The Modern Hoyden

There's been a lot of hooplah all up in my news feed lately regarding the suspended intake of little baby actors into the theatre program that gave birth to me. Now, I'm not going to lie to you: THIS ENRAGES ME! But apart from angry letter writing and the general, all around stickin' to the man I do on the daily, there isn't much else to be done. This may come as a shock to you, but I don't have the $12 000 000 required* to reinstate the funding cut by our provincial government. A decision I can only imagine they came to while sitting around an enormous marble table, asses resting heavily on chairs fashioned from the arms and legs of struggling artists while sipping bitumen out of champagne flutes. It's the only image that comes to mind. *lol "required" So, instead of getting all self-righteous, and writing an entire blog post trying to preach the benefits of art and culture to an establishment that frankly, will never read this and more importantly...

You know what's tough, world? Being female. Yes, it's true: being the prettier, curvier, boobier sex has its perks. Like... Boobs. They are awesome. We know this. And, to be fair, I'll reckon having two different chromosomes brings with it it's own fair share of hardships. I mean, I can only assume the dangly penis part whacks against things when you're running. Really shitty stuff, I'm sure. But what I want to talk about here (Frankly, what I would talk about everywhere, to everyone, if I could) is being a young woman. Growing up booby, if you will. As most of you ladies out there can attest to: it fucking sucked. You're scared. You're body confuses you because it's getting hairy and lumpy and no matter what shape it is, it's incorrect. When you're alone you look in the mirror, next to all the posters and magazine snippets of people that are way more attractive than anyone you've ever seen with your bare eyeballs, and you quietly hum...

I've always toyed with the idea of writing a blog. Toyed with it in the way that my cat would torture a mouse- batting it around  and around and never fully letting it die. I've often thought about spilling my guts to a handful of semi-interested Facebook friends who will surely only read this out of some morbid curiosity to see if I'm aware of exactly how much weight I've gained. I've thought about reaching out to those few electronic voyeurs who are aching to discover what sad, sad twists my life as an over-caffeinated, completely unsuccessful actor have taken since I spent my academic scholarships on Theatre instead of engineering, or business or... literally anything else. But, I seem to have stopped myself from even starting on more than one occasion.Why? Well, my crippling self doubt assures me that, quiet honestly- no one gives half a fuck what I have to say. And (horror!), what if, on the off-chance, my ramblings touched someone into giving any small amoun...