"Are there any Eucharistic Ministers present during this mass? Please? Anyone? We need someone. . . It's Christmas . . . anyone?"
Oh no. This isn't happening. There are over 300 people here and no one is stepping up to the plate? Really? Oh no. What is that? Is that my arm raising itself up to volunteer? No, stop it. Stop!
"Oh thank you so much, please come to the back."
Damn-it. What the hell did I just do?
Let me explain. I am not a very religious person. I was raised very strict Catholic but pretty much don't believe in most Catholic beliefs to this day. I am however very spiritual. I am a strong believer in energy, good people, right and wrong, laughter, good deeds, and morality. But Jesus? An infallible bible? Yeah, not so much. But when I was in highschool my Mom pretty much dragged me to Church to become a Eucharistic Minister. (A Eucharistic Minister is the person who gives out the "body and blood" of Christ, aka: bread and wine.) Why did my Mom make me do this? Here's the best part. It was my punishment for breaking into their liquor cabinet and getting wasted off of 20 year old Gin. (I still to this day can't drink Gin. It was bad. Really bad. And it involved a lot of baking, but I'll save that story for another day.)
So here I was at Christmas Mass (which my family always goes to on Christmas Eve) volunteering to give out the body and blood of a Christ I don't even necessarily believe in because I got wasted long ago in highschool. Why? Two words. Catholic Guilt. After I went into the back and got my assigned spot, I started sweating cold bullets. I, of all people should not be giving out Christ's supposed blood. I, Miss Sinner of New York City wearing my hippie Williamsburg Christmas dress with green socks and brown boots was probably the least qualified out of anyone. But no one else was volunteering to do it, so it didn't leave me much choice.
And you know what? I'm glad that I did. It was at the very least a social experiment, and at the most a good deed. Every person who came up to get the wine I was giving out (of course they would stick me with the wine) had this look in their eyes. This expression that I haven't seen in a long time. It took awhile for me to pinpoint what it was. Finally it hit me. The look was one of repentance and hope. Hope for a better world. Hope for forgiveness of sins. Hope that there is something bigger out there and Love for whatever that thing may be.
So, who am I to poo poo on someone else's beliefs? I'm not. Everyone has something they believe in. Whether it be an infallible god, energy of others, or even friends, exercise, work, or hobbies, everyone needs something. And if I got to be a part of bringing that hope into others lives for just a few minutes? Well, that just warms the deepest cockles of my heart.
Afterwards, we went back to the tabernacle where we had to dispose of the rest of the wine. After asking what we were supposed to do with the leftovers in the glass, someone responded:
"Well, it's been blessed so we can't throw it away. You have to drink the rest of it."
Wow. December 20th. You sure snuck up on me. I cannot believe how jam packed with changes this past year has been. I look back, and I have to say that I'm proud to come out of it all in one piece. Moving to LA, moving back to NYC, couch surfing, forging new relationships and friendships, breaking up, breaking up, and breaking up some more. . . the number of times I apparently fell in love this past year astounds me. Then again, maybe none of it was real. Like my mom says, I'm in love with the idea of being in love. And some of the people I chose this past year . . . well let's just say I could probably fall in love with a rock if it looked at me the right way. But I did it. I made it out alive, all on my own.
It is with great pleasure that I welcome 2011. And even though I'll be working a party in the top of a hotel in Times Square that night and will probably want to murder the millions of tourist that take over my city . . . well, I'll still have a pretty big smile on my face. :D
One of my best friends recently told me that one of the reasons I feel so much is that everyone always says, "carpe diem, live everyday like it's your last," but that I actually do that. It's an interesting point because I recently went through some old college papers from an acting class and wrote about this very topic.
Back then, I made the point that it was impossible to live everyday like it was your last because we would end up consumed by emotion and consequences. I basically wrote that if you feel that passionately every second of everyday then you would go crazy. I'm not sure when the shift took place where I went from believing you couldn't, to actively doing it.
She's right though. There is a very fine line between living everyday like it's your last and reality. That line however, often gets very blurred. It's the reason why I fall so hard for people, it's the reason I get so happy and then so down. It's why I have no idea what's going to happen in the future (although I guess no one does, particularly artists in NYC), and am sometimes consumed by the past.
So what does this new revelation mean to me? I can't say I'm sure. I need a break from myself. I need a break from all these feelings. I'm pretty sure that if you looked up "emo" in the dictionary there would be a picture of me next to pictures of people reciting poetry in small dark venues.
So . . . I am going to try not to put so much pressure on myself to live everyday like it's my last. Because hotdamn, that gets exhausting! So today? Well today I'm just going to calmly live. And guess what? Tomorrow I will too. Because I doubt this is my last day on earth. And if it is? Well, I've already accomplished a lot in my 20 something years, so I'd be ok with that too.
I hate it when bars publish their own "propaganda" saying, "Rated Top 10 Nightlife Spots in the World!" Oh yeah? According to who, my friend? Because I don't see any proof except that a lot of suited up douchebags go to your bar. In lieu of this recent pet peeve, my roommate and I have decided to issue the following statement:
"The 3rd floor apartment at *** Lorimer Street, in the trendy Williamsburg, Brooklyn, is ranked in the Top 10 Best Apartments in New York City, and Top 30 Worldwide."
Take that. BOOYAH!
That's right. I now officially live in one of the best apartments in New York City. And if anyone wants to argue with me that my crappy run down apartment isn't in the top 10? Well, the proof is above. Because it says so on the internet.
Life in the big city is hard enough. Now throw in being in your 20’s (aka: quarter life crisis), going on countless auditions (which equals countless rejections), living in an apartment the size of a stamp, taking crappy jobs just because they offer free food, and you’ve got the life of a New York City actress. Being an actress in NYC sounds glamorous on paper, but it is anything but. These are the true chronicles of one girl’s rise to stardom . . . or rise to at least being able to pay her bills.