Friday, April 22, 2011

"Personal Diary Entry from September 1st, 2010"- Listen to your gut. Jiggly as it may have been....

September 1st, 2010. 8:53pm

Well, here I am at Starbucks sipping chamomile tea for the second time in 2 days avoiding Jessica (my roommate) at all costs. It's the 1st. I have no rent money. Let's see how long I can ride THIS disaster out... JESUS---!!!RUSSIAN LADY IS SPEAKING SO LOUD NEXT TO ME, CANNOT HEAR MY OWN THOUGHTS! SHUT UP FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS AND EVERYTHING HOLY!!!!

It's not like I'm not trying. I applied for 14 jobs this week and couldn't even get ONE interview for a plumbing company cold calling for 8 dollars an hour. For literal and proverbial shit. Fuck. Me. Dry.


Me, Matt, and went on a hiking trip to Santa Paula to a place in the coastal mountains called the "Punch Bowls." It didn't SOUND like it would be too bad. I guess I forgot what hiking up an actual mountain was like. It has been 13 years since I had to trek up anything like that since the big glacier incident on the ill fated trip to British Columbia during the phase when Dad was trying to teach us about nature. Too bad I was 12, angry, fat, and full of hormones of disdain. Pouring out of my overalls, through my braced up mouth, I complained every step of the way that trip. Since then, my relationship with my father has never really been the same, and I got labeled as the family asshole whiner. I have tried to since live this down. I haven't. Poor Dad. He meant well. But redemption now!

I ordered tea and I really should have gone for the chocolate chip coffee cake. Goddamn it, Kathryne. Stop thinking about sweets.

Anyway, the hike today to the Punch Bowls turned out to be TRECHEROUS. IT WAS SO HARD!!! 7.5 or 8 miles all and all and I suppose I knew about a quarter of the way through that I was in deep trouble. Not only was the sun baking my insanely transparent white skin, but my legs were not NEAR strong enough to handle the steep incline filled with rough rocks, loose gravel, poison oak, and lizards. Then sand! Crossing jagged rocks in water rushing towards us. (With snakes!!!) It was SOOOOO hard!

I had to stop like, 5 times for water and to sit because I was exhausted from the heat, dehydrated, and about to puke my guts out. Muscles so overworked that I had to dry heave. I didn't actually blow chunks, thank god- I would have died. And I blamed the need to puke on the fact that I had two cups of coffee on an empty stomach and that I had just gotten my period. Both true, but not why I needed to pukey puke. We all know what it really was. Fat girl syndrome. Speaking of which- I would KILL for a Reese's peanut butter cup right now... Gonna go to Ralphs after this and eat one while I shop for vegetables, then dispose of the evidence in one of the more random aisles... no harm, no foul, right?

Owen, it turned out, was very helpful as I saw more and more similarities between my father and Matt. Matt powered through almost like a soldier. Head down. Just kept walking through the pain. Well, I suppose maybe I was the only one feeling pain, as these boys grew up with these hikes. But I digress. Matt didn't really stop to help when I stopped. Owen stopped. He actually held my hands over the scary rocks and kept looking back to make sure I was still alive. Owen being 6 feet tall and 105 lbs, I am pretty sure he could not handle my bootyliciousness if I fell on him, but it was kinda nice to see the effort there. Matt only stopped when he had to- or when Owen told him to. You know, it's fine. Really. He's just not a really lovey dovey guy. (It's not fine. I am still sooo not OK with this.) Whatever. We saw the waterfall. Then we ran out of drinking water, which was scary, I started to swell up like a sausage, and I was convinced I was going to faint if I didn't get some kind of hydration soon, but I kept it to myself and didn't complain. Don't complain again, Kathryne, suck it up. Be a man. Be a man. Prove.

We nearly RAN back down the mountain. Mostly downhill. Mat and Owen were very agile, and I felt like an out of shape girly girl with a weight problem. I had to follow through though. I had to. I did. I DID suck it up. I survived! I am so glad I didn't make them turn around. I don't know if I ever want to do that again though. Jesus knows I'll be sore tomorrow. I will be surprised if I can stand upright. At some point during the hike though, I realized I was just trying to prove something. That- you know, I am NOT skinny, but I am also not so fat anymore either. That I can power thru!

We went to Owen's cabin down the street afterwards for water and then to The Habit for food. Matt did pay for dinner for me, which was nice. We usually go dutch, so that was really nice. He probably was worried I would keel over if he didn't put some kind of food in me. And he knows I am too poor to eat out now after all the car repairs for the lemon of century.

After dinner, Matt drove us past his and Owen's childhood homes. I secretly hoped that maybe he would stop and introduce me to his parents. I wish. Ugh. Goddamn it. Maybe I don't want what I thought I did. I don't ever really seem to go after the types of guys that hug and kiss a lot. (Frankly, I was initially pissed that Owen was going on our romantic little hike, but later relieved as all hell he was there because he was the only one looking out for me in that hike and he also really kept the conversation going well. Matt isn't that talkative while sober, I reminded myself today. Again.) I think I love him though. He bought me lunch. And gave me aloe for my sunburn.

And just a snippet from 11/15/2010:

It has just occured to me today that I might be too delicate in stature to withhold the heartless and indecent musings of a full blown depressed alcoholic who has prickly tendencies to begin with. How did we get here? Will it always be like this? I am trying hard not to continue to be disappointed, especially everytime he picks up a drink, I always hope that this will the time he doesn't overdo it. He gets so narcissistic with a dash of deep seeded self loathing when he is drinking heavily. Will it always be like this? It will be if you don't change some patterns here, Kathryne. TOXICITY is the word of the day. And he says he loves me. I think he does. But why does he still talk so all the other girls? It feels like I am number one now. But does the number matter when there seem to be so many potential others he likes to keep around "just in case"? The texting I always wonder about. The facebook comments...I wonder sometimes... I am scared because I am so love with him now. I am meeting his parents and sister in a week for Thanksgiving, and I know that must mean something. It is also my 26th birthday. Another year older, another year wiser? I hope I don't say something stupid in front of his parents. I hope they like me. I hope I fit in. I hope Matt doesn't ever cheat on me. Love is now involved, and I feel like we can conquer anything if we just put our heads together and work it out. It was so sweet of him to ask me to his parents. I can't wait to play with all his pets, too. I feel so starved for unconditional love sometimes. I should get a puppy, maybe...

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Big Sky

I've been listening to a lot of Annie Lennox lately, and my love affair with her extremely naked, stripped down, emotional lyrics has not wained in I'd say a good 15 years. Even when I was a child, before I had had my heart broken, before someone had lied to me, hurt me, or not been true, when I was unscathed, I still somehow was mesmorized by her lyrics and related to them...even if I wasn't sure exactly what they meant. I sure do now, I'll tell you that!.... Yeah.

As a little girl, and as an actress from a pretty young age, I somehow...yearned...for that kind of hurt, that kind of deep hurt and heartbreak that are so apparent in her lyrics...masochistic, yeah? It was like I knew that I needed to experience that fall down, life altering love and then lose it to know what it might be like to express those kinds of feelings on stage or screen. I'm not weird. But I do think that this dangerous need for something to draw from has willed me into less than ideal romantic situations. Did I create them? Did they just find me...? Would it have happened anyway? I don't know.

When I was 18, first starting out in acting conservatory in NYC, I remember, in my first class, the famed and respected Darren Cohen was working on my first song assignment. I had played Lady Thiang in "The King and I" in highschool (great casting, I know...but go with me...)- and I had sung "Something Wonderful"- and if you can stop trying to envision me as Asian, try and remember the song. It's pretty fucking heavy. My old musical director used to say it was the hardest song in the show. Lady Thiang is the "first" wife to the King of Siam- among- dozens and dozens of younger, prettier wives. She is a concubine. She gave him his first son though, and being the first, she will always, in a way, be the most important. Anna does not how Lady Thiang can be so true and loving towards her husband who sleeps with many women, and isn't kind most of the time to boot. In the middle of the second act- Lady Thiang sings "Something Wonderful"- and here are some of the lyrics:

"He will not always say
What you would have him say,
But now and then he'll say
Something wonderful.
The thoughtless things he'll do
Will hurt and worry you
But now and then he'll do
Something wonderful."

Darren Cohen was sitting across from me, along with the rest of my class of about 20- and he was impressed with my vocal abilities for the musically difficult song. (I had worked on the song for two years with my vocal coaches in high school- it was my audition song to every college- so it was polished to the nines.) He applauded my effort, and me, thinking I had just wowed him, was about to smugly sit down. He didn't let me leave the front. He took a breath and long pause before speaking and said to me, "Have you ever been hurt? Has a man ever really, really, to your core destroyed you?"

And I thought of all my missed romantic connections from high school. Being the make out buddy to many of my male contemporaries, but never the girlfriend. The awkward chubby gal. Sure. That hurt like hell. "Yes. I have definitely had my heart broken."

Darren looked at me and took his thick glasses off. "No you haven't."

Some of the girls in the class gasped. I was shocked. Who the hell was he to tell me that I hadn't been hurt? He wasn't there!! He didn't know what those boys promised me and then never came through with. How dare he! He then used me an example for the class- and I learned an important- and dangerous lesson as an actor. He proceeded to tell me that I had hands down a beautiful voice. And at that point, I had lost my high school chub, so he also told me I had a pretty face, and "looked" like an actor. But I couldn't walk into auditions and sing songs like this- or do monologues for that matter that had this kind of subject matter. Because I hadn't expereicned it yet. I simply was not equipped to play a heartbroken, down trodden, and desperate woman- because I hadn't been through it yet. He was right. And it wasn't until years later- 5 to be exact- that I realized what Lady Thiang was singing about. And what Annie Lennox has been crooning about for the majority of her career. And then something crazy happened.

At 23, I saw what I thought to be at the time- the love of my life- disappoint and fail me so horribly...I didn't think I would recover. As many of us have, yes? This is very vital standpost in life. And that, my friends- is when I started to write. Create my own material, and on top of that, I started booking more acting jobs. Shorts, small things- but in my day, I have also been up for several- what some might call "bigtime" jobs. What I am saying is, of course a lot of this comes with age, you learn, you grow, and it's only natural that I would know more about the industry at 26 now than at 18. But. I am a far superior artist now. Not because of the sharpness that comes with class or good direction. But because of what I have experienced. Simply by my pool of experience. But here is where it gets dangerous...

I am now in another relationship. With a man that I love. And he loves me. We have had our moments- amazing, full of hope and love, and others that have made me question my core beliefs. There is an ebb and flow. And in every kind of different relationship you have, there will always be a new onslaught of problems and joys. Of course. This comes with the territory. But I recently was thinking about standing across the room from Darren Cohen, and him telling me I will never be the actress I am supposed to be until I have had these signposts in life happen to me. And it made worry in a cold sweat today that it is possible that Mr. Cohen has been silently guiding me in my decision making with men for the past 8 years- setting myself up for failure- or worse- sabotaging the very thing that makes me happy, gives me a reason, and possible future. And this scared the shit of out me.

Am I a masochist actor looking for so many feelings and questions and scenarios that I am blind to what is actually happening in front of my face- which is--- beautiful, sometimes troubling, frightening, enlightening, and....vital...? I didn't want to face the answer to that. So, instead I decided to listen to some Annie Lennox to take the edge off. Here is a few lines from "Big Sky"- my song du jour.

"Big sky, I'm gonna hurt you.
Big sky, you'll remember this.
Big sky, up above the rain,
how can I ever put a stop to it,
look you in the face again.

Big sky, I'll never let you go.
Big sky, baby I told you so.
Big sky, look at this swollen pride
I get so busy looking out for you
when you were you by my side?

There's a reason when I'm sleeping
I can't think of nothing else
all my longing
all my waiting
all the things you never felt
all my weeping
all my waiting
all my standing on the shelf

how am I ever gonna get through this?
Look you in the face again?"

The song itself is beyond moving, and I suggest you youtube it to get the full effect here:

I believe that I am smarter than simply throwing myself into situations of intentional heartbreak to chase a "real" and "true" moment on screen or to book that next job. But it's something that I am starting to be keenly aware of, and am going to monitor...and I encourage all you actors and artists to trace where those first seeds were planted for you and your possibly destructive behavior- as we all have this- let's admit it- wherever it lies. Until then- here's to happy, HEALTHY, and beautiful unions... right? Right. I'm off to dust off a script and listen to ever beaitiful Annie. Feeling...grateful.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

It's not me. It's... yeah, it's me. Shit.

I wrote this a few months ago- and never posted it- but it's all still true- so I am going to go ahead and post it anyway. :0)

Well, I know it has been an insanely long time since I've posted, and maybe, just maybe, I think I've come up with the reason why. Originally, I saw this blog as kind of my journal- When i first started it last year, I used it as a way to talk about my life- poorness, dating, dudes, despair, you name it- the general malaise possibly that is your 20's. Here in LA. Being an East Coaster. Ya know... You've read it, you know!!

So. I figured out why I haven't felt compelled to post. And it's so obvious, hellooo? Right? I have somehow, not really sure how... but somehow...found myself in a relationship. Like. A REAL ONE. Haha, ladies and gentlemen, I seem to have entered- what I would consider to be- my first adult relationship. I certainly have had other relationships, and a super long one (4 years) before this. However, that began was I was 19 and ended when I 23. Then life smacked me real hard in the face. Pretty much as hard as it gets. It ain't an easy thing pursuing your dream, trying to be your better creative self, and keep a roof over your head at the same time in a big, bad, scary city. I digress. Hmm... as I never use actual names in this blog... what shall I call him? Hmph... what would be appropriate? No Drunk Guys or Gay Guys, no. Hm. "Unexpected Guy?" "New Guy?" got it: "Movie Guy." Even though the "l" word has been uttered, and yes, I am pretty head over you know what for him, I will refrain from using names like, "Love Guy" or "Sweetie McSweeterson".... I still have my pride. And my wit. ;)

Movie Guy and I have a a bit of a sordid history that I won't hash out here in bloggy land, but I will just say this: After almost 2 years of "kind of but not really" to "bad timing" to "never again" to "maybe he could..." to "uh oh...I'm in love".... we have finally reached that great communication place of, "I like you, let's be together for real and see what happens." And in the 3 years I have lived in Los Angeles, and the three years I have been dating here in Los Angeles... no one has ever gone there with me.

Life in general has become more chaotic I suppose- that hasn't changed- I have moved from 4 different apartments in 5 months,(HA), written a brand new script well out of my general comfort zone of quirky comedy, had and lost jobs..., had my heart close to broken, and then repaired just when I thought there was no hope left. I have become a better communicator in these few years. The main reason I haven't blogged, is because I have been--- gulp--- happy. I have been SO happy. And isn't that a horrible reason to stop blogging? I don't want to just be the kind of blogger that only writes when I feel shitty or have a need to complain. So that ends now.

Between small day trips, endless movies marathons, and my new found love for organic cooking with the boy... it has been a whirlwind 6 months. Also, in this past 6 months, I have had two scripts... get some traction with either production companies or indie producers... we are on the up and up, and it still may take a good few years... but we are on our way to something amazing with "The Lifeboat Sonata" and "Sunny Days Weight Loss"... just a matter of time, and the ball is rolling on both.

In the meantime, with Movie Guy, who also happens to be a writer and incredibly accomplished Director of Photography, I am developing a thriller/suspense film to be shot incredibly low budget. A passion project with immediate friends in the industry... and it's going to be fantastic. My oh my, have I been happy. :0) And that has been a nice change for me. I feel I lost a lot this year. My first car, (I got a new one... a shitty new one, but a new one none the less), my studio apartment, and a few jobs like I said- but those are like water to me- they keep coming- I never worry too much, because no matter what it is that I do money wise, it's never of any importance to me- just something to aid the dream. Just something to get me by. Scraping, but getting by is all I care about. Oh, that and not getting arrested.

So that's me in a nutshell as of late. I now have a whole new set of fun musings now that I find myself OUT of the uneasy world of just dating...into... relationship land... it's exciting and I can't wait to see what unfolds in the near future. I promise to post soon about what life is like once the big question ("are we or aren't we?" ) is over, and the "real" stuff starts coming into the equation. Been awhile, and I am rusty...everything feels so new and foreign...and I am thinking, I am really thinking.... that that is a very good thing. Stay tuned!

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Strip Yourself

After having been systematically stripped of everything I thought was dear to me or vital, I think, or I am starting to think, I am on my way to something really, really true. In my life. And true doesn’t mean easy or comfortable, but as human beings, I think we seek truth above all else. Or at least I do. Even when it hurts or burns. I guess, I just want to live truth. Hard as it may be.

It all started about 2 years ago I suppose. I had just moved out to California from New York City, stuck in a co-dependent, miserable relationship with my then boyfriend. The only way I saw my self coming out here, 3,000 miles away with not much money, was with him. It was my only shot, in my head. So I powered through, knowing that our love for each other had long since expired, and was now something- sour. Angry. Violent. We tried to hold onto it for the sake of just simply staying together because it was cheaper rent when it was split 2 ways, and tried remember the good times that had long since passed. I was 22 and feeling 50. Too much to shoulder, too much to bare, in what was once a very loving relationship, now something quite abusive.

After he went to jail for smashing my head against a concrete wall, giving me a concussion and a very bruised and bloodied face, I still didn’t leave. Never told a soul the real details, and was too ashamed or prideful to come running home to my parents. Although, I likely should have done that. Instead, once he got out after 4 days, my life became a haze for the next few months. Crying apologies followed by doors being slammed, and pushing, shoving and restraining. Anything that wouldn’t leave a visual mark. Court sessions where I begged a judge to drop the charges, the young, white, female assistant DA, shaking her head at me. Judgmental eyes all around of just another one of “those women.” I was frightened of what might happen if I left, what he might do. What I might be subjected to. All alone in a brand new city with no real friends, no real family close. I was stuck and terrified. I found myself saying things to people that I never thought I’d say. “Restraining order revoked,”, “multiple contusions”, “bloody fist”. I didn’t recognize myself. The once strong, opinionated, feisty young woman I was, I couldn’t even stand to look at myself in the mirror without being ashamed of what I’d become. A battered woman.

The slumlord at our drug riddled, roach infested apartment hit his wife, and cursed at her every chance he got, a drunk. So, in a strange twist of irony, I didn’t have an alibi there, where I should have, I had an enabler. I was trapped. Alone, and not acting or auditioning. I wanted to write, but didn’t know how, couldn’t lift a finger, too sad, too tired, too hard. I was afraid mostly of the things that might come out of me if I were to put pen to paper, what I might actually have to face. No one knew. And this was my penance for wanting to come to LA, or so I thought. Should have listened to Dad and gotten my Masters degree, I thought to myself. Too late now.

After 4 more months of agony- pure and total agony- I finally left him. It was impromptu. I still loved him very much, believe it or not. He was all I had ever known, my first real relationship. My first love, and when that get muddled, even they way ours did, to dire circumstances, it’s still incredibly hard to leave, no matter how strong you think you are. Manipulation and con-dependency must not be dismissed, they have incredible power over people and interpersonal relationships gone south. Only those who have been involved in these types of abusive patterns, whether they be physical, sexual, or emotional, or all 3, are the only ones who know what I am talking about. The world wants you to hate your abuser, but it simply is not that easy. However, I knew if I stayed with him, I’d be dead in a year.

I had long since hidden all the kitchen knives in various places around the apartment, so he could never get to them, and if need be, I would systematically know where a weapon would be close by. I knew this was no way to live. But, like in all abusive situations, it becomes all you know. All you know how to do. I moved out that month, after he begged me to stay, offered a marriage proposal, that he’d change, that he’d find a way to be better. Nothing. Gone.

Then came the house that credit built. I used every last cent I had to live in that new studio in North Hollywood, far away from a life I was trying to forget. Bought cute colorful furniture, and started to really love the new aloneness that would later plague me. This ushered in the writing era. Still auditioning here and there, I starting to mainly hone in on writing. Short, heartfilled, gut spilling diary entries at first, then short film scripts. Then features. It was an exorcism of sorts. But there was no way I would have ever come to the conclusion that I was worth any salt as a writer had I not lived alone. That said, I was broker than ever in the 18 months that followed. 18 months, out of a twisted, masochistic, hatefully passionate 4 year love affair, 4 screenplays, a blog, 5 short film scripts, and countless suitors later, and I had nothing to show for it but battle wounds, some hard lessons learned, and what some might call, an artistic awakening of sorts.

I find myself now, temporarily homeless with nothing but a car full of clothes, dvds and literature. Pictures, blankets, and shoes. Words. Words are what I have. Words are what I covet, and I have lost almost everything else.

I loved that studio. The studio I could no longer afford by myself. It represented freedom, and the single life. And a symbol of strength that I “did it.” I relished the new material things that I bought with the money I didn’t have. They were masks for me that I was trying on, trying to be an adult with a couch, an adult with my bookshelf and gloriously large bed. It was all STUFF. Stuff that was only mine, no sharing. No more ashamedness. No more yelling or turmoil with men. Just me, my beautiful stuff, the computer and notebooks I used to write in daily to start to develop my quirky writing style, and the people that I chose to let in my life, only when I wanted, and only at certain times. I was alone, single, and fabulous. I was living my own Sex and the City.

After losing my apartment, and everything in it that I couldn’t carry out to my car, I decided that I truly was living a lie. A fakeness had set in, and it was time to remove it. I had long since had my cable/internet turned off before I lost the apartment, and had gotten used to not watching my marathons of SVU and Grey’s Anatomy. I has gotten used to not having internet everyday, and if I wanted it, having to trek to the library to get it. My phone bill had been a late, and then my phone was sporadically turned off and then on again a few times, which was also, what I considered to be turbulent and unfair. But what it really was, was the universe telling me, YELLING at me that A) I could no longer afford my 1,000$ a month apartment that I had come to love so very dearly as a symbol of my strength and triumph, and B) I had become so attached to these… these THINGS- having television to fall asleep to, to the same tired, played out Cop/Lawyer plot, a phone to jab away at for no reason sometimes, calling people when I should be looking for more work, or writing my masterpiece. The couch that I had come to hate, pretty to look at, but uncomfortable and course, the queen sized bed that was too big for me. Too big for one person, with my gorgeous dark, deep purple bedding, a cruel reminder that I spent most nights alone, by choice, in this seemingly ever expanding, vast apartment that was starting to swallow me whole. It wasn’t that I yearned to have someone to sleep with- I did- I had people, I just- since the long, arduous, and scarring break-up 18 months, almost 2 years ago- I just can’t really sleep with people. I can screw them, that’s no problem, I just can’t sleep soundly next to person for some reason. So, I don’t. I equate that to my own intimacy issues that I have apparently now developed since this said break-up with the abusive man. An issue, I am only realizing now that I have. Now that I have moved out of this once dreamed of, this once loved, then hated apartment of mine. Now that it’s gone, and with it, all my furniture, lamps, tables- kitchenware- you name it, one might think I’d be devastated. Hurt, done for, ready to give up. But the thing is- I have never been more relieved.

I have a chance- a clean slate if you will, a chance one rarely ever gets in a lifetime to be FREE. To rid myself of everything material that I don’t immediately need to survive, and start something a little more- truthful, a little more real. After the abusive man, who I thought took so much from me, I fought with myself, I still fight with myself to retrieve it somehow. And the thing is, on the path to doing so, I padded my life- with things- nice things, new clothes, new haircut, new bed, new couch. New life, great life. Untruthful life. Padding. Excess. I did the same thing with men afterward too, to some degree. It’s a very hard thing, trying to fit in, and make everyone believe you are OK, that you are a normal, and happy person, when inside you are screaming from being on fire. What I am saying people, is that look around- even if your shit isn’t that nice- look the fuck around. What do you have? Do you like it? Does it make you feel better about yourself at the end of the day? Does it function in a way that makes your life that much more easy or manageable? Why did you buy it? And do you watch that many episodes of NCIS because you love the characters or because you are numb and need a reason to escape the thoughts, the sometimes scary, but very real thoughts you think at night, when you’re all alone?

Once stripped of everything I thought I needed to survive, I realized that I need close to nothing, in actuality. I move in a week to a new apartment, with roommates, so in a far more affordable situation. I look forward to it with my new sense of how I am looking at the world. When I say I lost everything these past few years, it wasn’t a lie. I lost the man I loved in the worst way one might lose one- a death of a soul, not a person, but the death of who you thought someone was, the betrayal of who you thought YOU were with that person, the life I could have had with him, the life I almost had with him- near perfection, had he not hit. Had he had the capacity to channel his anger through exercise or journals. However, that’s not how it happened, and that is OK. It’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me- a brutal awakening, but a vital one, and it has made me likely one the savviest, most clever, and most solid people you will ever meet. I have foundations deeper within myself, deeper than you can ever imagine. I lost the material things that held me together after this man was out of my life. The things I thought meant something, something real. They did not. And I now have me. My thoughts. My words, and clothes, books, and films, I so dearly cherish. And that, my friends, is the only thing I need besides a pencil and paper. I am thankful to be alive, thankful to be in Los Angeles, and thankful to now have a roof over my head, and people in my life that support me enough to be able to catch me, to fill in the gaps when needed, and enrich and enlighten my life everyday. I am happy. I am full of passion. I have a thousand ideas. I am alive. I am whole. And I have not a thing.

Friday, February 12, 2010

I'm having a real hard time wrapping my head around this...

Well, I suppose it was bound to happen. Though I hate admitting inevitability, I am in fact: stuck. I'm getting frosty, kids.

Many times in my life I feel as though I have been presented with a crossroads. Sometimes it's regarding people- men specifically. Sometimes it's when a career change or job prospect presents itself. These are the main ones, and here is the dilemma I am finding myself at today. I always believed in love. In two people completing each other in such a way that was harmonious and beautiful, and LASTING. I always did. I always thought that there would be a happily ever after, a person out there that would be loyal, true, and honest. Now, don't get me wrong: it's not like I don't now-- not REALLY-- but I will tell you, my confidence in men in general is shrinking.

I am not exactly sure when it happened, but I think it's happened over time- and then when 2010 hit: BAM! My expectations are lowering, and I generally think men are pretty simple creatures, easily swayed, and in general: not truthful. Why the sudden change in my attitude? One might argue it was a slew of incredibly bad, if not laughably bad relationships/dating scenarios. That might be it- but it's not just me I'm talking about. I can't think of one girlfriend I have that hasn't been dissappointed/lied to/ manipulated or duped by her man in the past. I can't. And here is the thing: it goes both ways, I know women can be like that as well, and I can only speak for myself as someone who truly wants to find love and not just play with people: but what happened to the fairytale? What happened to happily ever after that doesn't last for 5 minutes, or 5 years, but forever? Not ending in someone cheating, or cyber cheating, or carrying on with a double life, or what have you? What the hell is going on, and when the hell did I get so cynical? I NEVER used to be this way!

Literally, after Old Guy, Drunk Guy, Gay Guy, Girlfriend Guy, and Difficult Guy... I am really starting to feel nothing. Like I expect nothing from the opposite sex. Isn't that terrible? When a cute guy comes along now, I don't get as excited or loopy as I used to. I have a few prospects, maybe even more than a few: let's say a handful. And out of that handful, some very handsome, very accomplished, driven men. Who seem to really be into me. But in the back of my mind, I feel I know what will happen. A let down. Not now, but eventually. Not a great way to go about things, I know, but if it's happened to you time and time and time again, with even what seem to be the nicest, most loyal and shy of guys... it will throw you off too.

Men have short attention spans, and are easily distracted by a nice ass, rack, or other pretty face. Not that it's all about the sex with them. I had one guy tell me once, a guy I was actually IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH AT THE TIME, say, "I fall in love with a new girl everyday- it's about the variety... men need variety...the nerdy girl, the sexy girl, the artistic girl..."

I was mortified. But I have heard this before from other guys friends and or lovers... or former lovers... that men simply love variety... and need it... and it doesn't matter if they love somebody, and the sex is amazing- and they've been together for say, I don't know-- a few years-- even--even if everything is perfect in that way- they STILL feel the need to what?? Spread their seed??

I know how this comes off. Woman scorned, angry, and disillusioned. BUT. I am just trying to understand. I don't. And being a great "gal pal" to many hetero men- I ..... I wish I didn't know what I know. And even if it's not about the cheating, or the lying or the what have you- it seems to be something else. Is it boredom? The lack of core values? What is it? It could be that I am still hurt by the last several relationships that not only severely let me down, but knocked me on my ass. And now, when a nice guy comes into the picture, I feel like I already have them figured out. Like I know what their M.O. is... and I hate that about myself! I am now afraid, that IF a great guy comes along, and truly wants to be with me: I won't recognize it. I feel like I have turned into Miranda from "Sex and the City." Skeptical and cynical. I really wish I could flip a switch to change this. But I can' have been too predictable. Men have let me down. Men don't change. Men have not been good to me.

I know what you're thinking. It's me. It's me. Maybe it is. I won't deny that I have a penchant for finding men that in most people's eyes would consider "bad". I like guys that are a challenge. I'll admit it. I like men who are hard to get. I like deeply artistic, deeply emotional, and deeply sensitive men. And those kinds of men- the ones who are writers, actors, directors, photographers, what have you- the ones with creative spirits- they fall in love fast! They feel all kinds of crazy emotions...and relationships with them... can be... explosive... However--- they fall out of love fast too, and they generally- they need a muse. So when they're done with you- they're done with you, and on to the next deeply artistic, feeling girl. That's how I feel anyway. Not to sound so cold. But... many men have told me that they don't believe in monogamy. That they think it's a physical impossibility. I just think it's gross. Seriously. If you're sleeping with someone, and they're all up in someone else's buisness? Ewww.

I'm really, really, really sorry... this is a bitch session at it's best. Maybe it will take meeting that "great" guy. But let me tell you something, I think I know something that the others don't, and I'm going to fill you in on it, so get ready: the real reason I feel this way, and I feel isolated in this, is because I, on more than one occasion, have been the other woman.

It started when I was 13 and my next door neighbor, who was 16 and in highschool, used to ditch his high school g/f to make out with me by the pool. I knew he had a g/f. I knew it was wrong, but I really loved him... he was my first real puppy love- so I let him kiss me, knowing it was wrong. Maybe that's where it all started. I was too young and too shy to say no. So I didn't. But then I felt like hell afterward. Even then. Even when no sex was involved, just young hormones floating around. Then, my senior year, I had lost a bunch of weight, I was the star of the high school musicals, and on my way to NYC to study theater. I was riding high, I looked great, felt great, full of confidence. Same thing. The boy who I was devastatingly in love with, the male lead in our musicals, had a g/f, and I knew I could never have him. They had been together for 4 years, and she even- gulp- slept over at his house! Very adult- they were definitely having sex! I, 18, was NOT. (And didn't until I was 20, ha) But one night, I was helping him with his math homework, pining in our all too platonic relationship, and he reached over and kissed me. And then started feeling my boob. At first I liked it, and then I got scared. "What are you doing?? What about Michelle?? " I said. He told me, " Don't worry, no one has to know. I can't not kiss you. I'm trying not to. But I can't." I should have told him to try harder and shove him off me, but once again, I couldn't. I knew it was wrong. But I simply couldn't say no. I liked him too much. And we were too cute together. In my mind, I definitely thought this meant he was going to dump her, and take me to the senior ball. Alas, that didn't happen. Even though, every week or so, we would get together to make out and such, I would ask him about it, and he would say, "It's not the right time yet." And I would believe him. How about that. In the end, he took Michelle to the prom. I went with my geeky friend Pat, who had large wire rimmed glasses, a comb over (at 18. Yup), and was half my size. In the prom picture, it literally looks like he is my child, not my date. Ahhhh... but, this pattern started very early in my life, and sadly, I let it continue... but here is the secret I was going to share with you all.

Now, at 25, being an actress, and being in, well, some would say, a glamorous city, with a glamorous job, I have seen men do so many despicable things. Traditionally, many people think of actresses as sluts of some kind- prostitutes in a way- anything for the job, right? Well, knowing full well that that is true in some cases, but CERTAINLY not mine, I have been put in several comprising positions with several- shall I say, married or attached men? One I didn't know about. One, well, he made me love him- we courted and then dated for about a year- and then he ripped the rug from underneath me and told me had another woman, and he loved us both. I was shocked, he had done a great job at concealing that- always telling me how much he cared about me, loved me, loved being w/ me, etc. That was a shock. But then, I have worked at tradeshows, been on movie or tv sets, and what have you, and I cannot tell you how many married men, young, old, good looking, or ugly, try to get with the young actresses. And I found this so disturbing. Seeing so many married men... acting like... complete... apes... is just- well, it does something to you.

Some might argue that maybe it's just LA. I would argue that they're right. But that being said-- this is my town. I am an East Coast gal living out here- but this is my home. Where I will be staying indefinitely. And I love artistic men. Maybe that's the problem. Either way, feeling like I have seen more than what I like to admit- probably the way an exotic dancer feels I would imagine... I hate to make that analogy... but I feel like I'm on the other side of this... and it SUCKS!

Sometimes it feels good to vent, eh? I can't say I feel too much better, but I at least got those negative feelings off my chest... I know they will pass. I know it's just a time and a place. But I am ready. I am! I am ready to meet that person that will make me see thing differently. That will make me WANT to see things differently. Or at least give me a reason to. But you men. I tell you. You are really letting us down. Pick up the slack, start bringing a better game...! Because I refuse to settle for you dudes that do this sneaky stuff! ( I am also aware that some changing will have to be done on my part, but I know full well that despite the smack I talk, I would melt into a puddle for a guy that I like. That I could love, that has morals, and is honest and upfront. I would....!) I'm not negative Nancy. I've just become more cautious. I promised to write even when it's not 100% positive, so here it is guys... haha sorry, but I just REALLY needed to get that off my chest! I appreciate it!!

Sunday, January 3, 2010

"Eternal Sunshine of the Lovesick Mind" A diary entry

Maybe it was the haunting music of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" that I just watched. Maybe it was the fact that I was home, with my mother to take care of me, that I retreated back into the very childlike, and vulnerable state that I was in. I had not been taking very good care of myself. Not in the body, head, or heart. It had been a whirlwind year, and it was just about time to wake up from my winter's rest and snap back into the startling and exhilarating reality that had become my life. Why wasn't I more excited? Why couldn't I shake the melancholy? As a writer, I tend to live in that glorious unknown... the delicious world of what I have, what I want, and what I will never have... the cracks and crevices of happiness... what could have been, what never was... and that place where I know I will be someday. I live in that place most of the time... most artists do. It breeds good work, and generally, I can't shake it. But I don't mind spending time there, I've become rather comfortable with it.
In the past, I couldn't watch "Eternal..." not after the breakup... the bad, brutal and deeply depressing breakup. That movie speaks to this generation's group of lovers in a way that many other movies have not succeeded in. Somehow, everyone knows exactly what it's like to be the Joel or the Clementine in the relationship. I was the Clementine in case you were wondering. I'm always the Clementine. Or at least that's what people think I am. Heart on my sleeve, painfully honest, a little crazy, loud, and unable to hide what I am feeling in a any given moment. Now when I watch the movie, which truly is one of my favorites of all time... I feel nothing...I have long sense gotten over my 1st Joel. I have. But that was not what was on my mind. Not this time, on this particular snowed in, below zero, blustery Syracuse day.

What was bothering me- nagging me really, like a cut cuticle bleeding, needing attention, I couldn't exactly put my finger on. My Joel- the Joel that eventually went away... he was the only real relationship I had ever had. Everyone after my Joel was not... well... Joel. They were Tom, Dick , or Harry. And it was really starting to grate on me. On my confidence, on my whole head. I, like Clementine, had become a really kooky girl, a fun girl, a girl who was different from the others in the way I dressed, talked and held myself. Maybe it was the East coast in me. Maybe it was the exterior I put up in an effort to protect myself. But none the less, after my Joel, I had absolutely no problem getting other potential
Joels to notice me. To ask me out. To want me. To even fall in love with me. The problem was- the ones that loved me- I didn't love back- not even a little. I could be married with 1.5 kids and a freakin Labrador, I thought to myself. What a scary thought. But none of these other potential Joels were the right ones.
On the flip side... I had much rather taken a liking to men... to
Joels that I guess weren't really Joels at all... men who took me for granted... left me... treated me with disrespect, and discarded me until the next time they were feeling lonely. It took me awhile to realize that I was doing the exact same thing with them. For a full year- a year of searching for connections, losing them, and then finding them again-- I had failed to really find someone that I could spend more than a few hours with. I had succeeded in making my life compartmentalized. And I didn't like it.
In this blog, I always try to give you answers, reasons WHY, or WHY NOT. I like to come up with solutions and put a positive spin on just about anything... however, sometimes, especially now... why do we NEED answers? Why do women, particularly Clementine women, search for the reason in everything? Do we need closure? Why does there have to be a reason? Can't things just be? Must we always take a lesson? What is it? I will hold no punches back: I don't know.
I don't know why I haven't found my Joel-- my REAL Joel yet... I don't know why I only want people I know I can't have, and I love the wrong people, and I inconvenience, complicate, and screw my life up the way I do with love. But I DO know that I have love. I have a strong love that grows everyday. And someday, maybe tomorrow, or maybe next month... or next year... I will be able to share that with somebody. But until then, I am an actor with a great device and ability to share my feelings with others through art. I am a writer who can write out these schemes and dreams into something coherent and beautiful. And I am a blogger that can further confuse my readers with the first blog I will post that doesn't have an answer.... in fact it has a big question mark on top of it. And, for the first post of the new year, I think that's rather OK.
One of the things I am constantly working on is admitting that I don't know everything, and being alright with that. I find enlightenment in the questions...not the answers, more and more. So keep asking them. Watch "Eternal Sunshine..." See how you interpret it now... we can't go back. We can't fight to save something that is already gone. We can't leave clues in our ex lover's subconsciousness for them to remember how special we really were. However, we CAN continue to write. We can continue to build this love... for ourselves... within ourselves... within others who love us... and we can continue to express it. I said I wouldn't give you my take on a answer in this blog. So I will leave you with this. Create your own love. Create your own self worth. Want people, don't need them. And this year- in 2010- evaluate more. Make a mix tape. Write a journal. Ask questions. Don't take no for an answer. Spotty... crazy... and disjointed...(but full of compassion, hope, and maybe a little wisdom...) Kathryne Isabelle :0)

Sunday, November 22, 2009

My 25th Year

I think I had an idea of what my life might be like by the time I was 25. I think we all did, or do. The middle of you 20's. 5 years to 30? Eek. Keenly knowing how fast the time goes now from middle school to high school, high school to college, and college to the "real" world. I am both excited and exhilerated to see what the next years have to offer. I used to fear getting older, fear that I was missing out on something, or someONE for that matter, and although the range of emotions I feel as I get closer to my 25th ebbs and flows and is constantly changing- the more I realize that I am actually pretty OK.

Of course, on these lovely yearly reminders, we are forced to truly look at our lives, and really examine what has happened in the past year. How have I grown? How have I screwed up? What can I do better? I offer you a very real, and painfully truthful look into my thoughts as I turn the big 2-5, and enter now, my "mid" 20's. (No longer "early") Ahhh...

Relationship wise, this past year might be labeled as a dud for me. At this time last year, I was reeling from the breakup with "Old Guy", and a few months previous to that "Difficult Guy". Now, looking at both of these dudes in hindsight, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. But none the less, I was left a bit upset and very raw after these two large blows. It was certainly a learning year into the world of dating, I suppose. Which brought on all kinds of crazy behavior. That I needed to go thru in order to get to where I am today: Still single, but SO MUCH more secure. My 24th year, I dated a LOT- lots of different kinds of guys (some gay, some my previous "Kathryne Says..." posts for a brief history)... but all of them had the same theme: They were BAD DUDES. Bad dudes in the sense that they were into getting down and dirty, but not much else. Maybe, on some level I was conscious of this. I tried to make it in a relatioship with some of these dudes, and none of them panning out, for one reason or another- but then, that lead me to think something else: maybe on some level I AS WELL needed to get down and dirty. With no potential for a lasting relationship. Hmmm.... could a woman be so bold? I suppose I am admitting it is possible. Examining the motley crew of dates and semi-relationships I have had this year, it is a safe assumption that Kathryne needed to get out, get wild, and not feel tied down. That said- I feel I am over this stage, and am much happier staying in and reading a book or clearing out my DVR. My 24th year, I have become much more capable of BEING ALONE. And liking it. I don't want to waste my time of dudes with absolutley no future anymore. I am getting to that place where I think I am ready for the real thing- so I don't need to "sow my wild oats" anymore just to kill time until Mr. Right comes along. (yes, woman have wild oats too.) I am fine with Simon Baker of "The Mentalist" for now. We'll be here. :0)

Career wise, I fear I may in the place I have always dreamed I'd be: Making my own films, and simply getting by in Hollywood. If I couldn't be here and and least try, I would be miserable. I am writing more than ever, and in my 24th year, wrote 3 full length feature scripts. A dramedy, a comedy, and musical of sorts. Regardless- I found a new side to myself that I wasn't sure existed- the hard as nails producer. I am in the process of starring and exec. producing a film that I wrote, and may people are involved, rooting, and counting on me. It's a crazy thing- and I'm not complaining. I guess I always just ask myself, "would my 12 year old self think this cool?" And the answer is yes. I am not complacent, but I am realizing my acheivements for one of the first times, and celebrating them. Which must mean I am growing up a little!

Of course, there have been a few things I would have taken back this year, I have of course screwed up a few times- who hasn't? And I will continue to, I'm sure. I suppose the important thing is that I am still here in LA, chasing my dream, and that in and of itself is a victory in my eyes.