The Comfy Corner

It's been happening my whole life... all the way back to when I was 7 or 8 and had to be dragged away from watching "The Golden Girls" long enough to go to basketball practice (against my will). I played for an entire season and managed to never touch the ball during a game. This kind of behavior carried on into middle school when I would be practicing my cartwheels and learning new hand clapping games with the girls on the side of the field instead of playing soccer with the other boys and the lesbians. And into high school when I managed to go to every high school football game for five years (because I was in the marching band) and I still don't really understand how the game works.

It all comes down to one simple concept...I DON'T LIKE SPORTS! Sure, I mean, I'll play a game of frisbee in the park as long as I'm not wearing my suede Pumas. And I'm always down for some whiffle ball as long as I can pretend I'm a cheerleader when I'm in the outfield. But other than that, I'm just not into it. I've tried (very feebly) and it's all a big yawn. This realization came to me a couple weeks ago when I was headed to dance class. The studio I dance at is right beside the TD Banknorth Garden (Where the Celtics play). There I was, fighting against crowds of rabid basketball fans trying to get to my Jazz II class (with Michelle Chasse). I was a tiny fish swimming against the current and for the first time in my life I felt...too gay to function.

Now, I told this story to my co-worker and she was retelling the story to another coworker (an elaborate game of telephone) but she added in one little detail (this is how rumors get out of hand, folks). She said that I was "decked out in my dance gear." I was shocked! She blatantly assumed that I was pushing through the crowds wearing my tights and my leotard with my ballet slippers tossed casually over my shoulders. Evidence to the contrary, Kendal! I was wearing cut off shorts, a white v-neck and my Pumas, (the red, suede ones...no frisbee for me!) I don't even own a leotard, and my tights are firmly tucked away in my dance drawer. So there!

Another time when I felt too gay to function was on the night of gay Superbowl Sunday (also known as the Tony Awards). This is an annual event for me that I refuse to miss. No matter what else is going on...this night is on my conflict sheet. Unfortunately, this was the same night as another Celtics game. My roommate (Grace...a girl) had to go to a bar to watch the game because I was hogging the television being... well... gay (i.e. getting all worked up over Catherine Zeta Jones winning a Tony she didn't deserve. Totally over it now, though. Clearly.). So moral of the story? Never ask me what sports I play. Never ask me if I watched the game. Never ask me who's playing tonight. And never ask me what the score is. I'm not watching the game. I'll never be watching the game. I'm too busy dancing.

Yesterday was Chris' golden birthday. The golden birthday is, unfortunately, a birthday that typically passes by most people unrecognized. It occurs when you turn the age of the day of the month you were born (i.e. Chris turned 26 on the 26th). Sadly, I was born on the 6th and on my 6th birthday I was far too busy snorting pixie sticks and pimpin' my tricycle to realize it was my golden birthday. But, Chris (of course) did not forget. In fact, he threw an epic celebration (not as epic as my friend Camille, though, who is throwing a "Golden Birthday Parade" on her golden birthday in New York, of which I hope to be in the band :)). <----hate that. Much to my excitement and joy, I was (self elected to be) put in charge of purchasing the decorations for the party. I went to a little store in Boston called iParty. I went in expecting to see some party supplies, I ended up in party heaven. It was like walking into Lady Gaga's closet. They had every imaginable decoration for every imaginable event: blow-up cactus', penis shaped everything for those bachelorette parties, feather boas of every description, sequin hats, sombreros, etc. I purchased 40 dollars worth of golden fringe, golden streamers, golden beads and a dozen red balloons with golden strings (see what I was going for? It was a gold theme. Got it? Good.). The balloon man tied my bunch of balloons into an elaborate bouquet with each balloon at a different length and each 10 ft long string curled into a perfect twist. I looked at him incredulously and after a couple moments of awkward silence as I stood there drop-jawed, eyes fixed on balloon mountain he said "perhaps you'd like it to be a little more compact?" I responded, "Yeah, I don't wanna float away." To which the woman who was assisting him laughed and laughed as if I was the first person with a sense of humor to walk into the party store. I mean, I felt like that was a pretty standard balloon joke, yeah? Sheesh.

So there I was armed with three huge bags of golden decorations, birthday presents and a dozen helium-filled balloons, when suddenly I realized that I had to get on the subway like this. And to top it all, I was traveling at approximately 5:30, the height of rush hour, on a Friday. It was official, I was about to become - the hated person on the T. I put on my sunglasses to conceal my identity and I boarded the crowded T... to my extreme dismay, the car I was on did not have air conditioning. So there I was crammed into the corner, balloons pressing against my face trying to be as small as possible, dressed in all black from work, sweat pouring down my face, the rubber making all sorts of noise, kids screaming "Look balloons" and me trying to act like nothing is out of the ordinary (like I'm a balloon delivery man or something). What I didn't consider was the fact that balloons do not react well to heat. Of course as soon as I considered this fact, an overfilled balloon popped almost giving one man a heart attack. I apologized profusely and made some awkward jokes about the heat. Outside I was wearing a smile. Inside, I was crying.

Finally, I made it out of the T armed with 11 balloons now. All was clear from here on out. Just a quick 10 minute walk through Harvard square. I was home free! As I was walking, though, an abrasive voice sounded behind me "Watch out for dat blanch! You going to pop dah barrooons!!" I looked back to see a small Asian woman following me with a deep look of concern for my balloons and sure enough POP! I lost another one. With ten balloons left, I finally thought to myself, "Wow, I must look like a complete idiot. I wish I could see myself now." The best I could do was capture this picture of my shadow. The balloon journey is not one to be made lightly folks. If you have to make it, watch out for hot subways and low hanging branches. Otherwise, you may very well pop your barroons.

1. When I'm yelling and I mess up what I'm saying (I'm actually a proud member of the Facebook page :))

2. When I wanna put an emoticon in a parenthetical statement and it comes out really awkward (as shown above :() Yikes, even worse.

3. When I do something funny but only one person sees it or hears it and they insist that I do it again for everyone else and then after a whole minute of "No, it was a one time thing. I don't wanna. Now, everyone's looking." I finally do it and they're like, "No, that wasn't it." and then I feel like an asshole.

4. When I have to frantically flip through all of my windows and tabs to find out where the music is coming from.

5. When my brain gets overloaded and I do stupid stuff like carry a tray of drinks into the men's bathroom (only did that once, btw.)

6. When I wanna stalk someone on FB but we have no mutual friends and I have no reason to friend them.

7. When people remember my name but I don't remember theirs

8. When people tag me in photos when I'm in the background alone. Or worse, if I'm looking in on the action longingly.

9. When people stop texting in the middle of a convo.

10. The fact that sarcasm is not easily conveyed in text messages. Thanks god for emoticons.

As I interact with different groups of people in the many different places in my life (home, work, school, at the bus stop, the Starbucks guy, grocery store regulars, the people at the gym [wow, even the places I frequent are frightfully standard]) I am beginning to really understand the notion that "at our core, we are all the same." Yeah, it's a trite, annoying phrase, especially for all of us that are desperately trying to be unique, stand out and leave our mark on the world. But, it really is true.. so get over it. For instance...

1. we all hate pedestrians when we're driving and and hate drivers when we're pedestrians. ("I have the right of way, asshole!")

2. we very rarely, if ever want an honest answer to the question "How are you?" (When we get an honest answer it usually ends in an awkward moment)

3. we all have an opinion of Lady Gaga, good or bad (or perhaps that's just the circles I frequent, but I can always bring up her name and it sparks a heated convo.)

4. we all resort to the same nostalgic conversations: Dinosaurs, Rugrats, Salute Your Shorts, Clarissa Explains it All, Legends of the Hidden Temple ("Omg, I wanted to be on that show SO bad. Like, that monkey at the end that they had to put together?! I was always like...it's so easy!" or "I was a Nickelodeon kid. It says SO much about your personality, right?")

5. we've all seen Glee (again, perhaps just the circles I frequent, but if you're reading this blog, I'm assuming you also watch Glee. I don't know why.)

6. we all pretty much have the same inside jokes with our friends ("You totally just pulled a Susan" or "Oh my god, what if Susan just walked in the door right now?")

7. we all get angry at people who are texting and not paying attention to where they're going, but we've all been that person.

8. we've all looked at the items other people are purchasing at the drugstore/grocery store and we've silently judged them.

9. we've all been in the awkward friend introduction situation when you don't know if you should shake hands, hug, or just give a nod. And we've all made the wrong decision at least once and felt really ashamed about it.

So breathe easy, Comfy Cornerers. We've all been there. It's all been done.

As I was doing my usual once over on my news feed, I saw something new; a sneaky addition to Facebook that was thrown in without any warning (I can picture the Snidely Whiplash-esque Facebook people all sitting in their dark rooms laughing maniacally and tapping their fingers together like crazy people as they make their little changes). You can now "like" people's comments. Basically, this new function is just making the whole stalking process quicker and easier for me. No longer do I have to take the time out of my busy schedule to type "I like Susan's comment...lol." I can simply go to Susan's comment, press the like button and go back to scrolling through my news feed.

The danger? Once you like anything on Facebook, Facebook automatically assumes that you want to be updated on what everyone else has to say about it as well. Sometimes, I must admit that I secretly really enjoy getting updates on everything. My inbox quickly fills with messages making me feel extra popular and I am basically thrown into a Facebook mini drama. I get all the gory details on what everyone thought of Catherine Zeta Jones' performance at the Tony's or what people think about Susan's drunk photo with Zach (drrama!). But, other times I really don't wanna know what everyone thinks about the humidity in New York, so I muster up all the restraint I can, and I refrain from pressing that devilishly easy to click like button.

It is a hard, cold fact that we are all slaves to time. Everything we do is time stamped. Every email, every text, every BBM, every Tweet, every Facebook comment/status update/message is neatly stamped with a time (3:17 Monday, June 21, 2010). With a few clicks, I can tell you that one hour ago, Cheyenne Jackson was complaining about the humidity ("Holy humidity, Batman!") and nine hours ago Lindsay Lohan's sleep schedule was screwed up by a night shoot. As a result of all of this, timing has become one of the most crucial elements to life. You have to say the right thing at the right time or you could get yourself into trouble. i.e. emailing papers in "before midnight." Clocking into work at the correct time. And it also, unfortunately greatly applies to our social lives.

I thought I would get over this, but I haven't. So, I suppose it is time for me to confess. Whenever people don't respond to my texts immediately, my mind always imagines that they are doing something really cool or important and that their lives are so busy that they can't take two seconds to respond with a "yeah, sure" or an "lol." So I sit there feeling miserable about my dreary life reading playbill.com 24/7 as my imagination pictures the other person laughing with friends, drinking cocktails and completely forgetting about my text. I've tried that waiting game...getting a text, putting my phone down, responding an hour later. I simply can't do it! My palms get sweaty, my breath shortens, I keep glancing over at the new text I have...I MUST RESPOND! The most I've lasted is maybe 7 or 8 minutes tops.

And now, with BBM (BlackBerry Messenger), there are no secrets. When someone BBM's you, BBM tells you exactly when they read the message and at what time they received it. This does nothing but add to my anxiety because now I know if people have read my message...and I sit there awaiting a reply like a poor pound pup waiting for an owner. My heart wants to text them back "I know you read the message, are you going to respond?" but my brain tells me too play it cool and act like I have no idea that they received the message. So I wait. And when they finally respond, I'll try to give them a taste of their own medicine but (7 minutes later) I'll inevitably give in and respond.

Also, and this really drives me bonkers, BBM tells you if they are typing or not which just adds another layer to the anxiety. This means, no more editing because they will know. "Susan is typing..." long pause "Susan is typing..." long pause "haha." IT DID NOT TAKE YOU THAT LONG TO WRITE "haha" WHAT WERE YOU REALLY GOING TO SAY?

In short, time stamps mark the beginning of the downfall of man.

So, I try not to write too much about my actor life because it is what I deal with on a daily basis, and this is a place for me to branch out and talk about other really interesting topics (like Facebook or the Silver Line...try no to be jealous of my exciting life). But, I had an auditioning experience recently that I just can't stop thinking about (it even clouds my endless daydreaming of Justin Bieber) and I thought that all of you may find it...inspirational, whether you are in the theatre business or not.

So I auditioned for Hairspray. The name of the company shall remain unnamed for my safety, but let's just say that this audition process was the biggest mess I have ever experienced. Hoards of high school, teenage girls showed up in pig tails all vying for a spot in this show and chaos quickly ensued. The two hour dance call turned into the four and a half hour dance call. And to this day, I could not tell you how they ever made a casting decision with the incredible lack of organization. But, the best part of this audition was, by far, the directors. The show was being directed by two of the original Hairspray cast members. One of them - let's call her Chantel - is the highlight of this story.

As I was crammed up against the wall of the hallway waiting to do the dance call and trying to catch pockets of fresh air amongst the teenage sweat and hairspray, Chantel walked up and silenced the group with her fierceness. She was taller than me, blacker than me, and she was not to be touched. She smiled a perfect smile at all of us and said "Listen up ya'll. I'm a Rockette. I've been in five Broadway shows and I know what I'm doin'. What ya'll gots to do...I said what ya'll gots to do..." (dramatic pause) "is get in dere and work it out. Be fierce ya'll. I said, ya'll gotta be fierce. Now I want each and every one of you to get in dere and book da job. I said, BOOK DA JOB! Let's go ya'll."

This was more inspirational than Beyonce's performance at Obama's inauguration. Maybe it was the power of her words, or maybe it was the fact that I was so miserable because I had been there for so long...but I almost cried. After the unreasonably long dance call, there was a crowd of people standing around. Some had to sing, some had to read, some were just black people that needed to be seen individually (because there were so few of them) but it was madness. Chantel walked out of the room (silence). "Alright ya'll. I know you all gots to do different things. But we're gonna work it out. Let's line it up and I want all ya'll to come in here and do whatchoo gots ta do ta book da job. Come on now, be fierce ya'll."

After waiting around in the line-that-never-moves for a couple hours, I left. I decided I was never going to be Link Larkin. I'm Asian...and an Asian has no place in a show about the struggles between blacks and whites. I left tired, cranky, frustrated, YET inspired. If you're out there Chantel...your audition was a mess but you are fierce as hell. Work it, gurl.