"I don't speak German, but I can if you like"

So I got the email yesterday: "Lauren, unfortunately we are unable to offer you a position at this time . . . "

Blah blah blah. And, truly, it's understandable that a mother of four children, one of whom is 18 months, would be picky about who she chooses to care for said children. It just seemed like such a done deal when I went for my interview. I got a tour of the house; I was asked to teach the 12-year-old how to sew; I read the 3-year-old two story books! I was even told that "when I was able to start in July, I could come and live with the family at LBI for the month of August and care for the kids there." The references I gave were good--I know they'd never get a bad word about me from any of them. They were even an afterthought. "Do you need anything from me?" I asked. "Hmm . . . " said the mom. "References, maybe? Email them to my husband."

I can only think that it's because I don't have enough childcare experience for their liking. I don't think the years lifeguarding and coaching, no matter how much care of children it required, sounded exactly like "experience" to them. And I do understand that. It's just a bummer . . . $800/week in cash would've been nice . . .

So now it's back to the drawing board. I'm applying to Starbucks--trying to think big here. Anything to stay in Philly. Dad says he knows I want to be on my own but that I can always come home. I love him so much for that, but going home won't really get me any closer to Philly, unless I get the year-long apprenticeship at The Fulton Opera House.

But somehow, as soon as I got the rejection email--the last thing I wanted to see after how crappy this past week has been--I got a text saying I should come hang out with the set/lighting crew in The Underground, aka the basement of ML (my dorm). And I spent the whole night with really cool, funny, somewhat nerdy tech people from all different schools and of all different ages and I actually felt perfectly able to be myself from the get go. We went to Mayfair in Allentown, which was a slightly lame but funny carnival not far from Muhlenberg. We got in for free because Evan knows one of the carneys who works there; he got a few people deep fried Snickers, or "death on a stick," for free, too. I almost bought a deep friend Oreo because I've never had one and it reminds me of Stoltzfus, but I decided to save that experience for another time. I was too excited about having friends to let myself die on the spot of a clogged artery.

When we got back, I got the experience of playing beer pong with a stolen university table in a teeny tiny dorm room. I HAVE NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE! That's what happens when you live in a historical landmark as a freshman, I guess. Castle livin' ain't reglar dorm life. Which reminds me! I don't know why I wrote that sentence Appalachian southern style, but I LOVE THEATRE PEOPLE beause they speak loudly in ridiculous accents in public and don't give a shit. This guy Jack, who just graduated from Kutztown, is kind of a hipster, but he was clearly a Confederate soldier in another life. Long blonde hair, scruffy beard, and mustache, and he does the best gruff southern accent. It was brilliant. And he's a tech guy--still can do a bang-up accent and doesn't freaking care if people stare at him. It makes me proud to know people who truly just allow themselves to be who they want to be, where they want to be it.

And, you know, I don't speak German, but I can if you like. I love Gaga because she's so right about so many things. I'm a performer, and I am in the business of selling myself for a performance. Kind of like prostitution except . . . not. At all. And I figure I can be whoever I feel like and do whatever I want, wherever I want, and I'm not going to give a damn. So maybe this skill will help get a job? I hope. Jay says it will all work out, and it will. I'm just nervous--but when am I not? I'm such a high-strung person sometimes, it's ridiculous.

"Never turn down an opportunity, because you don't know where it will take you." That's what my Grandad said to me at graduation. Randomly. He can barely speak or hear and rarely talks unless it's to tell a waitress a bad joke, but that is what he told me. And then he asked if my professor who knew the guy on the salad dressing bottles can help me, but that's besides the point. I will never again see a bottle of Newman salad dressing without thinking of Grandad Myers. I almost bought one today at Walmart just because--until I looked at the calorie/fat intake per serving. Where does salad dressing get off being so damn unhealthy, is my question? Paul Newman, man, if you were still alive, I'd have a bone to pick with you. I am sorry that my Grandad knows you better for your dressing than your acting. Truly, truly sorry. Maybe I'll never be an actor, but everyone will refer to me as "the olive oil lady" or something. I could handle being a real-life Aunt Jemima type.