Profitable Narcissism

Yes, I stole an idea from my kid sister.

2005-03-31T22:36:00.000-08:00

But she got into Harvard, so maybe I should start taking more pages from her book. Or reading them. Jeez, I don't even know how the phrase goes. But here's a nice teeny-bopper blog circulating bit of nonesense-y awesomeness.

A - Age you got your first kiss: First serious one? 13. But I used to play house before then. A lot.
B - Band listening to right now: Bad Religion
C - Crush: my cat, Bean.
D - Dad's name: Dave
E - Easiest person to talk to: Oh God, Vicky, Nat, Lori, Jen, Ben, Annie, Kat, Steph, my sisters, Philip...maybe that means the easiest person to talk to is ME!
F - Favorite bands at the moment: It is, and always will be Boston.
G - Gummy worms or gummy bears?: Gummy gum. The sour kind.
H - Hometown: Pittsfield. Home of the sinking ship in the Allendale Shopping Center. More than a clever way to remember where you parked your car, it's also a big 'ol metaphor.
I - Instruments: I play a mean recorder. But only to Iron Butterfly songs.
J- Junior High: Reid. Before they added that section with the "books" for the "library."
K - Kids: Currently? I nanny for half a dozen. I plan on messing up my own in a matter of years.
L - Longest car ride ever: New Orleans, last May, Jazz Fest, backseat of Jared's car for precisely two years.
M - Mom's name: Deb
N - Nicknames: Killer Queen, Poison, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap- wait, I'm naming rock anthems.
P - Phobia[s]: Needles, Rats, Drowning, Rod Stewart, sports
Q - Quote: Most recently? Ben on the phone with the Mexican place down the street for takeout: "Yeah, it's apartment F3...F as in Frank. F. F as in Frank...? F AS IN FAJITA."
R - Reason to smile: I'm on a highly marketable streak. I am also painfully attractive. Men are flinging themselves at me with wild abandon. And my cats' litter boxes are lined with fifties. Because I am wealthy.
S - Song you sang last: The Muppet Show Theme during the warmup of the sketch comedy show I'm in, right before I got pegged with a shoe.
T - Time you woke up [today]: 6:30. Gross, but not as early as it could have been.
U - Unknown fact about me: I cannot resist ESPN's "Rome is Burning," because I have an insatiable desire to bed Jim Rome. He's so angry! And witty! And...burning!
V - Vegetable you hate: Maybe another unknown fact about me is that I love all vegetables. They are delicious.
W - Worst habit(s): I'm a tad too emotional. I can sleep an entire day away. I have a wicked temper. I obsess over stupid things. Should I have written that last part? I don't think I should have written that last part.
X - X-rays you've had: I'd rather list the x-ray I haven't had. My clavicle.
Y - Yummy food: Anything alfredo, tacos, sushi, strawberries, mangoes, coconut cream anything, dark choco, red wine, tea, pungent cheeses, anything Armenian, corned beef and cabbage, vodka tonics, curry (even though it makes my lungs stop)...ok, now I'm a little hungry.
Z - Zodiac sign: Gemini. Both of us.

Stop stop stop.

2005-03-22T17:39:00.000-08:00

I'm going to tell you a little story. It's about people not knowing their place in society and what's expected of them. It's also about certain types turning super-hyped public eye news into an expose on their opinions. (Granted, this is coming from a blog entitled "Profitable Narcissism," but stay with me here...) For example: The Terry Schiavo case. Horrifically sad. But the moment that made me sit up and blink at the screen in bewilderment and dismay was when a "news" station featured an "interview" with PATRICIA HEATON OF "EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND" FAME in an "impassioned speech" about Terry's right to live. Get the hell off of my television! I was upset by the state of Florida's initial decision to prolong her life, I was creeped out by Bush's cutting his vacation short to pass terrible legistration, but I was sickened by the need for a celebrity to publicly put in her two cents. Now, I may have strong feelings about what the government should or shouldn't have control over, but if Michael Schiavo can't even have his opinion carry weight, what the hell is Patricia Heaton doing on her soapbox? You are an ACTRESS on the aforementioned sitcom. You get to make me laugh. You can dress up and win an Emmy for best COMEDY. You have a responsibility as a public role model to not be a horrible human being (publically.) But no one needs your opinion on an extraordinarily personal case where so many rights are being violated. Shut up, shutupshutupshutup.

Thank you.

On to something much lighter. I've just received three semi-scathing rejection letters from MFA programs. And may I thank Yale here for listing exactly why I cannot join their ranks in frank detail. Step up and receive your HELPFUL award, Bulldogs!

One cool thing happened during the NYU audition, however- (aside from the whole process running three hours behind and the auditor perusing the wrong headshot during my two minutes- that part was awesome!)- This random kid walked in in his very actor-y ensemble, clad in expensive yet nonchalant clothing, leather portfolio with agency name displayed prominently, and sat next to me. Bastion of grace and tact that I am, I stared at him until I could place where I had seen him before. Guess where? Full House! It was totally the guy who played Walter, aka "Duck Lips" and he was freakin' awesome. Hey, want to see something amazing? Check out his profile on imdb.com. His name's Whit Hertford. He's also married. Rock!

Sorry I haven't posted in about eight years. Friends and sorta-friends alike have been demanding a new post. For example: "Hey, are you ever gonna update your blog?" "Yeah, I'll try this weekend." "Whatever." Living in the public eye is hard! I feel like Patricia Heaton!

I even have fan mail. (Hi Dal.)

So, um, happy spring. More later. For seriousness.

...And my ears is froze, and my tail is froze...

2005-01-27T20:00:00.000-08:00

Wow, just perused a copy of "Budget Living"...at the home of the family for which I nanny. If THEY'RE budgeting, I'm seriously in trouble.

My ears are still froze from the bus ride over here- after waiting in the cold for 20 minutes, the bus driver stopped to pick me up...ten feet in front of where I was standing. I was the only person waiting. I was the only person on the bus. No one else was around. Whom, if I may ask, was he conveniencing? Is conveniencing a word? And I know, ten feet is not a massive affront in the grand scheme of things, it's just a little power-hungry, if you ask me. AND HE DIDN'T!

Not as bad as the poor guy who jumped in front of the Belmont bus the other day, plastering his face against the windshield (hard to do!) and shouting, "Is this the bus stop?" (No.) The bus driver motioned towards the sidewalk where a stop would usually be found and the (and I can only assume) crazy person ran like the dickens in the general direction of the sidewalk. There was a lot of weaving about and motioning towards things; cars, snow, etc. Well, the bus driver gets to the stop eventually and slows down...and just as the crazy guy gets there, THE BUS SPEEDS UP, only to slow down again in another fifteen feet. Is this junior high? Is my brother picking me up from the dance and trying to embarrass me in front of my friends? Did you know that I don't have a brother? (It's true.) Anyway, this poor guy keeps running after the bus, the driver keeps slowing down and speeding up, everyone on the bus is weirded out but trying to pretend this is all very normal, and then the driver just takes off. The part where I lost it (and yep, I'm going to hell for this one) is after the bus peeled off, the guy punched the side of the bus and SHOOK HIS FIST IN THE AIR. The whole thing struck me as slightly slapstick and more than a little affected. Kinda like the man wasn't embarrassed or pissed about the bus thing, more like "Oh, you..."

Had another commercial audition today (whoever said that showing up was half the battle has never been an actress in Chicago. Because that's really, really inaccurate) where the first line of the script was: "As bad as today's economy is..." Now, I'm no script writer and I don't get paid to do copy. BUT. That's not really a 'grab 'em by the collar' kinda statement when one is trying to influence one to purchase something. However, my audition was excruciatingly awesome because I am the Queen of Cheese, thusly handling the poor writing well. Remember the Velveeta ads a few years back where they ran full page things saying, "It's like winning the cheese lottery..?" Those always ticked me off and confused me more than a little bit. That's asking me to suspend my disbelief that a) lots of processed cheese is like winning a lottery, as well as b) there's a chance I could win the lottery and get CHEESE?

Anyway.

I would like to take this time to address an "associate" of mine- yes son, you've been downgraded to "associate." Any more to comment? Apparently it's easy to skim over a blog when lists are featured. With numbers. No matter how brilliant the comments AFTER those numbers are. Really. No, it's fine. No matter that I wracked my soul to find something cool to say about Lou Gramm- NO. YOU ARE PERFECTLY JUSTIFIED. Skim away! Are you even reading this?

1) Because
2) I can totally use smaller words.

Your blog is dead to me. DEAD. (Have a lovely weekend, everyone.)

This is utterly embarrassing.

2005-01-23T13:30:00.000-08:00

So, thanks to Dave's blog, I must copycat and list the shuffled top ten songs in my entire playlist. I am a tad concerned about the outcome, as my dorkiness is at an all-time high anyhow- I even considered reshuffling for a better cross-section of music, perhaps even choosing "cool," i.e. "trendy" or "songs that I don't much like anyway" songs. But even more embarrassing than having Eric Carmen top the list is having someone find out that you fabricated a top ten playlist. ...Right?

1) Eric Carmen- Make me lose control (you think I'd make that crap up? I actually originally typed "carp." Does the funny ever stop? I am so embarrassed!)

2) Foreigner- Luanne (I have no shame in this song. I don't need no instructions to know how to rock.)

3) REM- Strange Currencies (Who doesn't like REM? Except the Nazis. And Fascists. Did the word "Fascists" really need to be capitalized? Discuss.)

4) Three doors down- Loser (Okay, is this a joke? Who's putting the lame songs on my computer? Seriously. Because it wasn't me. For seriously.)

5) REM- Tongue (I like REM as much as the next guy, and this is a really great song, but is MusicMatch feeling slightly gay? Do you think I needed to use two capital Ms for MusicMatch? Seems a little much.)

6) Taj Mahal- Lovin' in my baby's eyes (Yum. This is a yum song. And it gives the appearance that I am one of the "with it" people. Or as Rachy says, "coo." Or "hep.")

7) Dave Matthews- Say Goodbye (The previous two songs as well as this and the next one are from the same cd, actually. My computer obviously approves of the compilation. DMB makes me think of Pittsfield. Because seriously, the townies went bananas for Dave. I can call him that because that's his name.)

8) CSNY- Our house (...is a very very very very very... I love this song. But I really have a dislike for Neil Young. Southern Man don't need him around anyhow, and neither do I. Ask me sometime about the passive-aggressive battle of the Neils at my childhood home- Rachy cannot tell this one as she was a wee baby at the time, but it's a great story; which shockingly doesn't involve Vince Neil. Misleading, I know.)

9) Foreigner- Tooth and Nail (Except for an obscene amount of grunting at the beginning of the song, it's quite the winner. Lou Gramm really stakes his claim on some girl in this one. "I will fight! Tooth and nail! Count on me! I will not fail you!" He actually didn't need the "you" in the last line, as "nail" adequately rhymes with "fail" on its own. He also makes the vague threat of "then they try to come between the two of us...man, that's a bad, bad thing to do." Why? What's he got? Oh yeah, the New Jersey Philharmonic backing him up.)

10) Beatles- Twist and shout (They played this song at every THS dance- there would always be a handful of morons who would perform the actual twist, unaware that while the song is exceedingly awesome, the dance is completely inane and makes one look foolish.)

And that's enough snarkiness on my part. I'm rather sad that Etta James didn't make an appearance on this playlist. And I only have, what, three hundred Boston songs? Didn't feel like making an appearance, Scholz? And no Weezer, Def Leppard, Black Crowes, Lyle Lovett or ANY of the dorky songs of which I am actually proud? My cheeks are still burning from the Three Doors Down debacle. Enough of this crap. But not carp. You can never have enough carp.

I thought I told you that we don't stop.

2005-01-17T08:30:00.000-08:00

Real quick post- One of my bitsy sisters has posted her own blog. It's funnier than mine, smarter than mine (she actually took 20 IQ points from me just by being born), and can boast the same color scheme. (p.s. Chelly- Get your own damn color scheme. And it's called SYRIAN bread, not pita. You, you...American.)

rachelthemusical.blogspot.com

You're welcome, everyone. And don't hit on her. Because I'll kill you. With Rachy.

And I'm supposed to inform everyone that she is a better Tripoli player than me, as she beat me soundly (I was drinking pretty profusely and continuously. I'm not using that as an excuse, I'm just bragging.) But I feel that I have the upper hand, as NO ONE HERE KNOWS TRIPOLI, RACHEL!

(ha.)

What the heck happened?

2005-01-12T01:25:00.000-08:00

Sorry. I must have fallen down a well or something. Not that it's funny or anything, I think we've all learned that lesson the hard way. What? (Apparently taking a month off from blogging makes me a moron.)

SO. Went home for Christmas, which was the most wonderful. However, I took an extended route to get there- a boy from Cincy (who knew that I'd be doing a fly-by) warned me that his hometown airport was going to be closed due to stormy storms. IN THE NICK OF TIME I was able to reroute to ATLANTA. It took eleven hours to get home. There should have been one of those squiggly arrows on a cartoon map documenting my flight. The first leg of the jaunt was awesome, due to the fact that going down the runway our faces hit the seats in front of us as we almost HIT ANOTHER PLANE. A voice from the cockpit exclaimed "whoops!" Whoops? And as we landed that first leg, the kid seated next to me (who had never been on a plane and thus had never seen the teensy houses approaching) screamed "Oh MY GOD! HOLY CRAP! My God, my God, my God!" We all shot up and braced ourselves. Turns out, architecture really gets this kid going.

Second flight had turbulence so horrendous that when the plane dropped suddenly (and I mean really, really dropped), we honestly all grabbed hands and yelled. So, home was looking better than ever.

The entire week was comprised of eating ridiculous amounts of the best food imaginable, curling up in pajamas and watching "The Thin Man" marathon, playing boardgames, and imbibing copious amounts of liquor. I felt a little like Laura Ingalls Wilder, except for the technology, copious drinking, Armenian food, and designer pjs.

Saw two of my favorite people around, my best friends from childhood. They convinced me to go to the Iron Bell, the towniest townie bar around. (Cheapo drinks= awesome, but that's pretty much the only selling point.) I was feeling a little uncomfortable, as I never really bar-hopped when I LIVED there, so I felt kinda imposter-ish, but the gals assured me that after a drink it'd be okay. Besides, a Tuesday night in Pittsfield? Who'd be out on the week after Christmas? And then everyone showed up. I felt way cooler than I ever did in high school, as it turns out, so somewhere in time I imagine that stuffed-in-a-locker-Keely is smiling. Or at least sniffling less noticeably into her plaid jumper.

By the way, these two ladies (who read my blog continuously and ravenously) want nicknames on the site. Okay! After explaining to them how most people come by theirs, they chose their own. So, welcome "Lila Meadows" (right?) and Frances Faucett. I feel like my best friends in the world cannot differentiate between blog names and strip club monikers. Then again, these were the girls with whom I had a series of group nicknames: "Ace, Frankie and Lucky" for when we were, you know, mobsters I guess, and "Sugar, Spice and Pepper" when we were, well, additives? Guess who was frickin' Pepper. Then there was the time that THEY decided each other was "Angel" and "Devil" respectively. So guess who became Purgatory? Thanks, guys. Anyway, fantastic pictures of one Lila Meadows making nice with a bottle of Bud will surface on the site soon. YOU'RE WELCOME!

Coming home was a bit of a pain (but nothing compared to what's going on in the rest of the world, I know, get off my back), as Cincinnati SHUT DOWN for about five hours. No planes took off to Chicago during that time, and a reasonable explanation has yet to be given. During this ten hour stint in awesomeness, my cell phone died, my ipod died, my camera died, my pda died and I finished the last chapter of my only book not under the plane. So thanks to Cincinnati, I lost my mind. And once I got home, it took a bit of time to actually get back into the swing of things (home will do that to me; I become an eight year old, and the extent of my life's goals are to finish my 3rd grade worksheet homework and watch an episode of Quantum Leap.)

But the transition was eased by two completely fantastic auditions! Neither of which I got a callback for! Nevertheless! One was for Seanachai theatre downtown (which was simply cool to be called in for) and the other was for a national restaurant commercial in which I (honestly) salsa danced in a bathing suit, banging on a tin pail and imagining the beach. It could have been the worst professional moment of my life- instead, it was pretty fun. I danced with this guy, and at one point we spun bottles to each other and tapped them above each other's heads. It was one of those awesome synced-up moments that you want to stop and point out to other people. This does not help you in an audition.

Back to work. I'm sure there's many things I didn't touch upon (listen to me, is this is a lecture? Touch upon. I have an overinflated sense of self-importance. Someone made a comment to me about that the other day, but I don't have to put it here. It's MY blog. So hah!)

God bless naptime.

The jig is up, Trick Daddy.

2004-12-04T23:34:00.000-08:00

I am, quite possibly, the non-sexiest-person alive. After nannying for a few hours (yes, on a Saturday night= loser) I waved down a cab in the very non-sexy Uptown area of Broadway. Right before I got in, the cabbie decided to spruce up the car, turning on overactive windshield wipers...as the spray of wiper fluid hit my face (getting into the BACK seat, no less) I wondered when it had started to rain, and why rain now felt like acid. After flailing around like an idiot for a moment, the cabbie apologized and we actually had a nice chat.

It brought back (painful) memories of a few months prior, when I sprayed mildew remover directly into my right eye. Why? To make sure the cap was on. Was it? No, it most certainly was not. B. called the poison control hotline, whom I was pretty sure only existed in case a toddler ingested like, rat poison (induce vomiting with milk), but it turns out they can help with idiocy of all ages. They told him to tell me (my hearing was fine, but my pride wouldn't let me get on the phone) to stand in the shower and let water hit my eye for forty-five (45) minutes. Turns out, that hurts way more than bleach ever could. And the fun I had explaining my swole right eye to my employers! Please, leave your infants in my care!

And now, for a completely unrelated moment in my day for which I am going STRAIGHT to hell. The Diversey bus broke down today. I was lucky enough to be on it at the time. For you see, it didn't just "break down." It buckled under the weight of the wheelchair-bound handicapped person on the ramp. The ramp stayed in, well, ramp position instead of lifting the person of limited means onto the bus. When it failed to do so, the wheelchair actually went backwards and nearly toppled to the sidewalk. As if that weren't enough action, when we disembarked to await another bus a handful of girls ran to the chainlink fence and began vomiting unbelievably neon-colored, well, vomit to the ground. One non-yarfing friend informed the bus driver that we didn't have to wait for them and we could go on ahead. Okay, but we're still, you know, waiting for another damn bus with a wheelchair ramp. But thanks.

The sad part is, I laughed. At all of it. I started when the bus slowed to the curb and didn't let up until the girls waved us on our way aboard a new 76 bus. Is that so wrong? Is it really? What in the text leads you to believe this? Discuss.

Oh so much ridiculousness.

2004-11-29T17:30:00.000-08:00

So little time to actually blog.

Thanksgiving was lovely, but what was AWESOME were the travels. Such as: in the bathroom at O'Hare, I was yelled at by a woman in the stall next to mine when the toilet auto-flushed. She screamed "Stop playing with the goddamn toilet!" A moment later a teensy voice was heard by the sinks: "Ma, I'm not in there anymore." Silence ensued. Then: "Sorry, whoever you are."

Now it's beginning to look like the holidays.

NYC was rad for many reasons. Topping the list was the chance to offend a minor celebrity. Stopping off for a bite to eat with B.'s family, I perused the deli by myself. Thinking I saw someone actually famous, I ran upstairs to the tables to share my news. Sitting down, I blurted out "Dude, I totally just saw Paul Shaffer from the David Letterman Show!" (Later on, it occured to me that I was being maybe a little too formal and could have just called it "Letterman." Whatever.')

B., in a moment of flippancy (and thinking I was full of crap) says: THAT sucks.

Silence, as B.'s brother's ladyfriend elbows me and widens her eyes. Sitting ACROSS from me and directly behind B.'s back IS PAUL SHAFFER AND HIS ENTIRE FAMILY giving us dirty looks. I dropped below the table and stayed there until they left. It was about ten minutes.

Let's see, other highlights: puked on the lower east side with my very best drinking buddy in the world (happy birthday, v. :) We WERE on the lower east side, yes? And I was excruciatingly hungover for the flight back. I was prepared to take the aisle seat by force, pretending to be pregnant and needing easy access. (People are generally more sympathetic to woman who are preggers as opposed to girls who are simply drunks.) Our joy was multiplied ten-fold by the women behind us who BITCHED about everything from their fake orange fur coats to the lousiness of shopping in the Virgin Islands to the rather homely girl they both love but will probably never get married, etc.

B. almost fell on them with his fist.

That's about all for now...off to work for a very demanding two-year old. Yay Dora the Explorer! Me gusta!

Drop it like it's hot.

2004-11-24T17:10:00.000-08:00

What a glorious neighborhood I live in. And the one I work in has its high points too.

Going to Andersonville the other morning for work, I was getting ready to disembark from the El at the Argyle stop. Usually the train announces- "Next stop is Argyle..." and then "This is...Argyle." On that fantastically dreary morning, the speaker shorted out, leaving me with "This is...Arggg."

The day only got more awesome from there.

On the bus ride home (yes, I take the train TO work and the Broadway bus home...so?) I saw a complete jackass feeding candy to his toddler. Okay, fine. Occasional sugar won't kill the shorty...but this might. He's all like, "want some more?" The kid's all like, "yuh huh." He TILTS the child's head back and pours m&ms from the bag into her mouth. Now, she has maybe ten teeth in total and an esophagus the size of a quarter...but your call, bro. He gave me a dirty look when I inched closer, ready to perform first-aid at will. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Stopped by the Walgreens where Salvation Army people are already doing Christmas stuff. Guy asked me for change, I said "another time," (yes, I'm heartless) and he says "Happy Holidays." I say "Happy Holidays." He says "Have a nice night." I say "Have a nice night, too." He says, "I love ya." I chuckle politely but do not acknowledge that I love him as well. I could do worse, I suppose. At least he has a job.

I was going to put in a bit here about this truck of dead pigs I saw with bellies cut open, being slung over the backs of restaurant workers loading them INTO them store, but I won't. It's really pretty disgusting.

And on that note, Happy Thanksgiving. I'm off to NYC, so I most likely won't post until I'm back. Right, like you're waiting by the computer.

Yes, yes.

2004-11-15T10:13:00.000-08:00

Terribly sorry. I am a slacker. After the eventfulness of the Red Sox, well, events, I fell into a bit of a haze wherein I could not write anything witty, fun, or with the type of brilliance people expect from me. Glad THAT'S over!

And despite the fact that B. took back the "if the Sox win the Pennant we'll totally get married" offer, I'm doing fine now.

(Back! You can't take that back! It's like trying to unimpregnate a hippo! It's very hard to do! In other tragic news, B. was pushed from a cliff.)

But the real reason I'm hurriedly posting with wild abandon is to alleviate concern about my condition. Apparently, when my childhood friends could not read updates at work in Boston and the like, the general consensus was that I had died. Or broken an arm. Or tripped over a cable and ripped the internet from my wall (that IS where it comes from, right? The wall?)

So yep, I'm fine. And hi, Jen. Go back to work.

Went to an audition two days ago (which went swimmingly well) but had the awesome opportunity to make this gal feel like I was her stalker. She got off the train. I got off the train. She waited at the corner of Grand and wherever the hell I was for the bus. Me too. On the bus. Yup. She exited at Grand and Wolcott. Me too! She turns and gives me this dirty look. Because yes, at 2pm on a Sunday, I'm totally going to attack someone in front of a crowded theatre where we both probably have an audition, as we're both 20-something, clean-cut, white-bread, 5'4" girls with PORTFOLIOS in our hands, you piece of moronic fluff with an overblown sense of personal safety! (Actresses= suck.)

Another bus story. Got new headshots taken yesterday in Logan Square, a place I've never quite ventured to on my own. Got on the Diversey bus and hung out there for a bit. Decided FOR NO GOOD REASON to exit somewhere around say, 2700 west. Yeah, except that wasn't where I was going. I consulted my dry-erase map (seriously) and decided to get back on a Diversey bus. Sadly for my self-image, traffic had been horrid and the original bus I had stepped from hadn't moved at all. So, I got back on. The bus driver laughed at me. The toothless guy in the front pointed at me. Yeah, whatever- people in glass houses, toothless guy.

And no, I'm not going to talk in depth about the utterly laughable election that cemented my new persona as a disenfranchised youth. Except for the actual election night when I babysat for two girls, 4 and 6. The older gal turned to me as we watched the exit polls (really. they wanted to make sure Obama won. What? Go play with glitter) and said "I don't understand how anyone could vote for Bush. He lied. He LIED." And that's when I realized that I'm slowly outliving my usefulness in the field of childcare. Again. Sweet.

2004-10-18T20:55:00.000-07:00

You're welcome. 14 innings. Cripes.

Ay, Papì!

2004-10-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

Thank you, David Ortìz! Thank you, Red Stockings, for getting my formerly athletically apathetic self sucked back into a game that I have neither the time nor the fortitude to endure. I had the excellent timing this evening of walking into the living room around the 8th inning; as a joke, I put on B.'s rally cap and sat to watch for a bit. Well, it worked. The bastards tied it up and lured me in. B. declared that I had to continue wearing the rally cap- I did. For 12 innings. (At one point B. wanted to get his other cap to rally that one as well- I made up the completely arbitrary superstition that two rally caps cancel each other out...he bought it. Ha HAH!)

Needless to say, at 12:30am David Ortiz made us shriek like little girls in a town which is neither New York or Boston. I'm sure the neighbors are thrilled. And apparently at 4pm tomorrow I need to don a rally cap and, well, rally.

That's cool. We won.

Pop your gum at that, Jeter.

(I hate you so much.)

Ooh whee.

2004-10-14T18:40:00.000-07:00

It's been an eventful time in my career. First, my agent is no longer my agent, due to extenuating circumstances, if by "circumstances" I mean "prison." For "embezzlement." Awesome. At least my check cleared.

My show's going well- the Sun-Times dug us, if by "dug us" I mean they admitted that "scatological humor, carefully choreographed fight sequences and savage violence should never be left solely up to the boys." Check it out for yourself.

But every yin must have it's yang. My yang is Justin Hayford. (Justin Hateful.) Here's his "review." I don't feel too badly about this because a) it's spoofy comedy and b) Justin Hayford hates everything. Really. So, I personally invite Justin Hayford to suck it. Really. Sorry there weren't enough naked gay boys, Justin Hayford.

But on to something lighter! Some of my friends had posted about the brilliant Weight Watcher's recipe cards from 1974, which were funny enough in their own right. But let's take the hilarity to the next level! You can take a quiz to see WHICH food from the 1974 Weight Watcher's collection you are! I am a fish taco!" That's thoroughly disgusting!

More on inappropriately used punctuation and quotations. A sign for a photo studio on Lincoln stated that "Beginner's are welcome." No. Because that's wrong. And on the way home on the same street I saw a bar with these words painted on the window: "We" sell "cigars." Really? That would lead me to believe that "someone else" sells "something decidedly not a cigar." My curiosity is piqued. But not in the way that Britney Spears would hope for- have you seen the ad campaign for "Curious," her new signature scent? It should have been called "Slutty slut," as the ads are nothing but Britney and some dude racing around a hotel and eventually ending up in the same room. Is she going to ask him some questions? Curiosity nothing. The tramp.

Back to theatre. Got hired for Improv Kitchen, a new experience in improv comedy and fine dining. And it's totally paid. Which is fantastic, because again, my only source of professional income is now in prison. As in jail.

On a positive note, my shoulder has stopped aching from the embarrassing injury of absolutely NOTHING happening to it; the bad side of that is I now smell like an aged infirm, because Aspercreme smells like dying.

Ooh! "Quantum Leap's" on!

I left my heart (and my shoes) in West Town.

2004-10-10T10:47:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in forever because the show finally opened- it's been a blur of late night rehearsals, opening weekend binge-drinking and spending copious amounts of time in establishments where neither shoes, shirts nor teeth are required. Awesome.

The show's going quite well, with the exception of last night's fight scene wherein I took it straight in the teeth. Now, I like a good streetfight as much as the next girl, but there's a slight disadvantage when one person changes the rhythym of a choreographed stick fight and another person (me) is trying to keep her plaid skirt down while falling gracefully. (Yeah, a guy wrote it.) But other than a token amount of bleeding which I attribute to taking one for the team, good stuff this weekend.

My newest embarrassing moment came at 4:45am this morning. (There were a bunch, but this is a family blog. Phone for details.) The bartender at a delightfully divey-dive bar happened to be a lady with at the least one lazy eye. Both could have been, I'm not sure. I'm too polite to stare. However, at the end of the night we were closing our tab and she looked at me, complimenting my bag. I smiled happily and thanked her. Everyone around me winced. She had been addressing the girl standing two people away. Whoops.

Good times. I'm off to an audition.

Low self-esteem post.

2004-10-05T10:21:00.000-07:00

Been a little busy with my show lately- you know, the highly technical one wherein I get to use my years of classical training? It's called "Gator Bait." It opens this Friday. Come see it- I'm dressed compromisingly and I have a samurai fight scene. Art. And no, my name isn't really Tallulah- sorry. It's in the press release.

Had a stellar weekend again- B. took the LSAT and I got a normal (uh, well) guy back again. We celebrated Saturday night doing what we do best...getting really, really drunk. My shining moment came, however, smack dab in the middle of a relatively smart and educated conversation on the Ray Charles biopic; someone mentioned that Jamie Fox was playing the title role (and did I know that he was a classically-trained pianist? No, no I did not.) Due to the decent amount of vodka and one very nice choco martini (thanks a LOT, A.) in my bloodstream, I became utterly retarded and asked if Jamie Fox was going to play the role in blackface. Stunned silence. What? Blackface. Why? Because, well, Jamie Fox is...Oh. He's black, isn't he? Yes. B. thinks perhaps I was thinking of Jamie Kennedy. I hope not. That's REALLY retarded. My friends kindly kept their laughter at bay- or perhaps I didn't notice as I was figuring out how to get the DJ to play me some 'Boston' (on a night, as B. pointed out, that was announced as 'Hip Hop/Funk' at the door.) We're all so clever, aren't we?

In other news, I had blood drawn at a hospital Uptown yesterday- of course, I got really lost again. I walked nearly a MILE in the wrong direction before asking someone which way California Ave was.

Me: Hey, is California west of here?
(pause)
Guy: Uh, yeah. It is.
(pause)
Me: No, jackass, California Avenue.
Guy: Oh, I don't know.

But I eventually got to the ginormous hospital in a small neighborhood with teensy houses all around. Clever. And I was very brave at the hospital. Everyone said so.

And Kudos to Dave for listing me on his extremely well-written (and supra-funny) blog. I promise to reciprocate as soon as I figure out how. Honest.

And when I think about you...

2004-09-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

Last night was a major first for me. (That, coupled with the title, may make this seem rather sexual. It isn't. Not really anyway.) For the first time ever...I sang karaoke. By myself. In front of people.

Yeah, I've been a show-off since childhood. Yeah, I've sang karaoke in large, drunken groups with large, drunken girls to the tune of Britney Spears and the flavor of the day. But something has always weirded me out about going solo. Last night, however, the conditions were all favorable- a) very drunk b) hit my face with the freezer door three hours prior c) saw B. do kickass renditions of "Thunder road" and "Hit me baby one more time" d) felt cocky and put my name in, thinking they'd never have time to get to it and e) knew most of the words to the Divinyls "I touch myself."

And you know what? It was okay. My lovely friends were sitting right in front of me, smiling encouragingly (or patronizingly, no matter) and laughing when the ending chorus of "I touch myself/ I touch myself/ I touch myself/ I honestly do/ I touch myself/ I touch myself..." went on for about three minutes and I reiterated the point by poking myself in the forehead on each "touch myself." Humor!

Then. THEN! My radass friend 'A' whipped out a rendition of "I will survive" that for the love of God was so amazing, it inspired no less than three gay men to dance onstage. That's like the three out of four dentists recommendation for Crest. (The fourth gay man, to be fair, was asking me if I was going home with B. at the time. Go nuts, bro.) So, all in all. Fun night at Bridget McNeill's with the Karaoke Zone.

Also noted this weekend: "Happy Snacks" trail mix. Very good stuff, rather misleading packaging. Yes, it's happy. I understand the picture of the apple. Sure- there's no apple in the product, but you get the idea that an apple would indeed be 'happy.' A picture of a pineapple. Okay, still with you, although more than a little odd. There are absolutely no pineapples in the mix. Then it gets really weird. A teddy bear? Granted, bears are happy, and you sometimes hike in the woods where yes, bears do live. So fine, I'll even accept that. But a cartoon dinosaur? That's just inane and frankly, unappealing. Know your audience, Happy Snacks. The target of this advertising is clearly aimed at a retarded monkey. Or me, because it was only 75 cents. But really.

Two Minutes Confusion.

2004-09-23T20:24:00.000-07:00

Saw a guy on the plane with me- nice, middle-aged Jewish man, complete with yarmulke and hand-knit sweater (dunno if the sweater vouches for authenticity or not, it just looked nice)- and I was totally digging his whole deal. The leather-bound book, the muttering in Yiddish at the hour delay, all of it. Then. THEN! The clincher. At the mention of no meal service he reaches into his satchel, yes satchel, and pulls out...a bagel. But not just any bagel; a raisin bagel. Now, this is not the kind of knowledge that I'd usually have on hand, but I've lived with a good lapsed Jewish boy for the past 3 years and he has drilled it into my ears that no real Jew, no gastronomically correct Jew would eat a bagel with fruit. So, to the man of Eastern European descent in 33F- for shame.

I'm embarrassed that I'm not more contrite.

In other news, my younger sister has officially doubled the SAT score that I received at her age, let alone IQ. And if that weren't enough, I now feel silly doing things that used to make me feel brilliantly witty and entertaining. While at home this weekend, my mother was giving me a haircut in the kitchen- instead of a towel around the shoulders, all she had on hand was a child's poncho. Seeing a prime opportunity, I shoved it on my (normally proportional) head and ran around the room proclaiming "I am Mephistopheles. That's what I do." (A la Jon Lovitz, the Devil sketch, SNL- funny.) Well, the younger sib waltzes in, sees the garishly small (and by now, sweaty) poncho and immediately thinks "Oh yeah, the Korean war memorial." Which is something that I totally knew of.

I'm really not a bad person, folks.

Mephistopheles. The devil.

'Splodey 'splodey.

2004-09-15T18:22:00.000-07:00

I saw a woman today, respectable on all accounts save for one: she was clutching a bright yellow bag with the numerals XXI. That's right. A 'Forever 21' bag. (21 4-evah!) While it's slightly laughable when I, as a 24-year old member of society, shop there, it's downright weird for someone of her (and I hesitate to use the term 'age bracket) but really, AGE BRACKET, to shop there. To clarify. She is of the age where the bleached blond streaks on a flippy haircut start to seem ferociously perky. (I am CAREFREE, ha HA.) To further clarify, 41. So stop.

Also, in a new segment I shall call 'Oh Geez, I Set It On Fire,' is a tale I'll title 'Green Bean Aflame.' I could probably stop right there and you'd guess the punchline: I set it on fire, by accident! A green bean! Turns out, if you microwave slightly damp green beans on a Tupperware lid, a loud crackle will be heard after, oh, about ten seconds, and a giant flame shoots directly from the center of one bean. It was for a toddler (the bean, not the light show.) He did not eat it.

Green beans. 'Splodey.

Gmail accounts.

2004-09-12T09:11:00.000-07:00

Anyone want one? I have six invites. They're great- 1000MB of space, which means you never have to delete good luck forwards ever again.

Send me an email- all you have to do is tell me something funny. I don't care what it is...if I really like it I'll post it here. See? Community.

Militant nanny ramblings.

2004-09-12T08:48:00.000-07:00

Certain people just do not deserve the responsibility of caring for their children. These people include, but are in no way limited to:

The guy carrying his five-year old on the Red Line platform. When the train was no less than three seconds away, the guy LEANED his kid into the path of the oncoming train. Completely unaware that the honking was intended in his direction, the two waved and grinned stupidly at the train for the next 2.5 seconds. The father leaned back and said to his son: "See the train?"

Two nights ago, a hipster couple and a few of their friends were out in a trendy section of the city. The problem? A six-month old kid was strapped to the woman's chest. Why is that an issue? It was 11 o'clock at night. Not driving it home for you? Most infants under 9 months can't help but be asleep by 7:30 at the latest. Do NOT deprive this child of her sleep patterns, thus her formative years, paving the way for less than stellar growth potential, no matter how nice her Snugli is. And put something on her feet, for Chrissakes. This ain't the Appalachians.

Also: To the group of fifteen year-old youths riding by me last night on their twelve-year old girl bikes- Yeah, bro. Nice Huffy. Let's totally make out.

Carbies- another embarrassing post.

2004-09-10T14:48:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend, whom I'll call B., (I wish I could be that flippant and, you know, street in real life), called with a bit of info to get me out of my crankiness. And it was good...

"Arby's new Low Carby's."

It totally rhymes, and 'carby' totally isn't a word. Brilliant.

It's almost enough to get me over my intense dislike of the Oven Mitt. Yeah, usually I really dig animated mascots of any type, but this guy just really doesn't know his place. He's pretty presumptous as well. Don't get me started on Oven Mitt. You'd never see the WalMart Smiley pulling half the crap that the Mitt does; wearing a cowboy hat, sure, but mispronouncing "au jus?" Singing an operatic aria on the counter? Take five, Mitt. This is a workplace.

This guy gets it. http://flakmag.com/tv/ovenmitt.html

You don't have a nose, Oven Mitt.

Jamminess.

2004-09-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from a yoga class where, I'm ashamed to say, I got my ass handed to me on a platter by a 70-year old Gramma. Apparently my shanks won't lengthen on their own volition and my downward-facing-dog should be taken out behind the barn and shot. I achieved inner quiet for approximately twenty seconds and then couldn't get Hava Nagila out of my head. I am not Jewish.

Perhaps my third eye was twitching because of the good bit of wine I consumed last night. The bottle was chosen not for vintage, not for estate, not for, I dunno...tannins, but for the first line on the back label.

"Jammy fruits of cherry and elderberry."

They could have said "Jammy fruits of squid McJamJam" and it would have made no difference. Marketers think I'm great because all advertising ploys work on me. Especially if the product looks "happy."

Granted, the wine DID have jam-like flavors, but it didn't quite evoke the image of one dancing and twisting while yelling "jammyjammyjammyjammy." Which is probably a good thing, as it almost definitely wasn't intended to.

I'm just embarrassing myself now.

2004-09-09T10:46:00.000-07:00

A two-legged dog that has learned to walk like a human could be considered for a role in the next Harry Potter film, according to reports.
Great. This dog with no legs is on his way, and my agent couldn't even score me a "Fruit and Fiber" commercial.

Like watching tapioca run down a wall.

2004-09-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

So, this is what happens when a bored actress has a few weeks off from her nanny gig. (An actual job title, not the sitcom role.) She starts a blog.

It's not enough that I've followed people across the country, named my cats after popular fiction and watch "24" with friends even though it makes me feel yarfy- now I'm joining the ranks of the gut-spilling, fame-seeking "journalists" who post their innermost thoughts and feelings with reckless abandon and nary a thought for copyright infringement. Rad.

A few things to keep in mind while traipsing through the observations of my day:

1) I have the mindset of a child, most days.
2) Attention span, too.
3) Look, a boat!
4) My interests are rather dorky. Not even nerd-chic. Dorky. (Think- Quantum Leap, hair metal, apparently blogs.)
5) Things that are oftentimes hilarious to me fail to evoke any reaction whatsoever from those close to me. I don't know why I expect to charm you. Keep your standards relatively low and we'll get on fine. Especially if you're crazy. Crazy people like me. I am their David Hasslehoff.

And this is probably the longest blog I will ever post on this site. See- #2.

And I shouldn't have started that sentence (nor this one) with "and." I possess a frisbee-shaped degree from an overpriced college, and I really should know better by now.

And.