The Comfy Corner

Last weekend I returned to nature. Now, when I say I returned to nature, I'm afraid you might be  imagining me going for a light day hike in Long Island... uh, you would be wrong. You would be very wrong!!! I returned to nature, y'all. To be specific, I returned to 22 miles of nature through the Lye Brook Wilderness of Vermont. Allow me to paint a picture of just how much nature was in this nature. On the trail, there was a sign that said, "This trail is designed for the truly adventurous hiker. The kind of person seeking a real challenge. It is minimally maintained and there are few, if any, bridges. Good luck!" This was not a sign that was lying. This was a sign that was telling the truth. There were downed trees everywhere. EVEN THE TREES COULDN'T HACK IT! AND THEY'RE TREES! In fact, it was worse than the sign had suggested, because after we crossed the river (via a beaver dam because "few, if any, bridges") we realized that a recent hurricane had completely flooded out our trail (if you could even really call it a trail). So we were forced to venture off trail and brave the actual wilderness. Perhaps you've heard of the term "bush whacking"? Yeah, that's what we were doing. This wasn't Vermont, y'all. This was the straight up Amazonian rainforest. These woods were overgrown like I've never seen. And I was wearing shorts (Yes, they were cargo shorts, I'm guilty okay, but I needed all the pockets I could get)! In any event, these were not shorts conditions! I might as well have been in a mini skirt, because my legs were slowly being destroyed by mother nature. I was dealing with the mud, the flooding, cuts on my legs, the mosquitoes (dear God, the mosquitoes), the walking through spiderwebs, the snakes, and just when I was getting used to all of that, we realized that we were completely lost. And just as we began to pore over our map, that's about when it started to POUR rain. Which is shortly before the time that I checked my phone only to realize that we were in the midst of a severe thunderstorm warning and we were being told to seek shelter immediately (the warning included a list of the dangers of being outside and the risks of lightning strikes). As the rain leaked through my muddy poncho and my hands clutched a soaked, useless map, I suddenly realized that I had developed something that I haven't had in a long time - perspective.

RuPaul once said something in a podcast that has really stuck with me. He said that you have to "Google Earth your life." When I was on that trail, lost, in the rain, on the cusp of potential death by lightning strike, I literally pulled out my phone and Google Earthed my life and it all made sense! I said, "Oh! That's where that lake is, I need to go this way!" (Thank God for iPhones and Verizon signal in the wilderness) And now that I am back in the comfort of my home, sitting with my Mac, a Bulleit manhattan in hand, I have realized that I need to have that kind of perspective in my daily life! Any time I am feeling nervous, lost, scared, confused I can always "Google Earth" the situation. Two fingers. Zoom out. Boom. Everything makes sense again. It's all perspective, y'all! No matter how shitty a situation is, you can always change it simply by changing your perspective on it. By looking at the bigger picture. The macrocosm, not the microcosm. As RuPaul expounds, "The call is coming from inside the house!" It's all you, y'all! Joy emanates from within. And you gotta take that journey yourself. You can't rely on anyone else to upload that Google Earth app for you! If you can't learn to love yourself, how the hell you gonna love anybody else? Can I get an amen? You gotta download that app and sign in! And once you've got it all loaded up, just zoom out y'all. And then you'll be like, "Oh! That's it? That's what I'm dealing with? I got this."

Also, I should mention, when you're in the wilderness, the things you take for granted in life suddenly become luxuries (toilets, lights, stoves, air conditioning, chairs) and you have no choice but to develop some perspective. So comfy cornerers, if you're feeling a little lost in your life, I recommend literally taking a hike, and then just do a Google Earth. It really, really helps. Stay comfy y'all.

3am on 8th Avenue in Hell's Kitchen. My good friend Tony let out a long sigh. "New York City..." he remarked as we were strolling to the nearest gay club in our tight pants and leather jackets, our heads buzzing from the poor choices we had already made that evening. I nodded my head in approval and started laughing uncontrollably. There comes a point in every New Yorker's time here when they realize that they can simply sum up all of their NYC experiences with a sigh and a "New York City." I have realized that the things that I rave and complain about on a daily basis are essentially always the same. And so, I find, it is easiest to just sum it all up with a sigh or a sassy lip smack or an eye roll or a "New York City." It's a real time saver. No need to waste breath on things that everyone is already well aware of and on board with. One of my biggest eye roll moments happened a few weeks ago.

I was in a "getting things done" kind of mood. Sun glasses on. Mariah Carey in my earbuds. There was pep in every step. I was walking on air! I decided that I should take advantage of this momentum by finding a nearby coffee shop and getting some work done. I had my computer and a good attitude so the possibilities were endless. I found a local, organic coffee shop (take THAT, Starbucks) and, to my delight, they served a very bougie, very delicious pour over coffee. I am a bit of a coffee snob, so the fact that they had Guatemalan pour over coffee really turned me on. I got my cup of coffee, found a quiet corner in the back of the cafe by the window, pulled out my laptop, and before I could open up a Word document and take that first, heavenly sip of my coffee, a gentleman from the counter rushes over to me and says, "I'm sorry sir. We don't allow laptops here. It's kind of our thing. We want people to be more human here." To which I shut my laptop and responded with the biggest eye roll I have ever given in my life. What is more human than using a laptop?! How much more ridiculous can this city get??? This "rule" that this coffee shop decided to have quickly jumped to the top of my list of "things that make me roll my eyes." It even beat the time that I saw a dog wearing tennis shoes in the Upper West Side and his owner looked at me and snarkily said, "These paws haven't touch pavement in seven years." Congrats, sir. Ugh, I was in a perfectly good mood and this coffee shop ruined it all. I think now is a good place to mention that the name of the cafe was, "Cafe Grumpy." Aptly named, right?

To top it all, after the shutting of my laptop and the eye roll, the man sitting beside me leaned over shaking his head and said, "New York City..." He knew. We all know. Stay comfy y'all.

When it comes to auditions, I have some stories. I mean, suffice it to say, I'm no stranger to creepy warehouses in the Bronx, okay? Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking casting couch, I'm just talking strange people asking me to do strange things. The kind of stories that make me breathe a deep sigh of relief that my mother doesn't read my blog ("Internet? That's becoming a thing now, huh?"). But let's be honest, most performers have a mental rolodex of uncomfortable audition stories, right? I mean, my roommate just got cast as a lead in a musical and when she went to her first rehearsal it turned out to be an acting class for homeless people. I mean, legit crazy people. One guy signed in as Christopher Guest - and it wasn't Christopher Guest. So with that said, I think a sufficient amount of time has passed and my emotional wounds have healed thoroughly enough that I can finally reveal the story of how I got my microwave.

I responded online to a casting notice for a "Music Video - seeking dancers." Sounds harmless enough, right? I dance, sure. I like music videos, who doesn't? "Who knows?!" Thought I, "Maybe this is actually a Beyonce music video in disguise!" I'll go ahead and quash the excitement for y'all right now - it wasn't a Beyonce music video. The guy responded casually asking me what kind of dance I do. I told him, "I'm primarily a tap dancer." He didn't seem too pleased with that. So he proceeded to ask me if I owned tights or any other "dance uniform pieces." Breezing by that little red flag, I responded, "Yes, of course, I'll bring plenty of options!" I was still hanging onto the thread of hope that this could be my chance to finally meet Beyonce. I got to the location which turned out to be his apartment (red flag) and I was the only one there (RED FLAG). It was just me and him. No Bey. He was still in his pajamas and camera equipment was strewn across his eerily empty living room (RUN AWAY, NATHAN!). He told me just to get changed, get comfortable, stretch and put on whatever music I liked. So I put on a nice long sleeve turtle neck and long pants and I asked him, "I can pick whatever music I want? You don't have a specific song that you are making the music video for?" He said, "No, I just want to film you dancing and I'll pick the music later." So that's when I said, "Peace out, dude, you're a fucking weirdo." Right? No, that's not what happened. That's what should have happened. What happened was - confused, and with an astounding amount of innocence and naiveté, I asked him, "What sort of dance are you looking for?" He said, "Ya know, contemporary." And that's when he handed me a black rose and said action.

Now, I'm usually pretty game for anything. And when I get into uncomfortable situations like this, I turn to the wisdom of Kelly Clarkson and say to myself, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." Of course, I wasn't totally sold that I was gonna make it out of this alive. So I danced. I cued up some Adele - and I danced. Literally, for my life. In his living room. While he filmed me. Then he asked me to change into some tight, short, white shorts. So I did that because I respect and listen to my directors, ya know? And he filmed me more. Then he asked what other shirt options I had. I showed him my options but none of them were good (revealing) enough. He said, "Wait a minute, I think I have something for you." He came back with a tight, mesh shirt. The kind of shirt I've only seen on creepy Latino men in the dirty corners of the Ritz. I put it on (what doesn't kill us make us stronger, right? haha... ha...ha..) and I danced with that rose like it was the last time I would ever dance (#kisstodaygoodbye). Posing. Posing. Then he asked me if I would take off the shirt entirely, maybe just dance in my underwear. I stopped dancing. Looking back, that may have been the moment in my life when I became a New Yorker. I told him absolutely not, I was not comfortable with that, and then I asked him what that microwave was doing on his floor (I had been living without a microwave for like four months because I couldn't afford one and the first thing I noticed when I walked into his apartment was that he had two microwaves #selfish). He told me it was an extra microwave that he bought on accident. I told him I wanted it and I took that microwave and left his apartment. That was that. A few minutes later he sent me a still from the video (below).

After being swept away to the depths of the rocky mountains for three and a half months and then hastily plopped back into the thriving metropolis of New York City without any sort of intermediary, I have quickly noted one key difference between small towns and big towns. In big towns, you can be as crazy as you want and nobody will care! I realized this on the subway upon my arrival. Usually I am very to-myself and subdued when I'm in public. I always get out of people's way and essentially try to make myself as small as possible so as to not end up with a gun in my face or on the hit-list for the mafia or something (It's probably also repressed fear of this girl I knew in middle school named Marquetta who would knock books out of my hands and shove me into the wall if I got in her way - but that's beside the point. I'm over that... sort of). I even go so far as to only do vocal warm-ups in the subway station if a loud train is passing by (nothing like a vocal sigh as the trains go by). But I realize now that I can do as much vocalizing as I want and nobody will say anything about it or even think it's that strange. I mean, my friend Elise has only been here a short time but has managed to see like three penises on the subway! Three!!! And people don't care! Someone could literally take a shit on a subway car and people would just sigh and change cars. I know this because that happened to me once. So if I do a few lip trillz or practice my riffing skillz on the subway, everyone will still keep their eyes to the floor and pretend that nothing is happening. I have officially granted myself full permission to be as crazy as I want.

In fact, being crazy can even have it's advantages. I would like to take a moment to reference an episode of "30 Rock" where Liz Lemon pretended to be a crazy woman on the subway so that she could get a seat. You don't mess with the crazies. You never know what they will do to you. So my advice to anyone visiting New York for the first time is this: If someone tries to mug you, just whip around and start making monkey noises, jump up and down, flail wildly and start shouting something like, "BANANAS WILL ONE DAY RULE THE WORLD!!!" maybe toss some flour in their face for dramatic effect. You must out-crazy the crazy and you will always win. It's not like small towns where people will actually remember or care. You'll probably never see them again and if you do, they probably won't remember you because you were just one more dose of crazy in a cray cray filled day day. And if you crazy, they will run. Stay comfy y'all.

This is LITERALLY the best piece of advice my restaurant can give me.

Someone gave me a magnet with this image on it two years ago and I never thought much about it. I thought it was clever and kept it on the fridge but my friend Anthony looked at it recently and commented on how perfect it is for me on so many levels.

This is why coming home and digging through old stuff can be dangerous. I won the year book design competition in fifth grade and this is the portrait of a winner. At least I was doing well at something...



Not much longer after that photo was taken, I wrote my autobiography. I wish I could just upload the whole thing because it is all golden. On one page I talk about how I want to stop pollution five times. Apparently I was on a big environmental kick. And under "five important questions for the future" I asked "What will we eat? Where will we go? What will we do? What will we wear? Where will we have gone?" That's all I could come up with in the moment, apparently. But here are the current fads...



Apparently it was really cool to wear plaid button ups unbuttoned over a white shirt, listen to 98 degrees and watch DVD's. Oh my 6th grade self. Those were dark times. It's important for everyone to know that this is around the time I started running to lose weight and clean myself up.

At work today, I look down at the floor and see these two silly bandz (I feel weird spelling bands with a "z") conveniently paired together. As far as Halloween goes, this is the scariest thing that happened to me all day. I had to take a picture, but I hope I didn't catch anything...

These signs are posted all over the Emerson bathrooms. I have a very strong urge to make a sign to put right next to it that says "Got Nubs? Kill Yourself."

So, as promised, I got the picture. Does this make me a super duper creeper? Probably. She came back to the restaurant (she's starting to become something of a regular, probably because she likes me so much) and I finally built up the courage to ask for a pic. :) I gave her a discount in return. I also got her email (creeper...)...

It was an eventful evening! Everyone was all atwitter over the fact that Elphaba was eating there (most of our business comes from the theatre). I also got my first "call-me" message with a bill. There was a family sitting right across from Elphaba. The son was a cute, clearly-gay boy, who was giving me eyes every time I went to the table. Sure enough, when I picked up the bill he left his name and number on a napkin and wrote "Call me :)" Pretty gutsy to do that when your family is sitting there. I won't call you Kyle, because I'm taken, but I'm flattered. :)