Looking for Luke Skywalker

May 19, 2011May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader4 Comments

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Or actually in a little town called Glendale, there was a thirteen year old girl who fell in love with Luke Skywalker.

Every night, when her parents went off to work and she was left alone to her imagination, the little girl would put in the laser disc of Return of the Jedi and reenact the entire movie. Sometimes, depending on how much time she had throughout the night, she would play all three Star Wars movies, becoming Luke Skywalker in her mind, feeling the changes and emotions he experienced, pretending to fight with Leia over Han Solo, instead of the other way around, until she had the entire original saga memorized by heart.

But it wasn’t Han Solo’s swashbuckling, rebellious personality she idolized and swooned over. It was the passion of a young adventurer, of someone who wanted so much to be apart of something bigger than himself, and, in turn, becoming bigger than he ever could have imagined. Of a boy who grew into a man who was loyal to his friends and family, believed in something great, and held onto that belief with unwavering, but always tempted, perseverance.

The little girl not only wanted to be Luke Skywalker, but was crazy about him. Every blue-eyed glance, every sideways smile creating a soft crease into his cheek, every clench of his fist, every swing of his green lightsaber, made her fall over and over about him. Sometimes to the point of pausing the laser disc on images of Luke having a concerned expression (specifically in Yoda’s hut). This was, of course, before internet was fully functional and she had to rely on the pause button. If any of you remember the laser disc machines, it wasn’t easy to “still” the picture without it turning into a blue “pause” screen. There was a “still” or “step” button that would make the picture freeze in place. And it wasn’t always easy.

So you can imagine this thirteen year old girl trying to figure out how to keep the picture frozen in place so that she could swoon over the still image of Luke looking distraught over Yoda’s death…

And then, of course, there’s always the distraught look hidden by the black cloak…

That little girl was me. Obviously.

There’s nothing sexier than a black cloak over a black jumpsuit fighting bad guys. And looking terribly concerned. At least, this was how I felt at the early stages of my adolescence.

One day, while I was with my mother inside Barnes and Noble’s Bookstore, I went off into the science fiction section out of curiosity. I hadn’t seen any Star Wars books before until then. I had no idea other authors had expanded far past the movies and that there were many more adventures. One particularly caught my eye. Barbara Hambly’s Children of the Jedi.

It was the woman’s image beside Luke who really caught my attention. Finally, a love interest for Luke, I thought.

So I begged my mom to buy it for me, and as soon as we got into the car, I immediately started skimming the pages to anything that had Luke talking to some other woman. I never actually read the book. I just skipped to the pages where the character Callista dialogued with Luke.

After consuming myself with this book, I became addicted to finding other Star Wars novels with different love interests for Luke. I had gotten Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn trilogy where I was extremely intrigued by Mara Jade, but highly disappointed that nothing really major happened between Luke and Mara in those stories (other than slight sexual tension of course). Apparently, that wasn’t enough. I wanted more! Every visit my mother and I made to Barnes and Noble, I got a new book, hoping that some sort of romance would happen for Luke. I wanted him to find happiness and love so badly and HAD to be with the right person!

I got extremely excited when Zahn finally wrote the two novels, The Hand of Thrawn series. This was where Mara and Luke finally fell in love after years of an on and off friendship, and in the most adventurous and stubborn way.Which was perfect! I loved that Luke would be the sweet, gentle, and loyal guy who was always slightly naïve about someone else’s affections for him. And that Mara, who was the stubborn, highly fiery, no-nonsense woman, but who was also loyal and honest about her feelings and affections, would be the one to land him. It was exactly how I had pictured it.

Around this time, I was fifteen. And I wanted to be Mara Jade. She had a dancer’s body, and so did I. She was a red head, and so was I. I bought green contacts to make my steel eye color to be emerald green. I already saw myself as her, could you tell? I was (and still am) fiery, passionate, logical, loyal and very affection when I chose to be, and with the right person.

I also wanted to be the type of person you didn’t mess with. A badass. That if you messed with my closest friends and family, you would be dead on my list. Mara would assassinate anyone who got in the way…but she was trained for that. And…well, I was trained to be an opera singer and actress. So I could pretend…

As I got deep into high school, I had become so obsessed with Luke and his romances that I even wrote two Star Wars novels starring my own character Lilliya Starr as his love interest. I made it so it could fit into the chronology of books and had it where Mara had actually been killed off to make Luke available. This was in 1999, years before the authors actually DID kill off Mara. Of course, my stories were filled with mystery and adventure, but there was always exciting sexual tension between Starr and Skywalker that it made it fun to write. And there were six books for me to create. So…that was fun. Not quite done yet.

As I got into college, I realized I was actually comparing my boyfriends to Luke Skywalker. It never occurred to me until I started dating a lot of different guys.

That one is too A New Hope…That one is too Empire…That is NOTHING like Luke.

To emphasize my obsession even more, my mother knew I was looking for a guy with the last name Walker just so I could have a son and name him Luke Sky Walker. Or maybe just Luke Walker. It was always fun to think about.

Because of my mother’s knowledge of this, I had been set up on a blind date with a guy who had the last name of Walker. Didn’t work out, but I am STILL on the lookout.

However, I’m not looking for the name anymore, although that would be a fun plus, and it’s not the physical appearance either that’s catching my eye. I realized recently that, after every relationship and date I’ve had, I am looking for a guy who is caring, compassionate, loyal, brave, spiritual, affectionate, positive, strong, adventurous, has been through the tough times and knows the hard life, motivated, and thinks beyond and outside himself. (I know, this is becoming a match.com-ish speech)

In short, ever since I was thirteen years old, I have been looking Luke Skywalker. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted. He IS my dream guy. And if someday I meet a man like this—and I’ve gotten close—I’m gonna say, “Do you like Star Wars? Do you believe in God? Yes? Well, then, let’s fly outa here. You do own an X-wing, right? Sweet.”

And hopefully he’ll smile at me like this…

Preferably without the woman on his side.

And I’m never settling for less. No one should.

Remember Papa

May 5, 2011May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader4 Comments

Hello, Papa. Do you know?

You made me a writer. You made me a mathematician. A thinker. An analyzer. You taught me how to observe when you took me to all those museums and libraries. You taught me to keep my eyes open and wide. You taught me the importance of words and how they must sound when spoken, and how the original pronunciations were more important than the newest version in the English language. You also taught me that temper was best used when controlled and quietly expelled. It had more effect that way. You taught me to sneak candies like 3 Musketeers and chocolate ice cream bars and Butter Pecan ice cream cones behind Mana’s back because it was fun.

“Don’t tell Mana,” Papa whispered.

“I won’t.” I didn’t think much of it, of course, while I was shoving a Musketeer bar down my six year old esophagus.

Papa and I would watch Papa’s favorite movies, one of them being The Princess Bride. I always thought the grandpa in the movie was like my Papa.

And when Papa was tucking me into bed, I always asked for a glass of water because… “I’m thirsty. Can I have some water?”

“As you wish,” Papa said, winking in reference to the movie we’d just watched…again.

So Papa went downstairs for a drink of water. As he did, I hid under the covers of my bed, flattened out my body as much as possible so that I would hopefully blend in with the thick comforter. And waited. I heard footsteps creek on my wood floor.

“Kitten Lee? Are you hiding?” he said. “I wonder if you’re in the closet. Nope. Maybe under the bed? Nope. I wonder what would happen if I accidentally poured this cup of water on the bed…”

I squealed and threw the comforter up before he dared. And this was how he always found me. It was a nightly thing, my pathetic disappearing act.

Although, there was one time when I actually did disappear for a good hour or so in Green Lake, Wisconsin. This was our summer hang for the family. I pretty much grew up there and had many adventures. One of those adventures involved me in hunting down a wild deer flitting through the thick forest. At six, I was confident in knowing that I knew these forests well, but when the deer led me in circles, I couldn’t seem to find my way back to the clearing of camping trailers. This wouldn’t have been a problem except that the sun was going down and the forest was darkening.

So, being part singer, I decided to sing loudly in the forest about how lost I was, but that it was okay. I remember vaguely that I was coming to terms with the idea that I might be stuck there forever.

And then I heard a very stern voice shout out, “Christanna!”

“Papa?” I shouted back. Because it definitely sounded like his stern, you’re-in-trouble voice.

“Get over here now,” he said loud enough for me to follow. I couldn’t see him yet, but followed his voice. As I pushed myself through sharp branches and bushes I finally reached the edge of the forest where Papa stood in a bright green clearing of grass. But I had one more step and it was through a thick cluster of grass weed, which was about my height. Tears started running down my face because I thought that there was a snake and I couldn’t reach Papa.

“Get over here,” he said again.

“There’s a snake!” I cried, shaking my head.

“Christanna,” he said with that serious tone hinting grinding teeth.

That was enough for me. Usually that meant I was in serious trouble. So I jumped through the grass weed and ran to Papa, throwing my tiny arms around his waist.

Papa held on tightly as well and said, “Don’t do that again, okay? And we won’t tell Mana.”

I just nodded. He waited until I calmed down and then I told him all about my adventures in the forest and why I got lost. It was all because of that deer leading me in circles! As he led me through the grassy meadow, he taught me the Inch Worm song.

Little did I know my entire family was out searching for me in the far corners of Green Lake.

Papa was always right about everything. He knew where to look first before anyone else. At the Father-Daughter Dance when I was in first grade, Papa went with me because my dad was singing somewhere else (as opera singers do). But that night, he won a prize for me because he guessed the right amount of jelly beans in a jar. I remember thinking I could never do anything like that. Papa always knew the right answer.

So much so that it would drive me nuts sometimes. I would never argue with Papa, but the older I got, the more I wanted to be right instead of him. So it became a challenge to be successful for Papa.

I was being homeschooled during junior high by my grandparents. Papa taught my English, Math, and History courses. Mana taught my Science and any other extra-curricular activities.

“I’m scared I won’t be ready for high school next year,” I said to Papa as we were going through our English lesson.

“Don’t worry about it and concentrate on reading,” he said.

“But, Papa—“

“Would you concentrate please? And trust me,” he said sternly.

He was right, of course. When I entered high school, I was ahead of everyone in Math and English. I didn’t have a history course that year, so I couldn’t really compare that one. But I had never met a mathematician who could write, or a writer who could do algebra equations and actually enjoy it! I loved both.

One day during my freshman year, I had finished writing a Star Wars novel just for the fun of it. It involved my own original characters blended with the Lucas originals and was a story far into the future lives of the Skywalker and Solo families. I gave my finished product to Papa to edit for grammatical errors. I didn’t expect any reaction out of him.

Instead, he said, “You’re a writer. This is very good.” And I don’t think he’d ever been a huge fan of Star Wars.

The older I got, the more I wanted to make him proud of me. That all of his teachings did not go to waste.

In college, I took a Musical Theater degree. It irritated me to no end that Papa would say, “What are your real courses” when I would tell him what classes I was taking. I always thought he didn’t respect my degree of choice. I later changed it to a degree that included intensive writing courses. I did it for myself because I enjoyed it so much.

But when Papa asked again, “What real courses are you taking?” I became more frustrated. Especially when he asked every year. I was starting to think he wasn’t paying attention and that he should have been proud that I was taking writing courses.

It didn’t quite hit me until he asked again, “What real courses are you taking?” after I had already graduated. That’s when I knew the Alzheimer’s was real. That’s when I knew…my Papa wouldn’t know who I was one day.

That he won’t see me get married like I hoped. And have a family. And that he won’t be there to tell his great-grand kids about the importance of pronouncing “often” with the “t” silent because that is the original pronunciation. Because Alzheimer’s cheats.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size!” I would say, if it was worth it. It’s not fair to burn the brain, but keep alive the body. A person is nothing without his mind.

I always thought you would last forever, Papa, as I do everyone else who I love more than anything. But somehow death seems to be logical now. Not just any death, but a death you controlled with your last remaining thought. Because Alzheimer’s is terribly unfair when it comes to killing. Instead, you’re killing it by sleeping. By never letting your brain wake up. Taking control, taking back the pride, power, and intelligence you once had. That’s the Papa I remember.

So you were right, Papa. You were right to instill in me parts of you. I realized one day recent when I was eating my dinner, that I was eating like you. I had bits of my food perfectly organized on my plate so that I had would end up with one bite of each at the end. That’s how you ate! You were stubborn—I am stubborn. You were an analyzer—I am an analyzer. You needed control and order—I need control and order. And not just in me did you help develop, but in all the children and grandchildren that stemmed from your life you gave away parts of you.

It is good that you sleep now, taking down the Alzheimer’s with you. I was never a fan of him anyway.

We will miss you of course. But you lived fully. And you lived long. That is all that matters. This is all I need to remember, Papa. This is enough.

Love you.

Awkward Exes Serving Awkward Exes

April 28, 2011May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader5 Comments

Being a server sometimes means you’re gonna have to serve tables that know either too little or too much about you. In my case, I have on occasion had to wait on my ex-boyfriends’ exes. Not just exes, but the women who had broken my ex-boyfriends’ hearts. Which would make them the “big love” my boyfriends had lost at some point not too long after. And these women always seem to know who I am.

I’m starting to confuse myself, and probably you, so let me throw some examples out there.

Years ago, after I recently broke up with my first boyfriend, Cameron, I had to wait on his high school sweetheart, someone Cameron had a hard time letting go of after they had ended their relationship. Needless to say, it was someone he had loved hard for and I knew this while dating him. They had also kept in touch during my relationship with Cameron, always making me wonder if he was ever over her. It didn’t really matter anyway, considering Cameron and I didn’t work out. But what was awkward was that I knew certain private and personal things about her and she definitely knew certain private and personal things about me.

So when I announced my name (which is incredibly unique) and that I’d be taking care of her, I knew the smile on her face was purely superficial and nervous. This, in turn, made me uncomfortable, so for the duration of her dining out, everything was tense.

Irony, I think. Why is it that the ex-love of my recent ex-boyfriend somehow ends up sitting in my section when I know they are entirely unaware of my existence at The Restaurant? Especially when we had never met before?

But it doesn’t get anymore awkward than having the ex-WIFE sitting at your table. THE ex-wife your ex-boyfriend talked to you about for hours, telling you things she probably wouldn’t want you to know. And, as far as you know, she might know things about you that you wouldn’t want HER to know. And not only is it an ex-wife, but a recent one at that. Tricky, tricky…

I had never met her before, but had heard plenty. I also knew she was aware of my existence, but it was hard to say if she could recognize me by looks alone. I knew she would know my name, though. So, as I watched her tiny figure gracefully sit, looking with those extremely arched eyebrows, puffed out cheekbones and lips, I had to consciously restrain myself from going in multiple directions like a chicken with its head chopped off. For a split second, I felt guilty. Maybe it was because I had felt like a mistress when dating this man. Being hidden from his personal life always made me feel like I was in an affair and that if the wife found out, I would be in huge trouble. But it was his EX-wife. And he was now my ex-boyfriend (or more like a whim/fling/situation #2…refer back to situation #1 for clarification). “Boyfriend” doesn’t seem to fit this particular guy anyhow.

Still doesn’t change the fact that it was nerve-wracking. I swiftly passed by the table without greeting the ex and her date, and grabbed Ethel, another server, saying, “I can’t take this table. It’s HIS ex.” But really, I could have; however,considering it was dead in the restaurant, I knew Ethel could take it off my hands. I just didn’t feel like testing out my acting skills at that particular moment. I was just happy she didn’t walk in with her daughter. I could just feel the bile rise up my throat if that had happened. He did such a good job at hiding me from his daughter, how ironic would it have been if I got to meet her through his ex. Not that I wanted to be hidden, but he felt it best for his daughter not to know about me. Again, the Mistress title being labeled onto me. And again, I want to vomit. If only I was a Super Ex-Girlfriend, I wouldn’t feel so pathetic… Yes...this is more like it.

There was always another reason to vomit, and it was because I knew he had really loved his ex-wife. She was his “big love” just like Cameron’s high school sweetheart was his “big love.” And both ended up in my section. Years apart, but in two separate states, and yet still the same irony. Still the same awkwardness. Because, I too, was an ex. And I hate serving exes.

The Five Stages of Death

April 7, 2011May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader2 Comments

Broken Heart Emo …as my friend Sarah calls it. I call it something else, but hers sounds cooler, so I’m borrowing it. They go as follows:

1. Depression

2. Denial

3. Anger

4. Acceptance

5. Happiness

These are the things you go through after a broken heart. Aw...

I like to break down my healing process in these simple steps. As I go through each one, I get really excited when I get closer to number 5. Therefore, I have SOMETHING to look forward to, because, as we all know, there is NOTHING to look forward to when you have a broken heart. Hilarious!

I already passed through number 1, Depression. Hate that stage the most. Always feels like the hours last for days, so you try to sleep them away, hoping that, when you wake, you’ll be at stage number 5, but no luck as you realize, waking, that it’s still day 1, stage 1. And sleeping doesn’t help either because all you have are nightmares. So you’re pretty much screwed during this stage.

Then, suddenly, stage 2 appears out of nowhere. This stage usually comes in different forms depending on the situation and person. You can either deny being hurt, find a rebound, deny that you ever felt anything at all, beg the person back thinking that it can be fixed, etc. All these things are representations of the heart not fully accepting the reality of the situation. Also a pretty crappy stage. Humiliating in many respects. Thank goodness I’m not in this one anymore.

STAGE 3!!! I like this one. For some odd reason, anger is probably one of the most satisfying feelings for me. I feel exhilarated, powerful, and strong. I feel like I can take the pain I was feeling and shove it up someone’s ass. TAKE THAT, Pain! You can’t touch me! (Don’t know why I consider this odd…really isn’t. Anger is a lot of fun.) Went through this one for a while. Moved on, though.

Stage 4, Acceptance. This one is kinda sad. Poignant, really. It’s like the ending of a really good romance movie where it didn’t work out, but, like Hollywood’s style, they leave it open-ended and somehow positive. But the acceptance stage is a good sign. It means you’re almost there. Almost back to normal. Almost back to not giving a crap about anyone, or how you are as a person. Back to being the one and only YOU that has no connections or responsibilities to anyone but yourself.

And this leads me to number 5, Happiness. Where you only think of yourself, and your life, and the friends and family that are apart of it, the people you choose to be apart of it. And this makes you happy. You no longer care about what brought you down in the first place. Happiness brings Death to everything else you felt. Death to the broken heart. Death to the depression. Death to the denial. Death to anger and acceptance. So you laugh. You laugh so hard because you haven’t in so long.

I laughed so hard tonight, my head was pounding and my side was splitting. For no apparent reason, I laughed insanity. My friend Anne thought I was on drugs. I exclaimed, “No! I AM the drug!” And laughed some more. Because you survived. Because you wasted. Because you mourned over something that wasn’t dead. Because you felt sad over something that wasn’t apart of your life. Because you lied to yourself. Because you believed in someone else’s lies. Because you were gullible. Because you were stupid. Because you were everything you didn’t want to be. Because you know you’re gonna go through it again.

Because you were human. And lived.

I like stage 5.

Perfection.

March 19, 2011May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader3 Comments

I hate relationships. Or rather they hate me because I try so hard to be perfect in them. Because in everything I do, I am a perfectionist. Unfortunately. When I make my first mistake in life, it’s okay. I say to myself, “Well that was interesting. Don’t do that again.”

But when I make the SAME mistake again, not good. Then it’s like I’m slapping myself sideways, exclaiming, “What the hell is wrong with you?! Didn’t you get it the first time???”

I treat my relationships the same way. My first boyfriend was a series of trials and tribulations, a rollercoaster ride lasting two years, so that when it finally failed, I could look back on it knowing what NOT to do next time. My “learning experience,” I like to call it.

After my first relationship, I had become hardened. I told myself I wouldn’t fall in love until it was smart and safe. And as time went by, it seemed as though I didn’t even know what being in love really was or what it felt like. My feelings had dissolved somehow. It was as if I couldn’t connect to anything. And I didn’t have a care in the world. Icy, I would say.

Then I met the Terminator. He was a wonderful person, kind and caring, always thinking of others before himself. He treated me with respect and gentleness. And when I told him that I couldn’t feel anything, he said, “It’s okay,” and held me tightly. Months went by with me analyzing my every move, thought, and feeling as I became closer with the Terminator. I am a firm believer in following my gut, but only after thoroughly thinking through every possible outcome my gut-reaction could create. At some point I realized I really cared about the Terminator and told him I loved him. But it wasn’t being “in love.” I still felt disconnected to that feeling and even admitted that I didn’t think I’d EVER know how to feel that way. Needless to say, our relationship ended quietly and calmly.

Unaffected by the failure of my second relationship, I moved on feeling strong and confident that I was making all the right decisions, that the end of the Terminator and I was the right move. I didn’t make any of the same mistakes that I had with my first boyfriend. It was a good sign. I liked feeling impervious to the sorrows everyone else was dealing with. Feeling nothing actually made me feel happy.

And then I met Mr. Georgia. This older man knew how to have a good time. Unbelievably open with his thoughts and ways he felt about me, answering every complicated question I threw at him, and being romantic in ways I never imagined, needless to say, I got swept off my feet. Literally, if you count the jet plane ride. There was also, deep inside my gut, a twisting sensation I had never felt before. It happened every time I knew I was going to see Mr. Georgia. It made me bouncy and nervous, and I couldn’t get a hold of myself. It was ridiculous. So I analyzed it for months, trying to understand why I felt so strangely. I had a bad feeling. I had a feeling I was falling in love.

This was not a good sign. Because I knew that if I was starting to feel this way, my perfectly constructed wall was crumbling. I kept my mouth shut for the most part, afraid of scaring off Mr. Georgia. It would peek out a few times whenever I said, “I love your hair” or “I love the crease on your cheek” or “I love…THAT…about you,” when I really wanted to shout out, “I love YOU, just you, dammit!!!” Marianne and Willoughby

After thinking about it for a while, imagining all the different outcomes if I told him how I felt, I had decided I had nothing to lose. If I told him, two things would happen: he would feel the same way, OR, he wouldn’t. Either way, I would have my answer. So I did it. I told him and he responded nicely. But he didn’t return the feeling. Although he said some very confusing things. “It was everyday implied but never declared,” Marianne Dashwood said in Sense and Sensibility when Elinor asked if Willoughby ever told Marianne he loved her.

Well, this was my problem. I thought it was safe and I was pretty confident in the way I felt, so I went ahead and let my wall fall. And Mr. Georgia did not feel the same way. That’s the problem with falling in love. You gotta be ready for a broken heart. Willoughby

I thought I did everything right, analyzed my every move, my every thought and feeling, and I still ended up alone. So my perfectionism cannot be perfected…because I can’t seem to control my feelings and I certainly can’t control someone else’s feelings. My friend Marilyn said she was happy I finally let my guard down and allowed myself to fall in love. “It’s a good thing,” she said, “Please don’t let this bring your wall back up.”

It doesn’t feel good though. But so is life. And I’m back to building my wall. It’s amazing how fast it goes up. I guess that’s a good thing. Means I’ve perfected something in my life.

Except that being a perfection is my FIRST mistake. So there’s the rub.

Auditions, Auditions, Aw come on already!

March 6, 2011May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader1 Comment

I have been auditioning…A LOT. Which is great! This is exactly what you’re supposed to do when you wanna be an actor or singer. How many times did our professors in music or theater school drill into us that doing 100 auditions will land us 1 gig? I happened to grow up this way too, following my dad around as a child in Chicago, hearing stories of all the rejection he went through every time he auditioned. But I saw him succeed and so I knew his hard work paid off.

Now I’m on the same path. Instead of moving back to Chicago or New York City where theater is rich and alive, I moved to California…where theater is, well, surviving. Don’t get me wrong, there are great companies here, just not that many. And not many auditions to jump on either. Let me just show you all the things I went after these past few months…

UNIVERSAL STUDIO’S JAPAN WICKED Not me.

CATS Definitely not me.

THE FANTASTICKS Was me at one point, but not this time.

THE PRODUCERS Wish I could be.

HAIRSPRAY Almost me.

That’s about it. I’m also doing this sans agent. If I had an agent, I’d be getting into a hell of a lot more auditions. And speaking of agent/more auditions, this would also assist me greatly in getting into film and television auditions, a whole nother beast I want to conquer. I once said as a young 13 year old, “I want to do film because Dad already did the theater scene.” I just remembered that right now as I’m writing this… But CAN’T do it without an agent because they’re the ones that can sweet talk the casting director into seeing you when you’re a NOBODY. Like me. Slightly frustrating, let me just tell ya.

Now, of course, I will admit that I have been able to get a few auditions with low-budget short films, but not enough to actually bump me up to 100 auditions. I want 100. GIVE ME 100!!!

—Side-track: just remembered I had a crazy dream last night about being an announcer for the Oscars and my dress was getting caught everywhere and then I couldn’t read the teleprompter so I was all stressed out, but somehow didn’t care too much cause I kept joking around, but then I forgot what I was announcing in the first place. Best Leading Actress? Leading Actor? Crap.

ANYHOW! Moving on.

Nearly every audition I did went really, REALLY well. This is why it gets frustrating because when you know you did your best, and even the panel of auditors genuinely compliment you, but you STILL don’t get cast, it might drive you crazy. But not me. I’m immune, like, vulcanized.

Here is a breakdown:

WICKED I got called back twice. Had the auditors smile and clap after I was done, but didn’t make it to the third round. NEXT!

CATS I sang well, but didn’t stick around for the dance call cause it was freezing outside and I had already been waiting for 5 hours in the cold to sing, so I wasn’t thrilled about waiting for another 2 just to dance when I know I’m already not a very strong dancer…Mr. Georgia already scolded me on that one. NEXT!

THE FANTASTICKS I sang really well, also got asked to sing a part of the show, got called back to read, I did well at that too and the director asked me to stick around, but then when the monitor called out the girls’ names who will stay for another read, my name DIDN’T get called. Rough. FORGET ABOUT IT!

THE PRODUCERS was with a company I already worked with. Again I belted my little heart out, looked hot, and even overheard the artistic director, who knew me, whisper to the director that I was “very talented.” Got asked to sing a little more to show off my range. NO callback. Ugh. But that’s probably because when the director asked if I knew how to tap dance, I hesitated and said, “kinda.” Bad, girl, bad! MOVING ON!

HAIRSPRAY was actually a callback resulting from the season audition I did for PCPA. Season, meaning, you audition for more than one show. I got called back for one of the leading roles, Amber, in HAIRSPRAY. My original audition was very successful. The producer said he really liked me, then asked if I could dance. This time I said yes with no hesitation. Then he asked, “do you consider yourself a dancer or a mover.” I hesitated something like 2 seconds, but then quickly answered “dancer!” He nodded, saying, “Good, that’s what I wanna hear.” So then I got called back, barely survived the dance audition (ha!), but then sang riDICulously which resulted in the director coming up to me and shaking my hand before I left. Probably because he thought I sucked at the dance audition, felt bad for me, and then was surprised I had any talent at all. I haven’t heard anything from this one yet, but rehearsals don’t start until the summer, so it’s hard to forget about it.

That is it for now.

So why did I move to California? Well, cause the weather is freakin awesome! AND because I really DO want to work on film, in film, a writer for film…direct my own film, create music for film, edit my own film, produce my own film, model for my…nah just kidding.

Gotta say though, when you do as many auditions as you’re supposed to, you got to FORGET about them and move on to the next. Cause you will be rejected 99 times. But the 100th time will be a good one. I’m not even close to 99. I’m, like, at 20, so I gotta a long way to go. Thank goodness my boyfriend, or manfriend (cause he’s way up there in manhood, but perhaps boyfriend fits better cuz he’s so…boyish), is good at lighting fires under my…butt……………

Sorry, that sounds SO wrong. Let me rephrase: Mr. Georgia is really good at pep talks! Ha!

Goodbye old year, Hello NEW Year!!!

December 31, 2010May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader1 Comment

I just finished reading last year’s post on the coming of 2010, The Sequel: 2010, and still marvel at how much can happen in one short year! 2010 is over, but boy was it interesting. Although this year wasn’t nearly as epic or life-changing as 2009, it still remains memorable. If there is ever a year which is not, I gotta say, that would suck. I don’t do boring.

To recap, 2009 was filled with an unwanted ambulance ride to an unwanted hospital visit, therapy with an awesomely sarcastic therapist, whimming adventures with my closest friends, the start of this blog, internships, short-short hair, parties, graduation, moving to California, Red Carpet events, and meeting the Terminator. By the end of the year, my resolution was to either find a way to quit BJ’s or fall in love again. Or both! Did either of them come to? Hmmm…

2010 wasn’t as dramatic as ‘09, thank goodness! But it was still entertaining. At the beginning, I had decided to be in a relationship with the Terminator, the man I had been seeing consistently since the first week I had moved to California. I had also been going on a lot of auditions for film and stage, but nothing catching until the summer when I got cast in Roger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. I met some wonderful people and it felt incredible to be on the stage again. Earlier in the year, I had been saddened about not making any close friends. I had the Terminator and his friends. But his friends weren’t really my friends; I was the “girlfriend,” someone who would eventually disappear. I had people at work that I liked, but couldn’t seem to find the right connection.

Then the Terminator and I broke up, for no other reason but that it wasn’t going anywhere. Thankfully I was in Cinderella so I could keep busy. I was also working a LOT! That’s when things started to take shape. You know, that feeling where you felt like you finally found home? A new girl named Alisha moved here from Las Vegas. She and I instantly clicked, our personalities and way of life being agreeable. I also got a new roommate, as the old one moved out. Her name was Monique. When she and I met, it was like we had known each other for a long time. Instant friends, we were. I was finally making a good group of close friends.

Also, epically enough, I had finally reconnected with my famous ex-boyfriend, Chris Cameron, putting everything else at rest. The thing of inspiration: horoscope prediction. Or whatever you call it, cause I really don’t believe in that stuff…Go figure.

Speaking of boyfriends, near the end of this year, I have officially had a THIRD boyfriend. Third times a charm, ya know… Um, sure.

The funny thing is how we met. Here I was out with my girlfriends, being forced out actually because I was in hate-men mode. I had had another new experience with a date that went horribly wrong a week earlier. Needless to say, I didn’t want to be touched by another guy for a while.

So here I was at Bogie’s, a lounge bar in Westlake, where my girlfriends wanted to teach me on how to use men and get free drinks out of them. Low and behold a football game was on TV, and I decided to yell out FIRST DOWN randomly. Because that had become a new saying by me as of late. A handsome man standing next to me at the bar asked, “Do you watch football?”

I glance at him and say, “No. I just yell out ‘first down’ any time they move.”

He laughed, but I turned my back on him and started talking to my friends. One of them frowned at me and said, “Turn back and say hello. At the very least, get a drink out of him.”

I became irritated. I didn’t want to play this game. In fact, I didn’t want to have to socialize with anyone there, especially a man. Even if it were Ryan Reynolds who had said hello, I would have ignored him…

Well, okay. Maybe not Ryan Reynolds, cause that would have been AWESOME!

I can’t seem to really remember the order of things, but somehow I ended up having a full on conversation with the man I named Mr. Georgia. He seemed normal enough. Winking smile

Eventually we switched “business cards,” lol! How dorky is that! And by the end of the week, I was flying with him, and two comedian celebrities (names have been removed for privacy reasons) on a private jet to Arizona. If that’s not a whim, I don’t know what is.

I had no idea Mr. Georgia was actually interested in me until he asked me out for dinner. Being that I’m a whimmer, of course I agreed. And I’ve been with him since.

Now, to come back to my new year’s resolution for 2010. I wanted to quit BJ’s or fall in love. Well, unfortunately I have not been able to find a good way to quit BJ’s. And as for falling in love… Let me put it this way. For the first time ever, my mom is actually interested in talking with me about my boyfriend and about anything! She literally calls just to talk about Mr. Georgia. I asked why, and she said, “Because you talk differently about him. You’re actually happy.”

Marilyn, one of my best friends from college, says I’ve fallen in love, my mom says I just need to say it aloud, Monique, my roommate, says I’m smitten and I glow when I talk about him. Although I won’t be the one to admit anything that makes me vulnerable, I guess you could argue that one of my resolutions was fulfilled, if you count what everyone else is saying.

OH I ALMOST FORGOT!!!! I got rid of the hybrid car owned by my dad and purchased my very first car! Now I am fully independent from my parents ENTIRELY! Now that’s epic.

So what about 2011’s resolution? Hmm, that’s a tough one. Oh I got!!! Just came to me. To find a good agent to represent me and send me on more auditions, ones that I can’t get by myself. At least that’s something I can have more control over.

Happy new year! Another round of adventures are coming.

A real-life Pretty Woman in Vegas

December 7, 2010May 31, 2018 Christanna RowaderLeave a comment

When walking into a 3 bedroom suite at the very top of the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, it’s hard not to gawk when someone like me has never experienced “lush living.” It’s even more jaw-dropping when you realize you’re walking into the suite full of makeup artists and three gorgeous models with Funny Man and his business partner, my boyfriend Mr. Georgia, beside me.

Just minutes earlier, we arrived by private jet, which I took a nap on, then to the hotel by a private van with a special security driver. It felt very…exclusive. Once we settled into our suite, Funny Man was hungry and so was I. Funny Man’s personal makeup artist ordered room service for us. Trying to stay out of the way of all the hustle, I sat quietly at the dining table watching the models get ready while Mr. Georgia continued doing business. I remember hearing one of the models asking Mr. Georgia how his wife was and hearing him stumble over the answer of divorce. Thought that was funny. I bet they were wondering who the hell I was, the not-so-Hollywood, not-so-done-up, average girl.

An hour later, Funny Man did his convention show to promote the new slot machines and then we returned to the suite to ready for the cocktail party. The models got touched up, then the makeup artists were nice enough to play with my face and hair as well. The suite quickly filled with other guests eagerly waiting to meet Funny Man. People were enjoying freshly rolled cigars and chilled cocktails. I was still readying inside the privacy of the master bedroom. I had felt so not-glamorous earlier that I couldn’t wait to pretty myself. I layered my skin with Vanilla Berry lotion and perfume, slipped into my silver mini-dress, and donned my brand new pink-gold pumps. I slipped out of the bedroom and the first person to see me was one a woman rolling the cigars. A wide smile spread across her face and she beamed, “Oh you are so beautiful!” This obviously made me feel really good. Being around those gorgeous models can really affect you to try to look just as stunning. I felt like a princess at that point, especially when the other models were so complimentary. But I think the best moment was when I was looking for Mr. Georgia among the crowd of people in the suite, then caught his eye across the room and saw the biggest smile cross his face. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when Richard Gear finds her in the bar transformed from hooker to a beautiful lady. That was me, minus the hooker part.

Mr. Georgia took me to The Mix at the top of The Hotel for dinner after the cocktail party. That place had the most amazing food I have ever had. I had ordered scallops and as soon as one bite him my tongue, I actually did NOT want to swallow. I just wanted to keep the flavor of the food in my mouth for as long as possible. It was incredible. Then we went to see Cris Angel’s show and continued the rest of the night hopping clubs, finishing at Club Pure around 5am.

We returned to the Hard Rock suite, having it all to ourselves. At this point, I had decided to take on an Australian accent inspired by the 2 Australian girls who ran into us randomly at the Playboy Club, saying to us, “We just escaped two creepy guys who wanted us to go into the bathrooms with them. So we hid inside the girl’s bathroom for an hour…” Awesome.

Mr. Georgia and I took a load off in the incredible Jacuzzi inside our suite, which was conveniently placed right by the 2 stripper poles mounted in the living room. Who needs 2, I wonder? Hmmmm…

The next day, after sleeping until noon, Mr. Georgia did some business while I readied into a mini skirt and knee-high socks. We ate a hearty lunch and then Mr. Georgia took me to the Mall inside Caesars Palace. He likes to shop…a guy. This was the first time I ever saw Dior, Versace, Chanel and every other amazing designer up close. I walked into Versace and fell in love. This designer should design for me. I tried on a mustard yellow, sci-fi inspired, wool coat and died. Then the sales lady said, “Okay, now take it off…unless you want it. It’s only $5,000, not bad at all on a credit card.” Another Pretty Woman moment. I nearly choked, then decided to keep it on for one more minute just to annoy the lady.

We left Vegas later that night, exhausted but fulfilled. It was, so far, one of the most amazing and once-in-a-lifetime experiences I’ve had…SO FAR. Winking smile

Life dating someone 21 years older than you…

October 21, 2010May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader2 Comments

….is Fascinating! And so unpredictable.

Ever since I was in sixth grade, I recognized in me an attraction for older men. At this point in my age, I had a massive crush on my dad’s friend, Tully. Tully was in college and was around his early twenties. I knew my age and childlike appearance would never even give Tully a glance. I even thought that when I became an adult, I would still be considered too young for someone that much older than me.

In high school I had no attraction to anyone my own age. In fact, I would vocalize my opinion of boys versus men all the time, and how I could never date a “high school boy.” Ironically later, I would complain about how I was never asked out in high school…probably because I was much too open with my opinions. Hmm…silly me.

I never had much patience for boys because of their immaturity, their inability to get their shit together, and their selfish, childish views on relationships. Of course…this is to be expected of boys because they never really do “grow up” until their mid-30s. At least this is what my dad tells me:

“Don’t expect much from boys in their twenties,” Dad says, “because they don’t know any better yet. Give them a chance when they’re in their thirties or up. That’s when they’ve figured it out…usually.” And he tells me this because he admits that that was how he was in his twenties. Selfish, stubborn, and barely willing to be a team player in a relationship with a girl.

So far I haven’t said anything nice about boys. I want to point out that I have a lot of really great guy-friends. I love them and think they are great people. But I could never see myself in a relationship with them because of their age, both parts physical and mental. I get easily irritated when they don’t have a more mature view on the outside world. But I get irritated at anyone who can’t see outside themselves. It all adds up to how I personally want to be treated in a relationship. With respect, kindness, and thoughtfulness. Maybe my experiences with boys my age have not been very good, so I am jaded with these thoughts.

When I moved to California and began dating the Terminator, I was fascinated by the way he treated me with such caring attention. He was a real gentleman, humble and confident, kind. It took me aback once that he was ten years older than me. At the time, I thought a ten year gap was my limit.

Not anymore.

Now I’m dating a man twenty-one years older than me. And it’s like night and day. Man versus boy. Wildly unpredictable. Which actually makes me uneasy. When dating boys, I know what to expect; I know what they want. But men? There could be so many different things they want and I haven’t figured out the signs yet. With men, I don’t lose my patience, because they’ve got it together. With men, their sense of humor has matured, no longer silly and childish. And the deeper I analyze this, the more it makes sense how I would match better with an older man, than with my own age.

Most of my childhood was spent with adults at Christmas parties, closing show celebrations, fancy dinners with the cast of an opera, etc. I was brought up to be mature at five years old, to sit quietly in a restaurant full of adults drinking, laughing, and talking business.

It is no wonder I have no patience for unruly kids. I can’t stand them and think they should be smacked into maturity. At five, I remember sitting at a booth in a restaurant across from some other kid who kept climbing and whining everywhere. Even at five, I wanted to punch him and tell him to “sit still and shut up, stupid!”

If I do a breakdown comparison, it would go something like this: most boys still haven’t moved out of their mothers’ houses—men have lived alone for a while; boys don’t know where they’re going in life—men have already gone and done it; boys are still learning the ropes on how to have good sex—men have, well, A LOT of experience (they BETTER); boys don’t know quite how to treat girls—men treat them like women.

So I guess you can say I like skipping the boy phase and going straight for the man within.

Understand that my comparisons of boy versus man are simply general and come from personal experiences. I have met mature boys, or young men, and have met very immature older men (pricks, as I like to call them). So, all in all, it’s really based on character preference. And I’m also aware that there are some very stupid and immature girls out there. That’s why there’s a difference between a girl and a woman; a boy and a man. It may have nothing to do with age either, just the way one presents him/herself. I just find the differences fascinating.

Whimming high up in the sky…

September 27, 2010May 31, 2018 Christanna Rowader3 Comments

…With Funny Man, Mr. Georgia, and Funny Man Jr. (names have been removed for privacy reasons). And when I say high, I don’t mean stoned, although that would be another interesting whim. It was a great time, just three older guys and a kid-girl getting to know each other for about an hour as we flew from Van Nuys, CA to Mesa, AZ on a Hawker 800 for Funny Man’s comedy tour.

But getting to that Hawker is a whole nuther story in of itself.

My dear friend Anne was supposed to pick me up 45 minutes before I needed to arrive at Clay Lacy Airport. The time to get from Simi Valley to Clay Lacy is about 35-40 minutes. But she needed a buddy to ride with us so they could get back to Thousand Oaks in time for work by way of the carpool lane. So our friend Joe calls me. He decides he’ll be driving because both of their cars are out of gas and Joe drives fast enough to get me to the airport on time. As he’s explaining his plan, he’s also sitting at Cisco’s having a few drinks with our other friend Reid. I roll my eyes thinking Anne will still be driver.

So 4:17 rolls by, just a few minutes behind when I need to be leaving, and my friends pull up with Joe as driver. I immediately have a bad feeling. This is going to suck somehow.

I jump in and Joe takes off. In the wrong direction.

“Where the hell are you going?” I say, as he begins to drive deeper into the mazelike neighborhood, instead of having turned around back to the main street which he should have done in the first place!

“What? You never gone this way?” Joe says in his usual cocky tone.

Anne laughs.

It takes 10 minutes for Joe to blindly and arrogantly navigate through the neighborhood to finally pull out back onto the main street. As we drive towards the freeway, we pass my road. Obviously, THAT was no shortcut.

Anne laughs again. At this point, I want to pull out my hair, which I spent time making pretty, and was now being blown around by wind and smoke because Joe decided to start smoking in the car.

“So where’s the gas station?” Joe asks. At this point he’s finally listening to me, which he should have been doing 10 minutes prior! I tell him and we get gas as he’s smoking and admitting it’s illegal. Of course! Joe is Mr. Invincible and can get away with everything as long as he buys the other whoever a drink.

We hit the freeway at 100 mph. In traffic. Not too heavy, but enough that driving 100mph made me think we were either gonna DIE or get pulled over, which BOTH would have made me very late! Needless to say, from what should have taken 40 minutes took only 20 as we pulled up to Clay Lacy. As I frantically tried to straighten myself up and pretend like I didn’t just go through hell, Mr. Georgia came out and greeted me. All was better. He took my bag and ushered me inside the private reception area as Joe took off with Anne.

I told Mr. Georgia the entire story. He just laughed. We walked toward the Hawker 800 right as Funny Man and Jr. pulled up to board. To sum up the flight, I talked with the pilots, asked if I could fly (no, alright next time), got to know Mr. Georgia and Jr., and Funny Man piped in once in a while either teasing me about living in Simi Valley or why in the world did I move to California if I did mainly theater stuff. Mr. Georgia would back me up. 🙂

All in all, it was a lifetime experience. Thankfully Mr. Georgia had a camera because I forgot to bring mine. It was nice of him to offer taking pictures. It was also great to see my parents and grandparents whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. It’s not everyday you can just call up your mom and say, “hey, what are you doing? I can hang out today in an hour if you want” when you live in another state.

One of these days, private jets will be the only way I fly. 😉

PS-Come to find out later that Joe rear-ended someone after dropping me off. But he was only going 30 mph. Lol.

Xanna's Journal

Tag: Christanna Rowader