GUEST POST: Acting AS IF

As I've noted, Tuesdays are going to be a day for my wonderful blogging friends to use this space to let loose. There are no rules, not even that one rule about not talking about Fight Club.

Do you know this week's Guest Poster, Mrs. Jen Bardall? Isn't she delightful? Her blog, The Misadventures of Mrs. B. is excellent must-read stuff.  She has such delicious recipes, you'll wonder why you aren't invited over to her house every night for dinner or some chocolate cheesecake.  And she's got amazing writing chops that leave you breathless.  Plus, she's got handy info on social media and tips for bloggers.  

She is a woman for all people.  Suck on that, Mother Theresa.

So, go, read.  And follow her on Twitter.

But first, read this:

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First, let me take the opportunity to thank Suniverse (or Sunny, as I affectionately refer to her in my head) for having me here today.  I don’t often get to let loose and let others in on some of my less-than-savory traits and habits.  Like a potty mouth which I try like the dickens to keep under wraps on my own blog because, like…my mom reads it.  The very woman who taught me most of the filthy words in my vocabulary. 

I wouldn’t want her to know that my talent for stringing obscenities together has surpassed hers.  It would just make her feel bad. 

So thank you, Sunny, for making me laugh every day and for giving me a place to vent my unsavoriness.

Did y’all know I was a theatre major in college? I sure was.  Which explains why I now work in an office.  Because I’m not qualified to do anything else. 

But being trained in acting has aided me in so many ways, both professionally and personally.  I am a pro at “Acting As If”.  Acting as if I give half a shit about a coworker’s Holy Grail-esque search for the perfect Halloween costume for an infant who won’t remember wearing it anyway. 

Acting as if I didn’t just take the last caramel vanilla crème K-cup and not refill the supply because I was in a hurry and, well, just didn’t feel like it. 

Acting as if I don’t sit here and write notes and rough drafts of work which I hope to God will get me out of this place one day. 

One trait which (I like to believe) helped me enormously during my college theatre career is my expressive face.  I can convey emotion through my expressions quite easily.

I’m not talking, like, Jim Carrey-level expressiveness.  I’m not a rubber face. 

Nor do just move my eyebrows up and down to make a point, like Emma Watson.  Someone must’ve taught her that trick during the filming of HP1 and she just never let it go.  (Have you ever noticed that she does that? Seriously.  Take a look.)

However, as much as my face helped me through numerous acting classes and productions, it doesn’t help me very much in the real world.  In fact, it’s going to get me into serious trouble one day.

True Life Scenario: I’m waiting for a train on a hot, airless underground platform.  It’s 100 degrees outside and all sorts of nastiness is rearing its sweaty head.  I’m talking serious stank issues, people.

Train pulls up.  Doors open and aaaaahhhhh! the cool caress of air conditioning floats towards me on the wings of singing angels.  No sooner do I take a step towards bliss than BAM! I’m slammed into by another woman who God the fuck forbid waits her own turn.  Because, I don’t know, the doors might close right behind me and leave her on the stanky platform.  Because she’s just so fucking important that she needs to practically trample me in order to get a seat before anyone else.

In such an instance the voice in my brain screams BITCH, I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL FOR THIS! WHILE YOUR CHILDREN WATCH!

Incidentally, the voice in my brain sounds like Zul from “Ghostbusters”.

And then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the grimy train windows and notice that even though the words haven’t left my mouth, they’re written all over this expressive face of mine.  And I may or may not be intimdated by myself.  I panic and force my face back into its normal, passive expression and hope no one else noticed.

See, folks, it’s not easy to fool the rest of the world into believing that you’re a nice person.  Keeping up this charade is a real chore.  I have to act as if I’m all kind and considerate and pleasant while inside I’m plotting a major world takeover.  If I can’t trust my face to stay “on my side”, as it were, who or what can I trust?

Botox? Possibly.  Maybe if I paralyze my facial muscles they’ll no longer betray me.  Add to that a pair of dark sunglasses to hide the fiery fury in my eyes and we’re all set – meanwhile, people will think I’m just wearing sunglasses everywhere because I’m so cool.  Which I am.  I just don’t need to wear sunglasses to prove it.

The more I think on this the more it appeals to me.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to set up my first appointment with the dermatologist.

(Clearly I don’t mean any of this nastiness.  I just hate rude people and tend to let my hatred show through on my face, which may one day get me shot.  I’m a really nice person and you should love me if you don’t already.)