't know each other, but then again maybe we will someday. Or maybe just reading this blog is making you think of your own fate. Your own little details that pull it all together. Kind of like the flash forwards in Lost. 

Maybe our flash sideways will match up. Maybe it's our flash backs for that matter. Maybe none of them will. Regardless, it's all for something. All of it. So use it whatever way possible. To better yourself. To feel. To think. To be. Just be.

Just a girl, with, yes, a belief in fate, and wondering where she will be 6 months from now, and what it's all for. 

Flaming Lips

He said, "you can't go home again". I say, "completely untrue".

Granted the entire house has been de-jossified (i.e. no more "fun" food); I'm staying in guest bedroom #3; and living out of boxes in the garage (otherwise known as my apartment). It has 4 months, 10 days, and counting, and counting, and counting. At this point I am realistic that I won't be leaving by the new year, and optimistic of all the things I've learned since I've been home.

For instance: did you know that Pat Sajak dyed his hair? And not only that, but it is way too blond. I mean, really, what was he thinking! Also, that Grappa is the new Bailey's, and the face he makes when it goes down is the artwork for the new Lady Gaga album, I'm convinced of it.

But seriously. I'm home. They say unemployment is getting better. I can tell you...it must be getting worse. Right? I mean I am still here. Yay to quality time with the parents, boo to the Christmas season fast approaching and I am...jobless. But, as I've been told, it's time to "get over it". And so, slowly I have been.

In the mornings I wake, take out the boy (the boy being Banksy) apply for some jobs, eat two eggs, go back to bed, get up, shower, see if there is anything else out there to apply for, submit for acting gigs...and then...listen to this...I sit on the couch, closest to the wood burning stove and...READ. I read my book. All in the good name of getting over it and just being. Because, really, why not. How many people complain about working? This is a vacation, an early retirement, a new start!

Everyone quick! Quit your jobs! Move back in with your legal guardians! Forget about responsibility and JUST BE!

Wow. That guy that said you can't go home again. I mean seriously, did he have it wrong or did he have it wrong! 

Just a girl, loathing Pat Sajak's new hair color, getting the rest of a lifetime, and proving, you can go home again.

Wolf Parade

Acting. Who really decides to go into such a ridiculous profession...wait, I can't even call it a profession, because the amount of people out there that call themselves actors, and the slim amount of people that actually do it for money on a regular basis are two very, very different groups. 

Not really sure where it all started for me. Well yes, maybe I do. My fan letters to Tiffani Amber Thiessen and Larissa Oleynik may have been something of a start. I wrote to them to tell them how I wanted to become an actress too and asked how to do it? (Of course if a 13 year old wants an answer to such a question, she's going to go to a professional, am I right?) Let me repeat that...I asked how to do it...how to become an actress? How does one even answer such a ridiculous question other than to say, "STOP! DON'T DO IT! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! FORGET THAT PASSION! GO GET A REAL JOB!"

But you can't really tell a person that. So, long about the time I was 23 I moved myself to New York City. I had a college degree in Journalism, a year working at a great job at a regional theater, and absolutely nothing that ever should have made me say, "hey, i'm going to move to New York and become an actress".

So I write today, because the question is this: at what point do you (or I as it were) say, "hey, you gave it good run, but you just aren't cutting it. it's time to give up..." Give up. I know. Strong words. But I just hear about so many actors busting their ass running from audition to audition, hoping for the next big break. At what point do you throw in the towel and do something with your life? You must have other passions right?

I thought I was ready to throw in said towel. After moving across the country back to the east, a dream acting job fallen through, I thought, "okay jossie, you tried it. move on". But then after 4 months, I submitted, and got called it, and got a callback....and even that is just enough to get me back out there, everyday, hoping and praying, I get my break. And reading that, it sounds ridiculous.

Just a girl, no longer an aspiring actress, but an out of work actress for sure, trying to find out if it's all worth it, or if it's time to load the car and write the note, and make something else of herself...

Laura Marling

It's funny, we often read that we will never forget our first love. Well, that part isn't really the funny part. The funny part for me is, often times when thinking of a "first love", I apply said term rather liberally to who I want at any given time. For instance, during high school I dated two people, and then after I dated just one for the next 5 years. Somehow, somewhere along the way, that 3rd boyfriend gets lumped in with those first loves.

Hmm. How to better explain myself. There are certain things I think of with each of those first loves. For example, obviously when I think of my first date, I think of my first boyfriend. But when I think of the first time I went to a prom with a date for instance, I do not think of the prom I went to with my technical "first" love, but rather the prom I went to with the technical "second" love. Furthermore, when I think of any dinner dates I ever had with a first love, the first two loves are cancelled out completely and I think of that "third" love.

So I ask you...is it possible to have multiple first loves? Is it that we assimilate certain memories with certain people at any given moment? 

How is this actually fair to any of them that this is the way my memory works? Society and music (first and foremost) convinces us of the first love that will never be forgotten. I just don't believe it's true. I just don't think that there is any one (singular) first love...yes maybe for some. The ones that only date a few. Or date the first for many years. Or even more, get married to their first love...BUT was it their first?

Just because my first boyfriend came sophomore year of high school, does not mean that most had their "first" love happen much sooner. So do they think of that boy/girl that they went with in middle school, scribbling their first and last name on every book cover, holding hands with at the ice rink as THEIR first love? Because in some sense, it was love...

The perception of it all can drive a mind into madness. But it makes you think...who do you think of when you read the words "your first love"...

Just a girl, wondering where it all begins, and if the last really can't count as the first, while the first still holds said position.

Robotanists

It's like a good car ride. You know the kind. You've just had a horrible day and it all starts out with the mission to set out and find a great cupcake to make it all better with some sugary goodness.

I walk into my apartment. Greeted by my ever loving pets, who sadly just sometimes can't make a bad day go good. I strip off my Universal Studios uniform, put on some comfy clothes and walk over to my drawing table. As the computer hums and the screen lights up, I load my email in one window and facebook in the next. Of course this is somehow going to make everything better right? Let's "lurk" the ones that made us have such a bad day. Immediately, I click off all tabs, shut my computer, give Banksy and Cleo kisses and say quietly, "i'll be back soon guys, it's a cupcake kind of a day".

Hopping down my apartment stairs, with a quick pat on the head of the neighbors cat, I jump in my car, throw on some Avett Brothers and start driving.

As I make my way out of Burbank Blvd, I turn, but not towards the cupcake shop, but rather the 101 north. It's the type of driving that for the first 15 minutes you think you are on a mission and know your destination, but soon after, as the engine zooms, you just keep going...past exit numbers, and towns that you don't recognize the names. The music blares, and I'm in a zone. I don't stop. Don't turn around until about an hour and a half out side of Los Angeles.

When I do finally turn the car around, I think I've solved all the problems that I started with and decide that the West Coast just isn't for me...or is it? And my head begins spinning again...when I arrive in my driveway, three hours later, back where I started, I am indeed, exactly that, back where I started.

Little do I know, within weeks it will all turn around, there will be a glimmer of light that will enter my life. It comes by way of a mix tape called "Whiskey Sunset".

Just a girl, looking for a cupcake, but getting way more than she bargained for...and an empty tank of gas.

Ray LaMontagne

During my childhood, holiday time was always crazy. I mean, we are Italian....so there's always an enormous amount of food, and relatives, and Christmas cheer in the air.

This particular Christmas I remember being very sick. Just one of those miserable colds that you can't breathe out of your nose, you wake up and stay in your pajamas, that thick purple Dimetapp every couple of hours or so...miserable. Absolutely miserable for a youngster.

The house that I grew up in was small: 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, a living room, kitchen, unfinished basement, and 6 people living there, 1 dog, 90 rabbits, some chickens and a rooster.

My family members filed into our house. What seemed like so many of them. I was in charge of the jackets. I would take everyone's warm winter outwear and place them on my parent's bed in their bedroom. Now I was sick, so of course every one thought I was in bed...but, alas, this mischievous youngster was not.

I snuck into my parent's bedroom and began going through each of the coat pockets, curious as to what these family members of mine may hold inside of them. Dirty tissues for runny cold weather noses, keys, and one pocket in particular: a box of tic tacs.

Not just any tic tacs, the white ones. I took one out of the package, and ate it...ahh delicious mint. I tapped a second one out onto my hand, and for whatever reason, I wanted to smell it. More than anything. I lifted it up to my nose and of course couldn't smell, not only because I was sick, but seriously, who can smell a tic tac? So this 5 or 6 year old decided to do the only thing  I knew to do: stick that tic tac up my nose as far as I could, because by golly, I was going to smell that damn minty goodness.

As the candy coating wore off in my nose and I couldn't dislodge the small candy, it began to burn. I remember said burning like it was yesterday. I ran into the kitchen found my mother, in the middle of about a million other things and said "mommy, mommy, it burns it burns!" To which she responded, "of course it does, you have a cold, and you aren't feeling well!" I repeated "no!" as I pointed at my nose and explained what I did, the burning getting hotter and hotter. We tried blowing my nose...nothing. Again and again. Finally, my mother slowly walked to the bathroom to get the tweezers. Little did I know she didn't plan on tweezing anything out, she walked so slowly so that the tic tac would begin to dissolve and finally just finally I would be able to get it out with a tissue.

I remember this moment in my life like it was yesterday. The burning, the scurrying, the crying, the sitting on the counter as I told my mom the story of what had happened...

Just a girl, very early in her life, with a love of going through the guests pockets, looking for hidden treasures, or a piece of candy to smell while overcoming a damn miserable cold.

Don Henley

He sleeps by my side. Quietly breathing. For every one move I make, he makes the same in return. If I turn to one side, he will as well. If I curl my legs up, he will move in such a way to still be my perfect fit. My other piece. Even my better half.

It was late January, and the weather in California was rather warming to this northeast girl. My days were not very full, and during those "winter" months I was feeling rather lonely.

Over the course of that fall and winter I learned to do well with such loneliness. I would lay on the floor of my living room, record player blaring, feeling the music in my back. Saturday nights would consist of a well cooked Italian dinner for one and a bottle of wine. Nights like these I came to enjoy. I could hear my mom saying "you won't be happy with anyone else until you are happy with yourself..."

On this particular late January day, I had learned how to do just that. His name was to be Banksy. This 6lb, four legged creature, would teach me how to love just a little better, and my loneliness would forever subside.

Everyone says their dog is the best, but it is absolutely the truth for this chihuahua/dachshund/jack russell rescue that wandered Laguna Beach, California for 6 1/2 months before anyone finding this angel. He loves and loves and loves more. Follows me wherever I go and is an endless cuddler and sleeper...he clearly found me.

Recently I saw a bumper sticker stating "Who Rescued Who"? Wow. Isn't it the truth.

Just a girl and her dog making their way across the country, adjusting to cold weather, and making the world just a little happier.

Standard Fare

It was the most anticipated email I had ever received. I had waited for it throughout an entire summer; first for the reason of hoping I was the one to receive it, next because it took a while to pop up in my inbox. When it did, my life was wildly changed forever.

The second it happened, I printed out the pages and started reading in anticipation. It took two hours of slow reading, but it was gripping, exciting, gross, scary, and in some sense powerful. Not just the words but the very idea of it all. 

Once I was done I would read it again this time highlighter in hand. It was a script. But not just any script, MY script. The one I would co-star in. The one that I would spend day and night thinking about, preparing for, working on for 4 weeks, and then thinking about more once it was all finished. 

It was one of the best moments of my life. I read it over and over, and began writing notes. Things along the lines of what 'Molly' liked to eat, what she was thinking that the script wasn't telling us, who she really was. I researched Molly Monohan long enough, that I became her. Loved her. And was very sad when I had to leave her.

It was my first real role. It changed everything...

Just a girl, with a script, and a highlighter, setting out, to star in movies, and get a little fodder for the memoirs.

Metric

The morning after I arrived home from my cross country journey, I woke up, unpacked the Nissan Xterra I had rented, and started plotting my next move.  I went to the frigid-air and took out the eggs, set them next to the stove and thought, "breakfast. breakfast is a great first move. no better way to start your day, jazz."

I walked over to the cabinet, removed the frying pan, and placed it on the stove. As I opened the refrigerator door to remove the english muffins, something else caught my eye. It glimmered under the light of the open door, nice, cold, and drawing me over to it. I looked around knowing good and well that my parents were in Hawaii and no one was watching with the exception of my dog and cat that I had just uprooted and carted across the country with me. Who were they to judge really?

Quickly rushing back to the stove, putting the pan away, and the eggs returning to their rightful spot, I pulled a Corona out of the fridge. On my way to the couch I went in to the grocery bags from the trip and pulled out the beef jerky. I put my feet up on the reclining chair, beer by my side, all the while thinking to myself, "you make it back and somehow you turn into a 19 year-old frat boy"?

And so the transformation had begun. No, not into a frat boy, into a lost girl plotting something, anything that may come next.  Unbeknownst to her, that that something would not come again so immediately, and still has not today...So, I wait. Patiently. Soon enough it shall become clear.

Just a girl, with a love of Mexican beer, and a few wrong moves, welcoming herself home and experiencing life and figuring out how to live it...or not.

Indistinct Chatter

I vowed I would never do this. Not once. Not on my cross country journey. Not on set. Not even for a college journalism course. Seriously blogging? Why type of people do this kind of thing? This blogging? Clearly only the ones that have no voice in any other forum, that feel that they must enter the blogosphere every day, week, month to become something they aren't...or something they are. To be heard, nonetheless. By someone.  Anyone. Even for only a moment.

Ok. Alright. Enough of that. Consider myself Exhibit A, or J, as it were. Feeling the need to be heard through the indistinct chatter.  I sit in my childhood bedroom, for what feels like a year, but in actuality is only 4 months, well 3 months, 20 days, 3 hours and 32 minutes. Like much of America I lost a job. A dream job at that, that really didn't even get started...but enough of that for the moment.

As Exhibit J, I've not only been on the job hunt, but in my past months, have watched all of the Sex and the City Series, I am on the last season of Lost which I only began a month ago, as well as defeated the popular iPhone App Angry Birds. Pathetic? I suppose only as pathetic as needing this little voice to be heard, or to take my mind off the inevitable.  Which is. In Short. I moved from Los Angeles, back home to Connecticut (for the time being, I repeat hourly at least) for what. I don't know.

I'm here. And searching. And love incomplete sentences.  

Searching for a job, for a meaning, for a new acting gig, hell, for a new...something.

So I welcome you. 

Just a girl, with a love of the ellipsis, and incomplete sentences, setting out to give new meaning to the term Life and How to Live It.