Pat Your Head and Rub Your Tummy

I made the mistake of putting Let the Right One In into the DVD player to watch while I ate dinner tonight. If you are like me and have never heard of the movie, it is a Norwegian film, complete with subtitles.

SUBTITLES?! Really?

I kept missing parts of the movie, and really have no idea what happened for the first half hour or so, as I am apparently not coordinated enough to eat without looking at my food.

I swear it's harder than you think.

RIP AVP

It is a scientific fact that my future daughters are going to be giants. I am already planning on pumping their veins full of coffee, but diminutive statures are just not in their cards. For those of you who are thinking to yourself: "Unless you marry a short dude," I say: "Ew. That is disgusting and please stop reading my blog now, thanks. Your penny contribution to my ironic life means nothing to me now."

Moving along.

My 6'2" husband and I will be breeding giants. I came to the conclusion long ago that the only logical solution would be to put them in beach volleyball training from the age of two or so. What? It worked for Jennifer Capriati and tennis. I was convinced that was their only hope for a normal, happy lifestyle.

Then came this recent piece of news:

AVP Tour Suspends Operations

The death of the AVP?

What are my future children supposed to do?? More importantly... now where am I going to find a husband?

I Sang With Katy Perry

With beginnings like this, it is no wonder I have achieved so much success in my career.



If you want to see Katy's thrilling "solos," you can scroll ahead to the 1:36ish mark... and again around 2:10.

I know... I'm so cool.

P.S. Please notice my awesome braces. You're welcome.

Your Local Library Doesn't Trust You

A few months ago, a major life event occurred: I GOT MY NYPL CARD!!! For those of you who suck at acronyms, NYPL stands for New York Public Library. It was not as easy as you might think.

Words of wisdom for those who wish to follow in my footsteps:

1. Bring proof of address. If you don't, you will have to get permission from a supervisor to bring said proof upon return of the book. And the girl at the desk will basically make you feel like a homeless hoodlum.

2. When they give you that little receipt with the name of the book and its expected date of return, do not crumple it up and toss it in the trash after a brief, perfunctory glance at the due date; if you do, you will not make it through the security line at the exit and will be forced to return to the front desk where they will have to print you another copy. This time, you may not feel homeless, but you definitely feel like a hoodlum. And an a-hole.

The things I do for the A.B.C. And because I totally not-so-secretly love libraries and all the germs and weirdos that come with them.

Death By Spiderbite is So Lame

I have a healthy fear of spiders.

Two nights ago, a spider had apparently made his way through my open window and onto my curtains. Not wanting to put my hand anywhere close to his furry little, poison-filled, pincher-y things, I grabbed the nearest spray bottle I could find and aimed it at him. Aveda's Sap Moss styling spray is not going to be marketed as a spider-killer anytime soon. It did, however, alarm the spider, causing him to scramble down the wall, where another squirt of sap moss led him to the floor where I stomped him with a Jeffrey Campbell Wang boot. (Which, by the way, is a very effective spider-squisher.) I even proceeded to pick up the flattened, shriveled, spider carcass with a kleenex and toss him into my trash can. (My fear of his reincarnation during my sleep led me to immediately dispose of this trash in the outside bin.)

Last night, I was regaling my mother with tales of my courage in afore-mentioned battle vs. spider. This led to that, and soon I was thinking how much it would suck to die by spider bite in your sleep. Like, honestly, out of all the things that could possibly kill you, and all the ways you could possibly die, that has to be one of the lamest.

Unfortunately, now that this thought has crossed my mind, that is probably exactly how I am going to die... just because it's so lame and annoying.

I am now going to go skydiving, followed by an afternoon of swimming with sharks. Anyone want to go chase some lions around tonight?

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.