Tuesday, February 16, 2010

A little bit of guest blogging

I haven't been blogging here as much as I would like for a few reasons.

1. I love the Olympics.
2. I have 4 sports channels.  See #1
3. As I live in the Olympic city, I am trying to go out and see as much as I can
4. I did a wee guest blog for my good friends at yoyo mama.

We will be back to regularly scheduled activities soon.  Thank you for your patience.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Label me this.

For four years, I went to theatre school to attain the lofty heights of a Bachelor of Fine Arts.  I graduated with honours and went on to pursue a career in Acting.  I did so for several years, attaining some success-not enough to make a living-but enough to make my resume look pretty spiffy.

In the last few years, I have let my acting career sleep due to other pursuits.  Like making enough money so that I can buy pants.  And cheese.

But since having my giant baby, I have realized the importance of doing things that make me the happiest, because a happy mommy is a good mommy.

So, in addition to pursuing writing more diligently, I am getting back on the acting horse! Its a fickle horse to be sure, but one that I have missed kicking me in the teeth every so often.

The question is, when am I allowed to call myself an actor again?

Do I subscribe to the theory that, like dressing for the job you want, not the job you have, one should say you are the thing you want to be, not the thing you are?  Or am I then getting on the slippery slope of the actor slash singer (Taylor Swift, Mariah Carey)? I cannot tell you how much it frosts my cookies when a semi-famous person decides they can act or sing just because they are famous (Paris freaking Hilton) without a second of training or experience to back them up.  Not everyone can be Justin Timberlake (sigh).

Lord knows I wouldn't want my doctor doing that.  Or my airline pilot.  Or my cheesemonger.

I suppose I feel somewhat justified in calling myself an actor, due to the years of training and audience abuse. But I do feel like a bit of a fraud as I am not making any money at it and I haven't struggled at it for a bit.  Do I wait until I get my first pay check? My first rejection?  My first nervous breakdown?

Why does it matter anyhow? Why do I worry about these things?  I have more important things to worry about, like how to get the poo out of my husband's white t-shirt (AAA!  I did it again!  POO!)

I think, for now, I will label myself as a practitioner in the creative arts.

Makes me sound a bit like a witch.

I think I like that.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

It all comes down to the poo

One of the reasons I have been reticent to start blogging again is my fear of becoming one of those MOMS.  You know the type.  The woman who blogs-and if you meet her on the street, talks- incessantly about the adventures and hardships of being a mom, the trials and tribulations of parenthood and the cute things that her kids say and do. And thats it.  No current events, no pop culture, nothing but her kid.

And, of course, their poo.

Now don't get me wrong.  There are PLENTY of women out there who are moms who write, and talk,  about motherhood and their kids in a new and inspiring way.  But they also write, and talk, about other things and don't define themselves solely as a capital M Mom.  Sure, they are moms, but they are also writers, actors, businesswomen, wives, partners, creators, lawyers, entrepreneurs and generally nifty people.

Who rarely talk about poo.

I guess for me, the level of obsessive mommyness directly correlates to the amount of poo one refers to in a conversation.

And lately, I have become one of those moms.

The poo moms.

ALL I think, breathe and talk about seems to be my son.

And his poo.

How much, when, colour, frequency, size, smell and above all, staining power.

Who am I?  When did this happen?

I used to be an exciting and dynamic woman who was intelligent and witty and could converse on any subject at the drop of a hat!

Now, I catch myself talking to people I have just met about poo.

This has to stop.  My husband is starting to stare at me like I am an alien. My friends avoid me.  And my son is starting to hide his diapers.  And he is only 5.5 months old.

I guess, dear reader, what this posting is telling you is that from henceforth, I resolve to never, ever, EVER, talk about my son's poo.

Unless of course, you really want me to.  Or its really interesting.

Which reminds me of this funny thing that happened the other day after he finished his mashed bananas...

Friday, February 5, 2010

Everything old is new again

It has been almost 2 years since I last blogged. So why start again? My many changes in life (married, new giant 5 month old baby, not being at work), have made me realize that I miss my wee creative outlets. Like this one. Yes, much of what I have written in the past is no longer current or relevant, but some of it is screamingly funny and astute if I do say so myself. Perhaps I am beating a dead horse resurrecting this old thing. Perhaps I should start anew. But for now...this is it.

As I said to a very clever girlfriend yesterday, the birth of my baby has made me realize how much better things are in life if I make an effort to do things that make me truly happy. Like writing. Or eating cheese. Or tickling my son's tummy. It may mean that colossal life changes are afoot for me. What do I do with my life? How do I maximize the time with my son and my husband while still being the best me I can be? How do I do this while making money so that I can enjoy time with said son and husband and still eat? How do I do this while making ENOUGH money so that I can enjoy time with said husband and son and buy these boots?

Time will tell I suppose. For now, I guess I just continue Acting Responsible.

oh i am so clever.