That was also the first role I ever had where I got a shout out in a review.
The reviewer had said that I dispelled the myth that a leading lady couldn't be both funny and beautiful.
I remember feeling like that was one of the coolest compliments an actress could get.
Because in the theatre world you have your leading ladies and your comedic actresses.
And generally we dames fall into only one category.
It felt like the reviewer had said I could do both.
And fuck yes.
I can.
Well nothing really happened, I mean there was no real reason the theatre and I broke up, except I sold my soul to work in retail and I left behind a decade of performing and one scandalous affair with my boss.
Baristas. Guitar players. Bartenders. And tall, lanky nerds.
I lose my freaking mind.
And apparently my lady like civility.
So cut to five years later and here I am half way through the run of a new show.
And for the second time in my life I was mentioned in a review that I stand out in my role as the sassy busty pinup mistress.
Yes. I'm playing a mistress. Some of us are type cast.
It's been wonderful and amazing and I couldn't possibly be having more fun onstage.
But I kind of feel like the only one.
It's actually been a surprisingly lonely process.
See, I'm kinda like George Bailey.
I got a chance to see what my life would be like without theatre.
For years.
And because of that I feel so grateful and joyful to be back there.
As if I lost something and it was once again within my grasp.
But everyone else does theatre all the time.
And like anything you do all the time, you take it for granted.
Comments are made nightly wishing the show was already over or wishing it was already Monday so we could have a break from doing the show.
And all I could think today was I cant believe I only get to do the show eight more times.
It's already nearly over.
I don't cast any judgement or blame on anyone for not being as overly zealous as I am about being able to perform (I mean I am a little bat shit crazy, just ask EVERY guy I've ever slept with. I'm great at giving head though so it evens out.)
But I WANT to be there.
I love being onstage.
Last week when it was Monday and we didn't have the show I was excited to climb and go for a run but I also thought, I wish we had a show tonight.
It's just my heart.
Like.
My. Fucking. Heart.
You know?
And it's even more intense because I've been without it for SO long I didn't even realize how numb I'd been without that source of passion in my life.
Cut to giving no fucks--
People haven't been coming to the show.
I don't mean the general public, although apparently 'How to Succeed' isn't the well known chestnut some shows are and it hasn't been selling out as the company owners had hoped.
I mean my people, my tribe, my friends and confidantes haven't seen the show.
Now it has only been the first half, we've done eight shows, there are eight shows left.
And a few wonderful friends have made it out and that means the world.
But people aren't going.
Like, people who are close to me aren't going.
Good friends. Long time friends.
Sheldon.
The Phantom.
My brother.
Aren't going.
My kindred don't understand what this means to me.
And it's heartbreaking.
Yes.
"It's just a play."
There will be other plays!
Other roles, other moments.
But this is my heart right now.
This is what I sought a new career to be able to DO.
Right now.
This is the role the director hand picked me for because he wanted no one else to play the part.
"He didn't want to do the show if he couldn't get Teresa Renee," a cast mate told my Dad opening night.
It's a big fucking deal.
In the grand scheme of things, I get it.
It's one month out of countless years.
It's a dot in the book of my life.
But it's times like this I wish everyone in my life was artistic or had the intuitive sensitivity to know how much it means to a performer to have you there.
To share in all the hard work you've spent leading up to these short weeks.
I had two friends tell me they were going to be there today and neither of them showed up and neither of them even let me know they weren't going.
I wore a special sequin dress and thought I was hitting the town after pouring my heart out onstage for three hours and instead it felt like no one showed up to my birthday party.
I stood there in my pretty party dress looking around and no one was there.
It was monumentally disappointing.
And you know what?
I'm not doing this for my friends.
I'm not performing again so the people I care about will be proud of me and share in my moment in the sun.
But FUCK, it sure would be nice if they wanted to celebrate with me.
Today I felt so connected to the audience and my character I tried things I never had before, little things, a longer beat here, an entrance with a different energy there.
And they were with me.
The audience was right there breathing with me.
When we took our bows tonight and I had mine the audience cheered louder than they ever had before.
And was it because I knew half the audience?
No.
I knew no one.
But I was communicating with them.
And they understood me.
And that's fucking beautiful and what theatre is about.
And that is why I love performing, the communication of that truth, that joy.
Someone came up to me after the show and said he could tell I was having fun up there, that I was emoting joy.
And that's so incredible!!
But I so wish the people I love were the ones sharing in that joy instead of only strangers.
But I can't make people be somewhere they don't want to be.
And I can't let their absence diminish the light within me beaming across that stage.
So instead, I choose to give no fucks.
To the loves of my life, the dear ones and the dolls, the sweethearts and the lovelies who won't give me the gift of their presence--you're breaking my heart.
But it should be yours that is broken because you are missing the fire and humor and passion freely and abundantly handed to you from the stage, directly from my heart, from the core of who I am.
And how could anyone who cares an ounce for me not want to revel in the intensity of that?
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