I Dream of Being Sued By Tina Fey

As I was baking some brownies this afternoon, I began to daydream about my future bakery. This has been a 'totally not serious but seriously, it would be kind of fantastic' daydream of mine for about 8 years or so now.

I decided I would call my dessert company "You're Fat Because I Hate You." For those of you who live in some sort of alternate universe, this is half of an amazing quote from Mean Girls. The other half of the quote will be my vegan line of desserts: "I Don't Hate You Because You're Fat."

I still honestly think this is a good idea, by the way.

As I was picturing my flourishing company and mentally drafting my business plan, I began to wonder if that quote was copyrighted.

I suddenly pictured myself being sued by Tina Fey; because, clearly, she would take the time to fight this battle. In my head she berated me for using her hard work to garner personal success.

My response? "I tried using my own hard work to gain success, but that wasn't working out so well, so I thought maybe I'd have more luck with yours."

Stop Destroying My Zen

I had a casting in Santa Monica around 2p yesterday. After which, I decided to go down to the beach to prep for my 7p acting class. I figured it would be a nice, peaceful setting where I could clear my head and focus.

It was. For about ten minutes.

Just as soon as I had gotten my stuff settled, (Extra-long towel laid out to directly face the sun, SPF30 applied, dress on top of bag to prevent it blowing away, water bottle within arms reach, sides in my hand, book beside me for when I tired of my sides, sand packed slightly higher at my head so as to create a sort of pillow beneath my towel...) FOUR BUS-LOADS OF SMALL CHILDREN ARRIVED. Not only did they arrive at the beach in general, which would have been irksome enough to throw off my carefully achieved zen, but their adult leaders camped them on the sand approximately 15 feet above where I was sitting.

I just want to wallow in my jaded view of life for awhile, can you please stop rejoicing over the waves and the sunshine?! And come on, how hard is it to get the sand out of your shoes? Do you honestly have to stand there yelling for help and slapping the soles together for a solid ten minutes?? Really? Figure it out, child.

My head was neither cleared nor focused.

This'll be Perfect for Your Knee

Me: So the thing I'm going in for tomorrow is a health mag

improbablygonnabeacatlady: OOH yay

Me: Wonder if it's a joke... What with my bum knee and all LOL. I come limping in...

improbablygonnabeacatlady: HAHAHAHAHA

"Ok Stacie, we want you to jump"

"and kick sand"

Me: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA Right? "If you could just do a forward lunge..."

Honesty is the Best Policy

Special overseas update from improbablygonnabeacatlady!!!

So, today, I got a massage before my flight tomorrow back to the good ol USA. I got it at my aunt's apt because she lives in an expat sort of serviced apt building here in Singapore. Unfortunately, her favourite masseuse left the spa so it was a new lady, Isabel, and I got to be a guinea pig.

When I checked in, I could already tell this lady was a total space cadet. She even walked into the effing room when I was undressing. WTF?!

Now, Asians are not known for their manners, esp. Singaporeans (I cannot tell you how many times I heard Chinese and Singaporean people burp out loud or in my face while they are talking to me).

So, when she was massaging my thighs and butt area she said, "you need to run."

I replied, "Excuse me?"

Isabel: "Your muscle here. It loose."

Me: "Well, I have been walking a lot here."

Isabel: "That not enough. You need to run. You exercise?"

Me: "No. I never exercise."

Isabel: "Yes. You need to. So you can make it tight. It loose now."

It could have been worse- she could have said other body parts were "loose." But you know I'm not like that...

Just when you thought her honesty stopped there, she let me know what's up again when she massaged my stomach area.

Isabel: *soft chuckle* "Oh, well you are still slim for not working out. Except for this-you have small tummy here."

Me: LAUGH. "Yes. I know."

Isabel: "Let me guess- you work. Then you eat. Then you go back to desk and sit down for long time. That's why you have that."

I laugh again, thinking that if she even knew the half of it (I am a professional horizontal eater- eating with a plate on my stomach while I'm laying on the couch watching TV), she would probably feel free to rip into me even more.

Isabel: "Well, at least you are still young and have time to fix."

I have never had a masseuse talk to me (annoying and unprofessional), but this time was pretty comical. I guess I can't fool her with my oversized t-shirts and pregnant dresses as I lay nakey on her table. She totally called me out.

The final backhanded compliment came when I was checking out of the spa and drinking my tea. She was staring at my face and said, "Pretty. You young and have beauty. But need to exercise. Fix it now."

So if you ever want someone to tell you what's wrong with your body (whether you already knew it or not), a real live "fat mirror" if you will, book a massage with Isabel in Singapore!

I've Maintained My Youth

Do you ever look back on childhood events and marvel at how far you've come? I don't. This is a vignette I wrote in the 3rd grade:

THE WEDDING

Today I was really excited! My Grandma had just brought over my flower girl dress because tomorrow I was going to be in my step step aunt's wedding. And so was Matt Carper. I forgot the other people. But anyway Matt was going to be the ringbearer, and we would have to walk down the aisle together. My step step aunt Jenny tried to make us hook elbows by saying it would look good in the wedding, but not a chance! We weren't even close to hooking elbows. We stood as far away from each other as the aisle would allow us. Well, good night I've got to get some sleep because tomorrow is a big day. "Wake up!" my mother called.

"Okay!" I said since I was already awake. First I made my bed and did all that other morning stuff. I put on my flowergirl dress and my mother did my hair in a french braid, then my Grandma took me to the church. I went down to the basement of the church and got the flowers I would hold (not throw) while I went down the aisle. Then I talked to the other people who were going to be in the wedding. And chased this little kid around. Just then somebody told me to go upstairs, so I did and when I got up there I saw how many people were there. Matt and I went first. I was on the side that Jenny was going to be on and Matt was on the side his dad was going to be on. Then Jenny and her dad came. When they got to the last aisle bench she traded off to the groom (And by the way, the bridesmaids were holding up the train that trails behind the bride.) They walked the rest of the way to the priest and he said some words. Then the people had to take millions of pictures. Then we went to this place to eat and dance. (I had to dance with Matt.)

THE END

Who could have predicted that that girl would still be single 18 years later?

Knees Are Overrated

Over the weekend, I decided that I want to run another half-marathon soon. It's been awhile, and I'm ready to get back into them. I even started to consider when I might run the one full marathon that I want to run at some point in my life.

Sunday afternoon, I was sitting back on my heels, playing with my sister's puppy and when I went to stand, there was a loud popping sound from my knee. It kind of made me feel like a 95 year old arthritic hag, but there was no real pain associated with it, so I figured it was sort of related to the clicking noises my ankles make when I walk up stairs. Please say you know what I'm talking about - in relation to yourself, not just that you've heard mine from across the country.

Monday, I go for a run and all is fine... until I head down to East Beach for volleyball. We were running the drill where you sit down backward in the sand and pop up, ready to pass the ball when coach says "Go." I sit down. I pop up. My knee also pops... out... and neglects to then pop back in. I try to shake it back into place, I have my sister try to pop it back into place... all to no avail. Whatever, I keep playing and by the end it doesn't feel great, but the pain has lessened substantially. Once at home, I sit in the hot tub with a bottle of wine and then move onto ice (wine still readily available.) I am confident that I will awake to a fully healed joint. Okay, maybe not so much confident as extremely hopeful slash slightly worried.

I woke up this morning unable to walk. My knee is currently wrapped in ice. My father suggested motrin; unfortunately, that is upstairs.

Apparently, Jesus is not a fan of my half-marathon/full-marathon gameplan. Duly noted. I will be on this couch until further notice.

OOOOHHHHH It's A-SPARKALIEEEEE

When most people walk around barefoot, they end up with dirty feet or things like grass or dust attached to their soles.

I walked around barefoot this morning. Guess what I found on the bottom of my foot.

A rhinestone.

That's right. Because my life is A-SPARKALIIEEE! Either that or because I am a 5 year-old and I tend to have a surplus of shimmer in my general vicinity.

It could go either way.

Bedhead is Hot

Since returning from New York, I have been waking up at 6am. Apparently I haven't adjusted to the time change yet.

This being the case, I decided there was no need to set an alarm for this morning. I went to bed around 12:30a and assumed I'd wake from restful slumber no later than 9am. I had a casting in LA between 10a-3p, so I planned to leave SB around noon, hopefully getting in a nice long run beforehand.

Interesting. When I pried the sleeping mask from my eyes and reached across for my blackberry, the time read 11:03am. My first thought was that my phone had switched back to Eastern time. My second thought was FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. My third thought was: "Sh*t, my earplug is stuck in my ear." (True story. It was a scary 3 minutes of gentle prying slash pulling. I didn't even know that could happen.)

My father didn't help things when he popped home after a meeting and saw me speed-eating my oatmeal in my pajamas, my bedhead slightly more pronounced than usual: "Oh yeah, you look like you'll get picked to model something." Laugh, laugh, laugh.

Thank you for that. No really, thank you.

Just Say No

After my friend's shocked/appalled/aghast/bewildered reaction to the intense level of inactivity in my dating life, I vowed to liven it it up a little bit. Two nights later, a tall Australian entered the scene. He had flown into NY that Thursday for his 'best mate's' birthday party and was leaving on Saturday morning for a business trip. His one free night was Friday and he would love to take me to dinner.

I ran through my mental checklist:
6'2" or above: Check.
Sense of humor: Check. (Though dangerously close to the cheesy side, not so close as to dismiss immediately.)
Broad-shouldered, athletic and attractive: Check, Check, and Check.
Easy conversationalist: Check.
Good job/income: Check/Check.

Looks like I was saying yes.

My initial concerns: he appeared to be older than I am generally comfortable with dating (I prefer 28ish, he seemed more 35ish,)and I was also worried about the cheese factor, due to a couple fleeting moments in conversation and also his shirt, which I was not particularly fond of.

Early afternoon on Friday he calls to say he has made 8pm dinner reservations and perhaps we can meet at 7p and walk along the westside a bit first. I say fine. Around 4p, he texts to confirm 7p at his apartment in SoHo. I respond that this should be fine as I am currently frolicking around the West Village with friends. He replies back that I can come around 6:30 instead if I would like. I choose to ignore this text. An hour before dinner, to talk about lord knows what, should suffice, thank you. And I'm not sure what it was about "frolicking around the West Village with friends" that led him to believe I would want to meet up earlier. Regardless.

I arrive in SoHo around 7:15, too late to allow for his planned hour 1/2 long pre-dinner stroll. Really though? Let's not jump ahead of ourselves, okay, Turbo? Thanks.

We walk through SoHo and over to the Flatiron district to dinner at Pure Food & Wine. The walk was actually quite lovely and entertaining, and dinner proceeded to be fun and delicious. I found myself remembering why I like dating. Fun, flirting, White Light Tinis... I really should do this more often.

As he paid the check, I reached for my blackberry, suddenly realizing how late it had become. Dinner had taken over three hours, and it was currently pushing midnite. So much for going home to change before meeting up with my friends. Alas, I assumed we would say goodnight and I would hop into a cab in front of the restaurant.

This is where things began to unravel.

I'm trying to politely peaceout; Aussie has turned his game on, angling to get laid. This is not an excellent combination. He wants to walk. Curbside, of course, as his grandmother instructed him to do when walking with a lady. (Uhhuh. Yup.) Ok, fine, I can saunter through the park with him and get a cab on the other side. I BBM my friends telling them my ETA is 30 minutes. 30 minutes later, duderino is still ignoring every semi-polite attempt of mine to end the date. I'm really trying not to be rude and abrupt, but he has suddenly turned from entertaining and charming to annoying and cheesy. (I KNEW IT WAS IN THERE.)

As our walk takes us mysteriously close to his apartment(I will spare you the cheese-ball extravaganza that occurred on that trek,) I am rescued by back to back phone calls from my besties (Hi! Yes! I'm coming right now, I swear! Sorry! Literally getting in a cab right now!!)

"Are you sure you have to go?"

Is he serious?

"Yep! Oh! There's a cab! HadagreattimethankyoufordinnerBYE!"

His reply?

"Oh man, you're totally running. I wish you wanted to stay and chase the passion with me."

Yup. Uhhuh.

CHASE THE PASSION.

Except he did not say it in capital letters. It rolled off his tongue, nonchalantly, as though that is something that he has said before. Often.

"Yeah, ok, I'm going to chase that cab."

This is why I don't date. Now, where's my cat?

So That's Not "Normal?"

I meet up with a friend of mine for an afternoon drink (or five.) As it is wont to do, conversation eventually turns to our respective relationships (or lack therof.)

"You've NEVER been in a serious relationship?!?"
"God, you say that like it's a bad thing."
"When was your last date?"
(I pause briefly, trying to remember. When I realize it's probably been over a year, I stop searching my brain and decide to concoct what seems like a typical, average period of time."
"Um, like 3 weeks ago."
"THREE WEEKS?!? THAT LONG?!?"

Guess it's a good thing I didn't go with "approximately 14 months ago."

I Gotta Run to the Dentist!

For the average American citizen, going to the dentist is a mundane chore squeezed into a lunch break or in between other mind-numbing errands.

For me, it's an ADVENTURE! (That exclamation point and pre-adolescent eagerness will diminish as this post continues.)

I haven't been to a dentist for four years. 1. I have a deep-seated fear of people shoving things such as drills and their creepy fingers into my mouth. 2. I have no dental insurance and can think of several things on which I'd rather spend the money I don't have.

On my recent trip to NY, I decide to take advantage of the "friends & family discount" offered by my dentist friend. The only caveat is that his practice is in New Jersey. Whatever, this will be an ADVENTURE! Hopstop informs me that I will need to take a bus from Port Authority, transfer to another bus once in the foreign land of Jersey and I will be dropped off at the doorstep to my dentist. EASY BREEZY! This will be all kinds of fun, I'll meet all kinds of interesting people and I'll feel all kinds of independent.

The morning of the great adventure arrives. I awake on a friend's couch after a rollicking good time the night before at Juliet. (Rap Video Sundays YESSSSS) He lives close to Port Authority, so I decide to just trek on over there and make my travels in my outfit from the night before. (Short, yellow, vintage lace dress with nude lace-up 5in. wedges.)

The day starts off well. I should have known that was a bad sign. I make it to Port Authority in plenty of time to figure out how to buy a ticket and where to meet the bus. Once on the bus, I realize that everyone has done this before and I am the only idiot looking around confusedly, having no clue when or where my stop is coming. Luckily, a small black child takes me under his wing and informs me that my stop will be four stops away and to not leave the bus until the driver tells me to. This is after he went to the driver and asked him to look out for "the nice, pretty girl in braids." Yes, this child was approximately seven years old.

I make it off the first bus at the local City Hall. Stop #1 a success. I'm supposed to transfer to my next bus here. The sign affirms the fact that that particular bus stops here, unfortunately it leaves off pertinent details such as the time at which this bus arrives and how I buy a ticket for said bus.

I prop myself against a tree, hiding from the intense sun, watching each bus come. Each time, wondering if my bus if ever going to arrive. I leave to buy some gum. Brushing my teeth with my finger, as I was at my friend's apartment, was probably not the best move on dentist day. I come back and continue my watch from the shade tree. I watch webisodes on my blackberry and continue to gchat with everyone I know, still wondering if I am ever going to make it to part two of my adventure.

An hour and a half later, my bus arrives. Hmm, now about this whole ticket thing. I ask the driver how much it costs. $2.35. I hand him a $20 bill, but he shakes his head and points to the machine. I put the twenty into the machine. It reads: $1. Driver says: "You need another $1.35." I JUST PUT A TWENTY IN THERE. "It doesn't give you change." THIS DIDN'T SEEM LIKE A PERTINENT FACT TO MENTION TWO MINUTES AGO? At this point, someone on the back of the bus says: "Girl so stupid." I was loving this adventure less and less by the minute.

I sit down, contemplating the fact that I probably could have taken a cab from there for less money and wondering how I am going to figure out where my stop is. We go through an intersection and turn on Ratzer Rd. "Oh! I'm on Ratzer and Selby*," I tell the driver. He nods. I settle back into my seat. Almost there!!! My phone starts to die. The webisodes were probably a bad idea on a phone running on low battery.

Suddenly, we turn off. We're no longer on Ratzer. "Wait, are we not on Ratzer anymore?? I told you my stop was Ratzer & Selby*!!!"

The driver forgot to stop at my stop. But not to worry, he said, this bus makes a loop so we'll pass it on the way back. Cool. Except for the fact that I am now late. Whatever, I will make it. All will be fine. I text my friend that I will be late, as he normally leaves the office early on Mondays.

It took us another 45 minutes just to get to the turnaround point. By this time, the sunny day had turned cloudy and drops began to fall from the sky. The driver told me I had to get off while he took a ten minute break. Awesome. I go to wait in the little clear booth things, now freezing in my sleeveless dress. During this ten-minute period, the drops falling from the sky turn to larger drops and eventually hail. Of course.

By the time I am in back in the bus, I am soaked, freezing, my makeup from the night before has streaked down my cheeks and around my eyes. In another 10 minutes, I finally arrive at my stop. 5 hours after my adventure began.

"Hey Stacie! Great to see you. How'd you get here?"
"You too! I had a friend drop me off; it was perfect!"

I die.

*I don't remember what the actual intersection was. I sort of wish I didn't remember any of this at all.