When I walk down the street...

Being born 6 weeks early, I've always assumed that in a parallel universe, I was destined for other things. I'm pretty sure I would make a stellar Victorian bohemian, just moping around in some European city with a big hat citing pompous lines about impressionism and Oscar Wilde and imperialism while wearing a rather large chapeau. I should be wearing a big hat. It balances out the hips, creating a desirable silouette. The black church ladies get this. I would be singing in the streets (I really don't know what's stopping me from doing that...it's Carrboro, after all.) And hopefully finding a promising suitor who could also be a benefactor.

But then there wouldn't be blogs and I wouldn't have L & O: SVU as background noise on at 2am while I lie awake thinking how I'm going to pay this months rent. Which I suppose doesn't make me all that different from the 19th century Paris riffraff. And Braden, while not much of a benefactor (he did buy me a new vacuum cleaner though, so who's to say...) is a very fine fiance.

I will, if the stars align, be working again soon...! I had an interview today for an acting and muscial theatre teacher at a dance school in Durham. I would be teaching middle schoolers theatre games and scene study and coaching high schoolers on their monologues and song selections. WHICH is EXACTLY what I WANT to do. So that's exciting. The bad news is it's only once a week but the good news is it's the teaching job I want, and is definitely solid padding for the resume and grad school.

Here's the funny thing. I ended up pimping some references I know in the area who will remain unnamed here (other recent theatre graduates in the area with better jobs than I). So I basically almost got someone else hired for the job during my interview. But I have two weeks to come up with a curriculum and prove I'm not a crazy person. Time to pull out the ole' rolodex of teacher friends

In the meantime, still looking for full time day job that doesn't require a car. Mostly I just stay at home and clean like the good house-fiancee I am, and sing repertoire and play piano. Today I was inspired by Rodgers and Hammerstein and started singing Mister Snow from Carousel. And started crying at the part where she talks about getting married and how happy she is. I have a history of crying during singing but this one is little different. After reading the lyrics, I feel a very deep connection to this song that I didn't know I had. I'm pretty sure there's a study between emotions and hitting certain notes which means you're more likely to choke up while singing. It happens to me fairly frequently. I'll start singing and I'll get to a point in the song and start crying and lose the connection. Not because it sounds bad but because it suddenly becomes rooted in me. And singing is a vulnerable activity.

But Mister Snow really does emulate my love for Braden: down to earth, honest, traditional and real.