The world is cruel.

It's edges are sharp, the drops steep, without a soft surface to be found.

So we cover it up.

We cloak this reality in a blanket of proposed change, with a mask of promises soon to be broken.

The Good Samaritan does what She can, for Her feminine form and thoughts want to nurture and care for those who have no mother, no comfort, no hours to rest their head on the pillow of prosperity.

Yet, as She cuts her flesh, breaking the bonds of Her skin to bleed out what She can for those who need it, She is instead letting Herself slowly die for those who already feel so.

The spleen of dudgeon tears at her soul like the rabid lycanthrope of the Nordic winters, its claws destroying Her vibrant exterior and working inwards. Unstoppable. Famished. Never satiated.

"I must unfetter the shackles of your wretchedness!"
She exalts.
"Let me take your burden!"
She cries.
"The world will change!"
She roars.


She does not understand.

And Truth will not break into the hope and love She has already established.
Truth will sit,
Truth will watch,
Truth will let her be.

The world is cruel.
It lets its children war and kill.

Never has placidness been the nature of sentience.
Pain. Woe. Depression. The onset of death for years at a time.

That is why the world's children feel.
Some become numb.
Some thrive.
and some like Her, care.

Yet fear is in the Truth.... She will pass too.
She will drain her own spirit from an oasis into a desert.

Antipathy will forever seep into the soil no matter how deep the temperature plunges, the ground will never freeze solid enough to stop the flow.

Truth can always have hope the blanket will keep things warm,
will cushion any falls.
That the masks will keep the children smiling.

Yet Truth will forever hold doubts. For Truth and Reality live as one.
They break dreams and destroy love.

"I must unfetter the shackles of your wretchedness!"
She exalts.
"Let me take your burden!"
She cries.
"The world will. . . "

Her voice breaks.

The following things have been Freudian slips, crashes and burns during speeches, and frankly just words that should never go together unless innuendo was definitely intended. . .

"We are all queer for musical theatre."
---- Admissions Director for AMDA LA.... I believe he meant 'we are all HERE for musical theatre' yet instead he chose honesty. :)

"I am a mother pheasant plucker. I pluck mother pheasants. I am the most pleasant mother pheasant plucker to ever pluck a mother pheasant"
----- a warm up exercise in which at least one person ends up fornicating with fowl.

"Well, I couldn't be Elphaba... I'm far too clydesdale like and doughy."
"What about the other one? Would you do her?"
"...*blank stare*... I'm sorry you're going to have to clarify that question because I just went in the gutter, and the gutter said 'yes'."
----- a conversation at the Bourgeois Pig with Cklara.

"OH! OH! That reminds me of a game we used to play!!! Pumpkins and Testicles!!!"
----- Aimee Erinprice.... Queen of awkward and uncomfortable interruptions.

"... you're on the prowl... you're hunting for a big, thick, piece of meat...."
*insert gag*
*whispers* "I'd rather go pet kitties and forget about the meat." *end whisper*
----- instructions on getting into character. Which were then revoked by Deidra.

OTHER NEWS OF RAMBLAGE

I knew it!!! I knew that jealousy would overtake the intentions you thought were truthful and calm!
Great.
Just fan-fucking-tastic.
Closer
Closer....
Push away and run in the opposite direction.
He's mature, it'll be fine. Pffft...
Nay nay I say.
He thought he was fine, then he saw you get attached and I get attached and all went to Hades on the river styx. I was able to accept the idea that I was the runner-up yet still be with you, knowing that I always would be...
But he gets one thought that sharing you could mean you turn towards me for something and BAM! Take the machete and hack through whatever has manifested and grown to reassure him.
I'll stay and clean up the mess... then I'll sit in the broken limbs... and wait for the morning light so I can see the damage all over again.

"please slate your name and piece..."
I'm Deidra Mohr (remember bring the pitch down on your name.... it's not a question)
And I will be singing "Ooh My Feet!" (Actually I'll be the fifth person to sing it)
From The Most Happy Fella (ugh...my accent's sneaking in again)
By Frank Losser (.... smile that's it... oh fuck!!! nod to the accompanist!!!.... I've been standing in pure silence for what....10 seconds? Foolish...)


That's what we have to do all the time at AMDA, slate our name and piece. So that when we become professionals the director can 'remember' you, and get a feel for who you are.

However, at AMDA, I've already been pegged as the comedic girl that everyone wants to watch.
I don't get watched because I'm great, but because I'm not afraid. Of course I mess up when I sing a song, hell I'm not that great of singer, but my classmates watch because I don't play it safe.
I know my niche is comedy and character pieces. . . I know I'm strange and a natural oddity. . . but will that be enough?

My strong suit is acting.... I can sing well enough.... and let's just forget about dancing.
Will my wild thoughts and witty sarcasm be full enough to push through the barrier of amateur to professional or am I forever bound to my child like demeanor until it becomes a nuisance or will it become an ace in my deck?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Outside, an outgoing, brave, strong, individual voice who doesn't back down.
Inside, an insecure, self loathing, second guessing, outcast.

She is so pretty. . . gorgeous and incredibly intelligent and thought provoking.
A philosopher, a poet's soul, and a survivor of a multitude of things.
Her scars run deep, yet she wears them with pride courageously deflecting any stares with her deep eyes and shining smile.

I laugh and openly string stories of my life in the midwest. She giggles at my odd habits and asks question after question to which I gladly answer.

But then fear strikes me. I hold my hands in my lap. Somewhere, from my conscious memories, I go back to being in a store. I hold my hands there too. There are so many pretty things but I cannot touch them. I can just look and admire.
Years later I still hold my hands. When she touches my cheek I feel safe, but then I remember never to touch pretty things. My hands stay in my lap and I can only hope that I will be braver when I see her again.

I felt like ranting... or letting the knotted jumble of thoughts leave my noggin and into something else.
Usually I'd work on a movie script, but the one I'm writing at the moment does not need any more of the real life of Deidra as it's premise is based off of several real facts already.
Anywho. . .
AMDA (The American Musical and Dramatic Academy) rocks the socks off of footy pajamas.
My acting teacher reminds me of Robin Williams, my Musical Theatre teacher is from London, the Professional Ethics and Dance teacher looks and talks like Paul Lynde, Kris Feldman is fanfuckingtastic, the beautiful Nicol Zanzarella Giacalone works up on the 8th floor, 95% of the guys are fabulously gay, and best of all my sarcasm and odd self is appreciated by those around me.

*coughs* Dancing however, , , I don't dance, I stumble.... a lot. *coughs*

Yesterday, I was lounging outside before class, and this beautiful girl comes up beside me and says,
"Don't I know you?"
I look at her... she does look uber familiar... but why?!?
"I'm Deidra Mohr *holds out hand* you may remember me from such films as Fat Iowan Girl, Someone needs to up there meds, and Obviously not Sane." I say.
"Or," she says, "the LA Connection Comedy Theatre."
I jump up when the realization hits me, 'oh my god, she's right! She's the stunningly beautiful, curvy, talented, little vixen of the LACC!'
Insert hug and small talk of needing to "hang" as the children say these days.

Basically, think Sara Ramirez, only shorter and more in the uh.... boobarea (note: Indeed 'boobarea' is one word.)

As long as I think about AMDA, Ms. Sara Look A Like, getting to be who I am without getting stares (well... scared ones at least), then I don't think about all the other stuff in my noggin that just won't go away.
*sad face*

Sad things:


Okay first of all the minor thing that bugs me now and then.
My Fasha... my father... Hector the Director David J. Mohr.
Well, to sum things up when I was little I was his girl who he raised as a son. He bonded with me over sports and competing. Then I got uber heavy in 6th grade and we didn't talk much... then the summer before highschool I got anorexic ( down to 100lbs... meaning losing 85 lbs from may to august). He got worried and would yell at me while I was biking in the basement with sweats on "Eat a damned candy bar... quick energy!"
Then he'd leave. Sophomore year I gained about 20lbs and became active in endurance running. My dad suddenly loved me again. As I became the school's best distance runner, and later on one of the state's best, he spent more time with me.... then I crashed and burned... my body was tired, I was tired, my emotions were all but bled out... so I quit. I quit running, my one passion. Consequently I've gained back over 100lbs... yuck... but I know why, and I accept that I'm a fat kid. My dad however keeps on calling to check on how my weight is... lose the weight yet Dee? What'da eat today? I ran 2 miles today. I lifted 250 on my presses today... blah blah blah... Don't get the wrong idea, I'm athletic for my weight and size, and I know I need to lose weight which I'm working on slowly (as I don't want to be scared of food and be ana again) but for some odd reason, I think my dad wants me to be the 'runner' again. His winner.

Secondly
I miss her. I know I'm not supposed to say that, I know I'm supposed to let go, but I can't. When it first got all rocky, I buried my emotions inside and decided to protect her instead. Which was exactly the opposite of what she wanted. But that's how I act. If I care about you, I will literally cut myself open and scar myself just so you can stay safe and unharmed. It's not realistic, taking the pain in order to protect another, yet I do it. I feel like there's a little wall between us now. Sure, we're friendly, we joke around, we support each other. Yet the air still holds a tension... awkward, uneasy tension. I feel that if I say one thing that opposes her thinking, that would dare upset her, I'm through. She's a very opinionated girl, and I highly respect that in her, however if I try something edgewise against her, might as well just stop talking. I think that's why I protected her so much when she left. I knew, or thought, that if I angered her and told her " you're going to end up getting hurt because that woman will not give you what you want" that she'd never talk to me again.
I tread lightly around subjects... I guess I'm submissive against her, which is odd as I usually dominate conversation with my friends.
In the end, I still protect her, even though I'm not supposed to. It's my way of being selfish.

Okay,
so I've been a really bad person and have basically just been stalking my fanfiction addiction. I have sadly neglected my need to write in order to grow as a hard core nutbead eating fanfic author. sigh...
But I have been wrapped up in a certain fic... I find myself talking to the computer. That's really not a rare occurrence but still...
Ooooh!
Everyone is to watch Deidra mock herself on youtube!
Just search for:
The F.I.G. Fat Iowan Girl
and all your questions shall be answered.
More good news...
Tomorrow, I have a meeting at AIA Studios, then I am to call Gary Austin Studio to fix up an audit date.
My vocal teacher watched the video mentioned above, and said, "..have you ever thought of doing acting?"
HELLS YES! It is my dream to make a career out of acting!
Oh, and my vocal teacher is fraking awesome.
She swears sooooo much! It's hilarious!
We chatted about Liza Minnelli and her gay husband . . . and then we repented and prayed to Judy Garland to forgive our harsh comments.
THEN ... gasp! ... I was singing a phrase in the song we are currently studying and she says this,
"Do you hear how your singing voice has a high sound no matter what note you produce?"
At first I thought it was a problem that would need to be corrected and I tried to apologize...
"No, no, no!" she says, "You have a Kristin Chenoweth voice."
My eyes then bugged out and I choked a little.
"Wendy, I think you need to clean your ears...." she laughed at my comment then said,
"Here, you know that when Kristin sings, you can still hear her speaking voice still? Well that's what you have, and that is GOOD it means that you have some definite high notes."
God I love singing.

For those of you whose minds frequent the gutter, I mean head shots as in photos used convey an image to a casting director.....you dirty, dirty, squirrels. Shameful ...
Anyway,
The highlight of the entire process was at one point where my acting instructor (she was helping in the process) was looking over the past couple of shots taken.
She and the photographer both stared at the small preview screen on the camera critiquing and discussing good shots. Then my teacher says to the photographer,
(Keep in mind both my teacher and the photographer are African-American and I'm just the awkward white girl)
"Oh that's a good shot, let's try to get some more of those with less white of the eye.... We don't like whites..."
Insert strange pause as they both look at me . . . followed by a burst of laughter from the three of us.

I loathe the rain, wind, and cold.
Guess what it is like outside?.....
It's raining, it's windy and it's cold....DAMN YOU CALIFORNIA!!!
You are supposed to be sunny, dry, and warm!
If I knew you were going to do this, I would have gone to New York instead to pursue Broadway instead of your offerings of film/tv.
Sad thing is California, that you have an obscured image of beauty. Blondes, with more silicone in their breasts than brains in their heads that act as well as a cadaver, and are set center screen as an under-dressed sex symbol. They sit there picking at there salads, and when they walk they have to watch out for cracks in the road. Lord knows how many 90 Lb. gals clad in Ugs and oversized sunglasses have disappeared by way of falling into one.
Alright, not all the actresses are like that....but still...consider the Hollywood image eh?
---------------------------------------
NEW TOPIC
Anyone in the Southern California area that is Wicked/Elphaba/G(a)linda/Gelphie crazed, I have embarked on a new mission.---->
The Wicked Lottery. Every weekend I shall gamble like the seniors from the Veterans home on Bingo night.
Join me, and up the chances.

Have I mentioned I hate wind?
I return from the most boring, lazy, vegetative, Winter break (well it's my first) in Iowa to my warm, sunny California college with the dreams of biking a good 40 to 60 miles a day. (Being in Iowa for ten days made me go through bike withdrawl....shudder.)
BUT NOOOO.... my dreams are shattered like the an old mans hip who's fallen and can't get up.
30 mph winds with 40 mph gusts for the past two days.
This means no bikey for the fat Iowan girl unless she wishes to be blown into traffic....FRAK!
And now it's supposed to rain... I'm upping my Zoloft intake. Humph!

Question:

I don't think I look Italian but, , , why do all the Italians talk to me?!?

On my bike I frequent a route that takes me past an Italian man clad in well worn Dickies, a clean cotton shirt, sunglasses, and a multicoloured clown wig. Whenever I pedal by he puts down his advert sign and sweeps his hand as if clearing the street for my two wheels. I talked to him once, it was all smiles and hand movements as he explained, " I speak the Italia only little America. But you, good smile, good (mimics biking)"

Then there is the apartment/supermarket Italian. Casually I glance at the nutrition bars when I hear,
"I seen you before, you walk up and down."
"Yep all over. I bike and walk ALL over." Curse my inability to avoid conversation.

I listened to a good twenty minutes of how his father is with God, his wife died of cancer, and now how he is so tired from running two apartment buildings and a gas station each separated by at least twenty miles.
I smiled and added my two cents here and there. My aussie hybrid accent became thicker and thicker; as it does when meeting strangers. I plucked a few Luna bars from the aisle as he continued on.

"Oh let me see, I must check money before buying. I must have sugar free caramels, but so hard to find! Ah yes, I enough money 400 should cover it yes?"

He holds the wad of cash in front of me as if I needed a confirmation.

"I think that would cover it." I say smiling.

"You decent good person, you ever need work, sleep, eat, you call me. That's what friends do. Bring your friend too I have pool, game, computer, you know fun at the apartments. Because I like to help out others, friends should do that."

I keep my smile facade in place as he gives me his card.

"Yes good meeting new friend." we shake hands. "always good." and then into an awkward European hug thing.

I don't know how I kept myself from slugging him and taking off in a sprint.
I swear, the Italians are watching me.....I'm forgoing pasta from here on.

Title: untitled
Rating: PG
Subject: Book and Musical
Disclaimer:I don't own anyone or anything....tear.
A/N: Second fic unbeta-ed. If you dislike feel free to shank me with the internet knife.
( just a sip )

So, I'm really bad at these blogging things...
I tend to go through my day and "fall asleep at the helm" so to say.
I remember waking up then BAM suddenly I'm thirty miles out in the middle of traffic on my bike.... what the Uplands!??! I'm going to need to start leaving breadcrumbs...
I will basically be ranting, venting, writing Gelphie fic, and mapping my attempts at becoming a "successful" actor.

Vent of the Day

NO mother the reason I like Kristin Chenoweth is not because she looks like Nikki. Get off of it dammit!!!......
(goes back into the deep caverns of my noggin)
Someday I will marry you Kristin Chenoweth, and we shall perform the true version of Wicked...the Gelphie version...where (post scarecrow) Fiyero "accidentally" dies a tragic death from wandering into a lot of cattle..tsk tsk.

"El-pha-ba...." the blonde annunciated each syllable as she laid on her stomach propped up by her elbows.


Elphaba glanced over at her roommate, noting the concentration on the girl's face.
"Yes, Ga-lin-da?" she replied in a deadpan sarcastic manner.


A pink tongue was the answer to Elphaba's question.
"I was going to ask you what your name means, but all I do is get attacked by your witty remarks....humph!"


Galinda dramatically rolled onto her back and crossed her arms. She meant to stay intent on staring at the ceiling but couldn't resist sneaking a peak to the exotic emerald on the bed opposite of hers.


Shiz! Why won't she look at me!?! Ooh I know!
Galinda pouted her lips and sighed,,,,a sigh that was more of a moan of discontent.


The sighing moan got Elphaba's attention and the pliant pouted lips kept it.
Galinda knew she didn't need to sneak another glance as she heard Elphaba's audible gulp.


Hehehe.....gotcha...
Galinda switched her tactics and turned onto her side to face her wide eyed roomie.


"Ugh,,,m-my name is undefined asfarasIknow..." Elphaba jammed the last few words together into a single sound. Adverting her eyes as well, she focused on not focusing on
the voluptuous figure splayed over a pink comforter.


Damnit Elphie! You don't get off that easy,,,

Galinda slinked off her bed debating whether to saunter or prance over to her Elphie.



Hmmm, I can give her a little slack I guess, prancing it is.



Elphaba felt the small bed bounce. She was suddenly aware of an increase of heat as well as pink frills invading her peripheral senses.


"Well then we will make up a meaning!" Galinda snaked her arm around Elphaba's waist and gave a chaste friendly hug.


Elphaba stiffened and gave a slight squeak.



"Do you always squeak like that when someone hugs you?"


"I-I am not that accustomed to people hugging me so I'm unsure of how to answ-- EEEP!"



Galinda gave the green girl another squeeze, it was still quick but she made sure her victim got a whiff of her rose infused golden ringlets.



"Yep," Galinda said with a smile, "guess you do!"



Elphaba gave a weak smile and did her best to calm her racing heart.



"El-pha-ba..."



"We've established that much by now Galinda." said the green girl, hoping her dry banter would settle her mind.


"Ha-ha... Okay let's break it into the first letter of each syllable. So, E P B,,, How about an Elegant Prepossessing Babe?"


Now give her a cute smile Galinda, that's it.


"Ppphh an Enormity of a Plain Bizzaro?"



"No, I don't like it." Galinda said in a rather serious tone. "I'm thinking more along the lines of an Exciting Perpetual Beauty?" Galinda placed her hand on Elphaba's knee, and skillfully slipped it to her upper thigh as she turned to face her uncomfortably-comfortable roommate.



Elphaba's breath shortened and her voice jumped at least one octave if not two.
"Um, an Extremely Puzzled Beginner!"


"I'd say you're quite aware of what's going on Elphie, and beginner you are not."


"What?.." said a perplexed Elphie.


Galinda whispered, "Look where your hand is love."



Elphaba's eyes looked to where Galinda pointed, somehow the green girl's hand had climbed up to Galinda's solar plexus and was inching higher as she watched.



Galinda knew Elphaba would draw away her nicely placed digits, so she grabbed the emerald wrist locking it in it's place and straddled the green girl's hips in one swift motion.


Trapped like a rat my Elphie, trapped like a---



Galinda's thought was cut short as she was suddenly enveloped by a pair of soft green lips. Galinda slumped from her dominant posture with a content grin.


Gotcha, thought Elphaba.


Galinda looked at her Elphie and barely rasped a husky statement, " an Enrapturous Fornicating Bombshell..."


"Galinda," Elphaba said, "fornicating starts with an 'F'."


Galinda tackled her emerald target, "Shut-up Elphie."