egg babies

I've attempted to write this blog no less than four times. And each time, it's just not quite right. So I throw it away and begin again. But I've felt an incredible pull to put these words, or a variation of them, out into the universe for the last several weeks. For what purpose I have no idea, but I trust my gut enough to believe that the universe is talking to me and I should listen. So we'll see if this one makes the cut.

Several years ago I made the decision to become an egg donor. It wasn't a decision I made lightly, but it was a relatively easy decision to make. And before you ask, it really had nothing to do with money. Yes I was compensated. But it was totally not worth it. The process you put your body through is simultaneously painful and fascinating. And a bit terrifying. Twice daily injections of obscene amounts of hormones, daily blood work, and nearly daily ultrasounds so you can peer into your body that's now an over-sized petri dish so you can see the wonder of science push your body to its limit. No exercise, no heavy lifting {the guys I bartended with at the time did so much of my work ~ thanks guys!}, no sex for fear that you're going to fertilize all of the tiny eggs growing in your body at once and, well ... that just wouldn't be pretty. And then finally the day comes when you get to go in for a "simple procedure" in which they put you under, puncture dozens of tiny holes in your body to retrieve said growing eggs, and send you home with an order to rest and to take nothing stronger than Tylenol {which we all know doesn't do shit for pain}.

So then why endure the pain? Well ... it seems that the people in my life who wanted to be parents more than anyone else, were the ones who couldn't. THEY were the ones who really, really should though. I also remember my own mom's struggle with infertility when I was a little girl. Her greatest desire had always been to be a wife and a mother, yet she had multiple miscarriages that caused her to be broken and consumed with pain. There is amazing pain in the desire to have something like this that you cannot have. Then as an adult, I have watched in my own brokenness as family and friends have endured this same pain. It's really terrible. And ... apparently I have good eggs ~ who knew?! I figured since I wasn't using them, someone else might as well.

I have never had a desire to have children of my own. Now before you tell me that I'll change my mind when I'm older or I just haven't met the right guy or I really don't know what I'm talking about, let me assure you ... I'm older than you think I am. And it has nothing to do with a man, or being at a particular stage in my life ... or my own hatred of children. I think children are amazing, fascinating, wonderful humans. I just didn't get the mommy gene. And that doesn't make me weird or horrible {trust me, there are plenty of things that fulfill both of those criteria}. It just means I'm self-actualized enough to know what I want.

I went through the process twice. And it recently occurred to me that these tiny humans with whom I took a very, very short journey and who have my DNA, would be five this year. And I'm not sure why, but it's made me think of them a lot. And of their parents who I will never know, but I do know wanted them so very much that they solicited eggs from a complete stranger to help make that dream come true. It's something that I was a part of for a very brief moment in time. And my way of giving something very small {literally microscopic} back to the universe.

sometimes you just need to have a dance party

So if you've been paying any attention to my whining this past week, you know I was in a car accident exactly one week ago. Every day since last Tuesday, I've been painfully aware {quite literally} of every breath I've taken. There's nothing quite like getting sucker punched in the chest by an airbag directly following a {combined} impact of 70mph. And a seat belt. And the dashboard of Lucy the Escape {god rest her soul}. And I've missed a lot of things this past week. Singing. Yoga. Comfortable sleep. Painless breathing. Today was the first day that my first thought upon awakening wasn't "fuuuuuuuuck." *whydoesithurtsomuchtobreathe* That's a good sign right?

If you're reading this, you probably also know that I'm a crier. *ihatethat* Now ... I've never been one of those girls who can turn on the tears whenever it's convenient in order to achieve an end goal. *God* I've always envied them, but I just can't fake my emotions in the moment. I mean, it's almost impossible. So I cry ... When I'm angry. When I'm sad. When I'm frustrated. When I'm happy. Trust me ~ it's far more frustrating for me than it is for you. I feel like it's a sign of weekness. Or vulnerability. And I'm generally uncomfortable with both of these things.

I hate crying. And my god have I cried this week. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital. In the Emergency Room. When I saw my car the next day. Laying on the floor of the yoga room because that's just about all I can do {actually, both times I set foot in the hot room this week the waterworks went crazy}. On my sofa. After I talked to the insurance guy yesterday who told me that my airbag probably saved my life. It's like I'm 12 all over again! Can we just stop already?!?!?

I rarely let things get to me like this. I kind of pride myself on my ability to move past hardship and keep walking forward. But this week, it's been more than a little difficult to get it together. {Sassy Gay Friend, anyone?} Who has time for that ish? I mean, suck it up and stop being such a baby! You're a grown woman and you walked away from the accident with both of your legs working {albeit a little worse for the wear}. But even Diane informed me last night that I need to stop being so hard on myself. Note ~ if my badass mom tells me to give myself a break, I've definitely earned it.

So I did what any modern girl would do ... I turned to Pinterest. {And wine. Lots of wine.} And that's where I found this.

{via Pinterest}

That Liz Taylor. Full of the wisdom. {yes, I realize she probably didn't say this}. And then this morning I found this blog. {It's a beautiful blog full of inspiration and pretty things.} And you know ... she's absolutely right when she says "Being silly is a great shortcut for getting your emotions back in check."

So I took off my pants, put on some JT, and had my own little dance party {at which time I forgot to close my blinds, and promptly noticed my neighbor looking in. You know ... the one who has seen me in my underwear far more times than I care to admit because I keep forgetting that the blinds are open}. Because sometimes you just need to dance in your underwear. I'm off to find my lipstick ;).

getting out of my head

Audition season tends to turn me into a philosopher. For those of you who aren't familiar with the mindfuck that is auditioning, the voices in your head routinely question your decisions. Decisions about wardrobe and makeup and rep and how you greet your audition panel ... the list is endless. They can smell fear. And it's an awful lot like going on a blind date {ew}. With the queen. The queen who holds your future in her hands and can squash you like a bug if she doesn't like your lipstick. mygodwhatcoloroflipstickamigoingtowear. No pressure.

Every time I go into an audition, I hear the first scene from "A Chorus Line" in my head. And as I sit on my sofa this morning drinking coffee, lazily browsing blogs, and attempting to find my center, I've realized a few things ...

It's been a while since I embarked on a busy audition season {which is it seems is forming on the horizon}. I've spent the last year+ reworking technique, finding my vocal place, and making sure I was really singing the right rep with the right technique. My amazing teacher has put up with neurotic "hey look what I found" or "what's wrong with me" or "will I ever get this right" emails with the patience and excitement and grace a mother has for her child. And I feel a little out of practice. I've done a total of 8 auditions in the past 18 months {which is really something when I consider that I've had years with triple that number}. Two turned into jobs. A couple more were very promising experiences. And there were a handful for which I didn't quite show up. Blerg. I hate it when that happens.

It's been amazingly difficult to not audition my ass off during those months. I don't like to feel as if I'm sitting still. There's the voice inside my head that says "how old are you again?" She can be a strong intimidator. And then there's the type A, workaholic, perfection-is-never-good-enough side that likes to get involved. {and I hear my father say, as he did so many times growing up, "aren't you better than them? You're a Dove."} ... Between my perfectionist mother, my dad telling me I should be better than everyone, and my brother who was good at EVERYTHING he ever tried to do, while I was just a mess, {Seriously. Just ask him.} it's no wonder I have so many issues of adequacy. *loveyoumeanit* imonlykindofkidding.

... But I digress. The wonderful people the universe has brought into my life have assured me I've made the right decision. And I repeat that to the voices in my head when they bring it up. Sometimes they don't listen very well.

I remember very well a conversation I had with a friend and colleague when I was in Roanoke for Carmen. He talked about his wife {a fantastically successful soprano} and her philosophy on auditions. He said it's nothing more than a job for her. She knows what she's doing and she's trained for this moment. She does her thing and it's over. Sounds really easy, doesn't it?

I've spent a lot of time retraining the voices in my head over the past year. Sending out positive energy into the universe. Believing that we can create our own destinies and testing the waters. Claiming the things that I want. And remembering the wonderful people who have given me opportunities who continue to believe in me. I've been incredibly fortunate, and the universe has been wonderfully kind. Positivity begets positivity.

So this is me ... getting out of my head. Doing the job that I've been trained to do. Wheee!

auld lang syne ... a year in review

This year has been a year of extremes. Extreme highs and extreme lows ... full of pursuing dreams and being completely broke. I mean seriously broke - I'm pretty sure I had more money when I was in college not working at all than I've had this year. Being broke suques {sound it out} hard core and it's really cramping my shoe habbit. And my audition habbit. We're working to change all of that.

So what have I done with myself this year?

I gave up the home I love and left my wonderful family of friends in Greensboro to follow my dream. Cramming your life into a 10x5 storage unit has a way of bringing everything into perspective. I left 3 semi-cushy jobs and 60 hour work weeks {certainly don't miss those}. Leaving Greensboro was truly one of the hardest things this year has brought ... When you have such a close-knit group of wonderful people who share your passions well, that's not something that happens often. And I miss them all terribly.

I made debuts with Nashville Opera, Opera Roanoke, and Opera Carolina ~ all as part of young artist programs. I feel so fortunate to be able to do what I love every day and that I've been able to find people who not only pay me to sing {as if I could possibly want more}, but also encourage me every day. I have met some of the most ah.mazing people this year and formed life-long friendships {you know who you are ;)}.

I spent six wrenching weeks in the hospital with my brother, Michael, wondering if he was going to live. {I'm not exaggerating even a little bit} It was awful. No one slept. We all wept and sat in a hazy, empty existance for those weeks. I drank way too much alcohol and ate too much junk {and had about an extra 15lbs to show for it... which has finally left my body *thankgod*} He's made an amazing, full recovery that no one ever thought would be possible. I.never.want.to.do.that.again.

I moved home. I started seriously running and ran my first *ever* 5-mile race with my fabulous sister, Sarah. {We ran the Columbus Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day and I was so proud of myself. I think it's kind of a big deal.} I got to spend more time with my family this year than I think I have in the last decade combined. It's been wonderful and terrible. Living with your parents is completely glamorous, btw.

I reconnected with one of my heroes, Lynn Roseberry. Soprano, teacher, beautiful human, breast cancer survivor. She is kind of my second mother. I first met Lynn when I was 14, when I auditioned for voice lessons. She's had more influence on my life than almost any other person I've known.

So what will the new year bring? I'm heading back to Charlotte later this week to begin the second leg of my contract with Opera Carolina and I'll be there through the end of March. I get to help my sister plan her wedding with her amazing fiance, Jarod {they're adorable and completely perfect for each other. they even build forts in their living room}. And I'm really, truly starting to do some freelance work to help pay the bills and give me more freedom to do what I love. It's gonna be a good year.

the people of the waiting room {just like the people of walmart, only classier}

**Disclaimer ~ this isn't my usual upbeat, irreverent run-of-the-mill blog post. It's kinda heavy so be forewarned.**

Day 8. Meaning I've spent most of the last 8 days in the Critical Care Unit of the ICU at my friendly neighborhood hospital. A good time has been had by all, natch.

What is it about hospital waiting rooms that brings out the worst of humanity? I mean it's bad enough that we have to spend time there ... And not to be irreverent, but Michael has been such poor company this week. I think he's mad ~ he won't even play rock, paper, scissors with me. It's kinda like watching paint dry and expecting it to interact with you. Totally productive.

Some of my most difficult days as of late have been accompanied with my *already raw as hell* nerves being further taunted by *The People of the Waiting Room*. You know who they are. The People of WalMart transported from your favorite horrifying discount store to your local hospital. I've become accustomed to walking through the hospital with my sunglasses on so no one will try to speak to me. It's really better for all of us.

They're like the Clampetts in spandex. And not one of them has all of his teeth. They take over the entire place and loudly debate politics {you know Obama is clearly a socialist} and which section 8 housing they're moving into next, all whilst dragging their catheter bags on the floor {I only wish I were kidding}. They bring their children and let them run rampant allthelivelongday ~ rearranging furniture while you try to sleep and generally being children in a place where children simply do not belong. The ICU is not a place you go for a paper cut or a nose job, so why, why, why are they here? Especially if you won't reel them in. Oh M. Jesus {pronounced hey-zeus for those unfamiliar with such advanced terminology} what have I done in my life to warrant this? I can honestly tell you that murder has crossed my mind more times this week than it has in the past decade.

And I don't understand why they always have to be there. All I want is a little peace. And the chance to look at babies because they remind me of the good things happening in the hospital. Which you cannot do, btw. There's no happy nursery full of shiny, new babies waiting to fulfill their destinies anymore. All of the babies are in their own rooms with their mothers. Don't they realize that I have needs!?! I briefly proposed that we COULD go into one of the new mother's rooms and demand to see her newborn baby because we needed a brief happy place, but *apparently* that's frowned upon. I also decided that being arrested would probably not benefit my week. And I wouldn't do well in prison.

So now every time I step onto on the elevator, I pray that they're not there. But that also means that maybe their week has been more painful than it should have been, and I wouldn't wish that for them. Bad teeth and all. But I do so wish they'd find another floor to taunt. I've had more than my share.

please come to Boston for the springtime

If it's not one fiasco, it's another it seems. Traveling to Boston this past week was a bit of a ... we'll call it a learning experience. Growing up in the midwest, I have pretty strong "I can do it myself" sensibilities.  I figured that since I can brave public transportation in New York or Chicago by myself, then Boston would be a piece of cake, right? Well ... not exactly.

I arrived in Boston early Thursday morning and had about 12 hours to kill before my audition. Trying to be as frugal as possible, I bought my handy dandy Charlie Card, armed myself with my HopStop app and headed out into the world. My hotel was a bit north of downtown, but HopStop assured me I could get there on my own. I take the train to the indicated station and find the bus stop. I have to switch buses a couple of times to get to my hotel, but that's no big deal right?

What. have. I. done. Well, either I'm not tall enough for bus drivers to see me, or I look like someone they should pass by for sport because the first two buses I was to catch simply drove by without thinking about acknowledging my presence. No worries ~ HopStop to the rescue! It tells me to get another bus. He stops! And then he doesn't let me out at the right stop so I have to walk 2 blocks to catch my next bus in 10 minutes, which coincidentally takes me past a local fire station. I'm clearly out of place ~ carrying my overnight bag. *Look at the cute little white girl running through the street with her scarf and skinny jeans, carrying a pink bag.*

I run as three {that's right} more buses pass me by as I'm trying to catch them. All to the amusement of the firemen across the street. I don't even know where I am and I'm in *godknowswhereBoston* sure that someone is going to stab me because my mother has made me a paranoid adult. I'm exhausted. I've been trying to catch buses for over an hour at this point and I've been up since 4:30 am. Finally I wave the white flag of defeat and find a cab parked nearby {thank you, gods}. He takes me to my hotel in mere minutes where I promptly book a rental car.

Now I really want to explore Boston, but I'm super tired. And on the verge of a meltdown. So I opt to stay in my hotel room and find inner peace. Only to find a giant knot that's growing on the back of my trick hip {the one that popped out of place when I was 16 during dance, and now doesn't want to move at the beginning of every day}. *le sigh* Oh well. Getting ready for my audition, I'm on the verge of tears. I don't want to do this. *pullyourselftogetherstacy* *youareagrownup*

Thankfully, navigating Boston via car isn't as terrifying as it could have been ~ Bostoners are super friendly and don't want to kill you like New York drivers. The harbor is *gorgeous* and I find my audition location without incident. So I warm up and wait because I am, of course, ridiculously early.

The audition is wonderful. Really wonderful. I sing really well. I'm engaged. When I finish my second aria, the pianist and auditioner {who is so fabulous, I can't even begin to talk about it} giggles and says "that was fun!" Take that, universe!

The universe chuckles menacingly. When I get back to my hotel, the lobby is filled with high school students who are also staying in my hotel. I actually say "you've got to be kidding me" as I walk through the lobby in amazement. I fill the bucket in my room with ice, take some melatonin and crawl into bed feeling great about the only really important part of my day, and wondering how painful walking will be in the morning.

Ah, morning. Some of my karma seems to have turned around, but not all of it. I get a cab to the airport after returning my rental car, and it's cash only. Lucky for me the sweetest cab driver on the planet is driving and when I tell him I only have $10 cash for a $13 fare {blasted toll bridges took all of my cash!} he says "no problem, I'll do it for $10." I buy overpriced Aleve at the airport giftshop because of the pain. So much pain. My god why is my body falling apart? And then ... every. baby. in. Boston. is waiting to board my plane. Seriously, I've never seen so many babies on one plane before. Amazing. Just take me home.

So I guess we've learned a couple of lessons here. First ~ when it comes to public transportation trains and subways are a win. Avoid buses at all costs. Second ~ sometimes terrible trips make for great auditions. And flawless trips make for pretty boring blogs.

sabotage

You know those days when you wake up and you *know* it's going to be a great day? It's audition day and all of the stars have aligned in your favor. You feel good. You look great.  You're not the least bit bothered by being violated by the government as you pass through airport security. Not even one flight was delayed. Even the flight attendant says "have a great day, hollywood" as you you deboard the plane.You land in a new city, hop in your rental car {which you scored for a mere $15} and think "I like this place!" You've found the perfect souvenir {I collect things from audition locations} in perhaps the most beautiful shopping "mall" you've ever seen in your life. It's going to be a great day!

You arrive at the audition location appropriately early, because that's how you roll. You warm up. Ahhh, the gods of singing have blessed you. Everything is in line and you sound great {if you do say so yourself}. You wait. They're running behind, but you don't mind. They're only hearing one aria, and you've already chosen which one to sing. The aria that always works. The one that everyone loves. It's your *thisistheariaIpulloutofmybackpocketbecauseIsingitwellevenwhenI'mnotsingingwell* aria.

When it's finally time, you walk into the room. The people you're singing for are friendly {thank you, gods!}. The music director says he loves the aria you're singing. You're wearing his favorite shade of blue. And he looks at your resume and says "what a great name!" *Yes* ... And then it happens. The pianist begins to play and it's clear that she's never seen the aria you're singing before in her life.

Now let me clarify - it's not like I'm singing some obscure piece of 20th century, atonal music that no one ever sings. And it's certainly not Stravinsky or some giant Straussian aria that audition pianists fear. It's "Steal Me, Sweet Thief." One of *the* most performed English arias for light lyric/lyric sopranos. We sing it all the time.

She really wants to play slowly so she can get *all* the notes. {why do audition pianists do this? don't they realize that this moment is not about how well they play?} No big deal, you think. Just stay with me and everything will be fine. Not to worry. Just keep up with me. But she doesn't. In fact, the more you try to push the tempo forward, the slower she insists on playing. So you have to take all of your emergency breaths ~ the ones you *never* take. And when you get to the glorious B in the middle of the aria she keeps slowing down until ... *motherfucker*

That didn't just happen. You did *not* make me breathe in the middle of a word. Never in my life have I ever had to breathe in the middle of a word in an audition. If I can't finish the aria well, I don't sing it in an audition. *whatjusthappenedwithmylife*

So you finish the aria. They thank you for singing and apologize that they're only hearing one aria today because they're running behind. You smile, say "of course. thank you for hearing me," and retrieve your binder from the pianist {who you wish you could kill with your laser-like vision, but instead you smile politely and again say "thank you."} But it's not over yet. There's a hole in the stage where your heel promptly becomes wedged and comes completely off of your foot. Mother.of.God. You retrieve your heel, laugh nervously and say "wow, there's a hole in the stage... hehe..." getmeoutofhere. And you can't slink out of the room fast enough.

Suddenly all of my mojo is gone. The line to return my rental car is miles long and I need to get back to the airport to catch a quick flight. Only to get there and find out it's delayed. And we won't even talk about the flock of giant basketball players who are on the last leg of my flight, sitting right next to me ... who start a fight with the guy in front of me. And continue to use their cell phones for the duration of the flight. Oh this plane is going to crash, I just know it. Sweetbabyjesusinamanger where did my fabulous day go?

So this leads to the question ... what can you do, if you can do anything, to recover from audition issues stemming from the accompanist they've selected for the audition? Is there, in fact, *anything* you can do without making yourself look like a total diva or excuse monger? Anyone?