Archive | July, 2012

The 4am Book

31 Jul

A few weeks ago, I saw a friend post this on his Facebook and I thought “Yup, that’s me.”

I realized, however, not every book can be that special 4am book. That book you can’t stop thinking about and you just want to get home and read. That book that you keep turning the pages even though your eyes are burning with exhaustion and your shoulders ache from leaning against a flattened pillow. But you can’t stop. You have to see what happens next. And then next. And then next.

The 4am book is different for everyone. For me, it’s usually been fictional and fantasy based. I’ve always been an avid reader, starting with Dr Seuss and The Berenstein Bears. From there, I moved onto The Secret Garden and Black Beauty. I must have read The Secret Garden and watched the movie from the 80’s a thousand times. You can ask my grandmother. That’s all I wanted to watch when I came to her house. The Lord of the Rings entered my life when I was young because my dad loved them so much and I immediately couldn’t stop reading and re-reading The Hobbit. I dove into The Great Gatsby and Wuthering Heights, On the Road, and Catcher in the Rye. But it wasn’t until a Mr Potter entered my world that I realized how precious a book can be.

I started reading Harry Potter because of Bethany. It was becoming a phenomenon when we were in high school and at first, I was reluctant to join the masses. I was under the impression it was a children’s book and I had no interest because it didn’t sound mature like Tolkien. And the plot was almost exactly like The Wizard of Earthsea and I didn’t want to participate in copy cats. The third book was about to be published and I finally caved and read the first two books. I read them in about a day. When the third came out, it was all over for me. I had found my new obsession, my new world, my new beloved characters, my new friends.

It became tradition, starting with Goblet of Fire, to get the book at midnight and read until I crashed. It wasn’t because I wanted to finish it before anyone else. It was because I was dying to know what happened next and I didn’t want to take weeks to find out. I remember reading Order of the Phoenix at 3am in my living room and throwing the book on the floor at the end of a certain chapter featuring a veil. (Look, I’m sure we all know what happens but if I spoiled Harry Potter for anyone, I would be devastated). My mother came out of the bedroom and asked what happened and if I was ok. I was practically sobbing and she hadn’t read the book yet so I told her I was fine and she didn’t need to see this. I picked it back up, apologized to it, and kept going until I finished.

When the final book came out, I went with my two best Tarzan/Potter crazed co-workers, Nicole and Stefanie, to a midnight release. Nicole and I took the subway home together and I experienced one of the most magical New York moments in history. Every single person on that train sat down, took out their copy, and began reading. I mean, everyone from small children who had stayed up late to get the book to 20 somethings to a few middle aged to folks beyond 65 years old. We all took a second to regard each other and gave little head nods, silently saying “Ok, let’s do this.” It’s said that Rowling made reading cool again and it was that moment that I realized she truly did.

Hedwig on my head at the midnight release. Stef and I and some random character Borders invented. Hogwarts in ice!

I read the seventh book in two days. I got home and started and didn’t stop until about 6am. I slept, read on the train to and from work, on my breaks at work, and then finished it that night at about 5 or 6am. I was heartbroken that it was over but I can’t express to you how thankful I was that I had said yes to reading those first two books.

I didn’t think I’d find love again until I found The Other Boleyn Girl and the wonders of Phillippa Gregory’s historical fiction. I stayed up again reading about Anne Boleyn and the Tudors court and the treachery and betrayals of Henry VIII. I began to read her other novels about Elizabeth I and the other wives of Henry. It was another world, a more real world, but a place I could fall into and forget reality for a second. I became obsessed and started researching the real history and comparing it to the fictional versions. I became a Boleyn expert and all because of a take on the famous tale of how the little lady lost her head. The best part of the Boleyn obsession was that all the girls at Tarzan were sharing and reading the series. Nicole had hers taken away and put in the freezer because Charlie (her boyfriend at the time) was being completely ignored. This is how obsessed we were.

There was a small dry spell until The Hunger Games. Yes, I read Twilight, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Eat Pray Love, and any other book that was recommended or popular and those that my parents insisted I read. I found many new favorites but none that encompassed a complete take over of my mind, body and soul. None that gripped me until I couldn’t breathe until I met Katniss. The post apocalyptic world took a hold of me and didn’t let go until I finished Mockingjay. I read that series so quickly and I am grateful they were all published when I started because, like Harry Potter, I would have been aching to know what happened next. After I finished the series, I waited, read a few other books, and started again. I missed the characters and reading it a second, third, fourth time, I thought even more about the themes and messages that were peeking through. I started having nightmares that I was in the actual Games. It became so real to me and so possible that it scared and fascinated me all at once. That, to me, is a great fuckin’ story.

And now, I conclude with my latest obsession. Game of Thrones. I put Martin up there with Rowling, Tolkien, and Collins for the creation of a world so complex and epic, I don’t even know how the man keeps track of everything and everyone. I started the series after watching the first season on HBO. I fell in love immediately and I was shocked that I hadn’t been exposed to the series before. It was right up my alley and I was almost ashamed I hadn’t read them previously. I felt like a poser, a traitor to my geeks because I jumped on the bandwagon late. Nonetheless, I began the series with earnest and flew through the first two books. I had an idea of what happens because of the series but as always, the books open window and doors that the series does not. I am now on the third book and holy crap. I can’t stop reading it. I plan my day around when I can read this book. I stay up until 4am every night with Lincoln sleeping beside me because I can’t stop. Last night, my eyes ached and the lids were heavy as elephants and I couldn’t find a comfortable position but I kept reading. I had to finish the Arya chapter and then, OH MY GOD I had to finish the Tyrion chapter. It never ended until I started reading pages twice and realized I wasn’t absorbing any more and needed rest to begin again. These books have filled the gap where Harry and Katniss have been (and still are). I have found a new series that captures me mind, body, and soul and hasn’t even been completed yet so the anticipation and excitement lives within me again. I know I’m not even that far into the tale yet from what I’ve been told but the journey so far has been incredible. It gives a comfort that I can’t express clearly but if you read like I do, you know what I mean.

Today is Harry Potter’s 31st birthday. Yes, I know his real life age if he was real. Bethany, Alia and I baked him a lion cake once. I say Happy Birthday to him every year. That series saved my life. During my Dark Time after my most epic breakup, The Deathly Hallows came out. I was depressed, suicidal, and cried myself to sleep every night. That was until I began the series again to prepare for the last book. I started at the first page and eventually ended at the last there will ever be. And it saved me. It brought me back to a happy and safe place, a Neverland of sorts where I was worried about Harry, Hermione, and Ron, and not myself. Where my tears were for the deaths of the battle between good and evil and not for my relationship that was doomed from the start. I was not sleeping because I was reading not because I couldn’t get my mind to rest. And that, I think, proved magic does exist.

So thank you to Dr Seuss, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Kerouac, Salinger, Vonnegut, Fitzgerald, Shakespeare, Beckett, Hemingway, Gregory Maguire, Neil Gaiman, and so many others. Especially to Rowling, Tolkien, and now George R.R. Martin. Thank you for Sirius Black and Dumbledore, Frodo and Gandalf, and the Starks and Lannisters. I don’t know where I’d be without them.

Oh…and Happy Birthday, Harry. 🙂

Lament of A Skinny Girl

19 Jul

I am about to say something that may blow your minds. Ok, maybe not. I have always been thin. Not even thin, skinny. A waif. A skeleton who somehow was blessed with proportional and shapely T and A but a skeleton nonetheless. And I hate it. THERE! Commence minds exploding.

I understand your pain, MK

I’ve always struggled with my body image. When I say that, people freak out and get angry at me and ask why. Why not? I was always the smallest girl. I’m short, I’m skinny, I’m pale to the point of transparency, and I was flat chested until high school. Someone once called me a carpenter’s dream (Get it? Cause I was as flat as a board). I’ve had my bra frozen at a slumber party in fifth grade. Well, lack of a bra. And who counts bra sizes during puberty?? That shouldn’t count! I was not fully developed! Being an actress, it was hard for me to watch any tape of me on stage because I was always the smallest one and easy to pick out. I watch the video of me playing Anybodys in West Side Story and all I see is my miniature frame in the front (of course, since you wouldn’t see me in the back) flailing around with my long arms and swan neck attempting to dance during “Cool” and being off a beat the entire song. It’s even harder with my profession because I look 14 with my size but I have a deeper voice and a mature manner about me so I’m almost impossible to cast unless I go for something specific that I know I’m good for. And somehow I’ve never played Anne Frank. What is up with that?

Girls tell me how jealous they are of my body and how they want to look like me. You really don’t. You want to be the girl that can’t find jeans and therefore still wears pants she has owned since 8th grade? Or the girl who can’t wear that cute fashionable top because an extra small doesn’t fit under the arms or around the shoulders? Do you want to have every single person you’ve ever met say “OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO TINY!” and feel they are allowed to grab you and pick you up and fondle you as much as they can before you freak out? Because that happens to me every day with people I barely know but feel the need to prove they can fit their arms around me twice. That’s really fun with strangers. They also like to tell me not to blow away or that they could kick my ass in a fight or that I may get lost in the snow. I’m not Piglet!

Being skinny makes people think they can say anything to you. Would you go up to someone and say “Wow, you’re huge” or “Jesus, you have the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen!” Well, maybe you would but still what’s the difference saying similarly rude comments to a skinny girl? I had a girl once ask me if I ate. I replied by saying “You mean, did I eat today?” And she said, ‘No. I mean do you eat ever?” Um. Yes, I do. I am a human. I have to eat to survive. And yes, in answer to your unasked follow up, I can eat whatever I want. But I don’t! I still eat healthy and have been getting on the plant based diet band wagon as much as I can.  It’s been suggested I just start telling them I’m a pixie or “No, I have struggled with an eating disorder my whole life and now I have to go throw up”. I suppose that’s better than responding “Yes, I do and I can see you like to eat as well.” People ask what my workout routine is or how I got to be this way. I tell them I don’t have a workout routine hence my lack of strength and muscles and I stopped growing at 14 so I didn’t really try to be this size.

I went to prom my freshman, junior, and senior year. The first year, my mom made my dress which was lovely. The next two times, I wanted something specific and fancy. I searched every single store in the state of Vermont that sold prom dresses. Junior year, I found one my mother altered the best she could. Senior year was the dream crusher. All I wanted was a red dress. I looked great in red. I had a boyfriend and I was a senior and I just wanted a red hot classic gown. There were red dresses a plenty. None fit. At all. I had to settle for a pink two piece number that fit only because the top was corseted so I could pull the strings as tight as they would go and it wouldn’t fall off. The skirt however hung incredibly low on my hips and I kept feeling like my vayjay was gonna come out and party. And guess what every other girl wore to senior prom? A RED DRESS! I have panic attacks when I think about finding a wedding dress. There will be so so many of those pins holding that dress up and that alterations department is going to get rich off of me.

I have to wear children’s shoes. You see, most stores carry a few styles of footwear in size 5. They sell out pretty quickly. If I am not there at the right time, I will not get them. No, I can not wear a 6. Believe me, I’ve tried. I am a solid 5. Trust me. I got scolded at a casting for shoe models when they measured my foot and asked if I thought I was funny by posing as a size 6 model. I didn’t actually find it funny, I was just curious if they really needed a true size 6 model. They did. I have to Google search size 5 shoes to find anything fashionable or specific or stand at Payless for 20 minutes in the size 5 aisle trying to find something that won’t cut my feet open or fall apart in a week. A puppet wore my shoes in college. A PUPPET. I had worn them the season prior in our Shakespeare piece and the following season, a puppet wore the same pair. A Styrofoam fake child puppet.

Sizes differ at every store. Therefore, when I go to get new pants or clothes or whatever, I have to go to a least 20 different stores to find the proper extra smalls and zeroes. I have my go-to stores but unfortunately, they are Forever 21 and H&M and most of the smaller sizes are bought but either my fellow skeletons or girls who think they are an extra small and…they’re not. Most of them time, I can’t find anything that fits properly unless it’s cheap or extremely expensive. Shopping is not a pleasure for me, it’s a nightmare. I always end the day in tears or with like 85 tank tops in different colors because it’s the only thing I found that fits. I know many girls can relate to finding the perfect outfit and getting in that dressing room and trying it on to see that it’s bulky in weird places or it looks like a sack even with the zipper all the way up. This is my experience every time.

I have never had a conversation about diets. This actually sucks because girls talk about them a lot. It makes things so awkward when they come up in conversation because every girl turns and glares at me and says things like “Oh, well, you probably have no idea what we are talking about” or “I can’t even look at you right now, you makes me so jealous”. No, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I wish I did!!! I really do! Then maybe more girls would like me instead of hating me for how I look! I mean, it’s a girl thing, we all do that for one reason or another but it’s so awkward to have someone make you feel guilty for never having experienced something that everyone hates doing! I’m envious of girls who have been on diets! It sounds horrible to say out loud and I’m sure everyone will hate me but it’s such a huge thing that I am not a part of. I feel like I’m less of a girl because I don’t know anything about it besides from what some of you let me in on. I have shut conversations down when I try to join in and support. No one wants a skinny girl’s support but I’m very good at supporting!

When I was in Alia’s wedding, I paid double for my dress because the alterations were so much. I bought the smallest size dress and when I tried it on, I cried. It was huge and was supposedly an extra extra small petite size. Of course Bethany’s fit her perfectly. I had to get it almost taken apart to get it to fit. And it still doesn’t fit comfortably. The waist is too tight and the top too loose. When I wear it again, I’ll have to get it altered so it doesn’t balloon out over my boobs as it did if I didn’t stand up completely straight. Which I should do anyway, huh?

The reason I write this blog and vent is because no one speaks for the skinny girls. We have pain, too. We deal with abuse just as much as any other girl. But no one writes books about our struggles or writes musicals i.e. Hairspray about our obstacles. It makes me feel uncomfortable when others make me feel guilty about my size and strength ability. I never know how to respond when someone says they want to be me because when I’m honest, they get angry and say it can’t be that hard. But it is. Yes I’m skinny but I’m not some tall and thin supermodel. Nothing is made for me besides a costume and even then costumer’s hate me because everything they find or make for me usually doesn’t fit. My nickname on “Mildred Pierce” was “The Littlest Waitress.” They actually called me to set like that.

True, it’s not all bad. Though I rode bitch most of my life in cars, no one ever said I couldn’t ride with them because I always fit. Certain styles do look good on me if I can find them. Most people notice my ass more because I am so skinny and it does look amazing on my frame (thank you, genetics). But I wanted to share my side of the story. Don’t be jealous of me. It’s not fun being this size. And please stop hating me, ladies, because it’s not my fault I look like this. I want to have some curves and be more of an average size. A human size! I’m not. I’m me and I love me. Someone just needs to invent a diet where you gain weight and write a book or have a website about it so I can join in on girl talk once in a while.

Childhood Memories…

13 Jul

If you haven’t figured this out by now, I’m kind of a goofball of an adult. As you can guess, I was also a goofball as a child. I’ve been spending a lot of time recently thinking about the games Rachel and I used to play when we were little. We were either very strange or just had awesome imaginations.

Horses- We used to pretend that our bikes were horses. We would pretend to brush them and use jump ropes as reigns and literally walk our bikes around like we were walking horses. We would also give them commands when riding them: giddy up, whoa, etc. We did this outside in full view of the whole neighborhood. I’m sure people wondered what was wrong with us.

Strings- This was a game Rachel had invented before we met, but I was a huge fan when she showed it to me. Basically, she had a bunch of different types of string (shoe laces, ribbons, etc.) that she kept in a ziploc bag. They all had names and families. We would make up story lines and play with them like dolls. The excitement/danger in this game was the fan in her room. Any string that got caught in the fan was very much in danger of losing his/her life.

Rocks and Seashells- Along the same lines as Strings, I had a rock and seashell collection which I also gave names to and put into families. My favorite part of this game was putting the “baby” shells inside the “mother” shell (a conch shell) where they “slept”. I still collect rocks and seashells as an adult, but I’ve ceased giving them names, which is probably a good thing.

Barbies- This seems like a totally normal game for 8-year-old girls to play, right? Well, not the way I played it. I had a ton of Barbie dolls, Ken dolls, Skipper dolls, etc. Probably around 50 total; maybe more. And I had them all organized into families. They all had first names and last names. And no one was allowed to change their names or families. I was VERY strict about that. Rachel had Barbies, too, but she was not as uptight about hers. My most favorite thing to do with my Barbies was “Barbie Beauty Pageant”. My mom, aunt, and I would make a day of it. Each Barbie got an evening gown and a casual outfit. We would dress them all up, do their hair, and actually judge each doll. The winner got a crown and a sash. We even had a tuxedoed Ken acting as emcee.  I’m pretty sure we still have one of these events on video tape somewhere. Yes, we recorded them. Yay, VHS tapes!

Hershey- This may have been the weirdest game Rachel and I used to play. She was a dog (a Sheltie, I think) named Hershey and I was her owner. A huge pillow on the floor served as her bed, she had toys, and food and water bowls. I would teach her how to sit, stay, etc. and take her for walks. There was even a leash and collar involved. Ridiculous.

Labyrinth- One of our favorite childhood movies (and I still watch it frequently) was Labyrinth. Obviously. Anyway, we had a game that could only take place in Rachel’s yard. Basically, we would run in circles in the yard, around the whole perimeter, which involved running in between a row of evergreen trees and a fence. When you got to the end of the row of trees, you “fell” into another world/dimension. We would inevitably get separated into different worlds and the point of the game would be to find each other.

Spatula and Darna- I’m guessing that this is one of my mom’s favorite memories from my childhood. It’s not uncommon for kids to have imaginary friends. Totally acceptable for small children, unless the imaginary friend turns out to be the real ghost of an ax murderer who tries to kill you in your sleep or something, But, I digress. I had an imaginary daughter who had a friend. My daughter’s name was Spatula. Yes, Spatula, as in the kitchen utensil. Her friend’s name was Darna. I have no idea where I came up with those gems. One of my most vivid memories of Spatula and Darna was me pushing them on the swings. It’s a sad sight to imagine (little Bethany out in the backyard pushing EMPTY swings), but I’m sure I was having a blast! I’ve always been good at playing independently.

Ok, I think I’m going to end it at this. I definitely could go on, but I’m sick of writing.

Song of the Day: Kids by MGMT

I Don’t Know Why Bethany Is Still My Friend

11 Jul

In the past 20 years of our friendship, I have put Bethany through the ringer a few times. I wonder how she is still friends with me after some of the events I’ve made her do alongside me. Here’s some highlights.

It was circa age 10 or 11 when I decided to give Bethany a makeover. At that age, having never worn makeup, I was an expert. I owned a bottle of sparkly nail polish that I loved and wore constantly. I thought it would look great on Bethany’s eyebrows. I painted her eyebrows with nail polish. They looked fantastic. And slick. And sparkly. Pink and purple and blue sparkles all up in her eyebrows, coating them like little sticky gemstones. I don’t remember how long it took Bethany’s mom to remove said nail polish from her eyebrows but needless to say, it was not easy nor painless, and I am not currently pursuing a professional cosmetology career.

I actually think the next event may have been that same day but I can’t be sure. We were playing some sort of version of Truth or Dare and we were eating things in one of my kitchen cabinets. We were combining things like maple syrup and vanilla extract until I found a bottle of Tabasco sauce. I told Bethany to close her eyes and poured it into her mouth. Again, having never had Tabasco sauce, I was an expert on its flavor. It took many cups of water to take the fire out of her mouth.

Several years ago, Bethany was visiting me in New York. I was dating a boy that I worked with at the time, let’s call him Server Boy. Server Boy and his room-mate, Needs a Girlfriend, had offered to take us out dancing. The evening was going extremely well except Needs a Girlfriend had taken a liking to Bethany and she had just entered into a relationship back in Boston. She also was just not interested. Needs a Girlfriend got a little miffed with me because he thought I invited him to go with us so he could get laid. I actually didn’t invite him to go with us, Server Boy did and I never once promised Bethany to him in exchange for his company. It was merely good fortune he kept buying her drinks all night. Well, misfortune on his part, bonus on hers. We had ventured to several bars including one with incredibly cheap shots when we finally discovered the best dance spot I’ve ever been to and have never been since because I can not recall the location and name. Server Boy was dancing with Bethany and I was dancing with Needs A Girlfriend. He was grinding very closely to me and by very closely I mean I was feeling things that should not have been…at attention…at that time. He told me he thought I was hot and how hot Bethany was and how stupid Server Boy was for seeing Thighs* (This may seem cruel but the girl had fat thighs and was not a nice person in any sense so I’m allowed this one). I knew Thighs from where we all worked at the time. She was a known flirt but I would never have considered her competition. Plus, according to my current status, Server Boy and I were exclusive. I asked what that meant. Needs a Girlfriend told me Server Boy had been seeing Thighs for a few weeks and she had been spending the night at his place on nights he wasn’t with me. Now, I know Needs a Girlfriend did this maliciously because he was not getting laid that night so why should I? Now here’s the part where Bethany should hate me:

I confronted Server Boy at the club. He said we’d talk about it more back at his place. We went back to his place. I was drunk and got extremely upset and thought it best to talk in his room, leaving Bethany alone, on the couch, with Needs. I told her it would be a few minutes and then we’d go. Over an hour or so later, I emerged. Bethany had called my phone, texted, and knocked on the door, begging to leave. I had made her stay and wait for me. Needs had offered her the couch (which was beyond disgusting) to sleep on or in his bed…with him. She didn’t speak to me until the next morning and rightfully so. I made her sit on the world’s worst couch with the most desperate drunk boy in NYC with a Dungeons and Dragons game laid out on the coffee table and no source of distraction aside from my pleas and sobs from the room next door. Gold star for friendship goes to Bethany.

This story will get its own blog entry but until then, here’s the part where Bethany again should hate me. We had gone to Six Flags for the day with some of my exboyfriend’s friends. He was supposed to come with us but canceled (I found out because of his new girlfriend who he had been cheating on me with). At the time, we were broken up and I thought it was a great idea to spend the night at his house after the park so that we didn’t have to drive back so late to Vermont. We had a great day at the park with the boys. We got back to Film Camp’s house and all hell broke loose. The main incident was that Alia’s car was broken into. I still am shocked how this happened because the house is in a neighborhood far from the main street and Alia’s car was sitting right in front of the house and we were all in the garage about 80 feet from the car. Whoever it was stole all our food and Bethany’s disposable camera, CDs, and her purse featuring her wallet and cell phone. My purse and Alia’s purse remained untouched, out in the open in the front seats.  Bethany was the only one actually affected by this robbery minus the fact our OCPs (oatmeal cream pies) went missing. I guess the fortunate part was that we were just out of high school so we didn’t have tons of major credit cards and cash on us? Nope. Still unfortunate every way you look at it.

We used to catch salamanders in Bethany’s backyard. I am almost 100% that this was my idea because one of the first times we did it, I made her climb down into a muddy ravine in new boots and khaki pants to catch them with me. I’m not sure how Bethany’s mom still likes me.

Supervised by Bethany’s babysitter, we discovered a mother cat and her kitten in the woods. They were both black and the kitten was fairly small, probably only a few weeks. Being the savor I am, I decided to save the kitten and take him home. My mother would not allow this so Bethany’s babysitter adopted him and named him Simba. Somehow, although she was plotting it, the mother cat did not attack us and rip our faces off. It still breaks my heart to think of her following us most of the way home. I’m not sure what possessed me to take the kitten from his mother and not the mother as well. But Simba had claws and teeth and was not shy about using them. I basically could have given us all rabies, lice, mites, worms, who knows what else feral cats carried in the 90’s. Again, AMAZING idea.

So there are some examples of why I should probably buy Bethany a diamond ring and a brand new luxury vehicle because somehow, she’s remained my friend in spite of all the unfortunate pickles I seem to put us in. In other words, all the dumb shit I make her do with me.

Fun Facts!

6 Jul

I know you’ve all been dying to know more about me. You’re welcome:

I’m 86% sure that my hair has stopped growing. My mom assures me that it hasn’t, but I’m not convinced.

I got to feed a capybara once. That was pretty cool. I touched one, too, on a separate occasion.

I listen to music while I’m blow drying my hair and lip sync into the mirror pretending I’m in a music video. Current favorite lip sync songs: Somebody that I Used to Know by Gotye and Carry On by Fun.

I hate the word “lover” and the term “making love”. They make me shudder visibly. I, however, have no problem with the word “moist” and will say it repeatedly to make people uncomfortable.

I secretly want to be a stripper. Guess that’s not a secret anymore…

I talk to myself, out loud, all the time. Probably way more than any person should. I try to refrain from doing it in public so people don’t think I’m insane. I usually fail at refraining.

I think I’ve developed an addiction to buying nail polish.

I’m right handed, but I can only deal cards with my left hand. I deal them pretty poorly with my left hand, but I cannot deal with my right hand at all. I’m left footed.

Someone just called me “a delicate winter flower…who burns viciously in the sun.” And that’s true.

I hate sharing beds with people. I have recently taken to sleeping diagonally across my queen sized bed. Sharing a bed with someone would mean I’d have to actually sleep like a normal person. I do not possess that ability. Also, although I have 4 pillows on my bed, I use a bunched up blanket or the corner of my comforter as a pillow. It’s super comfortable. I think sharing a bed is a really weird concept. Sleep is important for living beings to be healthy and happy. Why jeopardize a good night’s sleep by having someone tossing and turning, snoring, etc.,  and generally keeping you awake??? I just don’t get it.

My favorite alcoholic beverage used to be the madras, but after a nasty run-in involving way too much vodka and some Chinese food, I can no longer drink them. I don’t think I’ve had Chinese food since then, either. I now drink rum and cokes.

I have a slight case of OCD and freak out if items on shelves, on my desk, in the dishwasher, and so on aren’t lined up. Everything should have a place and be put back in its place after use! Ok, I don’t actually freak out. I just find it annoying. Plus, the more neatly you organize stuff, the more stuff you can fit somewhere! I also have a slight case of hoarding.

I watch way too many “guilty pleasure” TV shows. Way. Too. Many.

I LOVE DOING LAUNDRY and I will do your laundry for you if you bring it to my apartment. I will even fold it. I will NOT put it away for you. That part sucks.

I watch this video almost every day while I’m doing my make up. I’ve pretty much got it memorized. No, I don’t get sick of it. Yes, I still find it hilarious. I heart her.

Song of the Day: Your Love by The Outfield (This is my favorite song. I love 80’s music.)

Podcast Interview!

2 Jul

The fabulous Lincoln L Hayes interviewed Bethany and me for Riding Your Coattails podcast.

To listen to our interview where we discuss our childhood, the Trifecta, and random life thoughts and stories, please follow this link!

Check out the site for other great interviews with accomplished performers, stylists, musicians, and ringmasters!

Like the Facebook page for funsies!

I Think I’m Gonna Hurl

2 Jul

I am a terrible puker. Not that anyone is ever good at it but I never make it to a toilet, let alone a bathroom. I always am 200% confident I can hold my vomit but 20 seconds after proclaiming this, like clockwork, it turns into The Exorcist. There have been several victims that have been heaved upon in my poor judgement of timing and quantity. These are their stories.

Coincidentally, most of them are ex boyfriends. It’s fine, they deserved it a little. *Names have been changed for funsies

The first was my ex high school boyfriend Film Camp*. He was coming to my college to look at the film program and of course, being the love sick loser I was, I told him he should stay with me because in spite of the fact we had had one of the most messy, dramatic, immature breakups of all time including both of us cheating on each other, I felt we could totally sleep in the same bed as friends. Well, really I felt he’d see me differently and fall back in love with me and we’d have babies and be wed. I digress. I had been drinking (this was my freshman year of college so I was always drinking) and we were laying in bed together. I had wanted so badly to mend the brokenness between us so when I felt sick, I didn’t want him to know. I rolled over and spewed all down the wall and into the sheets. I folded the sheets so the vomit was wrapped in a nice little bundle. I slept smelling my own vomit in fear Film Camp would wake up and think me even more appalling and disgusting than he already did. In the morning, I wrapped up my sheets quickly and washed them as soon as I could. Pretty sure he knew the whole time.

Bethany herself was a victim though I did not puke ON her. I went to visit her in college and we decided we needed to get as drunk as possible because as everyone knows, freshman year of college is when you are automatically entered into the world of being a professional drinker. Well, at least in our heads we were. Bethany’s dorm was a functioning hotel because the college had run out of room in their regular housing so they were supposed to behave themselves. We did not. I ended up vomiting in the hotel bathroom (not Bethany’s room bathroom) in the sink. I had actually made it to a bathroom and yet failed once again to get anything in the toilet. Bethany felt the need to clean it up herself and make sure it all went down the drain. That’s what a best friend is, kids.

The next was my ex college boyfriend Nazgul (no, he did not look like a Nazgul, this is an inside joke). It was the first summer Bethany and I had turned 21 and we thought it best to take Burlington by storm as legal drinkers. We had Nazgul drop us off and agree to pick us up later. Having been in college for a while, we thought we were pretty seasoned drinkers. However, I think once you turn 21, it opens the flood gates and you feel like you can drink everything and anything. This turns out not to be true. We had a great time that night. There’s a picture of me holding a massive bottle of Poland Spring filled with what we are pretty confident is urine. These are the kind of ideas that were going through our head. We also agreed to go to Milton to some 4th of July party these guys on the street invited us to. Miraculously, we found Nazgul and his car though I don’t remember how nor do I remember the drive home minus me making him stop at a gas station for me to pee and dropping Bethany off. Just a fun fact: this gas station was about 5 minutes away from where he had picked us up and about 10 minutes away from my home but I guess I couldn’t contain myself that long.

After we dropped Bethany off safely, he came back to my house and I begged him not to leave me. He had just dealt with two very ridiculous drunk girls and it was the last thing on his mind to stay later at my house as I sloppily flopped around my room. We were laying in my bed and I said I felt sick. He went to get up to move out of my way but then I said “Oh, no, I think it’s ok.” My bedroom in my house is across from the bathroom. Like 8 feet. I sat up,  turned and opened up my entire stomach contents upon his Tenacious D shirt. Directly on him. I don’t think any of it even got on the bed. At first, he didn’t move and bless his heart, he didn’t scream as I would have. He just looked at me as I panicked and ran to get something to clean it up. We rinsed the shirt, put it in a plastic bag, and he left. I actually remember that moment post puking where we both just stared at each other thinking “Yup. That just happened.”  Not sure he saw me the same way after that.

The third was a boy I had only been dating briefly. This was a boy, named Ivan*, that I had met at a bar. Actually, that’s a good story. I was visiting my friend from college at the midtown bar he bartended at and these two dudes started talking to me at the bar. Somehow, we all thought it was a great idea to go to a strip club together after my buddy got done with work. Flashdancers has a lovely shrimp buffet and ladies that smell just like the strippers of your dreams. I was bought a lap dance and I can say with all truth that I am definitely a straight woman though the girl the boys chose for me was quite pretty. I think she knew they were doing this as a joke and didn’t give it to me full throttle but I didn’t really need that sparkly, lotiony, distinctly stripper scent all up in my grill. Ivan and I realized we were neighbors (he lived 3 blocks away from me) and we went home together. Well, to his home. We had met a little before my birthday so I begged him to come to my party at a bar in the west village. He was a few years older than me and had a job he suited up for every morning and made real money while I sold shirts for the Disney at 8 bucks an hour. But he said he’d come and he did. He sat there uncomfortably with all my work, college, and theater friends yelling with glee and introducing themselves to him though he probably wouldn’t remember anyone’s name the next day. Bless his heart.  I was turning 24 and I was still making the 21 year old mistake thinking I could drink whatever I wanted and in whatever combination I desired. I don’t really remember the last half of the party though my ex boyfriend Mick* apparently showed up at one point and said I was pretty gone. I took a cab home with Ivan and one of my best friend’s Matt. I remember being aware that Matt was concerned about my state and said I should go home to my place and not Ivan’s. Ivan agreed and I recall getting into my room and insisting on birthday sex. Demanding it, actually. Ivan said I wasn’t really in a place for that to happen but he sat with me on my bed, waiting for me to get comfortable so he could leave. He kept asking if I needed to go and be sick. He repeatedly said I should just sit in the bathroom. After a few minutes of this, I snapped back at him that I wasn’t going to be sick. He looked at me and said “Yes, you are.” And then I was. All over my bed and spattering onto him. He just looked at me. I stared back at him. I failed to mention how handsome this boy was. He was tall, tan, well-traveled, smart, funny, super sarcastic, and really into music. He was the hottest boy who had ever liked me at that point in my NYC life. I was mortified. On the verge of tears, I said he could leave and made him promise he’d call me tomorrow. He tried to help me get my sheets off but I said it was fine. He promised he’d call. I tore my sheets off after he left and slept on a mattress with a blanket of shame. He texted a few times before avoiding me completely. He was moving later that summer and though he never actually broke up with me, he made it clear that he didn’t want anything ‘serious’ and I think vomiting on someone and still dating them qualifies as serious. Ivan joked that he had super powers because I had hurled almost on command when he had spoken it allowed. He did not know of my inability to judge regurgitation.

My most regrettable victim was my darling puppy Katie. One of the best dogs in the world, when I got my wisdom teeth out, she laid next to my bed, sitting vigil with my swollen face as I slept. I did not react well to painkillers and this was my first experience with them. My parents had gotten my favorite Italian for dinner and I thought I could manage eating lasagna. I did manage it and it was incredible after eating ice cream and yogurt and soup for a week. However, my painkillers did not agree and I woke up in the night and somehow succeeded in leaning over my bed and letting loose on my loyal friend. Proving her endless good nature and positive puppy attitude that she still has today at 14 years old, she picked her head up, look at her back that was now covered with my dinner, and glanced up at me and started wagging her tail as if she was more excited I was awake and looking at her than disgusted I had just puked on her fur. I remember yelling for my mom and her asking what was wrong and having to say “Um. I puked on Kate.” Thankfully, dogs love you unconditionally.

The last time I got sick from drinking was in Boston in 2009 in a hotel with Lincoln. Be happy to know I did not vomit upon him. Actually, he’s dealt with the majority of my illnesses (I was ill several times in the first year we dated) and I’ve never expelled upon him. I guess it’s meant to be. 🙂

I want everyone to know I looked up synonyms for “to vomit” in the thesaurus to write this. I hope there was enough variety.