Monday, January 30, 2012

Interview Persona

About once a year when I am particularly mentally unstimulated, I imagine the future interviews I will give.

Correction: I don't imagine them. I give them. I give the interviews to myself out loud. Normally it is while I am doing something mindless like showering, or plucking my eyebrows, or excavating my pores.

I don't plan the interviews. They just happen. Probably inspired by an interview I just watched, but who knows, maybe this is just me being psychic.

I actually don't normally realize I have just given a 20 minute interview until after it is over and my face is bright splotchy red in front of my magnifying mirror, or the hot water runs out in the shower. Half of these times I realize that the whole interview was done in an English accent.

I don't know.

Depending on my life-goals of the time, my reason for giving the interview may vary slightly, but the most common story is: 35-year-old emerges from complete obscurity as a comedic and dramatic movie-star (and Meryl Streep mentee) etc. etc. taking the world by storm with her unique, relatable personality and asymmetrical, bizarre face.

Sometimes I talk about my years working as a butcher on a 100 acre sustainable buffalo ranch before getting back into the biz. Sometime I talk about the difficulties of being married to Robert Pattinson and how we are both still friends with his ex Kristin (who is married to a woman). Sometimes I talk about my strong belief in wishing at 11:11 and how it most likely brought me to the place I am today. Sometimes I talk about my days dating Prince Harry and how I hoped people would still take my acting seriously after that whole debacle. How all the nights sitting on my couch watching tv definitely inspired my current work. What it was like finally admitting I had to get help- and then- going to rehab for an Almond Butter addiction. Honest proclamations to the viewers to never get anti-aging plastic surgery because of my genuine excitement to be an old-woman actress (true story). My Youth Self-Esteem segment: how Proactive Cleanser didn't really work for me in the longterm like it did for Katy Perry and Jessica Simpson- and other skin woes. And on and on.

"Is it true you were a singer?". Yes it is true, but No, I never 'sing them a little song' on the spot because that is too stressful -- and tacky.

Unfortunately I have learned through these interviews, in honest retrospect, that I am not very charismatic in interviews. I am quite serious and annoying when talking about my faux life. I take myself too seriously and try to be too inspiring instead of light and fun. Hopefully this is only because I have no real interviewer to respond to..... But I might just be one of those humorless interviewees.

However, out of everything my biggest frustration with my future interviews is that I can't talk in an English accent. And there is nothing I can even do about that. No way to twist my story. There is no way to have an English accent in my interview. None. And it makes me want to forget the whole darn thing.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

God and Chocolate

Sometimes, I look at accidents as "God trying to make me _____________".

This is amuses me for 2 reasons-

1- the idea of "God" making me spill my chocolate chips to make me not eat anymore. Or make me fall down so I will scare off some potential friends who would have led me down a path of destruction and drugs or something- is funny to me. Like a little joke between me and myself. Oh haha! I burned my sweater on the stove! Guess I have too many clothes, GOD! Oh man, my apartment door was unlocked and my neighbor stole all my chocolate, guess I was feeling too safe, GOD!

And reason 2- I kind of mean it. It would be nice to know that all my mistakes were morsels of heavenly guidance:



(If the word God upsets you like it has the tendency to upset me when God and I aren't laughing about my chocolate addiction, use "Life" in it's place. "Life" is trying to stop me from getting into drugs by not being cool enough to walk into a party without falling. I guess people who fall down cartoonish-ly also do drugs too though..... I guess some of you even do drugs. Whatever.)

Thursday, January 12, 2012

What Would I Do If I Was Dying?

A lot of things stress me out.

Like, but not limited to: the idea of getting less than 8 hours of sleep, auditions, not being in control of my food, logistics of any kind- like: getting out of the way of a cash register while putting my money back in my wallet fast enough (I normally throw the coins in my bag willy-nilly) or figuring out how to unload a car full of ski supplies while my mom finds parking at the ski mountain place- I have to pee and also there is no cell reception and why is it 60 degrees!?!

Also, rushing, going slowly, watching my tv shows with any distractions, speaking on the telephone, listening to voicemails, talking to retail personnel at stores and especially at the farmer's market (sigh) and being too big for my bras (this is a specific issue that few may relate to, but it may top the stressor list).... But, as you can see, I am stressed by a lot of stupid things.

Something that does not stress me out, is the idea of my own mortality. I discuss with myself all the time that I am not afraid of dying during brain conversations. Let's be honest- it would be a load off my back if I died. Or knew I was going to die young/soon. Not that I want to experience the pain of death.... I don't. But the actual dead part, I assume, will be awesome.

The point is... I am not afraid of death, and I am not particularly afraid of being punished by God because... I'm just not, ok? Unless they are actually right, in which case.... Oh Dear.

But really. I am not afraid to die. I am really afraid of being alive, but I am not afraid of dying. I would not like to be alive for a long time with bad health. So I fear bad health, but I do not fear death. And I am never afraid that I am dying. Mostly because ... I'm not, its a wasted fear, and also if I were dying it would mean all my troubles were soon over anyway.

Granted, I am not a mother. I have no dependents. I am currently free to die as I will and no one will be greatly harmed except my parents wishing they didn't waste all that money on me. This does not make me sad! (Except that I am wasting time and money). I know people will attend my funeral! I will have friends who say: Oh, God, I can't believe Caroline exploded in that factory fire! or Oh, God, I can't believe Caroline took a bullet to the head on her first hunting outing! or Oh, God, We are all so fragile, I can't believe Caroline died of a heart attack. She said she ate healthfully!? 

Yes, people will be shocked. Maybe miss me a bit. They may wonder what I would have ended up contributing to the world if gotten to hang around longer (I would have sung at a couple dozen more funerals). But they will move on! I KNOW IT.

(At my funeral I do not want a cantor. I want a fiddle playing happy music. But I'll be dead, so I actually don't really care.)

All these thoughts came to me tonight when I had the magnified side of the face mirror shining my pores back at me. I noticed this bump on my cheek that has been there for a few months. I always thought it was a zit, but it never went away. Tonight I tried to operate on it with some tweezers, and it did not go well. So, I decided it is some kind of boil or mole or cancer. It was just a list of possibilities. It didn't stress me out because- 1) I actually don't truly believe it is cancer of the face. 2) And even if it was, they cut cancer of the face out of many old people. 3) And also, I pretty much believe in the power of mind over matter- meaning- if it was cancer of the face I could probably think it away with positivity or something.

But then I thought: Caroline, but what would you do, if the doctor (you will never go to) told you- "Caroline, I am sorry to tell you, you have cancer of the face, have you ever heard of it before? No? It is very rare and you will be dead in 3 months.

In an attempt to jolt myself into some sort of zen and celebratory "live like you were dying" lifestyle, I tried to imagine it. I tried to imagine myself faced with my own imminent death. And I couldn't! I literally couldn't imagine it!  I am not even afraid of it and I can't imagine a scenario in which I could believe my own death was truly coming. The only time I ever have been able to before was this one vivid dream where I was being sent to the gallows (THAT was no fun).

But in this scenario, my imagination eluded me. The most upset I got was the idea that Face Cancer would make me disfigured for my remaining days. And, because I want to be able to see people and discuss miscellaneous things with them while actually looking like myself. That is the most important thing. And I also had the thought that maybe in my last months I would spend all my money on better bras and all the boots that exist.

But really. If I was dying. I would ... go out and socialize more and watch more TV comedies alone. Conundrum. I think I would research health topics less, because it wouldn't care. Unless I was trying to cure myself.... Oh its so hard to say! I would probably get over my fear of phone talking so I could contact people and let them know the deal- and I'd definitely be less scared of auditions, but let's be honest, I'd still never go on any!

All this being said, buck up because it really could be the end for you, too. This is 2012. We could all go out in a Dinosaur extinction. Or in a world explosion.



OMG I just got distracted, flipped to the Youtube tab and watched the 30 Rock promo with Tina and Alec talking about Thursday Night NBC comedy and they said the same thing about the world ending! Literally! Right after I wrote that! "Possibly the last comedies that we as a culture will witness together". And it ended with "Go out Laughing". This is a sign. I am dying! And I don't care!

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Banishing the Birthday Blues

My birthday was the other day. And though I am now older than I ever thought I would be, I have conquered one thing: the birthday blues.

As far as I can remember I had unrealistic expectations for my birthday. And, then, when the day came, and it sucked.... I got depressed.

Also, my birthday is RIGHT after Christmas... so.... you know.

High School is really where the blues began. There was the year that my mom didn't buy me a birthday cake because I was on the South Beach diet and I pretended I didn't want one. Why didn't she read my 15 year old mind?

Or, every year that my birthday activity involved "shopping for audition dresses" or "shopping for voice recital dresses" (BLECH) which could not have been more stressful or depressing because... I hated shopping (yes.), auditions and recitals stress me out, but the biggest reason most likely was: I had not in fact been following the South Beach diet, or whatever other stupid plan I had given my poor teenage self, so shopping double sucked. (Also, my mother is a clothes designer and artist- and shopping with her is not that fun. Because its like an art project for her, and all I want to do is hide my head in a hole like an ostrich and hope that nobody can see my body).

But now that I am wiser, I see that all my problems were in my head. And I was also a big part of not making my birthday special.

Mom: "What do you want to do on your birthday Caroline!?"
"Ugh, I dunno.... I don't care"
"You don't?"
"I guess we can go shopping. Or something"
"But you don't even like shopping"
"I know but I can't think of anything else"

or

"What birthday cake should I get you??"
"YOU KNOW I CAN'T EAT BIRTHDAY CAKE, MOM"
"Ok, what should we do for your birthday, then?"
"UGH. I dunno. Go shopping. I guess."

or

"Do you want to have a party for your birthday?"
"Uhh- No... too hard. I guess I'll just have like a dinner with friends"
"Ok, who do you want to invite?"
"Um.... actually... let's just have a family dinner. That is easier"
"You sure that's what you want?"
"uhhhh--- I guesss".

Yea, it was pretty much my fault. My little dark raincloud high school outlook + my unrealistic expectations that I got from tv shows, made my birthday blues what they were.

College

In college, my Mom would take me back to New York from winter break and ask me what I wanted to do, and my answers remained the same and very unhelpful.

One year I responded: "Who cares. Everything I want you can't give me anway!!!!" (I suppose: health, happiness, success)

My sophomore year, she gave me the gift of designing my dorm room (that she thought I had done a poor job with). She transformed it into this weird tent with canvas drop cloths on the walls in an attempt to "design my room to match my dorm furniture". It looked like a padded cell and I cried.

My junior year's birthday was only salvaged by my stumbling across "Engrish.com" as I hid in a room with my computer trying to avoid the world. It really cheered me up.

My senior year I cried, because on my birthday was the "shopping task" of finding an outfit for my musical theater industry agent showcase. I'm telling you, clothes shopping with my designer mother is like being critiqued in an art class. IT IS NOT FUN. And there aren't many good things to say. Even when she is being wise and protecting me with softer words, I know what she is thinking. I know what we are alllllllll thinking.

Last year I threw myself a party at my apartment, and I drove myself into insanity and exhaustion preparing, hosting and cleaning up the next day. Not to mention spending a LOT of money. Parties are expensive!

But this year! This year I woke up to my best friend's alarm while she visited the city! This year I made myself horrible, horrible seasonal winter squash based pancakes topped with a stick of butter and salt! I ate 10 of them and felt ill! I looked in the mirror at my grain-free-Christmas-treat-transformed body who doesn't fit into my already specially made large bra- I thought of doing my usual birthday crying- but instead said to myself:

No, Caroline! No! This year you decide to be happy! This year you will banish the birthday blues! You have the power to feel fat and be happy anyway! You have the power to enjoy your birthday party! And feel special! You HAVE THE POWER TO BE A BIRTHDAY QUEEN.

So, I DID. I went to the closest store to my apartment. I SHOPPED for a dress all by myself! And my new friend- a black, gay, fabulous salesman- made me feel BEAUTIFUL (but all the while I remembered that his job was to lie to me so I spend more money). He told me I should wear the skin-tight dress he brought out because it is "hot" and "this dress is why you go to the gym " (ha HA! joke is on you). I ended up buying the dress he said was "cute but more appropriate to wear to your friend's birthday party" because I listen to my owwwwwn voice nowwwww....

I went to my babysitting job, cleaned up poop out of the pull-up of a 4 year old, and got to leave work 5 minutes early!

I came home, got ready with my friend for my party at a bar I had never been to.... arriving only to find that the back room I had counted on was taken by a party that actually called.

But my friends arrived!---- and it was fun ANYWAY!

People! If I keep on using exclamation points like this I am going to drive us all INSANE!

My birthday was on a Thursday, so I finished up the weekend by staying in both following nights to recover from all the exhaustion that forcing myself to be happy induced upon me. I am recovered now.