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.

Jesus Doesn't Want Me To Be On Glee

I love Glee. I have loved it since it first appeared in promotional advertising and I continue to love it well into its second season.

When I heard they were having an open casting call for new Glee cast members, I immediately decided to submit my video.

I decided to... I didn't actually submit it at that time. My roommate came home, and... well... auditioning for Glee is not something you can do in front of other people. It's something you do around 1am in an empty apartment with your Sony Cybershot filming you from its post on a stool stacked on top of the table, praying your friend's neighbors are out of town so you don't have to explain the dorkfest when you run into them in the hall the next morning. Purely hypothetical.

Regardless, I figured I had approximately a month to get around to it. PLEEENNNTY of time. April 26th. The final deadline for audition submission. I woke up at 11a, went for a jog, did some reading, and around 3p went online to sort out the whole audition process.

Interesting.

11:59am is a far different time than 11:59pm. I probably should not have mixed those two up.

I missed the deadline. Of course.

I was super bummed, but figured it was a sign it wasn't meant to be. The next night I was explaining this to a friend, only to discover an hour later that they had extended the deadline - added on another day! Again, I took this as a sign.

The next day, I went to my auditions, went to a new class at Equinox, and came home to do my audition. Unfortunately, I got distracted by my growling stomach and tivo'ed 30 Rocks I had yet to watch. FINALLY around 1am, I started to record my videos. Braindead... scratchy throat... no clue what to say in the stupid "tell me why you should be on Glee" video... it takes me quite a few attempts. So many attempts, in fact, that my camera dies on my last take of 'Lean On Me.' Whatever, who really needs that last second of my, at that point, trembling vibrato. It's done, let's throw it on the computer, upload it, and make everyone I've ever met vote for me.

At that moment, I paused. My camera was dead. I didn't bring my battery charger with me. Also, I failed to bring along the cord to connect my camera to the computer or even the computer itself. improbablygonnabeacatlady, who I am staying with at this time, was stuck in airport hell and wouldn't be back 'til 5am. Great. I'm an idiot. My stupid audition videos, which totally suck, by the way, are stuck on my stupid dead Cybershot. I am so dumb. I watch an episode of the Hills to make me feel better about myself and go to sleep.

Miraculously, the next morning improbablygonnabeacatlady awakes at 11am and produces a battery, cord, and a computer. YAYYYY IT'S GONNA WORK OUT AFTER ALL!!!!

Ok. Videos posted exactly at 11:59am. Done and done. All that's left to do is shamelessly promote my link to everyone I've ever known. (And tell them to disregard the huge bags under my eyes and the lame 'pick me!' video and the scratchy throat... basically tell them not to watch it. Just vote for me.)

Hm.

About that link.

I can't find the link to my audition videos. My myspace page (which, heretofore, I was unaware even still existed) update my status to "Stacie auditioned for Glee " and provided a link to the main page. Once there, I searched for my name, finding 5 other Stacie's, but not me.

I can't find my own audition.

Thanks, Jesus. I'm pretty sure he deleted it.

We Get It, Skinny Bitch

Improbablygonnabeacatlady introduced me to an amazing website chronicling the daily activities of Suri Cruise. Rain or shine, happy or cranky, Little Miss Suri conducts herself in a manner that lets the world know that she is infallibly adorable and her life is amazing. Hence, "We Get It Suri."

A recent, and reoccurring, event in my life has extracted a similar visceral response.

Every Tuesday at 12:30pm, I join approximately 20 other young women and 2 gays for Corey Hill's trio of classes: CORE Booty Blast, CORE Upper Cuts, and CORE ab blast. Like any gym class, it is comprised of a wide spectrum of body types. These body types can be divided into three main categories, each of which serves a purpose in my personal endeavors:

1. Super Skinny Tall Chics
They make me rethink anything I have ever eaten. They also make me feel better about my 3 lb. weights and excessive downtime between ab exercises. They also help the time pass, as I constantly glance at the mirror to reassess exactly how much smaller their arm is than my own.

2. Compact Athletic Chics
I look to them when questioning my form. Also, their mind-boggling ability to do a tricep extension with an 8 lb. weight pushes me to attempt to quell the shaking in my arm as I raise my own 5 lb. dumbbell toward the ceiling.

3. I Probably Live In, Or At Least Enjoy The Nightlife Of, Midtown Chics
Their average height, average weight, and average athletic ability makes me feel a lot better about my own life slash thighs.

Altogether a lovely combination that helps me to achieve my gym goals in a relatively peaceful environment.

Until a new girl arrived in class. Her arrival necessitated the creation of a new category:

4. Skinny Bitch
Ok so she's tall and skinny. Sounds like category #1, right? Wrong. The girls in category #1 may be weak, but they still manage to complete the exercises, albeit with minimal weight. This girl is not only weak, but I am willing to bet she has never heard the phrase "chest press" in her life. For the last three weeks, she has stood in the middle of the class making a mockery of every exercise. I have never seen form this bad in my life, and judging by the derision in the eyes of my fellow class members, neither have they.

Now, before confusion overtakes you, let me explain something. I am aware that my own form is far from excellent. Once, mylifeissonotironic and I decided to attend a kickboxing class, only to find that we were two feet taller than everyone in the room and spent the entire class in the back of the room flailing our excessively long limbs every which way. My problem with Skinny Bitch is that she literally can't even do a bicep curl. Like, come on, you curl your arms up and then you curl them down. Is that really that confusing??

Apparently.

The main kicker is that not is she incapable of completing (or even beginning) a single exercise, but this girl could care less. She doesn't even attempt to figure out how to do things. She stands in the middle of the room, letting all of us know that she doesn't need our silly little classes in order to have the body we are all working to attain.

We get it Skinny Bitch, you may not understand the purpose of a gym, but you don't need to. The fact that you look like an idiot in class doesn't bother you, because you already have your "bathing suit body."

Now, since you serve no real purpose in my personal pursuit of skinniness, if you could please find a new afternoon hobby, that would be great. Because this is supposed to be all about me. Thank you.