Hair Nets aren't good for your self-esteem.

So, this upcoming story, is a story I am ashamed to tell. It is a story that happened a couple of weeks ago....

I want to add a disclaimer that, post this horror story, I was production coordinator for Katie Couric, and worked personally with her. By worked personally with her, I mean I watched her from a distance, and smiled at her when she looked my way. I even offered her a chip out of my favorite sun dried tomato sun chip bag. Then talked to her before and after the shoot, posed for pictures, discussed colon cancer.....

Ok, so now that i have earned your respect, and we both understand that I am a big deal, I feel I can continue with this story.

It was a sunny day full of promise. I was finally going to be seen as something other than a retarded waitress, that occasionally got your order right. I was going to be a tradeshow model for an up and coming multi millionaire dollar company. My ego was stroked, every time I told the story, to my peers, of what I had planned for the upcoming week for income. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I was going to be paid to be beautiful. I didn't know if hair and make up was provided, but that was okay. Because, they saw something in me, and maybe they thought my natural beauty would suffice.

The night before the big day, I laid out my outfit. You can never be too prepared when opportunity is knocking at your door ( Thank You John Shearin). I had my hair conditioned, with the good stuff, so it felt like mr. snuggles teddy bear on your finger tips. My make up, was flawless, laying out for a morning of application. My outfit, was ironed. Ok, that was a lie, but it was wrinkle free nonetheless.

They tell me to ride the subway to the hotel. To most, this would've been a red flag. I'm pretty sure Heidi Klum gets to ride a limo to her events, why do I get the subway? But, it's all a lesson in patience, so I remind myself, it's all baby steps.

I arrive at what I think will be a red carpet five star hotel, and to my surprise it is not. Instead it is a Marriot three star. I look around and see no one, not even a red carpet is lurking around in the distance. I ask the desk receptionist, where I should set up, she rolls her eyes at me and sends me to the basement. Again, Red flag number I lost count. And, I'll excuse the fact she doesn't know who I am yet. So me and my optimism take the stairs into a dark basement.

I see two older ladies sitting at the desk. Behind them is a mountain of hair nets. That's strange, the hairstylist got replaced by a hair net. It must be an event where they are making cafeteria lady the new thing. I keep seeing fashion shows like these in magazines, where they put them in homeless resembling clothes. She then proceeds to tell me to place this name tag on my shirt, where I write in permanent marker my name. I ask her, " Won't this mess up my outfit?" She laughs, and tells me it's just a sticker. RED FLAG!!! She then tells me to put my hair in a pony tail and hands me a hair net. I ask her in my sweetest southern tone, " Excuse me, but is this hair-net really nesscessary?" She aggressively attacks me with a, " OUR CLIENT REQUIRES IT!" Ok, so I'm wearing the hair net, no prob bob.

She tells me to go wait in the van. I go to the van. Where a gentleman picks me up. He tells me all about New York, and I immediately decide he should be my surrogate grandfather. He then takes me to the corner, and tells me to have fun. I assure him I will.

It was in this moment, I realize there is no fun to be had. I realize I have been lied to, deceived, and I have just been dropped off at a costco in the bronx. I am not a model. More importantly this is not a tradeshow. I try and chase grandaddy down, let me back into the van, let me rip this hair net off my head.

But, instead, granddad didn't see me. I now have no choice but to hand out food samples at Costco. Anyone that applies gets this job, I'm not special. And this damn hair net itches.

I decide to make the best of it, and make friends with one of the girls. On our break, us and our hairnets get a costco hotdog. But, when we get to the break room, she sits on the opposite side. I thought that was depressing in itself, but I was like story of my life. But, then, she starts staring at me. I smile and look down. She sat across the room staring at me the entire 30 minutes. So me and hairnet got creepers starring at us, while I sit in the breakroom of costco which is in the bronx. This is not how I envisioned this evening to unfold. Infact, this isn't really how I envisioned my life to unfold.

But, I keep my head up, because tomorrow I will be a back up dancer for Timbaland's new music video. Long story short, I get to the shoot, and they are SOOOO excited I am there, could I please run food over to dressing rooms. I politely ask when I should get ready, and they say, mumble. The answer to my question soon revealed to me that it was never. I wasn't going to be a tradeshow model, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be a backup dancer.

All I'm saying is my undergraduate training did not prepare me for hair net wearing and food delivery.

PS. Momma, I hope your still proud.

When did you give up on living?

Life is made up of hope. Nothing exists or will exist without it. Your hope turns into a belief and your belief is what makes everything real. So, I walk these dark at five in the evening streets. This is a side note, but I have lived twenty four years and have never experience it being dark a quarter till five. I can't help but blame this on being a New York thing. And, while we are on the subject, I do not like darkness. I don't like sitting in it, I don't like feeling it. The only thing the dark is good for is sleeping. And, I don't want to walk through my day feeling like it's bed time. So, sun, please come back into my life.

Anyways, I am walking along these dark cold streets. Reminds me, I don't like cold either. It's not becoming on me. I have to bundle up in six layers, and womble around. I don't like to womble. And, I have to wrap my scarf around my head like I represent the Muslim faith. People look at me, and I wonder sometimes if I'm going to be attacked, but I do plan on explaining that I have very delicate skin that can't with stand such intense temperatures. Therefor, I do wrap this thing around my head and face, as not to represent or mock their faith, put purely for survival purposes. I mean, I don't mean to sound high maintenance, but I do wish they would supply personal heaters for walking time. It's just not right to have to be so cold all the time.

So I'm walking down the dark and cold street. Another day of trying to be a discovered actress or discovered something. I give up everything for this damn art form. I give up my money, my lifestyle. I eat damn canned food for my art. I mean why can't Broadway be on the virgin islands, or somewhere warm and pleasant. But, no such luck there either.

So, another disappointing day on the train ride of life. I climb into this familiar subway, that use to be a foreign concept, but now is a daily routine. And I sit next to the new crazy of the day. At first glance, she looks like me and you. She has a coach purse that looks real. The only thing suspicious on her is her eyeshadow. It is applied rather thick, and by that, I mean it looks like she did paint by numbers. The black was really thick in her creases, and the white was really thick. Words don't explain the application of this eyeshadow. I just thought, " Oh, wish I could give her a make over." Then I continue starring at everyone else on the train.

Suddenly, I see her litter. She was on her fourth little debbie cup cake honey bun, and she throws the wrapper under her seat! I told her with my eyes to pick up that wrapper, or I would snap, but instead she throws down another one! I didn't have anything on me to retaliate with, so it turned out it was her lucky day. I do want to say though, I would loved to have had a handy portable trash can in my purse, I would've lightly tossed it toward her head. Maybe an aggressive tossed toward her head, depending on my mood, but I wouldn't of wanted the trash can to hurt her, just a thump to teach her.

But, then in mid day dream, I notice she has passed out. I realize this woman is littering because she is drunk and couldn't hold it in her limp hands any longer. She then finds the strength to open her zest crackers, but through opening them she passes out again. The battle continues, of her fighting for the crackers and her sleeping. The final attempt, she managed to get the crackers, by bringing her mouth to her hand, instead of vice versa. I was glad to see her win the cracker fight, I was about to tell the poor thing to just sit there and I'll feed her. I felt bad for her bread crumbed cheeks.

At what point did she decide that that was who she wanted to be when she grew up?

The thing I hate about this story, is it wasn't funny. It was real. It was real and it was sad and it's everywhere. There are hers on every street corner and it's all her fault. I don't know what went wrong. But, at some point she decided to stop fighting. She decided to not have hope. And the scariest part of that, is I have had those moments too where I'd like to give up. She is in all of us. We all have power, it may come easier to others, but we all have it.

This is going to sound like an awful segue, but a lot of times I confuse talent with power. More and more, I think talent doesn't exists, just like power doesn't exists, both are created.
Some people are more inclined to be powerful in certain areas. And, while it is important both professionally and relationally to listen to your inclinations, it's also important to not be defined by them. Really, the most powerful thing against us and for us, is our belief. If we give in to thinking we have lost our power, that is when the pieces fall, and we are left with zest cracker crumbs all over our cheeks. We are left with girls that don't know us, but when they grow up, they point you out of the crowd as the person they don't want to be.

I don't want to be her. I don't want her to be her. I don't want to see anyone lose hope. I don't want to see anyone not fight for what they want.

Moral of the Story: We can't let each other lose hope in our power of choice.

Because we can't afford to have people not follow through with their calling in life. We can't let people just live and take up space. It's not fair to them or us. What would the world be like if everyone made a goal of giving someone hope each day.

I know I live in fairyland, but I do think that's a nice thought.

The Turkey Killer

It's funny that people move to New York City to be heard and seen. You could bark in front of a New Yorker, you could bark and run circles and be naked, and they wouldn't flinch. They are use to the attention whores , the crazies, the penny hunters.

However, as performers and musicians, we still reside here, because to be seen here is an accomplishment. We love the chase, we love to create something that will grab your attention in a way that nobody or anything else has. The chase forces us to act in creative ways, because nobody is going to hand out anything here just because you have a pretty picture. So, if someone see's something in you, it's because you put it in there face, and made it appear to be something that would benefit them.

So, in the privacy of his own home, he decided that the world didn't need another headshot submission, that perhaps what they needed was a good laugh. Perhaps, the good laugh would get him farther than his pretty head shot or on point monologue. He knew he could rap, he knew he could make people laugh. So, he decided to marry the two and make a funny rap video. He decided that he would during this 2009 holiday season, claim his title as THE TURKEY KILLER.

Now, what is admirable about this little character of a man, is normally people would throw this idea out there and never do anything with it. But he wrote the rap song, he produced the song, he found a sound engineer, he hired a media production group... all in good faith that it would make you laugh.

Even if you don't laugh, which I don't know how you can't laugh at some good wholesome turkey killing.Or, a woman trying to seduce a man with cranberry dressing or seductively eating a chunky piece turkey breast.But, my favorite part is creepy mc creepers singing the opening song, and then randomly standing in the background waiting to attack any turkey with her guitar. And, just so you know, she is actually a gorgeous girl, which just goes to show what some make up and acting can do. Regardless, it's funny and it is respectable that someone would dream up the idea, and follow through with it.

So watch it, buy it on itunes, but mostly enjoy it. Because, the dude worked hard for it and put a lot of faith into it. For that anyone should buy the album!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZyLEq_kOIY