So Tuesday night was a big milestone for me. It was the screening of the first movie I ever acted in, and it was the first time I ever watched myself. Needless to say I was a nervous wreck...on the inside, of course. You wouldn't have none that I simultaneously felt the urge to vomit, pee on myself and cry. I hid it well...I am an actress after all.
My Aunt Linda was there for moral support. For family and friends reading this who feel a bit perturbed that you didn't get an invite to this screening, unclench your fists because I didn't invite anyone. Linda found out because she is a member of the film group. And the reason I didn't tell anyone was because this was my first movie and first screening. If I was horrible, I didn't want all my loved ones to witness it. So anyway, Linda was there, which was great because should I have needed a hand to squeeze or a leg to dig my nails in to, I had one.
As the movie played, I anxiously awaited my scenes. The way I felt watching myself on TV is hard to explain. It's almost as if I was watching someone else, like it didn't sink in that that was me. Me. I was, of course, analyzing and critiquing every little thing I said or did. I sat on the front row, and once the movie was over I remember thinking, "Am I going to turn around and meet a room full of people scornfully staring at me, shaking their heads in disappointment? Or will I see smiling faces that produce words of praise?" I sat there a while, fixed on the blank TV in front me, awaiting the courage to turn around and see the audience reaction. When I finally did, I was met with...compliments, congratulations, hugs and smiles. OK, Sarah. You can breathe now. You did it.
To hear from my peers that I am talented, that I did an awesome job, that my acting is pure and believable was an incredible moment for me. One I will never forget. In that moment I finally had the strength to believe in myself. Having never had others watch me before, I could only hope I had talent, but I no longer have to hope for it, I can say I have it. And that is a moment of self worth I am grateful to have gained.
This screening was just the motivation I needed to keep pursuing my dream. One that I now feel is attainable.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Excuse me Motherhood, you can take a number and wait.
Disclaimer: Some names and photos in this post have been changed to protect the identity of those involved...and maybe also to appease their mother. Mostly the latter.
Disclaimer 2: None of the kids featured in this post are up for adoption...just sayin'
So yesterday evening I babysat my nephew Percy (fake name), 5 on the verge of 6, his brother Elias (also fake), 2 1/2, and our cousin Alex, also 2. As always, when I babysit I get a small dose of motherhood, but last night, with 3 boys, I got a dose that no spoonful of sugar would help go down.
I brought Alex and his big brother Joe over to my brother's house around 6pm. Pizza arrived promptly after...and the evening began. (side note: I don't include Joe in the list of kids I babysat because he's 13. If you have a couch and a laptop, done. I will say that it was helpful to have him there to go outside with the boys so that I could clean up. But I am ahead of myself here). I begin preparing the dinner plates one by one, while simultaneously participating in this conversation.
Percy: Alex, stop. I can't hear the movie.
Me: Alex, come play with that toy in here. Elias, you're food is ready.
Elias: Yay!
Me to Elias: What do you want to drink?
Percy: Alex, stop it.
Me: Alex, come in here, please.
Elias: Orange juice.
Me: Percy, ready for your pizza?
Percy: I don't want pizza.
Me: Well, you have to eat dinner.
Percy: But I don't want pizza. Alex, stop!
Me: Well how about a sandwich? Alex, put the toy down it's time to eat.
Percy: OK.
Me: PB&J no crust?
Percy: Yes.
Then once all three plates were ready, the next scene plays out as more of a monologue.
Me: Elias, come sit down and eat. Alex, don't put your fork in the toy box. Percy, you need to go eat your sandwich. Alex, Elias, come back to the table and eat. Percy, don't forget to eat your blueberries. Alex, where's you fork? Here Elias, wipe your hands on this not the table.
Fun times. After everyone had eaten, Joe took them all outside to play soccer, which gave me a LITTLE break to clean up and start laundry...That would be my laundry for those wondering. My dryer broke, and I had a load in the wash so I brought it over to dry it. Just clarifying in case you were thinking, "Wow. When she babysits she does the laundry too? Lets hire her." Umm, negative. I hate washing my own clothes, so I'm definitely not washing yours.
The cleaning break was short-lived, however, because I knew it would be a hard task for Joe to watch all three boys while also trying to entertain himself. So there I was following Elias around the yard because he held a baseball bat that I just knew was going to end up smacking Alex, who liked to stand in swinging range from Elias. Once Elias dropped the bat, I seized the opportunity to put it away. I turned my back for one second and a loud cry ensues. I turn around to see Elias in tears with skittle-flavored drool running down his chin. While frantically trying to figure out what happened, I discovered that he was mad at Joe for tickling him. So inside I go with Elias, who I clean up and put PJs on. Then in comes Percy. "He hurt my finger." "Who?" "Joe." "How?" "The ball." "Joe, what happened?" "I kicked the ball, and when he went to catch it he jammed his finger." "Percy, let me see. It looks fine. Are you OK?" "Yeah." "OK. Let me clean your face and get your PJs."
Bedtime was a feat all of it's own. Getting one kid to sleep can be taxing, three was damn near impossible. I put all three boys in Percy's bed to read to them. It was a good idea in theory. Things were off to a good start, but then Alex wanted to get down. I decided to lay him on the couch with Joe until I got Percy and Elias to sleep. I continue reading but am interrupted by fits of laughter. Elias is flopping about like a fish out of water. Percy starts laughing, which makes Elias laugh and inspires him to keep flopping around. I put my adult voice on and threatened to separate them. That method only worked for a grand total of 5 minutes. So I had to stick to my word and take Elias to his room and rock him. After he is good and drowsy I lay him in his bed...and he cries. I walk out and see if he will soothe himself. He does. Score! Then down the hallway comes Alex. Talking. That wakes Elias up. He cries. I go into Elias' room, and Alex, being curious as to why there is a crying baby, follows me. As I am rocking Elias again, Alex lays on a pillow-chair...and starts playing with a toy on the ground. I want to get him to stop, but Elias is sleeping on my chest so speaking in my normal voice may wake him. So I start whispering firmly, which if you've ever tried is not really that authoritative. "Ssp. Alex. Stop. Ssp. Hey. Stop." He eventually got the message. I put Elias back in bed. He cried again. I lied and said I had to use the restroom and would be right back. It worked. I didn't come back.
Two down. One to go. I must mention that at this point I had some perspiration going on. Was I jogging? No. On the treadmill. Nuh-uh. Doing exercise of any kind? Nope. But I now think putting three small kids to sleep at one time should be a part of the triathlon competitions. Lets see them do that. I took Alex into another room and sang to him until he fell asleep. Or maybe he just pretended to be asleep so I would stop singing. Either way, baby number 3 was out.
My brother and sister-in-law arrived home shortly after Alex went down. I gave them a brief recap of the night then scooped up Alex and headed out the door. It was there on the front porch with my purse on one shoulder and a sleeping baby Alex on the other that I realized that having this life would be completely satisfying. That motherhood, with it's snotty noses, sleepless nights and temper tantrums, will be the most fulfilling life of all....Not now, though. I'm good just babysitting. So motherhood, even though I turn all the lights off and pretend I'm not home when you knock on the door and don't answer the phone when you call, one day I will open the blinds and put out the welcome mat and be glad to have you. But how about booking a vacation until Mr. Right comes knocking on my door first? Deal?
I dedicate this post to Joe, Percy, Elias, Mason, Alex, Max and Everett. My boys. I love you all so much and enjoy every minute I spend with you. You give me all the perks of motherhood because I get to see you laugh and play and grow and learn...and then when you throw a fit or fall down and scrape your knee or have too much sugar, I get to go home : )
Joe (this pic is two years old)
Percy & Elias
Mason
Alex
Max
Everett
Disclaimer 2: None of the kids featured in this post are up for adoption...just sayin'
So yesterday evening I babysat my nephew Percy (fake name), 5 on the verge of 6, his brother Elias (also fake), 2 1/2, and our cousin Alex, also 2. As always, when I babysit I get a small dose of motherhood, but last night, with 3 boys, I got a dose that no spoonful of sugar would help go down.
I brought Alex and his big brother Joe over to my brother's house around 6pm. Pizza arrived promptly after...and the evening began. (side note: I don't include Joe in the list of kids I babysat because he's 13. If you have a couch and a laptop, done. I will say that it was helpful to have him there to go outside with the boys so that I could clean up. But I am ahead of myself here). I begin preparing the dinner plates one by one, while simultaneously participating in this conversation.
Percy: Alex, stop. I can't hear the movie.
Me: Alex, come play with that toy in here. Elias, you're food is ready.
Elias: Yay!
Me to Elias: What do you want to drink?
Percy: Alex, stop it.
Me: Alex, come in here, please.
Elias: Orange juice.
Me: Percy, ready for your pizza?
Percy: I don't want pizza.
Me: Well, you have to eat dinner.
Percy: But I don't want pizza. Alex, stop!
Me: Well how about a sandwich? Alex, put the toy down it's time to eat.
Percy: OK.
Me: PB&J no crust?
Percy: Yes.
Then once all three plates were ready, the next scene plays out as more of a monologue.
Me: Elias, come sit down and eat. Alex, don't put your fork in the toy box. Percy, you need to go eat your sandwich. Alex, Elias, come back to the table and eat. Percy, don't forget to eat your blueberries. Alex, where's you fork? Here Elias, wipe your hands on this not the table.
Fun times. After everyone had eaten, Joe took them all outside to play soccer, which gave me a LITTLE break to clean up and start laundry...That would be my laundry for those wondering. My dryer broke, and I had a load in the wash so I brought it over to dry it. Just clarifying in case you were thinking, "Wow. When she babysits she does the laundry too? Lets hire her." Umm, negative. I hate washing my own clothes, so I'm definitely not washing yours.
The cleaning break was short-lived, however, because I knew it would be a hard task for Joe to watch all three boys while also trying to entertain himself. So there I was following Elias around the yard because he held a baseball bat that I just knew was going to end up smacking Alex, who liked to stand in swinging range from Elias. Once Elias dropped the bat, I seized the opportunity to put it away. I turned my back for one second and a loud cry ensues. I turn around to see Elias in tears with skittle-flavored drool running down his chin. While frantically trying to figure out what happened, I discovered that he was mad at Joe for tickling him. So inside I go with Elias, who I clean up and put PJs on. Then in comes Percy. "He hurt my finger." "Who?" "Joe." "How?" "The ball." "Joe, what happened?" "I kicked the ball, and when he went to catch it he jammed his finger." "Percy, let me see. It looks fine. Are you OK?" "Yeah." "OK. Let me clean your face and get your PJs."
Bedtime was a feat all of it's own. Getting one kid to sleep can be taxing, three was damn near impossible. I put all three boys in Percy's bed to read to them. It was a good idea in theory. Things were off to a good start, but then Alex wanted to get down. I decided to lay him on the couch with Joe until I got Percy and Elias to sleep. I continue reading but am interrupted by fits of laughter. Elias is flopping about like a fish out of water. Percy starts laughing, which makes Elias laugh and inspires him to keep flopping around. I put my adult voice on and threatened to separate them. That method only worked for a grand total of 5 minutes. So I had to stick to my word and take Elias to his room and rock him. After he is good and drowsy I lay him in his bed...and he cries. I walk out and see if he will soothe himself. He does. Score! Then down the hallway comes Alex. Talking. That wakes Elias up. He cries. I go into Elias' room, and Alex, being curious as to why there is a crying baby, follows me. As I am rocking Elias again, Alex lays on a pillow-chair...and starts playing with a toy on the ground. I want to get him to stop, but Elias is sleeping on my chest so speaking in my normal voice may wake him. So I start whispering firmly, which if you've ever tried is not really that authoritative. "Ssp. Alex. Stop. Ssp. Hey. Stop." He eventually got the message. I put Elias back in bed. He cried again. I lied and said I had to use the restroom and would be right back. It worked. I didn't come back.
Two down. One to go. I must mention that at this point I had some perspiration going on. Was I jogging? No. On the treadmill. Nuh-uh. Doing exercise of any kind? Nope. But I now think putting three small kids to sleep at one time should be a part of the triathlon competitions. Lets see them do that. I took Alex into another room and sang to him until he fell asleep. Or maybe he just pretended to be asleep so I would stop singing. Either way, baby number 3 was out.
My brother and sister-in-law arrived home shortly after Alex went down. I gave them a brief recap of the night then scooped up Alex and headed out the door. It was there on the front porch with my purse on one shoulder and a sleeping baby Alex on the other that I realized that having this life would be completely satisfying. That motherhood, with it's snotty noses, sleepless nights and temper tantrums, will be the most fulfilling life of all....Not now, though. I'm good just babysitting. So motherhood, even though I turn all the lights off and pretend I'm not home when you knock on the door and don't answer the phone when you call, one day I will open the blinds and put out the welcome mat and be glad to have you. But how about booking a vacation until Mr. Right comes knocking on my door first? Deal?
I dedicate this post to Joe, Percy, Elias, Mason, Alex, Max and Everett. My boys. I love you all so much and enjoy every minute I spend with you. You give me all the perks of motherhood because I get to see you laugh and play and grow and learn...and then when you throw a fit or fall down and scrape your knee or have too much sugar, I get to go home : )
Joe (this pic is two years old)
Percy & Elias
Mason
Alex
Max
EverettFriday, May 14, 2010
Sawyer Park, I dub thee King Douche Bag. Now kiss my ass!
I am livid! Why? Because last night a Houston sports bar - Sawyer Park on Washington Ave - would not let my best friend in their establishment because, get this, his pant legs were too baggy. For real? Like for real, for real? Turns out they were for real.
News flash Sawyer Park, you're an effing sports bar not an upscale club. People wear casual clothes to sports bars in case you missed that memo. And let me make the point that my friend's pant legs were no baggier than any other guy's pants that we saw inside. No. Baggier. It was the lamest excuse I had ever heard of, and I am outraged and appalled. Lets makes this clear, we are not talking about baggy pants in the sense that the waist was at his knees. He does not sag his jeans. The actual portion of his pants leg was too baggy according to the Ass Wipes at Sawyer Park. What they hell do they want, effing skinny jeans?
The douchey doorman could not even maintain eye contact with us because he knew he was being a shit bag. When I asked for the manager, that ball sweat asshole could only keep saying, "We have a strict dress code." Oh really? So you need to be snazy to go to a sports bar now? That means the guy inside with the t-shirt, khaki shorts and tennis shoes on should have been asked to leave, right? Oh no wait. That guy was white. Yep, I went there. I pulled out the race card. And I'm white. It was obvious that the real reason they would not let my friend was in because he is black. And here's the kicker: he's not even black. He is Puerto Rican and just looks black. As we looked around the bar, we noticed nothing but white people there last night. Coincidence? I do not think so.
So Sawyer Park, I hope termites infest your wood-structured bar and rid this world of such a trashy, ass backwards, piece of shit establishment.
The ultimate look in douchebaggery
News flash Sawyer Park, you're an effing sports bar not an upscale club. People wear casual clothes to sports bars in case you missed that memo. And let me make the point that my friend's pant legs were no baggier than any other guy's pants that we saw inside. No. Baggier. It was the lamest excuse I had ever heard of, and I am outraged and appalled. Lets makes this clear, we are not talking about baggy pants in the sense that the waist was at his knees. He does not sag his jeans. The actual portion of his pants leg was too baggy according to the Ass Wipes at Sawyer Park. What they hell do they want, effing skinny jeans?
The douchey doorman could not even maintain eye contact with us because he knew he was being a shit bag. When I asked for the manager, that ball sweat asshole could only keep saying, "We have a strict dress code." Oh really? So you need to be snazy to go to a sports bar now? That means the guy inside with the t-shirt, khaki shorts and tennis shoes on should have been asked to leave, right? Oh no wait. That guy was white. Yep, I went there. I pulled out the race card. And I'm white. It was obvious that the real reason they would not let my friend was in because he is black. And here's the kicker: he's not even black. He is Puerto Rican and just looks black. As we looked around the bar, we noticed nothing but white people there last night. Coincidence? I do not think so.
So Sawyer Park, I hope termites infest your wood-structured bar and rid this world of such a trashy, ass backwards, piece of shit establishment.
The ultimate look in douchebaggery
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