So, all two and half people who read this blog know that come March my schedule is going to free up a bit. By "a bit" I mean that CCI is kicking me to the curb and the only life that I've had for a long time is going to end. I'm one of those people who carries the belief/hope/delusion that when God closes a door, he opens a window. So when I heard that "Glee" is holding open casting calls to fill three slots in its second season I thought that maybe I had found the window for which I was searching. This is a big leap of faith for me. I don't personally feel like I have any talent whatsoever and that generally I'm a big waste of space. I do certain things, such as singing, because I like to, not because I'm good at them. Same with cooking. I tell myself I'm awesome every single day in the hopes that maybe that one time I'll actually believe it.
Now comes the audition tape. I'm at a loss for this. I've done auditions before. I know the kind of thing I have to do. I know I need to sing and I know that I need to act. I have two monologues chosen, one is dramatic and one is comedic. Both involve me being gay. Is that a bad thing? Should I really just wear it on my sleeve like that? I mean, let's be honest, it's not like I can hide it. I've tried. Erratic can attest to that. She saw right through me. The song, I have no clue what I want to sing. Suggestions are welcome. Why do I fail so hard?
Oh, and the reason I'm awesome? I'm doing this. That has to count for something, right? Worst come to worse I go back to culinary school and pretend to be awesome there.
I love language. I'm a giant tool, yet somehow still awesome. Today in class we were to write a paragraph and strive to reach a high grade level. Our goal was grade ten, most media being written at a grade level of six to eight. I spent a long time on this paragraph and I must say that I'm proud. It's about my dog. Quite possibly, it's the best thing that anyone, anywhere, has ever written. EVER.
One of the most important entities in my life, of which there is a plethora, is my little canine companion named Petie. This little fur child of mine has made me glad to have wasted so many of theis earth's finite resources sustaining myself up until this point in my life where my Cheek, a Chihuahua/Pekinese mix, was finally able to grace me with his wondrous and awesome presence. Since the day of the procurement of my absolute best friend, my life has been nothing but a shining bright spot, almost up to the point of near supernova status, the complete and utter joy of which shows no sign of ending for my minuscule white dwarf and myself. The total elation that not only I, but my young puppy feels everyday when I walk in the door is easily comparable to winning the lottery, learning that Hollandaise sauce is no longer a mother sauce (and that it is a felony to prepare it, Eggs Benedict earning the death penalty), or even being told "I love you" by that special someone (ironically enough, for me that is Petie). I can sincerely say that my puny existence greatly improved the day that I leveled my gaze upon my delightful, diminutive dog and that I look forward to a future with much hope for the health, prosperity, and love that my perfect pocket sized pooch and I will share.
