29 going on 15

Hey blogosphere, how you doin'?

Ok, I don't really talk like that. But after a morning of watching mind numbing YouTube clips, I happened upon the Vlog of Kat Dennings **. Who at age 22 (wow, my brain is having a really hard time with math this morning) is irreverent and engaging. And she talks like that. And it makes me think, I had much more of a solid opinion about the world when I was 22. I think I was more interesting when I was 22; more excited and more interested in doing stuff. Able to stay up late and be wacky and crazy. I don't know what it is about being 7 years older that all of a sudden makes me as plain jane as a white bread cheese sandwich.

And then yesterday, on the train down to the Victoria - I happened upon the 15 year old version of myself. You know when people say, gosh, I wish I could go back in time and talk to myself. This was exactly like that. She was like almost any other Asian American teen in San Francisco. My upbringing was far from stylish. It was a daily uniform of ill fitting jeans, oversized tee shirt and well-worn sneakers. Glasses. Long hair, swept back into a utilitarian, but poorly contained ponytail. A smattering of acne on a moon shaped face. And, most significant, the indignant chin and sure speech of a know it all.

This was me at 15. The self-esteem based in, "I don't care what I look like," - I'm smart and feisty and a woman on the verge of doing something great. I read a lot and I sound like I know what I'm talking about, so people value me for that. I eat what I want, because I'm healthy. I'm good with a quick quip and knowing right from wrong. Poetry written in awful prose, hidden on the side of my desk. Loving pop music, secretly wishing to be indie. To be popular. To be accepted. Doodles, doodles everywhere. Letters written daily to friends, folded up into neat little packages - wondering what is going on with the world. Why people love, why people hate, why people need to eat those dehydrated cheese fries.

I think that was the reason I glommed onto her conversation in the first place. This girl was obviously the Queen Bee of her little threesome. The one sitting, facing the other two. Matter-of-fact. Talking about some guy at her school who had obviously done something not kosher, and she told him off for it. Yeah, so me at at 15.

Again and again, she brought my eyes to her. Not so much crying out, but wanting to be recognized for her sensibility. Her incredible sense for knowing the path of RIGHTNESS. Needing the approval and fellowship of her peers. Then my eyes swept to the reflection in the window to the left. Still young, but so much more comfortable in her own skin. Knowing that there is no right and wrong, only a perspective. Slimmer. Quieter. Chin positioned slightly down - eyes focused, just as analytical but without the keen intellectualized frame of glasses. Shoulders pushing back, seeking respite from the roundess of computer enhanced posture. Ponytail masking the overteased mess from the lingerie clad raunch from the night before. Not so fearful, more of an ease of acceptance. In what will be, will be. The 29 year old me, meets the 15 year old me. And laughs with joy. At the person she hopes she will become.

Sometimes I wish I still had the brio of the 15 year old me. The NEED to tell people what was wrong with their view of the world a la Penny style. These days, my overwhelming desire to have all options open to me can put me into a tailspin of indecisiveness, that hopefully comes off as Zen-monk like, but is really the fear of what my two cents means. Ok, maybe I'm not THAT boring. But I do realize my ability to withstand and hold a conversation these days has dwindled to nil. Especially on show days; a ton of people are scampering around the dressing rooms and I'm finding it difficult to slap on my makeup. Lethargy is my middle name.

Perhaps I shall change it to Brio.

**(Which also makes me realize, I never wrote a review of 'Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist' - mainly cause I often base a lot of personal decisions off of the opinions of friends - which is somewhat sophomoric and STUPID to do. I know this. But finally, here's my review. I thought the movie was sweet and Kat Dennings the standout. Michael Cera played.... unfortunately... Michael Cera. You know, the sweet, humble, gentle, metro guy. The one you totally had a bff crush on in high school who ended up dating the total BIATCH, because he never thought he was good enough. J. does not like the soundtrack, I do. RedHen did not like the premise of the movie at all. I say, at least some teenager does not get fertilized from one night of bored/drunken sex. The only thing that confused and concerned me was, how do all these high school teenagers get into these clubs effortlessly? And play gigs there? I don't think that's kosher in any part of the country, much less Manhattan. And maybe the movie was contrived for the wannabe hipster generation, but I thoroughly liked it. So there. neener. I am waiting to see, 'Zack and Miri' when I have a free moment.)

ps. the last time I chewed gum, I fear I may have given myself lockjaw. I hadn't eaten gum in like ten years. Literally. So from now on, there will be no gum chewed by me. But it takes me back to being 10 and getting a pack of gum every week and chewing a piece of day. And I was like a machine. Paradise Punch was my poison. And if they still made it, I'd be in trouble.

pps. I got cast in 'Nine' at CCCT. Exciting! And my new best friend, our director, sent me a link for all these awesome B'Way scores available for download online. Yeah!

pss. I need to get my ass out of bed. Seriously. It's 11am

ppss. I get to see Stephen Schwartz at BBBay today! It's a momentous occasion! I told someone lately that he was my personal hero. And he totally is, but that statement may have gone a little overboard to relay the fact that I really really didn't want to drive out to Livermore at 8am on a Saturday again.