(Text message from my sorellina that made me smile an hour ago.) She sent it in response to my explaining how I was feline-esque, how "I was like, cats are bitchy so am I, I can do this!!" when I got asked to stay for a dance call back.
I forget sometimes that I am still very much living the dream, and then I remember when I'm high on having had a really great audition like the one I had tonight for CATS of all things (sidenote, remember how the joke on Caroline In the City was that Amy Pietz's character was stuck in the Broadway cast of CATS? I loved that show).
Anyway, I also forget sometimes that I am still a single white female in my 20 somethings living in NYC so I do less than brilliant things like run as the sun's setting along the Hudson River and end up wishing New York Naugs didn't insist on wearing all black even for fitness garb, but what can you do? Interestingly enough I felt impressively if not invincibly safe when this was the case Saturday afternoon/evening whereas tonight, I was actually sort of wishing I actually did carry around the pepper spray my uncle, the police officer, acquired for me when I moved to Manhattan, because walking back from the City Center to the White Plains train station in my black boot & dress audition get-up I got cat called (punnily enough) by a guy who went so far as to pull over to the side of the road in the car he was driving.
Now, here is where the story is slightly more comical than genuinely concerning. He was driving a white subaru forrester. Or something like that. A subaru something. And when first I heard him calling from the window any number of things along the lines of "hey girl, you got a boyfriend? can i getcho numbah?" I didn't bother to look or make much note, I simply walked across the long street in this industrial area that's between the mall where the theatre is and the train station, but then when I noticed his voice didn't carry off with the light turning green, I had to look up to see what I was dealing with. And well there you go, low and behold, whoever he was (and seriously I wonder, because what guys in White Plains drive white subaru forresters or outbacks or whatever - hippy's right? or sporty fathers? I would think? I mean, not your typical mouthy pick up truck or pimped out sedan driver, that's for sure), anyway, he idled on the side of the road almost confident that I was in fact going to walk up to his car and either take his number (which he was also offering in his banter) or give him mine.
And I wouldn't mind, but White Plains was virtually a ghost town by this point (9:30 or so) and the whole thing just felt less than safe to me. Albeit entertaining. Especially the part where I got cat calls after my CATS audition.
I ramble, but all of this to to say, three years into my adventuring in pursuit of the dream, I'm happy to feel like I'm moving forward, like the audition I gave tonight is leagues better than the ones I was giving upon my arrival to the city. When first I auditioned at the WPPAC in the Fall of '08 (I think for Little Night Music maybe?) with my then roomie, Lace, I realize, I was truly a Broadway Baby. We both were. We were also flat out clueless, and we got off the Metro North at the Harlem 125th St station on the way back to our apt thinking we were a mere 24 blocks from W 101st and Broadway and not realize we were clear across town about 10 (exceptionally long avenues to walk in audition heels) blocks East of where we thought we were.
Tonight, I also got off the Metro North at the Harlem 125th St station but with full knowledge that I could simply hop on the M60 for virtually door to door service to my humble abode in the Valley. And I'll note that even at nearing 10pm, as a single white 20 something girl, I still felt safer in this citAy than I did on my walk from the City Center in White Plains.
Meow for now.
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