Jesus Doesn't Want Me To Be On Glee

I love Glee. I have loved it since it first appeared in promotional advertising and I continue to love it well into its second season.

When I heard they were having an open casting call for new Glee cast members, I immediately decided to submit my video.

I decided to... I didn't actually submit it at that time. My roommate came home, and... well... auditioning for Glee is not something you can do in front of other people. It's something you do around 1am in an empty apartment with your Sony Cybershot filming you from its post on a stool stacked on top of the table, praying your friend's neighbors are out of town so you don't have to explain the dorkfest when you run into them in the hall the next morning. Purely hypothetical.

Regardless, I figured I had approximately a month to get around to it. PLEEENNNTY of time. April 26th. The final deadline for audition submission. I woke up at 11a, went for a jog, did some reading, and around 3p went online to sort out the whole audition process.

Interesting.

11:59am is a far different time than 11:59pm. I probably should not have mixed those two up.

I missed the deadline. Of course.

I was super bummed, but figured it was a sign it wasn't meant to be. The next night I was explaining this to a friend, only to discover an hour later that they had extended the deadline - added on another day! Again, I took this as a sign.

The next day, I went to my auditions, went to a new class at Equinox, and came home to do my audition. Unfortunately, I got distracted by my growling stomach and tivo'ed 30 Rocks I had yet to watch. FINALLY around 1am, I started to record my videos. Braindead... scratchy throat... no clue what to say in the stupid "tell me why you should be on Glee" video... it takes me quite a few attempts. So many attempts, in fact, that my camera dies on my last take of 'Lean On Me.' Whatever, who really needs that last second of my, at that point, trembling vibrato. It's done, let's throw it on the computer, upload it, and make everyone I've ever met vote for me.

At that moment, I paused. My camera was dead. I didn't bring my battery charger with me. Also, I failed to bring along the cord to connect my camera to the computer or even the computer itself. improbablygonnabeacatlady, who I am staying with at this time, was stuck in airport hell and wouldn't be back 'til 5am. Great. I'm an idiot. My stupid audition videos, which totally suck, by the way, are stuck on my stupid dead Cybershot. I am so dumb. I watch an episode of the Hills to make me feel better about myself and go to sleep.

Miraculously, the next morning improbablygonnabeacatlady awakes at 11am and produces a battery, cord, and a computer. YAYYYY IT'S GONNA WORK OUT AFTER ALL!!!!

Ok. Videos posted exactly at 11:59am. Done and done. All that's left to do is shamelessly promote my link to everyone I've ever known. (And tell them to disregard the huge bags under my eyes and the lame 'pick me!' video and the scratchy throat... basically tell them not to watch it. Just vote for me.)

Hm.

About that link.

I can't find the link to my audition videos. My myspace page (which, heretofore, I was unaware even still existed) update my status to "Stacie auditioned for Glee " and provided a link to the main page. Once there, I searched for my name, finding 5 other Stacie's, but not me.

I can't find my own audition.

Thanks, Jesus. I'm pretty sure he deleted it.

We Get It, Skinny Bitch

Improbablygonnabeacatlady introduced me to an amazing website chronicling the daily activities of Suri Cruise. Rain or shine, happy or cranky, Little Miss Suri conducts herself in a manner that lets the world know that she is infallibly adorable and her life is amazing. Hence, "We Get It Suri."

A recent, and reoccurring, event in my life has extracted a similar visceral response.

Every Tuesday at 12:30pm, I join approximately 20 other young women and 2 gays for Corey Hill's trio of classes: CORE Booty Blast, CORE Upper Cuts, and CORE ab blast. Like any gym class, it is comprised of a wide spectrum of body types. These body types can be divided into three main categories, each of which serves a purpose in my personal endeavors:

1. Super Skinny Tall Chics
They make me rethink anything I have ever eaten. They also make me feel better about my 3 lb. weights and excessive downtime between ab exercises. They also help the time pass, as I constantly glance at the mirror to reassess exactly how much smaller their arm is than my own.

2. Compact Athletic Chics
I look to them when questioning my form. Also, their mind-boggling ability to do a tricep extension with an 8 lb. weight pushes me to attempt to quell the shaking in my arm as I raise my own 5 lb. dumbbell toward the ceiling.

3. I Probably Live In, Or At Least Enjoy The Nightlife Of, Midtown Chics
Their average height, average weight, and average athletic ability makes me feel a lot better about my own life slash thighs.

Altogether a lovely combination that helps me to achieve my gym goals in a relatively peaceful environment.

Until a new girl arrived in class. Her arrival necessitated the creation of a new category:

4. Skinny Bitch
Ok so she's tall and skinny. Sounds like category #1, right? Wrong. The girls in category #1 may be weak, but they still manage to complete the exercises, albeit with minimal weight. This girl is not only weak, but I am willing to bet she has never heard the phrase "chest press" in her life. For the last three weeks, she has stood in the middle of the class making a mockery of every exercise. I have never seen form this bad in my life, and judging by the derision in the eyes of my fellow class members, neither have they.

Now, before confusion overtakes you, let me explain something. I am aware that my own form is far from excellent. Once, mylifeissonotironic and I decided to attend a kickboxing class, only to find that we were two feet taller than everyone in the room and spent the entire class in the back of the room flailing our excessively long limbs every which way. My problem with Skinny Bitch is that she literally can't even do a bicep curl. Like, come on, you curl your arms up and then you curl them down. Is that really that confusing??

Apparently.

The main kicker is that not is she incapable of completing (or even beginning) a single exercise, but this girl could care less. She doesn't even attempt to figure out how to do things. She stands in the middle of the room, letting all of us know that she doesn't need our silly little classes in order to have the body we are all working to attain.

We get it Skinny Bitch, you may not understand the purpose of a gym, but you don't need to. The fact that you look like an idiot in class doesn't bother you, because you already have your "bathing suit body."

Now, since you serve no real purpose in my personal pursuit of skinniness, if you could please find a new afternoon hobby, that would be great. Because this is supposed to be all about me. Thank you.

The Wise Words of Whoopi

I would like to begin this post with a quote from a life-changing, under-mentioned film:

"If you wake up in the mornin' and you can't think of anything but singin' first...then you're supposed to be a singer, girl."

Thank you, Sister Act II, for enabling me to pinpoint my true passion without ever leaving the comfortable confines of my Posturepedic. All I have to do is wake up? Done. K, now back to sleep for a few hours.

This being said, I love to sing. Probably even more than I love to act. I used to perform quite often, (when I was still in school and my future wasn't in need of a good polish) but let's just say, it's been awhile. Unless you count my next door neighbors who are forced to hear my awkward vocal warm-ups through our shared wall. You're welcome, neighbor whose name I can't remember and whom I've only seen three times. People are going to pay for that privilege one day. Uhhuh. Yup. They suuuure are. (I said the same thing to my siblings when we were growing up and they would make up rules about where I could and couldn't sing: "No singing in the kitchen." "No singing in the car." "Mooooommmm tell Stacie she can't sing while I'm trying to do my homeworrrkkk." See if I get you guys tickets to Divas Live 2016.)

So, last week I finally have an appointment to go in and sing for someone. Someone who actually manages vocal artists and could potentially help me find more opportunities to perform (read: make people listen to me) in the future. Perfect timing. My voice is getting back in shape, I've been working on some new songs, I'm healthy...

The day before my audition, I wake up with a fever and swollen glands. I can't speak, let alone channel Sarah Vaughan or bust out some Taylor Swift. Appointment postponed.

Sometimes I strongly dislike my life.

Honestly, How Do You Find The Time?

Mylifeissonotironic has a remarkable talent for finding men. Some of us (read: I) could be stranded on a desert island with an entire plane full of eligible bachelors and not manage to find one.

SO, I have decided to analyze her most recent conquest as a sort of learning/teaching tool.

Fashion Week. An incredibly hectic time for the models involved, consisting of weeks of running around non-stop to castings, fittings, shows, etc. I, in fact, barely saw my best friend during this time, because she hardly had a moment to breathe. As the week came to a close, and we finally had a chance to catch up, she informed me that she had a new pseudo-boyfriend. I'm sorry. WHAT??? WHO??? WHEN??? HOW???

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66L1i54OOiE&feature=player_embedded

Front row. Box on the far left of the screen.

That, my friends, is, in the words of mylifeissonotironic, "how you get the mens."

So I'm gonna go grab a cardboard box from my recycling pile and stand on the corner. Anyone care to join?

You Look Like You Could Use This

A very dear friend of mine went to Walgreens the other evening for a couple key purchases; namely Diurex and diet pills.

As she went to check out, the guy behind the register asked her if she was interested in buying a Milky Way for 69 cents.

We couldn't help but die laughing. The cashier appeared to be a bit offended by this as his expression flickered between confusion and annoyance.

I'm sorry sir, but really?? Pray tell exactly what it was about my friend's purchases led you to believe she would be interested in a Milky Way.

He may want to reassess his target demographic.

Starting The Week Off Well

Two things of note happened to me this morning.

1. I went to spit out my gum on the sidewalk. I KNOW, I KNOW. Yes, I thought to myself: "That is so messed up, someone could step on it." But, I also thought to myself: "Ok, I never do this though, and look at all the gum that's already on the ground. I mean, I'm next to a high school for goodness sakes."

So I did it. Only, my gum spitting aim is apparently a little rusty slash non-existent, and instead of spitting it off to the side, I spit it out right in front of me. I almost walked on top of my own gum.

Got it.

2. Walking home from the gym, there were several times where I was annoyed by peoples' seeming inability to walk in a straight line. Once at home, walking into my apartment, I was responding to bbms at the same as I walked up the stairs. Apparently my path veered to the left. As I attempted to step up to the next level of the staircase, I found myself blocked. By the wall. Yup, I ran into my own wall.

Happy Monday!!!

No Need For Cold Feet!

Last night, over dinner at Mr. Chow in Tribeca, the conversation eventually and inevitably turned to comfy couchwear. Specifically, a discussion of the individual merits of footed pajamas and Snuggies.

While admitting that footed pajamas were basically amazing, I still stood by my ever-faithful Snuggie; though I had to admit that part of me (Ok parts... AKA my feet) was left a bit dissatisfied in Snuggieville.

Apparently, on the other coast, improbablygonnabeacatlady's feet were experiencing a similar sensation.

At 3am, she sent me an email that put my anxiety to rest. Apparently a new brand of couchwear has jumped into the ring.

My friends, we introduce to you the Hoodie Footie Snuggle Suit:

http://videogum.com/archives/free_advertising/things_i_learned_from_the_hood_113851.html

Proving that sometimes, Jesus really does care.