CAT CALL me, but NOT help me?

Excuse me, kitty! I know you're calling my phone too. I'll just have to call you back, ok?
I got a bunch of men who hang out in front of my building who need a lesson in how to talk to a woman.

Are you unemployed? Or... are you a drug dealer waiting for your clients to give you a call? No? Then... WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ON THE STOOP?
Why are you "cat calling" me?

"Hey Baby!".... "Hey Sweetie!".... "Hey Shorty!"
"I got what you want right here!"
"Wanna ride this!?"

1. I ain't a baby. I'm a grown ass woman.
2. I ain't sweet. If anything I'm more sour and spicy than I am sweet.
3. I know I'm short, but you don't have to bring that to anyone else's attention.
I got it. 5'1" isn't tall. Damn! like I didn't already know!

Motherfuckers! You will say the nastiest shit to me and tell me what you want to do with my ass, my legs, my boobs, and my feet (for all your freaks). But you won't help me with my groceries?!?

That is some messed up shit.

HELP A SISTA OUT! You'd have more chances of actually getting into my pants if you were helpful. But since you're a lazy ass, you're probably lazy in bed too. So why should I give you a tumble? Gimme one good reason. One asshole said this to me a few years ago and it stuck with me for being completely hilarious:

him: (yelling from across the street) HEY YO! YO SHORTY! I GOT A JOB!
me: (looking around for who the fuck is being talked to... me or someone else?)
him: YO! SHORTY! (pointing to Fiesty Actress)
me: (silent ugh oh!)
him: I GOT A JOB! EH... YO! I GOT A JOB! I DON'T LIVE WITH MY MOMS AND I GOT A PHONE!

Was I supposed to say: Really? You have a job?! I'll just drop my panties right now. Wow!

I DON'T THINK SO!

And on top of that, why do all of these men all look TORE UP!?!?!?!?! Ya'll are UGLY! I wouldn't even fuck you with the lights off, paper bag over your head, and I was blind.
Why don't any of you look like this??!?!?!?

Well dressed. Clean!!!

NOPE. Instead they look like this:
Crackheads just waiting to catch their next score. Not interested in helping a sista with her groceries or her bags or anything. More interested in the groceries to satisfy the munchies.

UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I could go on for days.... maybe in an another post.

Also.... don't think, readers, that this is just a black men thing. IT IS NOT.
This is an ALL races thing.
ALL men do this in one form or the other.
Rather... all STUPID, disrespectful men do this in one form or the other.

Ladies, aren't you tired of this shit? I know I am. I cussed out 4 motherfuckers today for their "compliments."

Did you see the play, "Race" by David Mamet?

I have.

I've seen it. I saw it last night with my parents who were kind enough to pay the exorbitant amount of money for great seats in the mezzanine.

If you haven't seen it... go see it, and then come back to this post.

If you have seen it... let's talk about this.

QUESTIONS: Did you like the acting? Did you like the script? Did you like the premise?

To be honest, I don't know if I should give my opinion on this play yet.

It's in previews still. And I'm pretty sure that most of my po' friends will either not get to see it or just read the review and hear about it.

But if you have... What did you think about this play? I truly want to know.

If you've read it and not seen the production, I REALLY want your opinion as well.

Day Job = Practicing your acting on someone else's time?

As if you didn't know, I gots a day job to keep this Fiesty Actress swimmin' in her shoe collection.

And DAMN, THEY IS WORKIN' ME!!!


I find myself jealous of the people who are waitresses and bartenders. I wish I could do that, and be happy. [Don't get me wrong, I don't look down on any customer service people at all. I respect them HIGHLY.]
Even though I'm an actor, I am not a people person that way. I would get mad if someone looked at me the wrong way.then it would be spittin in the food, spittin in the drinks, droppin hot coffee on your baby, etc. Let's just say that it would not be pretty.

But as I sit at my desk job and wish that I could make my bosses choke slowly with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (yes, a Mr. CME. Do you think you could breathe if that were stuck down your throat? Look at him. He's burly.), I also realize that on certain days I can casually look on playbill.com or backstage.com and check out castings that day or week or however long ago that it was since I last checked it out because my bosses eat my life and I wish that I didn't have so much responsibility at a job that was only supposed to pay my bills but not eat my life.

(I know... I know... I need therapy. I'm working on that...)

Anyway... What makes you happy at your job?

I'm finding that picking up the phone to do OUTRAGEOUS ACCENTS to the unsuspecting callers or clients is what makes me happy. It confuses the telemarketers. It confuses the actual guys that work in the office with me. Sometimes they call to say that they're running late, and I'll answer the phone in a Jamaican accent. To be honest, I think they think I have 8 temps that sub for me while I'm at auditions. Unfortunately, I do not have a single temp. It's just my multiple personality disorder.

I sing to myself in the copy room while I'm doing 3000 copies of some piece of paper that my female boss needs for the 100th time.

I imagine myself in the warmest place on the planet (sense memory) while sitting in the coldest part of the office that is close to the door that people never seem to remember to shut that connects to the coldest hallway in creation.

Thank goodness, thanksgiving is soon..............

Why are you hiding your face?

Are you ok?
Are you crying?
God Bless you?!? Did you sneeze?
I can't tell. Can you?!?!?!

You know why you can't tell? Because it's FAKE!
I am SICK of FAKE tears on stage or television and even film.

SICK!

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FOOLING?!?!?!

I am 3 feet away from you. I can see you.
GOTCHU!

And believe me, I get it...
Some people cannot produce such raw emotion. I know it's hard. It took me forever to even tap into my soft side. (yes, I have one.)


When you cry, you become one of the ugliest things on the planet. Who wants to do that? But don't think you got one up on me, ladies and gentlemen! I GOTCHU!

If you can't muster the real things like this cartoon.
How can you expect me to believe you?

You are snifflin, bouncin your shoulders, maybe bewailing your state... but unless you've made it personal. I don't believe you!

Do anything else!
Why are you gonna fake it?
I know some plays/scenes require emotion, and depending on the day, you might not be able to access those emotions, but don't fake it. Come from where you are! I understand. And believe me, you'll find a reason to cry. If you remember your circumstances, who you're talking to, what or who you're talking about. You will find a reason.


Stop wasting my time with your fake emotion! Stop covering your face! I can see you. Stop hiding from the audience, because the only person you're hiding from is yourself.

Take some lessons from a master of emotion.

"The Most Famous Actress..."

SARAH BERNHARDT, Bitches!!!!

called "The Most Famous Actress the World has Ever Known"
Say WHAT?
That's right. The MOST FAMOUS.
How do you even fathom that? The "Most Famous".
And yet, do most actresses who are "stars" today even know who Ms. Bernhardt was?

Look at this Fiesty French wench striking a pose.
Only she could make that costume look so freakin' sexy.
She was Vogue-ing before Madge put her pointy busom stamp on it.

Does relaxation look this good?
Did fainting have this much drama?
I don't think so!!!!!!!!!!

This wench gave to theatre something that I can't even fathom. (And I have a big imagination.)
A girl can have dreams though, right?

AND... This Fiesty Bitch wrote a book.
Say What?
YES.... A BOOK.
Give it a read. Tell me what you think.

Question: What do I find inspiring about her particularly?
Question: Why does she get a post?

Answer: I found an interesting gossip fact about her.

Alexandre Dumas, fils (author of La Dame aux camelias, a part she played very often) claimed Sarah to be a "notorious liar".

side fact: J. Edgar Hoover claimed that Martin Luther King, Jr. was also a "notorious liar".
Don't believe me? Look it up. (Yea... there's no link. 'Cuz you should just look it up on your own. Lazy!)

But... that statement about Ms. Bernhardt made me think.
Are we all "notorious liars" when it comes to art?
to story telling? to acting?
You tell me.

Do you have bad habits?

Smoking used to be my bad habit du jour.

I used to do it when I was drinking, stressed, or after sex. And from what I can tell of my previous social life, that meant meant that I was smoking... A LOT.

In any case, it's been a while since I've had a cigarette... My bank account has thanked me for the $10 a week savings. And I bet all the guys at work were sick of letting me bum a cig. (Smooch!)

But WOW have I picked up some new addictions....

Question: Who now owns around 80 pairs of shoes?

SAY WHAT? 80! That is just ridiculous.

Answer: Me. The Crazy bitch.
I am PO'. I should not own 80 pairs of shoes. Some of you are thinking... but you're a woman, that's what we do. I should NOT. I am in DEBT, bitches! D.E.B.T.

Don't
Ever
Buy
Things (that you don't need)

DEBT.

Desperately
Expecting
Beneficiary
True love

DEBT.


Do you have any bad habits that are breaking your bank? Or your do you wish sometimes addictions came in the form of FAT-FREE jello? I know I do.

Whatchu lookin' at?

Yeah, YOU!

Whatchu lookin' at?!

While sitting in an audition, I frequently look around to see who is also auditioning with me, but rarely do I give this look:

THE SIDE EYE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHHHHHH!!!!!

I think it may be worse than the EVIL EYE. Or even the STINK EYE.

Why is it than women tend to do the SIDE EYE far more than men?

For those who don't know... the SIDE EYE is the look of disapproval or straight up "HATE" usually done without turning the head. Please look at the example above with Sophia Loren, "hatin'" on that woman's cleavage.

What the hell, ladies?! I'm trying to get an acting job too, just like you. We need to all be one happy auditioning family! If you get it, good. If I get it, better, but that's a form of good. I know I got big boobs. I know I'm 5'1", so my boobs on my frame probably look like I'm stealing two Watermelons from the Produce department of CTown. But DAMN!

"No!" you say. "Fuck that. You deserve it."
"Well... Damn! Fine." I say.
Back at you! How do you like it? Don't, huh? Too bad, bitch!

GOTCHU!

The First Fiesty Actress!

Check out this bitch!
This is MARGARET HUGHES.
Don't know who that is? Wiki it, bitches.

The first noted actress at a time when being a female in the acting profession was BANNED.
[Talk about a BITCH SLAP.]

But look at her! She was and is the #1 Fiesty Actress.
Breast all out, with a hand underneath saying, "Which half you want? Either way, I'm acting."
Or is the hand saying to the dog underneath her, "Stop lickin my nipple, bitch."
Either way... love to you, Ms. Hughes.

Dame Judi Dench might not have given you permission to act when she was Queen of England, but who gives a damn? Peek-a-boo breast!

Does your job reward you instantly?

As an actor, just starting in this business, I find that most people (who aren't actors) don't understand how acting works. Or rather... that they have a vague and (usually) small minded view of what I have chosen to be my life's career. They usually asks questions like:

Question: Have I seen you in anything?

Question: Do you like [insert famous actor's name here]?
Do you think you'll want to work with them?
Question: Do you really think you'll get Famous?

The list goes on and on........ and on... and on...
As a non-union actor (for now...), without an agent (for now...), I find that the questions get worse, as you answer them:

Question: Do you have an agent/manager?
Fiesty Actress: No. Not yet.
Question: Why not? Are you not good?
Fiesty Actress: [insert look of surprise and confusion here]
Question: Well...?
Fiesty Actress: Well--
Question: (interjecting)Well... if you're Good... [incredulous look]
why don't you have an agent/manager?

To be honest, I never have thought of myself as a good or bad actor. I think about portraying as much truth or as much of the character as I can. I think we grow as we get older or as we experience more things. Like every person on this earth, I pat myself on the back when I get good reviews or acclaim or praise from anyone that isn't the person I see in the mirror, but I try to not boost my ego with statements of grandeur. But in those types of situations, what am I supposed to say?

Fictional Answer: ACTUALLY... I'm a horrible actress and that's why people who have NEVER seen me act don't want to come to my shows, and foster my career. They can just smell it.

NO! You small minded pricks. It takes so much to get someone, especially an agent or manager to come and see you perform. And even harder to get an acting job for them to come see. Can you imagine? On top of that, most castings are geared towards Caucasian men and women. (It's True.) Don't get me wrong! I applaud my paler skinned compatriots, but I frown on the small minded casting options.
So IMAGINE. You are me.
I'm already a minority, and the castings are also few and far between.
It's work. And can you believe it, I love the work.

But YOU... yes, you! who ask me stupid questions about acting...
What are you at your job? Are you the most famous garbage man in NYC? Are you the head of all garbage men? Or you.... yes, you! Lady at the reception desk of the Yoga Studio... Do you have people calling you just to know that you are the most best receptionist at a yoga studio? When you answer the phone, do you immediately get another phone call because you answered that phone so well the first time? I DON'T THINK SO!

How do you think most people got to be "Famous"? WORK! or Sex, which is also work. Just ask these workers.

For all the actors reading this... Do you act because you love it?
Because any job that you love makes you want to work that much more.
If you don't... Hunny! what makes you happy?

Why are you naked?

Why is this person famous? What does he claim on his taxes? Out of work musician? Public loafer?

I walked through T-Square yesterday in order to meet up with my friend who was giving me theatre tickets. And I dreaded it. Not because of the throng of tourists, smells that should not exist on earth, and the Disney-fication that has made it one of the brightest/neon places to ever blind the Blind. (I miss the peep shows in T-Square from my youth.)

I dread it because of this motherf*cker.

1. He is falsely advertising. He is NOT naked! He is scantily clad. I do not see wang and peanuts. I don't even see cheeks. Give a sista a break!
2. He is not even playing that guitar he's holding. What is the guitar for? Do you know any cowboys that play the guitar? NOPE! They ride horses into the sunset. Clint Eastwood should slap that man.
3. His camel toe is blinding me. Compare and contrast.
4. HIS PITS! I bet THERE... in his pits... is the origin of Swine Flu. So many people touchin' that man for a picture. And that's how so many people got SWINE FLU. Like that monkey in the movie, OUTBREAK, this man is the "host".
5. His haya! His what? His haya! That long blonde, Brett Michaels lookin' wig he's got goin on. That's right. His hair. But oooohhh lord... I bet the bed bug epidemic started there.

Someone get this false motherf*cker out of T-Square! He's spreadin disease, not off saving "the land". Real cowboys wear pants!

Black people on Broadway? And it's not a musical?

HOLY JEBUS! We're coming to take over your great WHITE WAY!
O yes... Denzel is coming to Broadway.
I should be ecstatic. Jumping for joy and all that sorts of happy shit, right?

Question: Why am I not?
Answer: I don't know!!! And it's making me fucking mad.
Question: Why am I mad about this?
Answer: 2 reasons:

1. Because I'm black, and I should be more supportive of my Brotha (aka Denzel) gettin' a job. Self hate? Hmmm.... (Doubtful.)
2. Because I love August Wilson. I love his plays like I love Red Velvet Cake.
They are delicious. (And yes, red food coloring in chocolate food does make it taste different and AWESOME!) And since Mr. Wilson is also chocolate, (yes, I said that...) I should also be proud that a Black playwright is having his day on Broadway.

Mind you: I was so happy when "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" by Tennesee Williams was made into an all African American production. I even saw it (for CHEAP) with my girlfriends who were also ECSTATIC to see it... at the time. Some of us liked it and some of us didn't like parts of it. But here we are... what? 2 years later? And this new Denzel casting makes me feel indifferent. Perhaps the production itself will be fantastic, but fuck the future! All I have is now. (Do I sound like a Rent song?)

With this whole new surge of film "stars" coming to Broadway, I find myself thinking:

STATEMENT: WHAT A CROCK OF SHIT!

You're gonna put all these highly paid people on a stage and make an audience of mostly average to Poor (capitalized because it's a new race in this recession. Blacks. Whites. Indonesians. Poor...) people pay high prices to go see them? And why? Because they're "STARS"??? Well... kiss my Poor ass. But SAY What?!

***A good friend of mine reminded me that Denzel has his roots in theatre and that he has a degree, and that for Black people to be on Broadway, on a stage, instead of sweeping it, was a good thing. And for that, Thank you, love! You are right and I should stop bitchin' and moanin'.

I admit: I do not hate on the Brotha. I am proud of him, and his Oscar. Go you! (Though I still think he deserved it for Malcolm X or even Philadelphia...) But I do hate on the fact that that Brotha is gonna have that theatre make me pay $120 to see a piece of my heritage.

Look, I know it's a recession. And Broadway doesn't care. The producers don't care. But I can still be incensed. It's my right.

Thoughts? Musings? Statements? Questions?

Where do I begin?

I have always given my opinion.
As a child, according to my mother, after the ever classic, "MaMa" or "PaPa" or "DoDo" said by every other ugly baby child as they learn the English language, was my favorite word:
NEVER.

Appropriate? I was fiesty even at age 1 or 2 or whenever you start speaking.

With that... I'm introducing myself to this new world of blogging. I was sick of how Facebook was just not the right place for me to post what I was thinking or asking myself or my friends or even my acquaintances or people I wanted to meet.

Question: How could I say what I wanted to say, without the Facebook world of...
(let's just admit it)... DELUSION?

Answer: This BLOG!

Welcome! Hello.

Question: What do I have to offer?

Answer: This pledge to you:

I hereby promise to always be honest with you (whoever is reading). I will never give you bullshit. And I will never placate you, like someone who does not have a spine. I will always endeavor to give you the entire story/thought. And if you don't like it, do you think I give a damn?