Don't Hate, Investigate! Question 1

If you're struggling your way through the rough tunnels of guilt, pain, regret, heartbreak and all those unfortunate things, well....c'est terrible. And you're right, no one envies you. But on the other hand.....welcome to the club! The club of we've all been there. Once you've clawed your way through something truly rotten, you get instant VIP membership.

One of the most potent elements of negative emotions is that they create a facade of isolation, like you're walking around with one of those fish-bowl space helmet on. You are separated, no longer included in the world around you. This exclusion is something only you can perceive, but that makes it all the worse. If no one is aware of your internal isolation, then no one is going to reach on in there and yank you out. You are 100% alone in your heartbreak/anger/depression/guilt/you-name-it.
The tumultuous, lonely rapids of isolated suffering

As it turns out, you are never alone in your experience. Everybody goes through it. That's everybody- no exceptions. You can choose to battle the rapids of suffering all by your lonesome- but be aware, they're be steep, and studded with undercuts. Far better to pull the cork off, open up, and hop on the raft of human connection. It's still going to be a bumpy ride, but you are guaranteed safe arrival to the tranquil shores of resolution. Best of all, at the end of it, you'll find yourself with a gift to take home for keeps- the sweet fruit of empathy.
Arriving victorious at the island of resolution of happiness

The one pitfall is that we're programmed not to talk about it. This is a problem. It prevents people from being able to help you. It prevents you from being able to help yourself. Worst of all it renders all the empathy in the world useless, because you're not making it known that you're in great need of some.

My goal is to chisel through that isolation- not easy in a place as icy-cool as Seattle. If Seattlites had their way, they'd have you thinking they were flawless, tech-savvy, yoga-lated (that's yoga + pilates) subhumans that survive on shade-grown, fair-trade, organic espresso and probiotics and have never had a pit-stain.

This, ladies and gentleman, is a lie. They are liars. Though well dressed (in that casual way) and wealthy enough to have the townhouse and the prius, they are nevertheless confined to their own prison created by years of slight (never admitted) personal failures, social and sexual repression, sun-deficiency and the long ago but still lingering moments of great embarrassment they've never been able to get over because they won't talk about it.

And today, I am going to help bust them out.

I decided to start light. I thought of an issue that has been eating at me since I first went to boarding school at 15.

Then I went to the mother-ship of all the shade grown yoga tech-masters: Zoka cafe in Seattle's ever gentrified Greenlake neighborhood. I asked this question to everyone who walked in the door between the hours of 10 am- 1pm.

Have you ever secretly eaten your roomate's food, and then proceeded to lie about it?

The results: a whole lot of people.

Only a few nos and a few other I've never had a roomate. Then there was the hard-to-tally I've never had a roomate but I've stolen everyone else's food. Loved the answer, I'm going to give it an honorary 'yes' vote.

Best of all, I heard some good stories: office luncheons raped, morning meeting danish pillaged, chinese buffets riding home concealed in plastic bags hidden in the purse or breifcase, entire birthday cakes devoured before the birthday-person was even aware of their own celebration.

The results were so astounding that I felt a palpable throb of connection pulsating through the cafe. And now, of course, I'd like to extend the question to you. Less a question, and more an invitation to join me. To join us.

Have you ever secretly eaten your roomate's food, and then proceeded to lie about it?

Answer. Free yourself.

Ice cream: $4.00
Abercrombie shirt: $42.00 (free for Tino, he was a model)
The Human Connection: Priceless

I'm *The New Tampax Girl!

This is an example of the commercial I auditioned for. My commercial will have a kayaker going down rapids instead of hanging out on a yacht. Truth me told I'd rather hang out on a yacht.

So the other day I got a message from a local boater about a talent scout looking for girls who whitewater kayaked. The message included the name of an Agent named Gordon Adams at BigFish Talent Northwest. I sent him a few photos and some of my acting and kayaking background (which could be summed up as limited, fairly limited, but that's not how I worded it.) The next day, Gordon called me and informed me that I'd been selected to audition for a commercial for Tampax that would be broadcast internationally. They needed a young, female actress who could kayak. Preference was given to girls with higher boating skills. "This will be big money," said Gordon as I walked down Phinney Ridge, having just crossed the street to avoid Herkimer Cafe because I can't really afford to buy coffee. "Big money."

Holy smokes! One minute I'm walking down the street with the dog, a normal Wednesday, wondering what to do with my life, and the next moment I'm walking down the street with the dog, a normal Wednesday, wondering what to do with my life, and BAM! I have an AGENT! I would have called everyone I know just to say "Oh, well, I just got off the phone with my agent, what's up with you?" But I couldn't, because my phone was broken (bath tub, slip of the hand) the keys didn't work, and I no longer had the ability to make outgoing calls. Something I could easily remedy once I made a fortune being the new Tampax girl.

The only catch was that the audition was the very next day. The fact that I wasn't an actress, skinny, sleek, tan, or anything like the boppy teens who frequent tampon commercials didn't phase me. All that could be faked. An example of me not being a sleek, tan, boppy, commercial-worthy teen. I am stuck in my dry top and drinking a beer. My right arm, as you can see, is stuck. This photo did not make it into my portfolio, although it should have.

The challenge was to memorize the scripts, apply to two talent agencies (one union, one non-union) print out head shots, put together a portfolio of kayaking shots, get directions, print out a resume, buy the necessary clothes, get my hair and makeup done and get to my 4:00PM audition in Portland Oregon the next day.

Somehow I threw it all together. A handful of high school plays and a few instances posing in a sea kayak for a photographer friend expanded on my resume to a lifetime of theatrics and modeling. Three and half hours in a car with no AC, unable to touch my tricked out hair or my made-up face which was almost melting off in the 96 degree heat, and I made it to Lana Veeknar Talent Agency with an hour to spare.

It was to be my last trip in a rusty 1995 Subaru. After I got the commercial, I planned to switch to chartering a private plane.

What happens next?! To be continued!