Crikey! A Spider!

Code red! I repeat code red! Red is the worst one right? That’s the highest threat level, correct? If it isn’t, please insert the correct color and then send help. I was about to do my usual superman dive into bed under my covers to go to sleep when I noticed a giant spider all up in my business. He was just chilling on my bed, looking up at me, taunting me like the little bastard spider that he is. This is especially disappointing tonight though, more than other nights. It was a cold rainy day in Los Angeles today and I have been looking forward to snuggling under my covers all day. And now this little prick is trying to ruin that for me. For he knows that I only have three fears in life: Snakes, alligators and spiders. I knew what had to be done. He must die.

So I grabbed a shoe and once he made his way to my head board I swatted at him with all my might. I missed with all my might. He scurried away and I could no longer see him. I can’t go to bed knowing he is still alive in my room though. So now, we are forced into war. I shall hunt him until I am the victor. I will not rest until he is dead. Well, except for right now where I am sitting out on my couch writing this. I decided to quarantine the room and assess the situation. I also had a craving for some crunchy peanut butter. But now it’s back to business. I think my best approach will be to equip myself with a shoe in one hand and a frying pan in the other. For battle armor I will of course put on my soccer shin guards, a helmet, and a golf glove. I also think I should narrate this adventure to find him in an Australian accent. (Side note: I should totally be on Animal Planet or Discovery channel) Now that I think about all this, I should quite possibly look for my sanity as I look for the spider. As you can see, I may have lost that at some point a long time ago. Either way, I’m off to battle. I shall return upon my victory.

Ok, so it’s now the next morning. I fell asleep. Let me fill you in on the epic battle that occurred. I crept into my room, battle armor on, frying pan and shoe in hand narrating my every step in my Aussie accent. He was hard to find, a worthy opponent. But nevertheless, I found him. I took the mattress off my bed frame and found him hiding like the communist coward spider that he is, under my bed. I had a major decision to make; shoe or frying pan? Shoe had failed me the first time so I tossed it aside and clutched the frying pan. As I kept on with my narration I noticed it turning slightly western. I went with it. So with my western accent and frying pan; I moved in. I will spare you the gory details, but that there spider ain’t never comin’ back to this here town again, ya hear y’all?

The battle was won. The commie spider is dead. (Yes in case you missed that, at some point I did decide he was a communist) Time of death: 3:56am. After I had won, I did a quick little “USA! USA! USA!” chant of course, put my mattress back on my bed, and got my cozy comforter back on it. Taking my battle armor off I felt accomplished…proud…brave…and sleepy. So I triumphantly did my superman dive into bed, curled up in my comforter, and drifted off to a spider free dreamland.

Side notes:

To all communist spiders trying to infiltrate my apartment– This is a warning. You do not want to meet the same fate your friend did. My frying pan of doom and I, will end you.

To all who bet money on me finding my sanity– You lose. Sanity: still at large.

USA! USA! USA!

Late Night Writing – Read at Own Risk

I’m having one of those nights where I feel like writing. I’m not necessarily sure I have anything to write about, but why the hell not? I have fingers perfectly capable of typing, a laptop perfectly capable of receiving said typing and turning it into words on my screen and a half empty bottle of Merlot. (The other half already being in my tummy of course.) All of these things obviously add up to being primed and ready to write. I mean look at me go…I’ve already been writing for a solid minute now and I think it’s going fairly well.

I was flipping channels and saw America’s Next Top Model listed earlier. I switched over to it, but then once I remembered it was a real show and it wasn’t going to be Maya Rudolph doing her Tyra Banks impression I got really depressed. Then I realized what was happening on the show and it made me feel better. They are doing a season called America’s Next Top Model “All Stars”. Apparently on reality TV when you lose at something you become an all star. This season is made up of girls who have already tried doing the show before, and lost. Some of them seem fairly normal, well as normal as you can be to be a contestant on a competition based reality show. But most of them just seem to be the really loud ghetto girls who yelled at everyone because they didn’t “reck-a-nize”. So thank you Tyra Banks for showing us that no matter how illiterate you may be, or how un-classy you may act, or how badly you may lose at something; anyone can be an all star. And I do mean anyone.

Ok, there is either a skunk outside my apartment or Cheech and Chong are sparking up some skunk weed under my couch right now because I just caught a strong whiff of one of the two things. Everyone cross your fingers for Cheech and Chong.

I decided today that I would go through the giant box which has not been touched since it got put in the corner the day I moved in after moving here from New York. It’s that box of things that you really don’t have a need for, but you keep anyways. You know what I’m talking about – when you’re moving or cleaning and you just keep finding boxes inside of boxes inside of boxes which you tell yourself you will look through next time…but you never do. Well today I did. And I am beyond glad that I did. One of the boxes contained around a dozen cassette tapes of radio mixes I did when I was younger. They are all titled either DJ Amy Hot Jams or DJ Aim-Dog Jazzy Jams. I can’t say I’m partial to one title or the other, because they’re both obviously brilliant. These tapes contain the best pop mixes from the 90’s and very early 2000’s you will ever hear in your life. I’m talking everything from Boyz II Men to Brandy to All 4 One to Robyn to Mya. Mya! Come on now, if you didn’t know every word to ‘Ghetto Superstar’ including Ole Dirty Bastard’s part then I don’t know that we could ever be friends. I for one, as a 12 year old white girl living in the suburbs, totally owned the ODB parts as you can probably imagine. I really need to find a cassette tape player now though. These tapes are just sitting there taunting me. Now that I know of their existence in my apartment I need to listen to them.  I can’t talk about this anymore…the sweet, sweet sounds of Shaggy and TLC are ringing in my ears and it’s too much to handle.

While looking through these boxes I also discovered a hard copy of the script I wrote when I was probably around 10 or 11 years old. In my post “Back to School” I speak of how I tried to cast this movie during classes at my elementary school. It didn’t go so hot. But I haven’t read this script in years. As soon as I found it today I sat right down with a cup of coffee and started reading. As I read I realized from a young age I was meant to be a comedian. Either that or a crack head. It was quite clear to me. It also became clear that the above mentioned pop artists had a great impact on my life because every single character in my movie was named after a 90’s pop star. Except for 3 characters named Peppy, Poppy, and Pappy. Correct, I was great with names. It also included Barbara Walters, a bomb scare, saving stuffed animals from a fire, a who-done-it murder plotline, two old British sisters who were always bickering and an astonishingly unprepared police staff. I would say it all makes sense once you read it, but that would be a lie.

I went for a hike at Runyon Canyon today and remembered just how much I hate how everyone does the little smile and nod at strangers when you’re hiking. Why is it that people feel the need to do that when on any type of walking trail or path? Just because we are walking through a pretty little canyon doesn’t mean I want to say hello with a close mouthed half smile and a “I don’t know you so instead of speaking the word hello I will just politely nod”, head nod. I avoid eye contact at all times with strangers. I’m that person who always somehow manages to get into weird and awkward staring contests unknowingly. So I just avoid it all together. When I do end up accidently making eye contact it always ends up being with the homeless guy standing a foot from my car staring directly into my eyes as I roll up my window and pretend not to see him and look away. (Keep in mind I drive a convertible so rolling the window up doesn’t seem to dissuade them much.) So I don’t care if we are on a walking trail where everyone else got shot up with the happy drug and feels the need to say hi to everyone or if we are on the street walking through West Hollywood trying to avoid the creepy guy playing Spiderman on Hollywood Blvd. Either way, I will be wearing sunglasses and avoiding your face at all costs.

It’s now after 2am which means everything on TV is infomercials, 90’s sitcoms, or religious shows. So I can keep rambling incessantly here, purchase a miracle weight loss pill from an 800 number, watch Married With Children, or be reborn with the salt and pepper haired gentleman who hosts the 700 Club. All options sound quite tempting but I think I’ll throw a curve ball in here and just finish the rest of this Merlot in bed until I fall asleep or decide to get more Merlot. I know you are all probably concerned because if I am already cozy in bed, traveling back to the kitchen could be quite a nuisance to get more wine. No need to fret, I keep emergency sleepy time wine under the bed. I’m no amateur.

Good night and good luck. (Good night is directed towards you, the reader, and good luck is directed towards me in case you were wondering. I have white sheets so the Merlot is always a little risky. I need the luck more than you.  Deal with it.)

 

Back to School

With all the back to school commercials and specials going on it makes me think back to when I was in school. Without realizing it at the time, school helped make me the person I am today. I never thought I would say that when I was younger, but it’s true. It molded and guided me to the person I have become. Don’t get me wrong though. I’m not talking about all the “studying” and “hard work”. I’m talking more about the day to day shenanigans which prepared me for a life of entertaining people. Also because of my general lack of concern for my overall safety and of those around me.

Gym Class:

Gym was always fun. I was athletic, I played sports, I could run forever and yet I still refused to participate in most activities. Because I was a strong athlete at my school, gym teachers initially thought I would be one of the good ones who would always step up to show a good example. Turned out I was more the one who would step up to show a bad example just because I thought it would be more beneficial to the overall feeling of the class. See, I knew I would be getting my exercise after school at soccer. So gym was more or less a time to wear ridiculous outfits from the 80’s I found at thrift stores and drive my gym teachers crazy. It has been scientifically proven that laughter extends life and burns calories. So when all of the fat kids who refused to participate would sit down in protest, I would step up to the plate. Sometimes I would break out in interpretive dance during badminton to express my deep emotional connection to the game. Other times I would swing like an ape from the climbing rope from side to side in the gym yelling to the gym teachers, “This monkey wants a banana!” I was doing my small part in making America healthier. You don’t want to run with the rest of us? No problem! I will make sure you at least have an entertaining class and burn a couple hundred calories. Obese America: You’re welcome.

English and Social Studies Classes:

My favorite classes in school were probably English and Social Studies. I mean out of the real classes obviously. Art and gym were clear winners overall, but out of the core subjects I’d go with English or Social Studies. English was always fun for me because I loved writing. Granted, I never actually wrote what they asked me to, but I loved it. Keep in mind I’m talking about elementary school right now. Also, it’s not like I totally disregarded the directions. For example if we had to do a book report on assigned reading: I would do a book report, but I would do it on a book I wanted to read. If the assigned reading was of no interest to me I deemed it beneath me. I had better things to read. So it would be a little confusing for the teacher when they would assign a book about climbing to the top of Mount Everest and my report was about Mia Hamm in her North Carolina Tarheel Days. I always did the assignment on time, but I would do it my way. If a teacher didn’t like the subject I chose I would eventually have to cave and do their report. But I wouldn’t go down without a fight. So when it was a typed report I would turn it in with the smallest possible font. This would then make the teacher ask for me to make it bigger and bring it back in. This would then make me go home and change it to the largest possible font. This then lead to a dangerously high blood pressure for every teacher I had.

I also loved Social Studies because I really like history, mainly American history. I also liked learning about the English because come on, who doesn’t love a British accent? So basically if you were an English speaking land, I liked you and your history. My bread and butter was when they would assign projects where they allowed creativity; when they would give you a list of different ways to present. My favorites were always dioramas or presenting a report as like a character from that time period. I would always give it a modern twist too though. So if I was giving a report on The Revolutionary War I would be Paul Revere telling everyone the British were coming, but instead of acting like I was riding in on a horse I would act like I was riding in on a motorcycle, or dancing to the Backstreet Boys. Or on the Civil War, instead of trying to free the slaves through battle we were trying to free the baby lions from the zoo through luring them out with enticing cheerleader moves and chants. This gave it a certain flair I thought.

Currently Holding Casting Calls:

I was 10 when I wrote my first movie. It was a “who-done-it” comedy taking place partially in a school and then back at an old haunted mansion. It was called “The Bomb Scare Killer” and I decided I needed to cast it immediately. Problem was; I just didn’t have the time. After school I always had soccer practice or was busy playing “Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen” with my best friend. The schedule of a 10 year old is exhausting. I was also working on my sketch comedy videos. They consisted of me and my two best friends basically looking like 10 year old crack heads wearing wigs with ADHD attempting Saturday Night Live. So with such a busy and fabulous lifestyle, it was hard to find time to cast my movie. I was in the cafeteria one day overseeing a trade between two kids of a peanut butter sandwich for a bag of chips. (I was kind of the food trading bookie in elementary school. Obviously you can see I was meant for big things at an early age. Very entrepreneurial.) That’s when it hit me. Our cafeteria was perfect for casting. It was one of those cafeteria’s that also had a stage on one end. I could have my choice of 300 tables to set up at and watch the auditions on the stage. So I got right to work and started spreading the word about auditions to friends and other students. Once they were scheduled they were advised to “need to go to the nurse’s office for a head ache” at that time and meet me in the cafeteria. I snuck out of class for my first audition and was feeling pretty damn good if I do say so. I set up with my script in the cafeteria and waited. But soon found my appointment had bailed. If you’re not willing to skip out on class for an audition, what good are you at life? I was disgusted, and was about to pack up everything when a hall monitor came in. I was all alone, sitting on 4 stacked chairs, (because I thought it looked more authoritative if I was up high) had scripts spread all over the table, a mini Harlem Globe Trotters megaphone for directing, was wearing a beret, had a mug of water which I pretended was coffee and a directors chop block. Granted, I was very good from a young age at talking my way out of situations but I didn’t see a way out of this one. So when the principal asked me what I was doing I simply tried to bargain. I offered her a role in the movie if she let me go with a warning. I found this to be an extremely kind offer. She was not the best looking and I am sure would have been very stiff in front of camera. I needed beautiful actors, not ugly failed college professors. As kind as I thought the offer was; shockingly she declined. I was also in a whole other world of trouble seeing as how I was in a school, casting a movie, called The Bomb Scare Killer. They seemed to frown upon that. So my directing career had to be put on a bit of a hold. While I was in trouble and not able to cast or do my sketch comedy I decided I should reflect on my actions as they had asked I do. They wanted me to think about what I had done and learn from it. Which I did. If I was going to shoot a movie at school it needed to be less risqué and not involve the words “bomb scare”. So I wrote a new movie about a group of upper middle class white kids in a rollerblading gang loosely based on my own life, of course. This later became a musical complete with dance numbers and a score full of nothing but Britney Spears songs. I never did get to film it though. It’s a shame, because as you can see from this brief description, it was obviously dripping in brilliance. It could have been our generation’s West Side Story.

 

If you are a former teacher of mine reading this, you don’t even need to say it. I’ll be the bigger person here and step up and just say what needs to be said to you…You are all very, very welcome.

 

Final Experiences in New York

Before moving to Los Angeles I was living in Syracuse, New York where I am from originally.  I have lots of great memories from there, and I’d like to share some of my last epic moments with you.

Moments With Friends:
On my last night out with my crew from Utica, NY I really out did myself.  We all did.  This is a group of people who I lived about an hour from but became very close to.  I have been friends with them for a few years now and love them all like the crazy drunken extended family of lunatics that they are.  We went to the bar we always go to, on the weeknight we always go, did shots of things we always do, danced around like the waste case white girls we always are, and stole things from people we don’t know.  Obviously, it was an excellent and very classy evening for us.  After drinking all of the alcohol Utica had to offer, I left the bar with my two girlfriends to go to an after party with three guys.  Basically as soon as we got to the house we decided we no longer had any interest in being there.  The guys were all kind of creepers.  How does that always happen?  When you’re at the bar, the guy seems totally normal and then as soon as you are away from the bar setting you realize he has an extremely high chance of being a future pedophile.  I do have a theory that may be a little crazy, but here me out.  It may, just may have to do with the alcohol.  It’s up to you if you’d like to believe this crazy theory of mine or not.  So, we started calling friends for a ride.  In the mean time it was only right that we seize the moment and cause as much destruction as possible.  It was a house of a bunch of guys in their 20’s and they had plastic fruit everywhere.  What guys have plastic fruit as décor around their house?  I couldn’t let that be so we obviously had to destroy all plastic fruit in sight.  It was like someone had just smacked open a piñata filled with plastic red grapes in that kitchen once we were done.  What is it about alcohol that just makes people destructive?  I’m normally not one to destroy though.  I’m more of your happy, dancing, fist pumping and occasionally stealing from strangers type of drunk.  So going with my usual drunken characteristics I moved onto stealing.  We were basically quarantining ourselves to the kitchen because we didn’t want to socialize with anyone.  So we did what any wasted, hungry, and bored girls would do; started stealing all of their food.  While doing this we found a camera on the counter and started taking pictures of ourselves destroying their corny decorations and stealing their food.  Yes, we are indeed the greatest criminals around.  We destroy, we steal, we give you the photographic evidence. Our ride finally got there and we left.  I consider this night an extreme success.  Not only because of the fun events that lead us through the night but also that I’m able to recall this much of the story.  I normally come up with a blank slate after approximately 12 midnight when I’m with that crew.  Thanks for a memorable last night in Utica, girls.  Cheers.


Last Moments Of A Crazy Person:
I might be alone on this one, but do you ever imagine yourself in a movie setting or a TV show where you are having what you think is a major life moment?  Like if it were happening in a movie there would be a slight breeze blowing your hair as the sun sets, and Coldplay is on in the background.  I had lots of these moments before moving.  Trying to be sentimental, you know?  See, I am emotionally stunted so when I want to have an emotionally epic moment I need to picture it as a movie.  But it never works like it does in the movie.  As I was leaving my room for the last time in my parent’s house where I had grown up; I decided it should be a movie moment.  I would take one last walk around remembering great childhood moments, look out the window and see reflections of my childhood below, walk to the door, take one last look, and then close the door perfectly in unison with the climax of the The Fray song playing in my head as I shed a single tear.  Perfect movie scene exit.  Instead; the reality was – I walked around, noticed the giant hole in the wall I had been covering with posters for years that my parents would inevitably make me pay for, looked out the window and saw a dog taking a shit by our mailbox, walked to the door, took one last look and slammed my finger in the door while closing it and screamed bloody murder before turning around and tripping over my suitcase.  I shouldn’t be allowed out in public.

I Fear I May Be A Hot Mess

I’m sleep deprived and haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon when I had a glass of $4 champagne for lunch and a slice of cheese. I think now is a good time to write.

I’m not sure yet what I want to write about though. I’m recently unemployed and being unemployed has been ok so far. I am working out much more, getting outside more, it’s been nice. Also, I think being unemployed has helped my writing immensely. My sanity, I’m not so sure. The other day I laughed at my own Facebook status for a solid 5 minutes while sitting on my couch in my pajamas at 3 in the afternoon on a Thursday. And by pajamas, yes I do mean one of my soccer t shirts from when I was 9 and a pair of comfy shorts I have had for 10 years and the elastic no longer helps whatsoever in the effort to keep them above a PG 13 level on me. I think this experience has been good for me though. When you have this much time to just think and reflect you go deep within yourself and do a lot of self revision. I for one have discovered I do not like working. But I also do not like having no money. I think I just don’t like what I used to do for a living. If I was doing something I loved, that would be a different story of course. But the only two things I love are comedy and soccer. Although I am working out much more now that I have the time to, ever since I went on my champagne and cheese diet I am pretty sure I am just not in playing shape for soccer anymore. So that’s probably out. Hopefully comedy pans out. If not, I may need a new pair of comfy shorts to hang out in because these things just do not want to stay up.

My sister just called me and we got into a random series of conversations. One of which lead us to my computer illiterate family. So now I would like to take you down a little tangent with me. My sister and I are no computer geniuses, far from it. But we both have a pretty decent knowledge. When you look at my parents’ ability to understand technology it’s a wonder either of us are able to operate a window fan. They weren’t bad when we were younger. Mom and Dad seemed to have a good grasp on the home video player and the video recorder. We got a word processor when those were big, then a computer, it seemed like they were on top of it. It might just be because I was too young to see their severe illiteracy or maybe they actually were on top of their game back then. My Dad is tricky though you see. My Mom acknowledges she knows nothing about computers and is ok with it. When you put her in front of the computer she looks like she’s terrified of it. I also feel like she has watched too many 90’s sitcoms where people would hit one button and delete everything on the computer. That seems to be a fear of hers and as a result, every time she hits a button she cringes like it is about to explode. Her cell phone isn’t much better. Her voicemail message that she recorded for herself sounds like someone is holding a gun to her head forcing her to even have the thing in the first place. But at least she is not in denial. She admits it. My Dad, though gets tricky. He seems like he has a good grasp on things on the surface. But when you dig deeper you realize he is not much better off. When you get down to it he is still trying to figure out how to forward an email, but he spends hours on the computer at times. This is now, and will always be one of life’s great mysteries to me. I can’t understand what he does for hours when he in fact has no idea what he is doing on it. I’m fairly certain half the time is spent just staring at the screen trying to figure out what the glowing box is trying to say to him. I swear one day I am going to walk into the den at my parent’s house and see him pounding the computer monitor like a caveman grunting at it. I used the computer last time I was visiting home though, and man was it slow. So there is a good chance that’s just how long it takes him to post one of his responses to an article telling everyone what a jackass he thinks Rush Limbaugh is.

My Mom definitely gave me what I call “sitcom-idous”. It’s where I say things out loud that should be kept to myself, but I picture myself in a sitcom where it would be hilarious. When in fact when said in real life, will just make you look like a total jack ass. She doesn’t have that part of the syndrome, but she does have the part where she just gets herself into situations where you feel like it should be in a sitcom. Again, her technology skills playing a major role. My sister has tried convincing her that the DVR is not hard to operate, especially compared to the 1000 steps you had to go through on the old VCR’s to record and play back things which she always did just fine with. But she still won’t budge and insists she can’t do it. I think my sister finally believes her now though. They were watching Brothers and Sisters on the DVR one day when my sister had to go to the bathroom. She gave the remote to my Mom during the commercial and said you can just pause it when it comes back if I’m not back in time. Mom insisted she would screw it up, to which my sister laughed it off and said all you have to do is hit pause, you’ll be fine. When my sister came back my Mom was enthralled with the TV watching the screen intently. My sister sat down and looked up to see a black and white film of Eisenhower’s farewell speech that had aired on CSPAN 6 months ago. You really can’t make that stuff up. Of all things she could have done, she put on the most random opposite thing from what they were watching. She really out did herself. She could have just stopped it instead of pausing it, or hit fast forward by mistake, but no…she pulled out the big guns and somehow got an Eisenhower special on. Sitcom-idous at its finest my friends. My sister just asked my Mom what happened to which my Mom didn’t have much to say. She was obviously still shell shocked by the series of events which lead her to this program when her only instructions were to hit pause. We still don’t know what happened that day, but one this was clear; Mom could no longer be trusted with the DVR.

Tangent: complete. New tangent: begin.

I am beginning to get anxious to get a new place. I have already been here for 6 months. For a commit-aphobe like me that is basically a life time. I’m surprised I haven’t started breaking out in rashes yet. To start, I am 99% sure I live next to nocturnal deaf mutes who have the need to move furniture every night at 2 am. I never heard voices, just furniture sliding around and being moved all over the place. I feel like I’m one Mexican riding a forklift around away from living at an Ikea warehouse. Next, I am female and Caucasian and quite obviously the minority here. One of the only other white people I have met at my apartment has been the token drunk 50 year old woman who always smells of stale Newports and cheap whiskey and says things…wait, no yells things like “everyone wears tennis shoes!” for no apparent reason at me in the elevator. I fear if I stay here much longer that is my future. It has a community laundry room which I am always scared to go to. I have only lived one other place that had a shared laundry room. All of my other places had ones in the unit or the house. Community laundry creeps me out in general but it’s all made much worse by the eerie maintenance lady who always seems to be there, but never seems to be doing anything. She mainly stands in the corner fumbling with her keys and acting like she is getting cleaning supplies from the closet while staring at you out of the corner of her eye. Speaking of laundry mats too, you know what bugs me about a lot of movies? I don’t know where they get this stuff in movies where people meet and fall in love in a laundry mat. How many times has that happened in movies and TV? All the time! Two young, attractive, clean, sane singles meet at the laundry mat, and they flirt and talk and then end up dating and falling in love. No! That doesn’t happen. Anyone I have ever met at a community laundry facility either makes me want to shower in bleach immediately after or they scare me to the point that I avoid it all together and end up wearing my back up “last possible option” 12 year old Space Jam t-shirt when I go out because that is all I have left of clean laundry. If I ever fall in love at a laundry mat, kill me.

Well, I think that might be it for me right now. I always feel so cleansed after writing aimlessly. It’s like a spiritual experience. Or maybe it’s just me feeling light headed since I haven’t eaten since my slice of cheese yesterday. I felt very French, very European while doing it. You know Champagne and cheese on a nice Wednesday afternoon, so classy. But then I remembered it was $4.95 Champagne from Rite Aid and a Kraft single, the wrapper of which was stuck to the bottom of my thigh for most of the day which I didn’t realize. Life is good.