Thanks for the Free Day

I love going to museums in NY. It's relaxing, inexpensive, and entertaining. Museums in LA are a different story. They turn it into a huge production complete with time slots and expensive parking. Time slots?? Really?? Is this the Tim Burton exhibit at MoMA? No, that's what I thought. Get over yourself.

This being the case, although my intentions are good, I rarely end up making the trek out here on the west coast. What is my point? My point is that I really, really want to go to the Getty Villa but picking a date and time and driving out there and parking is really just way too much for me to deal with.

This brings me to Monday. improbablygonnabeacatlady tells me that she and a friend are going on Wednesday and asks if I want to join. All I would have to do is get in the car. YESSSSSSSS. I immediately accept the invitation, but am quickly forced to retract my statement upon remembering that I have a meeting with a commercial agent Wednesday afternoon. Damn it all.

BUT WAIT! Later that evening, I check to see what time my meeting is and find that the date is June 2nd. For those of you who are calendar-ically-challenged, that is not this Wednesday, but the following. YESSSSSSS! I CAN GO!!!

But wait. Tuesday morning, I receive an email from my booker. I have been requested for a casting. On Wednesday. At 1pm.

Obviously.

I would just like to add that I have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING on my calendar for today. Nothing. I'm totally free. ANYTHING YOU'D LIKE TO TOSS IN HERE, JESUS? No? That's what I thought. Thanks.

My Bucket List

Most people's bucket lists include grand adventures, emotional overtures and a couple fabulous vacations. What is inherent in each listed activity is an element of risk; specifically that of life, limb, and dignity.

I, personally, prefer my risks to be calculated. I cling desperately to life and limb (specifically, my own,)and would do the same with my dignity, RIP, if it was still in existence. I also don't really like to be uncomfortable. This well-honed survival instinct ensures that I will be walking and breathing for decades to come; unfortunately, it makes crafting a proper bucket list quite difficult. I don't want to swim with sharks if there is any possibility of being stung by a jellyfish in the process. Climb Mt. Everest? Please. What if I run out of oatmeal?

Well, as of this morning, crisis has been averted. Purpose has been restored to my amazing, yet sad, little life. My co-dependent, iprefermyironyinotherpeople, introduced me to an epic list of things I must do before I die:

http://archive.azplace.net/index.php?itemid=877&catid=8

There are two great things about this list:
1. I can do these things OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER... Practice makes perfect. Overachieving, like irony, is a lifestyle and doesn't stop just because you think your life might. I will ace this Bucket List s*it.
2. The risks involved are the easiest to calculate: The reactions of the masses. And the few select friends that I choose to honor with involvement in this meaningful journey.

iprefermyironyinotherpeople: Thank You.

Everyone else: You're Welcome.

That Could Totally Happen To Me

improbablygonnabeacatlady and I spent this afternoon watching How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days, one of our most beloved masochistic activities.

There is a scene in the movie, where Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson are en route to a black-tie soiree, and MattyMatt is floored by Kate's appearance in her dress.

That scene spurred the following conversation between my favorite catlady and I:

improbablygonnabeacatlady: "When was the last time someone told you you were beautiful? And meant it."

me: "hotguyfriend just told me I was beautiful."

improbablygonnabeacatlady: "Uhhuh. And would take you to a fabulous Gala like that."

me: "Um... He invited me to Vegas?"

...

Sigh.

To Be Continued...

This morning... ok, fine, afternoon... I was in the middle of my daily beauty routine, when I was hit with a startling realization. When applying moisturizer, anti-wrinkle creams, etc, I gently massage the product on my face, décolletage, and the front of my neck. That's right. The front of my neck. Just the front.

I have never been one to "Submit My Beauty Questions," Seventeen Magazine-style, but if there ever was a time, I think this is it. Because as I stood there, staring in the mirror, contemplating this new discovery within the realm of my personal habits, I wondered if this was normal.

Do most people coat just the front of their neck? This was a topic that failed to be broached in Elementary School sleepovers or on High School road trips.

More importantly, does this mean that the back of my neck will age faster than the front of my neck? Will I one day fall prey to 'back of neck droop,' simply because of an instinctual habit?

By the way, I realize this is probably better suited for my "Thought of the Day" box, but it was a really long thought.

That's all.

"I'm Just Messin' With You, Man" -- Jesus

After a brief heart to heart with one of my besties, I turn to leave, saying through tears (mixed with sardonic laughter and masked by over-sized, over-tinted sunnies, obviously,) "At least I have Justin Bieber waiting for me in my car. He is the only thing getting me through life right now."

I put my keys in the ignition, and reach for my iPod, which I always leave connected to the speakers. This time, my hand grasps an unconnected cord.

Very funny, Jesus.

Editor's note: It turns out that, for once in my life, I had disconnected my iPod and placed it in my bag. Justin was, indeed, waiting for me in my car... and, somewhere up in the sky, Jesus was ROFL.