those first few seconds...

       I have a great arsenal of friends in my life and I cherish them deeply. However I think its important to note that for the most part I didn't like any of them immeadiately. I'm a bitch and so are most of my friends. This doesn't mean we go out of our ways to be mean to people, but we don't deal with the falsehoods people constantly evoke. We live in the honest. That means that I'd rather have you hate me about something I was truthful about than to feel your wrath about a lie. That's just how we roll. But this tough exterior matched with a no nosense nonchalance is a bit abrasive at first glance.
          Take for instance 2 of my besties, Jemima and Naimah. We're the closest of friends and I consider them ride or die, but whenwe first met, they were downright cold. We were in the same afterschool program in the 7th grade and on the first day, I came an hour late. I waltzed in with my handbag that didn't contain books or writing materials and sat my ass down. I made it just in time for math class--one of my favorite subject. In order to make up for my extreme lateness, I started to answer every question. Well apparently prior to my arrival, both Jemima and Naimah were the brains of the class and they didn't like the new bitch encroaching on their territory. So like they do in the animal kingdom, they began to attack. Now how do girls attack? With their minds. Jemima and Naimah rotated their chairs so that instead of facing the blackboard their chairs now faced me on the opposite side of the room. For the remainder of the class they mean mugged me and everyone felt it. This continued on for a week until our teacher, Mr. Boulis, made us join the same group. Turns out we had a lot in common and we have been friends ever since.
     For most of my friends I have a similar story--extreme dislike at first followed by extreme love later. I thought that we were all just a product of our environment. We all grew in Brooklyn and NYC is the place where the weak are eaten first. However, when I studied abroad, I learned that bitchiness is a global trait.
    My paris amis are all people whom I never thought I would be friends with. I didn't want to be associated with any of them. Mitchell I hated because during the orientation months prior, he kept asking stupid questions and wore a really pink shirt. I made a mental note not to be anywhere near him when I landed in Paris. Loni was my roommate when I first arrived and gave me a bad taste in my mouth. I had heard wondeful things about Josephine but when I met her she barely said hi and tried as hard as possible to leave the breakfast table. Bitch. Joy had a mean face on and looked like she was already bored of everything. All of these people annoyed the shit out of me by the end of the second day in Paris and its more than 2 years later and I still consider them my best friends. Its funny how you never know where your life will take you.
     So I guess my point ( if I have one) is how much importance we give first impressions. I based entire relationships on a cursory glance and it seemed that I was wrong most of the time. Yet it doesn't seem that I don't still judge people by their book covers. They say how you dress and act are a representation of who you are and I believe that's true. But what if I misunderstand what you're representing. I look at your all black ensemble and I think that you're a melodramatic goth when really you're a chic new yorker or a beatnik. How much work does it take to get past the facade and get to the meat of the matter? Probably a five minute conversation. Definitely less than the length of a train ride, yet we never invest. It makes me kinda sad to think there are countless people who would enrich my life but I'll never find out because of a faulty first impression. Especially when I have friends I wouldn't change for the world.

pink ladies and purposeful dreams...

I'm not even a struggling filmmaker. I'm just struggling. Hard. Every time I meet someone in the industry, they always want to know why an honor student went from the security of medicine to the freelance, unstable nature of film. Honestly, it wasn't an easy decision, but it was the right one. It's something that's been in the making for a long time. The first moment that I realized that performing was for me was the fourth grade.
In my elementary school, every year, each grade puts on a musical for the entire school. So every month there was a performance going on.
       It wasn't until the third grade that I got a role with any substance; and it was a big one. I got to play Belle in The Beauty and The Beast. I went from being completely invisible in my school to having way too many people know me. That experience was wonderful, but I got a lot of hate from my peers. Our elementary school was exactly like Mean Girls. I had gone from being a loner to being an outcast because I got attention that wasn't approved by The Pink Ladies. Yes, in the third grade, up until the sixth grade, there was a legit clique of girls that made my life a living hell. They even had matching monogrammed grease jackets! However the third grade wasn't when I learned I wanted to be a performer. That revelation came a year later.
       During the fourth grade, I won the role of Anna in The King and I. It was completely unexpected because no one had ever had the lead role twice. If I was a target before, then I was the ultimate kill in this playground battlefield. I worked so hard for this role, spending all my free time singing and rehearsing lines. I even had to learn to waltz in front of my entire grade. It was mortifying.
          Finally the day of the show arrives and my nerves are threatening to debilitate me. I'm wearing a giant hoop skirt trying to dance and sing while a corset is puncturing my ribs. Even through the pain, I can recall having the most fun in my short life. When it came time for the final bow, the cast exited from backstage as we had rehearsed, with me being the last one to arrive on stage. I descend from the wings and do a full curtsy in front of the audience. This time was different than ever other time we rehearsed because there was a live audience there, not just rowdy fourth graders. When I looked up from my curtsy, to my surprise, I received a standing ovation. It shocked me. I couldn't believe that what I loved and enjoyed doing gave other people joy as well. I was hooked from that moment onward.
           Now from that point onward, I thought that I just wanted to be an actress. It wasn't until I saw my favorite movie that I knew I couldn't stop there. I saw Pulp Fiction for the first time when I was eight years old on television. I'm pretty sure it was on the WB but who can be sure? I watched the entire film in awe with my mouth ajar and I didn't understand what I saw. After the movie finished, I recall thinking "Wow, you can do that?" I didn't know that movies didn't have to be generic and formulaic. It changed my entire paradigm and to this day I think Tarantino is a fucking genius. Sure I may come off as a movie snob with my independent films and foreign cinema, but I know I love a film when I feel it in my bones. It can change you profoundly. Honestly my movie obsession doesn't make me cool; it makes me a loser. Only dweebs and nerds are obsessed with anything. I'm proud to say that I'm obsessed with Jules and Vincent Vega and that movie made me want to become a filmmaker.
               Sure half of the screenplays I write are garbage and the other half are unfinished, but it gives me such joy to attempt to follow my dreams. Maybe I'll never succeed. Maybe I'll give in and be at a corporate job working for the man. I dunno. I can't predict the future. But at least I'm trying. So regardless if I'm living it up in a penthouse with my banker husband, I'll have the original B-roll from my failed films and the pictures of the times I spent sleeping on numerous couches.

Party Sleep Party: The schedule of the Toys R Us Adult

Today is supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life. I'm officially a grown-up, by most people's standards (definitely not by my own nor by my mother's). I'm seated in the nosebleed section of Yankees Stadium betwixt my best friend Krystal and the freezing,wet hand rail. I'm decked out in my purple robe and matching baseball cap, while trying to arrange my clear poncho over my head, so my hair doesn't get wet. There's currently a torrential downpour attacking my graduating class and is threatening to flood the stadium and toss the flimsy tent that houses the honorees and prestigious members of faculty, as well as Alec Baldwin, our keynote speaker, who has decided to not to don any protective outer garments. I guess he's a real man. Or a dumbass. Sigh.  While he's giving a speech that consists of the usual "Make a mark on the world!", "You can do anything!" and "Tisch is awesome!" bullshit that you can expect from any commencement address, I'm clutching my cup of cocoa that seems to have gone from scalding hot to slushy Haagen Daz by the time I've reached my seat. Sadly, it's still warmer than me and I'm inhaling it at an attempt for heat based diffusion.
    It is in moments like these that I realize I'm rarely appropriately dressed for anything. Despite the meteorologist's assertion that today's forecast would consist of a  monsoon occurring at forty-degree weather, I'm wearing a mini dress and gorgeous open-toe heels, freezing off my delicate appendages. I hadn't even bothered to wear tights because I got a banging pedicure the day before and needed to show off the hot hue my toes were rocking. It was a fluorescent pink that bordered on vomit-inducing neon. Just my steez.  As I look at the giant screen, enlarging Mr. Baldwin's face,  I realize that no one's going to be checking out my toe game, when they're too busy trying to stay alive in this frigid weather. Is it sad that that's what I'm most upset about? That no one will see how cute I look at graduation. Never mind the fact that I won't be able to take pictures because it's too cold to stand. I won't be able to rejoice in the last few moments that is college and look back at all I've accomplished with my peers that help me get through it. Nah. I just want someone to comment on my dress with a "Steph, you look slamming" and I'd respond, "this old thing, I picked it up yesterday" with a kind of nonchalance that would make me seem sophisticated. The truth is that I did pick up the dress the night before. I'm the queen of procrastination, especially with events like this. I think it's my subconscious way of trying to delay the inevitable--growing up.
     When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the Toys R Us catalog. Between that and the catchy theme song, every trip to the mega-store was an epic event of traipsing through the aisles, picking out toys that I coveted. I would watch on the television screen that monstrous giraffe, Geoffrey, surround himself with kids playing t-ball, having the time of their young lives. No wonder they didn't want to grow up. What's better than being a kid? Nothing really. Spending your days with your playmates and getting ice cream on your new shirt is the pinnacle of our existence.We were the images on the screen. With a simple change of costume, you could be a firemen, a ballerina or an astronaut. With a limitless imagination, none of your remarks will ever be considered "stupid", but instead "refreshing" and "honest". So every time that booklet came in the mail, it was a simple reminder of the endless possibilities that the world possessed and the community that all children share. I would scan over the pages for hours, but surprisingly I wasn't at all interested in playing with toys; I just liked coveting.  
    That's the idea behind retail therapy, isn't it? Sometimes you just need to feel special. So what, if you don't need those shoes? Get them and feel great about yourself for a couple of days. If you have buyer's remorse, return them and feel good about yourself that you made a responsible decision; A true sign of growing up.
     I guess the saddest thing about my crossing over into adulthood is the fact that I've never truly felt like a kid. As a youngster, I perceived myself as suffering from the  "Jodie Foster" complex. You know, when there's a child that has too much wisdom, or is just too sure of themselves. It's actually a terrifying affliction, which has made me scared of Jodie (although I've warmed up to her in her adult age; But when I watch even Freaky Friday, I'm biting fingernails and scrunching my face at the sight of her). I was that random third grader that was reading The Hobbit and watching foreign films. The first time I ever saw Nightmare on Elm Street was in french. It's one thing to see a pie-faced murderer attacking you in your dreams, but it's downright sadistic when he's doing it in a romance language.
      Being mature had its advantages. I was treated differently by the adults I was surrounded by. I was allowed certain privileges and was always deemed the one in charge--even of my older cousins. Yet that sort of delineation marks you. Immediately you become one of them--one of the grown-ups; not to be trusted. It was as if I was branded on the forehead with the terms "Square Loser" and had my cool card revoked. To this day the relationship with my brother is tenuous because how could he ever really trust a sister that was more of a parent rather than a playmate. However, I had to play the hand I was dealt and it was definitely more advantageous to be one of the privileged adults than a child with a bedtime.
        Looking back I wish I would've rebelled more and not been so afraid of falling off my elite pedestal. I look at my brother and even though he's a pain in the ass, I do respect him for one thing--his defiance. Sure at times it's his least appealing characteristic, but there are other times, moments when he refuses to be pressured into feeling, saying or doing something that he doesn't want to. Maybe he'll grow out of it, but I doubt it. My dad hasn't and it seemed to work out for him. I forced myself to bite my tongue so I could retain the crown upon my head. I was definitely an obedient child. I had times of rebellion but they were more the silent kind. I would smile to your face and then plot your punishment. It was if I was doing karma's work. I was that sly little bitch's helper. If I ever got caught, I was always set free because who would believe the angelic Steph would ever do anything like that.
         I'm okay with my less than reckless childhood because now I have adulthood to look forward to. I've decided to make up for lost time and isn't it better to be a reckless twenty-something than a bratty tween? I've got the freedom to do whatever I want (particularly drink whatever I want) and the means to do it. Sure I've only got a part-time job but that's way better than having my mom foot the bill for my partying ways. She would try to limit me to one drink a night. What fun is that? I've adopted a new mantra. I'm living my life according to the new hedonism. I'm going to be the modern Dorian Gray sans icky murders and boring dinner parties. To live life without fear is a goal that we all strive to accomplish, but I'm convinced by the pained expressions and weary eyes of most middle-aged adults I see, that few have ever made it. That's the mark I want to make. Forget trying to end wars and promote peace.Let's just all take shots. I'm much happier when I'm drunk. I dance with everyone and spend shit loads of money I don't have. But it's worth it for that feeling of elation, knowing that everyone around you is just happy to be alive and dancing to the music. We spend all day worrying about tomorrow, but we fail to realize we missed our chance for today. Thankfully the apocalypse is on it's way and 2012 is truly a godsend. No longer do we have to worry about 401ks and retirement. This bitch is about to blow up. So let's dance the night away. Put down the palm pilots. Party Sleep Party is the only schedule you need.