About Robin Dale Meyers

Bios have become a tricky thing. In a world where our self-expression is shrunk down to 140 characters, anything longer than a short link feels excessive. People seem to want information, entertainment and guidance in bite-sized pieces – but humans are complex beings, not french fries. So how am I to explain who I am when much of the audience doesn’t read past the first paragraph?

Still here? Tricked ya.

In the end, my articles will reveal the most about me. So read those. Or go ahead and review these nuggets of information. Whether they are nuggets of gold or chicken is up to you.

 

 

Nuggets:

I make a living as a teacher and actress…and occasionally get paid as a backup singer.

I earned a B.A. in Psychology and a few scholarly honors with funny names that I didn’t really understand at the time that they were given to me.  Nor have they really helped me much.  But they made me feel special 20 years ago and look fancy on a resume. Plus, I actually know a secret handshake.

I didn’t pursue a career as a therapist because I didn’t want to sit in a room for eight hours a day listening to people complain. It was the late 80’s-early 90’s; little did I know the future would bring an electronic barrage of extreme, intolerant, bigoted, bat-shit crazy complainers into all our homes. Now I need therapy.

I’m the baby girl in a trio of siblings who were raised in a NYC suburb made famous when the Clintons moved in. But I also lived out my 20’s in my beloved Manhattan before moving to the Left Coast. I passed for 25 at the time, so I was allowed into Los Angeles.

Regarding Robin Daléa:  Yes, I have a stage name. Yes, I made it up. Yes, I blame Hollywood.  Please don’t hate me.  This self-induced identity crisis is explained here.

At 40 (and 35 and 30) I’m not supposed to reveal my age in Hollywood… but at 40 I don’t care anymore what anybody thinks.

I consider myself an extremely compassionate person. I don’t get into in-depth political discussions; I observe the participants’ behavior instead.

Unless we’re talking about socio-cultural issues, in which case, compassion can get trampled by the indisputable feeling that I’m right.

I can vividly remember feeling incredibly insecure all the time and I’m grateful that I’ve mostly grown out of that.  Mostly.

Some would say I cry as readily as a Japanese fruit releases water when gently squeezed. Others would say I’m tough, sassy, strong and independent. Both are right.

I could keep going, but I sense you’re about full. If you do want to know more, this is a good place to start: Butt Holes, Ice Cream and Why I’ll Never Say I Do.