Slim Shady

If you recall, I took a job working for my buddy slim a while ago. At first it made me sick. Then, I kinda started to like it, was happy to have something to do with myself. Now, I can't stand it! UGH...As much as I dreaded watching everyone resume their Monday morning work regimen, after a long work free weekend, while i watched from afar from my couch, I dread even more having my own Monday morning work regime. Which makes me ask the question...do I dislike working, or do I just dislike working for Slim?

The Audition

The only major audition I've ever been on was for the First Coast Nutcracker, in Jacksonville, when I was ten. That audition paid off in a three-year stint as a mouse. I never had a dream to be on Broadway, or to dance for ABA, or Alvin Alley, or to be the next Martha Graham, which is what probably sets me FAR apart from my auditioning counterparts, and makes me stick out like a sore thumb.


This would be, (dare I say it), my THIRD audition for Disney. I wear the same outfit, hair, and make up to every audition, with the hopes that eventually, the casting directors will remember how "awesomely amazing" I was at the last audition, and finally offer me a spot. (LOL!)


I scan the room of openly gay males and mousy girls for anyone who looks like me. Five, including myself. Five is a lot, more than usual. "...Too dark... not enough make up... too heavy...that one doesn't even have dance shoes, is she really going to audition in her socks? ...hmmm bingo! I find the the auditioned who most closely resembles me (in looks and complexion), and therefore is my direct competition for the role of "token black girl".


I attempt to put on a "show" of my talents by performing a mass of floor stretches that I can fit into the tiny 4x6 space. You ever hear of the term laughing on the outside, crying on the inside? Well that's me, at this moment. Freaking out on the inside, and justa stretching and dancin' away on the outside. I watch the frightened faces of the first time auditioners sitting and wondering what to expect. I don’t notice the room beginning fill beyond fire code, as I am busy with my outward show of confidence. A couple people stop over to stretch and make conversation along with me, which means, it must be working. (Wait till they actually see my audition, they'll be disappointed).


I look around the room to see who’s filtered in, in the last 30min, and I access their dance ability and expertise based on their choice of audition wardrobe. A lot of people appear to be friends, which means that they already work for Disney (cheaters), or like me they are putting on a great show and can back it up with acquaintances. I discreetly observe the competition out of the corner of my eye. She hasn't stopped stretching since I walked in, and is now performing a combination of basic warm up exercises and flexible ballet steps. All eyes are on her. I up the ante, and all eyes are still on her.”Damn it!" "Why did she have to audition today? On my day to audition?"


After an hour and thirty, they call numbers 145 and up (I'm number 152). “Finally!” We crowd into the dance room, where I find a spot in the front left corner of the room. I usually stand in the middle back, but as I am still trying to show confidence…


I should have just stood where I normally would have, in the back. The choreographer taught the audition combination at lightening speed, during which I must have bumped into three people trying to remember what came next. I can only imagine how ungraceful I must've looked. (why couldn't it have been a tap or jazz combo?...I suck at ballet.) Surprisingly, when it was my turn, I did alright (forgot to smile though), but just like I thought, the competition was asked to stay and my audition was over. Just like that.


I must be on a first cut streak. I didn't make it past the first cut of the Orlando Magic Dancer tryouts either. This time I really was crying on the inside and smiling on the outside.

On the drive home Katy Perry's Waking up in Vegas came on the radio. I replaced the course with "That's what you get for trying out at Disney!" I must have looked crazy to the other drivers singing at the top of my lungs. I caught one of them laughing and pointing me out to his friend. I looked at myself singing in the mirror, and let out a laughed. All was right with the world again.

Decisions, Decisions...

Whoever said, “Choose always the way that seems the best, however rough it may be…” has obviously never had to make a decision beyond the complexities of what to eat for breakfast.

Cereal & Coffee, or pancakes and eggs… Clear Channel Promotions job in Florida, or Marketing Director job in Vermont? Decisions, Decisions...


After finally formulating a plan and finding comfort in my current situation, I find myself yet again, back to the drawing board. I guess the true decision afflicting me is Florida vs. Vermont. Each has it pros and cons, but which way is best? After running into a gigantic snake (EW!) on my way into the apartment, I had decided that I am completely done with Orlando, and its crime, and its critters, but is this really the best decision, or better yet the beast way to make one? Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I have no idea which is the less traveled. I don’t want to go through life living with a decision that routine makes tolerable. So as usual I decided to seek further assistance. And, as usual, everyone had two cents to offer on everything but the situation at hand. So, here I sit still undecided, my search for the perfect venture turning into procrastination. How do I choose the best way, when each of them is great?

Being "Clariton Clear"

I took a job this week working for Slim. I didn't want to admit it, but I was secretly excited, just itching to do something, anything to peel myself from the sectional which had become my "office" for the last six months. Two hours in and I began to breakout into a sweat, I was bored, I caught myself counting down the hours until I would be done, and I had a headache that would last for the next seven hours. Could it be that during my short time of unemployment, I had developed an allergic reaction to working?

What I once considered a fictional ailment to excuse me from my chores as a kid, was now my adult reality. I shook it off as first day jitters, but just in case I did what anyone suffering from illness in this new age of information would do, WebMD. I found info on every allergen under the sun...food, pet, nasal...but nothing that would be of actual use. My last couple of jobs have been so repulsive, I'm surprised that nausea hadn't set in long before now. Fortunately, the pain of work subsided once I was comfortably back on my home "office". Hopefully, unemployment is not the Zyrtec to my problem. Perhaps my real problem is the fear that I will fall back into the corporate rat race that used and discarded me. I can't say the experience has been all bad, there are worse things than not having a job.

Slim decided to put me on "working training wheels". Two days a week, 16hrs total. On day two, no sweating, I wasn't as bored, and the headache didn't last nearly as long. Maybe I'm not allergic after all. Perhaps the real cure for any allergy or itch is a paycheck.

The Hottie & The Nottie

It seems that my former peers are wistful for the past, posting a collage of photos (circa 1996-1999) to various online networking sites. In the few pictures I come across of myself, I can't help but notice how ...NOT very pretty I was, for lack of a better word. (which totally explains my absence of a boyfriend during those years) Of course, I thought I was a hottie. As a former beauty pageant contestant (notice, I said contestant, not winner) how could I not be? As I was looking through the posting with my friend Slim, he nonchalantly blurted out, "I can see how you didn't win your beauty pageants, back then." Hmmm....did he just call me ugly?! I know I was thinking it, but to hear my suspicions confirmed from someone else... Of course, he covered himself with the expected, "You look soooo much hotter now." (How else would someone follow up after a statement like that, exactly?)

In my own wistfulness for the past, I've been toying around in my head the idea of giving it another go at beauty pageants, and after learning of my newly graduated status from Nottie to Hottie, why the heck not?! Just kidding. I honestly don't think I've change all that much, to tell the truth. I have the same dark boring eyes, set into an ovular head, with high cheek bones...Oh!...my hair is a little longer, I've lost a bit of weight, and I've discovered how to use fashion to my advantage. Other than that (hottie or nottie) I'm still Miraya. I think I will enter that pageant, though. After all, I couldn't have been that bad. Nottie that I once was, I still placed in the top 10 every time.

Being grown up is not as fun as growing up...

Where do I fit in this circle called life? It's as if everyone is moving along without me into a world I don't completely understand. I like to think of myself at this point as having grown up and acquired some kind of adultly world knowledge. I used to think that maybe with the right dress, good shoes, classic designer hand bag,...bam, instant grown up. Although I looked the part, I never quite felt it (I still don't). Why do we have to grow up anyway? Most of the adults I know are uptight and stuffy, well...except my friend slim. He's the youngest oldest person I know, and even he is starting to inherit the stuffy gene (on account he's become this big CEO, and all). There is still that faint glimmer of youth in him, but it's quickly fading.

My 10yr high school reunion is coming up, and I'm afraid that I'll have nothing to show for myself for the last 10yrs. With my husband currently living in Vermont, I don't even have a date. What if I'm the only person at the reunion missing the gene that makes you grow up and turn all stuffy, what if my grown up gene is broken...

"When life hands you lemons..."

Hello, my name is Miraya Young, and this is my blog. I'm sorta new to this whole thing...blogging. I usually keep a paper journal, and am often reminded of the time when my husband got hold of it. "raya ," said my mother, " journals are like the sex tape of the past, they bring down presidents, movie stars... it'll ruin your marriage." She may have had a point, but I don't know too many movie stars who's journal ruined their career, or their marriage. Well, there was that one that Marilyn Monroe kept, but that's besides the point. I'm still married! and my husband has taken the opinion of what I don't know, wont hurt me. (Serves him right)

I just turned 28, but look more like I'm still between 19-25; so I'm kinda in this awkward stage where I get the "your how old! wow! You look good for your age" comments along with the patronizing "Oh your still too young to know anything."

I graduated from FSU in 2003, with my list of life priorities (1. marry college sweet heart, 2. find awesome job, 3. become a millionaire, 4 & 5. purchase big house, have kids, etc..etc..live happily ever after) Don't laugh, you know you had the same list. Didn't quite turn out that way (of course), but I won't go into the crummy details. The important thing is where I am now...28, unemployed from my not very awesome job, and well...trying to figure out whats next. Thus, the blog. A physical manifestation of crazy ideas, and adventures, as I try to reach my happy ever after, and descend into my 30's. (ie. making lemonade)