I'm a fighter... and I almost forgot.

So, sometimes the world just pulls down your pants, paints your butt red and pushes you in the middle of a Bullfighting ring. It happens. Sometimes, you run around half naked, trying not be be speared by a bull for... well, a while. Sometimes that makes it hard to write about being chased by a bull and you have to wait until you're out of the Corrida de Toros to properly journalize the events.

So here we are, loyalists. I've escaped near death by bull-horn and I'm here to tell the story. I'm not sure if I've made this clear in previous posts, but tha last 3 years have been hard; this year... and a half?... have been the BIGGEST, HARDEST kick in the head, heart, and spirit. I'm not entirely sure that I could pin it down to one, or even three main events and I'm not sure exactly what began the civil war, but oh yes, there was a war, and it's took place just a little north east of Hell.

Basically, it's been a series of breakdowns, which is always wonderful, and as someone who prides herself in being strong and brave in the face of peril I do not give in to breakdowns easily... especially when they're happening weekly, for me it means defeat... and defeat is hard when you're an Aries*. But this is noooo pity party, and I am not someone who feels sorry for myself easily or happily, but I do feel that background infomations is necessary, n'est pas?

Alright, so to sum up all of this anus, I felt for the first time in my life I was in the middle of the Atlantic, during storm season** and the rescue devices were juuuuuust out of my reach, and so I basically spent some time underwater trying to grow gills. Which I realize is actually harder than getting out of the water, but if you can't see the shore... HOLY MONKEYS, WHAT is with the metaphors Olthuis? You know you haven't written for a while when...

And now, as media isn't exactly the apex of this blog: an interlude of STORM photos:

THIS IS ACTUALLY AN "ATLANTIC STORMMMMM"

This is me in September trying to drive through a wave.

This was the view they sent me from space of me trying to go through the wave

I didn't read this.

Ok so I had a hard year. I became unbelievably insecure about pretty much everything, day to day events simultaneously scared me, and gave me massive anxiety, I was tired ALL the time, and the littlest issue or hiccup had me in bed convinced I would never be ok. People frightened me, and some days I realized that I hadn't smiled all day. I generally felt angry, and *gasp* bitter about everything. I'm not sure how many people have gone through something like this, and I'm not even sure how to diagnose it... but as an actor, these are traits that have to pretty much not exist... or at least be secure enough as a person that those neuroses can just go in the closet for important things like auditions, or you know, surviving getting constantly and unfoundedly rejected.

Alright, so I finally buckled and got some help. Things started getting better early fall... sort of... but it's LITERALLY taken until righhhhhttt NOW. NOW.  So here's what's up. I know I was sketchy, and hint-ey, and all secretive about my plans, but the "plan" was a new little lamb, and I just had to be secure before showing it to the world.

So the BIG news is that after over a month of really detesting my current job, and waking up everyday feeling useless in serving my greater purpose. I realized that if I'm not being creative, then I'm not actively contributing to my existence. I am in and out a creative creature, and to not be so is death. Realizing that for me, doing mundane administrative labour is definitely worse than the alternative of not knowing what's next, I made the leap of faith to hand in notice and see what happens. This was largely due to the help of my vunderbar support team (you know who you are, you Titans). With that single, swift move I remembered after a long lapse of forgetting that I, Perrie Olthuis am a goddamn FIGHTER. I'm a warrior of my own life, and I had always approached things head on and without fear. I'm not sure what shook that out of me, but it was shooked, and finally being ready to reclaim that made me feel bloody powerful for the first time in years.

So here we are. One new misery-maker murdered, and more contentment to be conquered (holy alliteration batman... rhetorical devices galore... too bad I'm not in Grade 12, I'd kick this paper's ASS!). So here's the rest: I'm going back to hospitality for a while... and I'm totally ok with that! I'm excited to have random hours again, more time off to spend with myself, my art, and le chien noir, AND to talk to new people. But just for a while...

I've decided that ultimately I'm going to work from home, and I'm going to create my life around my creativity. Actually. I'm going to use all different areas of what talents I possess and I'm going to work and work and work to make sure I never feel empty again, I'm going to paint, I'm going to photograph, and I'm going to explore, I'm going to start singing again... and acting :) I left my agency late in the summer, and it was one of the best decisions I have made... but being agent-less is not stopping me, in fact now I can go straight on and without the previous toxicity and continue finding my own work (as I've done all along). Not to say that I won't agent-ize again, but it's not the first thing on my agenda, and I no longer feel that "agency" means success... I had first hand experience to prove that I equal success. Being a free agent doesn't scare me anymore, it excites the bujesus out of me. When I do travel down Agency Boulevard again it will be right.

Ok, so I AM still scared about things, I'm scared about failing, in many ways. But I have learned through this brutal, brutal war, the following:

-I'm not responsible to create anyone's happiness but my own.
-I WILL have to keep changing, because I as a person need to keep growing; if I'm not changing I'm not growing.
-What am I without a dream? (the answer is really lame)
-Everything that matters is right now, in this moment. Right now I'm just fine, and that's the future.
-Anxiousness and depression are gifts because they give you clues to slow down and listen.

Ok, so maybe I seem really together or something. Well, I'm not, but I am so so so much better and a little closer to knowing myself. I'm hesitant to say that I'm grateful for the past 4 years... but I guess I am. I don't think I could ever get lower than where I've been, so that's a plus.

Quite frankly, after everything, I'm a little less scared of that bull... TORRO!

Per


Footnotes:

*Aries (March 21 to April 20) the astrological animal is a RAM... anyone who knows me... you may as well call me Perrie "The RAM" Olthuis.

** Totally just guessed that there would be a "Storm Season" and there is!! June 1st to November 30th! Whatsup.

HEY FORD! RIDE THIS!

Let me preface this by saying I have never really taken an interest in politics outside of caring what the elected candidate will do, or disgustingly not do, for the Arts community. I simply haven't taken the time to understand the terms, the rules, or the tiers.

As someone who believes that politicians are (mostly) human, and understanding that, realize that they probably can't follow through on 90% of their promises because once they get voted in, they have to fight everyone in parliament who believes their opinions and destinations are the most important... sort of like rush hour on the TTC... so I don't really hold them up to standards, or pay too much attention to them promising on their "mama's cherry pie" that they're going to give everyone one-million dollars if they're elected ... oh! and make the city crime-free.

I'm more of a grocery-store grazer of politics, pick up headlines when need be, graze articles, and at the end of the day vote the way I always do... however, this election - I'm flipping concerned. The upcoming election, which I didn't even know was coming until about a month ago when I witnessed one of the most repulsive people ever have top rank in the voting polls. Are people BLIND? How can you actually want to see MORE of that man? Ohh ok, I'll stop being coy. But I"m pretty sure y'all know who I be talking 'bout. The big, bald, red-faced, baby? The man who looks like he eats a 20 ounce steak morning, noon and night, and washes 'er down with a 40 of J.D.?

Like, really? It's like Chris Farley (RIP. You funny, funny bastard) and a 1000 pound swine had a baby... and named him Robby.

Ok I'm not here to low-ball and poke fun... I'm pretty sure Ford can do that to himself just by showing up. But I do have to say, that since that video on Youtube got posted of Ford basically eating his own head and making words come out of his ass, is one of the more non-sensical musings since George W...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nySs1cEq5rs

The best defense I've read pertaining to that video is that in fact ROADS were created BEFORE cars, for humans to walk on. After that, were horse and carriages, followed by bikes, carts, and THEN cars... so roads aren't really FOR cars, are they FORD?

And if you REALLY want to see more of this eloquent man of mystery, here's a different 8 minute video, or you could just listen, although his grating voice isn't much better. It seems he may have revised some of his tactics, by proposing an alternate solution, which would NEVER get approved (perhaps why he suggests it)... he suggests widening the sidewalks in the downtown core? That's just so stupid. This isn't the SUBURBS Rob, there just isn't the room. This one is worth listening to just to hear how he opens:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nySs1cEq5rs&feature=related

Now, aside from that. I've noticed a heightened hostility from the drivers lately as I bike to work, despite being in a bike lane for 95% of the trip, and despite being one of the more respectful riders, because I have seen bikes creep the fuck up on you with a bloody death wish. In Ford's video he mentions that the bikers hate the cars and vice versa. I don't know if that's true... For instance, I don't like certain people in cars that yell "stupid bitch" at me before 9 am, and I don't like cars that cut me off... but truth be told, they're probably telling their mother she's a stupid bitch, and the cutters-off are probably cutting off a 16-wheeler. Dumb people are dumb people regardless of who's around. I think most of the drivers in this city are assholes regardless of whether or not I'm on a bike. I can't help wondering, however, if Ford may being inciting this growing hostility.

I wish he could visit Amsterdam... the bike parking lots take up the amount of room as multi-level parking garage in Toronto. The lanes ARE on the road, but there is a divider the size of a parking median all the way along keeping the bikers safe; cyclists clearly run that city, and you best be getting out their way biaaaatch. Seriously, getting hit by a cyclist in Amsterdam is not out of question.

As well, how is Ford defending cars?? He mentions that he drives in 3 times a week from Etobicoke. Is there not some form of transit, ie. GO Train, Bus, Subway, that can get him from the suburbs to where the ACTUAL city is? Shouldn't we be ramping the transit system to help unclog our roads so that traffic and POLLUTION (helloooo!!!) is reduced?

As well, I have a question: What are these mysterious 'Polls' and who are the people they're asking? I sure as hell haven't been asked who I'd vote for. Are they just zipping around asking suburban morons if they like 'Ford'? And the dumb-asses (probably the afore mentioned dipshits) think they mean the motherloving car company and get all googly-eyed thinking the poll-taker is going to give them a Ford... and then Rob Ford has 44% popularity (Smitherman, 38%, and Pantalone, 16% as of Oct 15th, for the record).

Nothing says sexy like a Focus... Damn, you blue stallion.

What the hell is going on?? Regardless of what you believe, for godsake just be superficial for a moment and ask yourselves if you REALLY want to look at this man for the next term. Go watch the videos again, and tell me, straight up, that you LOVE the way he talks, and his belly is sexy and you wanna rub cocoa butter alllll over it.

You don't, and you're just saying you do to unhinge me.

To leave on 'somewhat' of a positive note. Apparently, Miller was third in the "Polls" and look what happened there. As well, I find that generally speaking, Liberal voters tend to be slightly more passive until the fight at the end. Somehow, Conservatives fly their colours high like it's there JOB. So it's possible that the Liberals, Green, and NDP's are staying low until the end when we KAMIKAZE on your ass and take the office for the win.

AND we get to listen to beautiful sounds like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpvQXovrzyQ

Do yourself a favour and click on this link.

What do you think Robby's doing right now? Not listening to beautiful music and riding his bike... that's for DAMN sure.

xo Per

Confessions of a Guilty Non-Believer

Well. I believe I need to make a public apology. To myself, to the public, to the dying, ugly plant on my desk.

I have NOT "stuck to the plan". Kristan knows what I mean about "Sticking to the Plan":

(This is me STICKING TO THE PLAN in Amsterdam)

BigTallMan! I have not stuck to the plan! I'm just... horrible.

Everyone, I started this bloggificiousness for a REASON. Well, a few reasons. To get me old brain writing again, to vent and expel, and to GET HAPPY. Wellll... WTF? I've totally not been following protocol here.

Ok, in all fairness, I suck at protocol. I hate rules, and regulations, and will probably mutter under my breath how stupid "boundaries" are until I die. I begrudgingly "do what I'm supposed to" MAINLY so that I don't end up talking to myself, dirty and naked on the street; but also so I can DO SOMETHING of value with my life (keep this in mind, because drive and consequence largely influences my sense of duty... and get in the way of my rebellitiousness). HOWEVER, while I "try" to follow protocol I appear as a complacent, decent, and responsible, lovely girl*. I believe that my true, of truest nature actually comprises of total rebellion, and I'm bordering on an outburst. Again.

I told BigTall the other week that I'm the worst kind of rebel, because they never see it coming. After behaving for a while, I'll usually just stir shit up... just because I can. They think "oh, isn't she sweet, quiet (HA!), kind and hard-working"... yup, sure am, until I throw it in your face biatch! I played hooky two days last week (ooooh dangerous), and it's the best thing I've done in a while, I rode my bike basically for two days straight. I slept, I read, I watched T-motherfucking-LC, and it was a "Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta" marathon and I OWNED IT (it's ridiculous and hilarious crack, and for some stupid reason I LOVE it). I knit, learned a new stitch (again... what a fucking rebel), I cleaned the house and my MIND, and felt GREAT. Yah, I'm bad-ass. I didn't feel bad at ALL about LYING to the entire office about my non-existent illness. Does this make me a horrible irresponsible person? NO. It makes me a person who can't effing take it anymore and refuses to put up with it.

Why do you think so many people are SO ANGRY all the time? They're doing things they resent DAY IN DAY OUT. Yes, everyone, I am angry and sad a lot. I resent the fact that my entire day is being eaten by a computer, and an Excel Spreadsheet, and doing menial tasks  make my head crawl, I'm eventually numb by 5:30. I know my above, and latest rebellion seems trivial, and boring in the grand scheme of society's iconoclasts... but this is the latest uproar in my history; they have been small and large, and conclusively far too numbered to post in one measly entry. The basic overview is that I think authority can suck it.

So as I was swimming around in my discontent this last week I realized that the whole reason I started this blog is so I can keep track of where I am in my life, and how I am supposedly striving EVERYDAY to make it better... well I should slap myself repeatedly with a strap: you have not been striving Perrie! You have not strove.

Soooo: what now? Remember my little monster I found a few weeks ago... that cute little asshole? Well. I think his friend's brother's name is Rebellion, and he's about to cause a motherfucking riot (sorry mom, I know you asked me not to swear... WELL I'M REBELLING. I HAVE TO SWEAR). How do you cage an intelligent, overly creative, ambitious, non-conformist biatch? Hmm, me thinks you don't. AHHH Haaaa, but therein lies the RUB, I don't want to end up the naked, dirty homeless woman mentioned above. There are days I feel close though, and only my roof above tells me that I'm not quite there.

I swear to god though, if I have to listen to one more person in this office telling me about their stupid baby, or the fact that the subway was slow that morning (GASP. NOO! You're kidding right!? The subway is NEVER slow!) because that's ALL they have going on in their lives I may Superman Punch them into the vending machine (see fig. A and B).

Maybe I'm not cut out for the 9-5?

Now, just for fun, and a little palate cleanser... I wanted to now share with you some of the conversations I've had with my co-worker. Enjoy:

Co-worker: I ordered a cake for my husbands birthday.
Me: Oh ya...
CW: Ya. I'll pick it up with my husband when he picks me up on Friday.
Me: Oh...
CW: So it won't be a surprise, but that's ok. It's just a plain cake...

(pause)

CW: I had a cake made in the shape of a caterpillar for my son's 1st birthday (her kid is now three... no judgement).
Me: Oh nice.
CW: Ya, it was fun.

...

CW: I had a blood work appointment today. I have to get more tests done because I'm an older pregnant woman, so they have to monitor me.
Me: Oh ya.
CW: Ya, there's a blood clinic across from St. Michael's so I just went there. DID YOU KNOW THERE'S NO AIR CONDITIONING ON THE STREETCAR!?!?!?!"
Me: Yahhh.(Not that surprising seeing as streetcars move all of Toronto, and the drivers are condescending cretins who make you feel like dirt just for stepping aboard their beautiful chariot... there's also no cleanliness, kindness, or general sense of decency.) Ya, I don't think they're capable of having them.
CW: THE SUBWAYS DO!
Me: Ya, I just think that the streetcars are older, and not equipped.
CW: Well I was SO hot, and I couldn't get a seat. I had to stand. No one offered me a seat! (as much as I appreciate, and DO offer very pregnant women my seat readily, she was only 2 months pregnant, sooo... not exactly showing)
Me: Oh that's too bad. Ya.
CW: I could have walked! At least there wasn't a line up though. There was no one there! I thought it would be so busy cause it's right downtown Toronto. But it wasn't.
Me: (IT'S A MIRACLE! That is the most AMAZING thing I've EVER HEARD. I CANNOT BELIEVE THERE WAS NO LINE-UP. WHERE ARE THE FUCKING TRUMPETS AND ANGELS a-SINGING!?)Oh that's good...
CW: Ya, I was happy.


Ok. Am I mean? Well I'm not. We've all THOUGHT these things. YES. YESS YOU HAVE... and if you're not ALREADY annoyed by these excerpts then just add the fact that I hear about every single mundane MOMENT.

I'm a critically thinking, intelligent, fast-witted person. I despise small talk with the vicious blowing hate of Saturn the gas-giant (who's winds subsequently blow up to 1,800 km/h... that's a lot of wind-hate), it's trivial, mind numbing and mundane. I'd rather sit in a cupboard, alone and cold. 

All of this is to say that my days of 9-5 are numbered. As the Perrie Happiness Project skips along, and as I'm having to REMIND myself, I'm SUPPOSED to be moving closer towards being content and fulfilled. Spending my days sitting still, logging information I don't care about, or care to understand, with no hope of progressing or moving forward is NOT in the plan! Being miserable as I try to figure out my next step is frustrating however, and as mentioned in a previous post, I DO in fact have my plan, I DO have my ideas. The trouble is existing monetarily before said ventures start making money for me.

So, I've decided to accept a PATRON!! Yes, everyone, I'm open to proposals for you to financially support me while I pursue artistic greatness. Rent is really the only thing I need. Perhaps the odd shopping spree at Holt Renfrew. A jet mayhaps? Oooh! A pool and a HORSE!

Ok... rent is fine. What I'm saying is that I stay busier than ever when I'm NOT working menial jobs that eat my brain sludge, so all I need is to have that burden removed and what could be accomplished!?! ummm... lots of awesome. I hate sitting still, and I hate doing nothing, I'm ALLL business.

Although the idea of a patron may appear slightly unrealistic, I am searching for my next WABAM! on my head to figure out how to make the money happen, whether through patronage or on my own. So where are we? Let's assess: that was a lot of rant to dig through:

1. I need to get out of here... soon...

2. To get out of here I need to come up with a way of paying rent that doesn't make me want to eat my knee-caps while I invest my valuable time and brain power in my art.

3. I feel like I'm back where I was, months ago BUT really, I've already extracted MANY
variables of negativity in my life including: stopping waitressing, re-assessment of what I WANT out of acting and art, and not what I'm told to want, (which results in desperation), and I'm currently experiencing a new path-option.

4. Fearlessly try something else for cash-money. (ooooh that one's hard. The rebel in me screams LEAVE GET OUT JUST DO IT! But the last time I did that I CHOSE to be unemployed for 6 months, which didn't really end up too well for my financial well-being. So it's about being spontaneous and careful at the same time... is such a thing POSSIBLE??)

5. I'm not a self-destructive rebel... I'm a self-fulfilling rebel.

6. I need to weigh what kind of detriment I am wracking up here and how it's weighing on my brain, my heart and my soul vs. if it's worth it.

7. Boring people make my head hurt.

Well that was a BLOG AND A HALF! So fear not readers, I'm already doing better than I was in my blog-absence.

Hopefully the next one will be just full of freaking inspiration station to inspire you AND me! I shall leave you with this song because I lurves it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLK7hrRijes



*I once had a manager at a restaurant I worked at tell me that I look so lovely, and sweet until I open my mouth... mahahaha, yes looks are deceiving aren't they? ...The same goes for the misogynistic, moronic men who call: "hey baby, hey sweetie, smile!". LOOK! I've got shit on my mind. You want a smile? Go hire a lady of the night, yes A LADY OF THE NIGHT. Do men get told to "smile"? Ummm. NO HAHAHA. Can you imagine telling a man to "smile"!? hahaha. Punch in the faaace.

Remember My Pet Moster??

F'reals. D'you remember it?? I think it was one of my absolute FAVOURITE shows as a kid. But I never knew when it was on... 'CAUSE I WAS A CHILD...so catching it was AWESOME. It was like when you only thought there was fruit for dessert, and then BAM, chocolate cake m'fuckas! F'reals. Ok, I promise, that's the end of my apostrophied abreviations. Ridiculous.

Basically, that little monster would get out of his handcuffs, get that kid into trouble, and then before you could look the cuffs were back on him "who me? A little cute stuffed animal?". I mean, what kind of adult would believe a kid saying his "monster" did it. Ya. Right. You STUPID LYING KID.




Ummm... well, I, like, kinda, like have a monster? Believe me?

OK WOAH. Before you're all like "OMG guys, Perrie's schizophrenic, like for real. Omg guys..."

Ok, well, I'm not, but I did figure something out last night. I've heard of this thing that some people are never happy no matter what they do or have. They're always searching for better; never satisfied. Well I've been starting to worry that it was me...  BUT THEN I REALIZED. HOLY FUCK! It's not ME... it's that I have a MONSTER! It's not scary or anything, like, I'm not gonna go light your house on fire... but it is a monster. Here's the deal:

When I was a kid I was HUGELY imaginative. Most of the time I'd rather play alone because then I could create the full-out world I wanted to be in and didn't worry about having to explain it to my IDIOT friends (I'm totally kidding, my friends were cool). Like one time I decided to be this flute-player who lived on the sea and dolphins were my friends. So I attached our sea-blue sleeping bag (as the sea OBVIOUSLY) to a door handle and sat on it with my recorder, playing to my dolphin friends. Also, I would set up jumps and jump over them as a horse... I rode competitively until I was 12... it made sense.

WHAT I'm getting at here is that my imagination was, and STILL IS, huge. I wrote stories, painted, acted, played piano and made-believe random, random things and ALWAYS had something on the go. Well, I didn't realize it at the time, but that was my BEAST OF CREATIVITY just getting all warmed up, and taking form. My thoughts and behaviours have been hugely garnered by this thing, it's tres powerful. I feed it an idea of things to do, it chews it up, tastes it, and goes *BAH* and spits it out, "NEXT!". So I try something else...

Will this path please you little monster? Chew, chew, chew *BAH* ... ok... shall we go back to this? Chew, chew, chew *BAH*... no? ok... well how about we just quit everything and try something new? Chew, chew, chew *BAH BAH BAHHHHH*... Oh no? umm... well I'm out of ideas then!... Ooooh yaaa??? Well then I will go back in my cave until you figure your shit out. Enjoy depression, loser.

That's a typical emotional conversation I have. Good times.

Ok WAIT. So before we all write me off as a psycho. Understand that I'm not ACTUALLY talking to a monster, but I have realized that I'm constantly trying to please this creative beast. I suppose it makes me somewhat spontaneous, but it also creates huge lulls of being frustrated, confused, bummed, and general un-rest.

This monster, who obviously needs a name, seeing as at freaking TWENTY SIX I've finally figured out what's going on, is HUGELY ambitious (HEYYY!! Let's ride horses, own your own very successful company, act in plays, write music, sing in a band, become a fashion stylist, and also an interior decorator! Oh! ANND produce your own theatre! DO IT BITCH). He wants everything all the time. He gets sulky and pissed at me constantly, and sometimes will just NOT perform. And he's starting to act up again...

Uh oh...

The beginning of this week I felt bujiggity. Something was off, and I couldn't figure it out. WTF (sorry, I promised I woudn't use the abreve's anymore... I clearly lied) ... WHAT DO YOU WANT, THING?

... uh huh...

... uh huh...

Ohhh. REALLY? Ha ha. Ok... well, I'll get on that :)

Clifff HANGER.



But I am going to leave you with this today. Because I like it:

People often underestimate the power of waiting a situation out. As I've gotten older, I've noticed there's a great deal of power in pause. Sometimes we make problems worse by rushing to fix them. -- Elizabeth Gilbert

It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind...

I drafted a different post. Something felt wrong. I kept looking at it, leaving it, going back to it. For me, this is not natural, so I knew something had to be up with that. Wrong time, wrong format, wrong tense. Whooooo knows.

It could be the moody autumn feeling day (which, after the hottest summer I've remembered is VERY welcomed) but I'm feeling grossly introspective and painfully nostalgic. I get really nostalgic most Septembers, for new school clothes, for trips to Staples and smelling binders, the first day wondering if there would be a new cute guy, or a new best friend. But mostly I think it was new beginnings and infinite possibilities carefully encased in "first day of school excitement".

The three years of the George Brown Theatre School program were always fraught with anxiety and wonderful re-acquainting with my wonderful friends. Many of whom, to this day remain my closest, nearest and dearest family. The first or second week of school we would all (the whole school consisted of roughly 60-70 people) klammer excitedly onto two cheese-wagons and road trip to Niagara on the Lake for the Shaw Festival. The first year we attended, as First Years we were SO excited to show off our new dance moves to total strangers on the street that we willy-nillied ourselves over to a grassy knole in a park and "Ruffty Tufftied" our asses off. In retrospect this was AMAZING and densely embarrassing.

This year, I believe it's hitting me REALLY hard because I have made a HUGE decision. The paramount size of this decision... No. You know what?? It's not a DECISION. Decision sounds too concrete and death-like. One DECIDES to jump off a cliff...

NO. I've made a CHANGE. As this has been a tumultuous year of change (OMG so much more on that later), it is THE BIGGEST CHANGE to date.

I'm one of those lucky bastards who actually got to recognize her passion and follow it. I am eternally privileged for this, and it made this change SO MUCH harder. After 17 years of doing everything humanly possibly to be an actress, because my heart SCREAMED for it: for the poetic words, and the way they felt to speak and gravyed over my tongue, for the dark, slightly chilled, theatre, which even in its silence emanates life and pulses hypnotically to me*. After 3 years of on and off depression, while I strove endlessly to work, I peeled myself off my floor (literally) and gently told myself I needed to stop. Why you ask??

What kills me is I don't think I've ever stopped (or will stop) being desperately in love with theatre. It's the life outside of the actual jobs that has ripped me a part. I've always said that actors are strange creatures (well, for many, many reasons) but especially because we are the only people I know who have to be constantly and unnapologetically vulnerable AND possess armadillo skin, both to book jobs, and continue living when you don't.

On top of which, if, like 99% of actors without consistent or well-paid work, the actor is serving to pay rent (which is EXACTLY what it's is... serving, or SLAVING. The "good" tips barely make up for the soul-suckage that is waitressing), it takes a WHOLE OTHER kind of 'tough hard bitch skin' to get through a night of cocktailing. Again, ironic, because the next day at your audition you have to be a soft, sweet, darling (pour example).

 So after four years of working (sometimes on, and manytimes off) and picking myself up, brushing myself off, and convincing myself that I'm not just a server over and over and over (and OVER). I said "I'm better than this disgusting abuse, and I deserve more for what I'm giving". So I quit.

GASP! And I didn't miss it! How is this possible?? To strive, dream and hold to that love for YEARS... almost 20 years! How can I just shake it? Well. Truth be told I'm finding out that I can't. But I DO value myself far, far more than putting myself through the nightmare of giving up part of my life (and SANITY) to serve beer and be told "you're great! But not this time".

So, as stated in my initial BLAWWWG I'm on a search. I want to be "happy". I'm closer, I think than I was, my life is much fuller in many ways... but with this nagging nostalgia which has gripped my throat all day, I know that I'm not there yet. There have been various bastard things that have tipped me off, like remembering how I LOVED going back to theatre school each fall for three years, my first pro gig was in September, and then this (below), posted outside of George Brown a month ago reminded me of my optimistic, beaming self of yesteryear, and I wanted to cry.

WHAT HAPPENED?? I REALLY want to get back in the saddle. But I know now that I will not allow myself to be there without a strong bridle to keep me there. I need more than just wishin' and hopin' (read: working my motherf*%!ing ass off) until an acting job occurs that takes me out of the dungeon of a restaurant.

So what now? I'm working for a SALARY (whhhaaa??) at a large architectural firm in Toronto, and I've enjoyed my summer weekends for the first time since I was 14, AND discovered this CRAZY idea of something called a LONG WEEKEND (?!?!?! There's one of these like once a month!!!!) and I'm breathing...

But the "bug" my friends, has bitten and made a little nest in my heart long ago...

Welcome to the adventures of "THE PERRIE HAPPINESS PROJECT".


xoxoxox Per



*When I was in high school I would take a script and go and sit in the immense theatre in my school and just listen to it. I think it's the closest I've come to zen.

Let's clear the air shall we?

 Warning: Philosophical bull-roar ahead....

Before we go any further here I need the air too be good and breathable. Real clean like.

Writing blogs is not something I have believed in. I am from the old school. I shuddered at the thought of reading about people's cats, ferrets, or meanderings of lameness. I don't understand star power of "celebrity" just as I don't understand "reality T.V." (even though I have been a guilty partaker of both). I disagree with the glorification of really really stupid stupid people (strong use of adjectives there Olthuis). I don't comprehend why I want to inundate my already extremely full and, at times, hectic life with the issues of people whom are not near and dear to my heart.

So with that, I didn't understand WHY I would want to read about other people's lives, or more importantly, why ANYONE would want to read about mine. I must confess, I'm still trying to work through the latter. But as for the former: recently, my goddess friend Kristan turned me on to her cousin's blog. And during extremely slow bouts at work I have taken to reading about this woman's wonderfully normal, warm, and full life.

I fell in love.

Not in a sexual way (you filthy dog), but I fell in love with her life anecdotes, birth of her child, her incredible talent for knitting, and her general humour and outlook on life. It filled me with hope, warmth, and an overall sense of well-being. I began CRAVING it. It was my daily companion as I learned about her life over the past 5 years.

This discovery conincided with some other thoughts which have been floating in and around my brainizoid. Including the fact that our society at its very core comes from a small tribe of story-tellers. We have obviously evolved and grown away from it. But I believe that our need to connect to celebrities (earned status or otherwise) comes from our need to connect with eachother. I believe that in this fiercely technological envrionment we actually are all craving life stories and understanding. Like my discovery at 24 years old, that every mid 20s person in my life was suffering a quarter life crisis. It's easy to feel alone in our glories and struggles when we don't talk to eachother anymore.

SO I've actually taken on a personal mission of putting this out there. I want to share with everyone my eureka moments, my falling downs, and my average everyday world. I want to find my "happy" place. In that, I'm terrified that I'm being self-indulgent, I've decided to say FUCK IT. I have opinions, and I'm funny, if I wanted to read about someone I've never met, and I felt BETTER about my OWN life, then what's to say that couldn't happen again.

Alright. How we doing? I feel better. Do you? I hope so. So now that my insecurity hymen cracked across the interweb, I think we can charge on with the fun and excitement that is the human condition. WELCOME TO MY BRAIN!!! GAAAAA.




hUZZah!

Taking the long way around

Ya, that's right. I'm a ripper-offer. I'll rip it however I want. Suck it Trebeck. 


I'm listening to the Dixie Chicks right now, and it's the first song on the album. I used to HATE country music with a burningmotherfucking passion. But a couple of years ago I saw the documentary Shut Up and Sing and all began to change for ever. The film rocked me. These Chicks rock me. From there I've been exposed to the ever constant world of down-home-boot-slappin-Godloving-good ol boys and their "country queens"  and seriously... the men? HAWT. They're MEN if ya know what I mean. I didn't actually realize how damn good looking Blake Shelton was until I just watched the link for that. Yowza. Anyway, I recently hooked up my earphones to the computer at work, and leaving one ear open, I rock out to the country tunes on the interweb. Keeps the weekends right on tickin'. This city girl's a true convert, and I don't believe it myself. 


I have a lot I'd like to talk about but for now I'd also like to impart an anecdote for you. I rode my bike downtown encore today, and on my way home I had the privilege of riding behind whom I will title "Safety Bob". Safety Bob is approximately 45 years old, wearing a large black helmet, and an orange construction vest. His steed was a sweet old lady-bike. He rode like the wind. 


The first "safety" move I witnessed was at the intersection of a one-way street. He did the classic turn onto the adjacent street so that you can do a semi-circle and dodge the red light. Nice move Bob. Although I didn't really see the point of this. He could have just gone through the light. It was a one way street, and you can see the cars. Although I just waited for the light to change he wasn't actually that much farther ahead. The next move in the lesson book was to stop at a red light where he was making a right hand turn. I don't know why he didn't just turn right, but you don't ask questions when someone is clearly so SAFE. So I go around him, make my right turn, and merge into the middle lane to make the next left. As I'm turning left, OUT OF NOWHERE... BOB! The quick safety monster has made a sneaky (but safe) move of actually crossing the whole street and arriving on the opposite sidewalk, and nearly cutting me right off mid-turn. Again, I do not question his methods. 


When I started thinking: how someone could rattle along so safe, and so strange? His final foray in crash prophylactic was to again pull one of his half circles on a one way street. Bob, Bob, Bob... why?? It was just a stop sign... but I reminded myself... you don't question Safety Bob. You just don't.

Blog-rama-gama-blama!

ALRIGHT. LET'S DO THIS!

First. I am a total. Utter. Dork. Not in the whale-penis sense... I'm like a nerd of epic preportions. Ok. Wait. Am I? Maybe I'm starting off on the wrong foot.

I'm not a geek. But I do have many nerdy qualities which I cover up with "quirky". I'm completely technologically retained, but with the support of my wonderful wonderful beautiful, incredible friend Kristan I'm hoping that I'll make leaps and bounds in the world of internets. THE INTERNETS!

I rode my bike to work today for the first time in months because I'm a sweaty, sweaty monster. So if I get to work draped in the ocean that is my own liquid bacteria I will feel like ass all day, and no one will want to talk to the stanky kid. This is my first office job, so I want to at least appear somewhat respectable. But as this fog of hell-humidity lifts I have attempted my scoot across town using m'own gambs. Felt FAB. AND didn't even sweat as much as my BigTallMan (more on this rockstar of a man later) said I would! BOOYA! Whatever, all the best athletes sweat. It's basically the sign of the most athletic person ever.

Ok. If I'm entirely honest, although I AM fairly athletic. I've heard this tale of sweating equalling good shape. But what about the fat business men who are red-faced, usually found eating rare steak bigger than me, and probably drinking a malt-scotch of outlandishly priced highs. What about them? They come built in with a sheen of fat that never ends. Soooo... any ideas? How can the very 'in-shape' and the very 'ridiculously not' sweat equal buckets. My ponderment for the jour. Enjoy that one.

So my thesis; my point d'ecrire is the NEED, nay the NECESSITY, to get me thoughts OUT! I gots thoughts yo! And I'm sometimes funny yo! So I feel like if I can do my rants in a place that could possibly be read, they stay out, and possibly give me insights or excitements, or generally create better mental health because I'm not wasting my good thoughts, and the bad thoughts are eating me for Linner.

I ALSO have begun an unofficial official "Perrie Happiness Project" which is interesting because I don't necessarily believe in being happy all the time, or necessarily the possibility of it... in fact I should probably do a separate entry explaining my curiosity on this Westernized idea... but I DO feel that for the past 4 years of my life I have been teetering on depression and misery with slight interjections of spastic giddyness. So one day I said ENOUGH!! ENOUGH, ENOUGH! and took grande steps to how I can change this in my life. So this will follow daily (hopefully) thoughts, or things, or goings-on of how that could happen. General contentment is all I ask.

EN COMMENCE!


P