No, really, I've thought this through.

I was thinking my best friend should teach a class. On me.

No, no, hear me out, this is good. It came to me during a car ride where I should have been paying attention to her valuable wisdom. See, there she was, answering questions, dispensing theories and advice and it hits me. "She knows me WAY better than I think she does." Now. This was a tough fact to wrestle with. First of all, wrestling with facts is difficult. They are intangible; incorporeal. Hard to grasp. Second, it means that I am not the mystery, wrapped in an enigma, sprinkled with intrigue that I always believed myself to be. I mean- How does she know about "the walls" or "the excuses"? I thought I had it carefully tucked away in my esoteric nature. That I had a divine existence that transcended human understanding.

But, alas I am not. I am *clenches teeth* ordinary. But wait! (cue: trumpet fanfare)

Maybe I'm not that ordinary. Maybe It's just her that knows me. She's an expert, a doctor (honorary of course). She has a degree in me! She's a professor. You with me?

So I'm picturing this class, right. It's a night class, of course, held at the Learning Annex. Although, seriously, I don't know what a Learning Annex is. Do we even have one in AZ? So maybe it can be in one of those convention rooms that corporations rent out to talk about their "exciting" new products. You know- the conventions executives use to cheat on their wives? And Shea's there- and there's a white board. Every week, there would be a new topic. Here are some topic ideas I have:
Why Pissing Girls Off Isn't Funny
Calling During Prime Time: Don't Do It.
Musicals, Musicals, Musicals!!!
Clue: The Script, the Wonder, the Legend
Letting Her Borrow Your Hoodie: Don't Do It. (That's for them. Fact: I have never bought a hoodie. Blog high five!)

I can even imagine how they would go. For example, in the Musicals, Musicals, Musicals!!! class, Shea would prepare a reasonable lecture where in she would discuss the importance of getting to know your musicals if you are getting to know, um, er- me.

SHEA- Look, she's gonna have a "musical of the week". Sometimes of the month. It is important that you understand it's meaning, its music and why it's important. You must listen to her belt the music from it and agree when she claims that she could "totally nail" whatever role she's obsessing about. Which brings me to (this is the part where she takes her pointer and thwacks it against the words MUSICALS SHE'S IN, which she's written in all caps and underlined, twice.) When she's in a musical, you will go see her in it, you will bring her flowers and you will tell her that she was the best part of the show. Yes, you there in the back, a question?

GUY IN THE BACK- Yeah, uh- if I do go to "every" musical she's in and I tell her everytime that she was the best part of the show, won't she know I'm lying?

SHEA- Are you saying she isn't the best part of the show?

GITB- No- of course not, I'm just- that is, what if she isn't the best part of-

SHEA- THAT WAS A TEST!!!! She knows you're lying but she needs the lie.

GITB- What?! That makes no sense! Besides, musicals are totally gay anyway.

SHEA- Leave my classroom.

Oh, it's totally perfect. Because then- guys would get it- they wouldn't make the mistake of calling during Lost and wondering why A: I didn't pick up the phone or B: I did but I said something strange and violent like "IF YOU ARE CALLING ME NOW YOU MUST NOT LIKE YOUR FRONT TEETH, DO YOU, ASSHAT?!?!" They would get that if they make it too easy, I run like the wind but if they make it too hard, I get a weird fixation with them. She could tell them that I don't think being sexist is funny- you know what else? Racism. Not funny. Oh- and how I can't talk if a guy is abnormally hot? She'd totally get that. Yeah, she should teach a class. I wonder if the Learning Annex is booked....

Even London has to have a Compton.

When you think of London, what do you think? Buckingham Palace, West End, Museums, cobblestone roads, Piccadilly Circus- am I hitting the mark here? Look, I've been there several times and it's still all romantisized in my mind. I mean- even the most disgusting dregs of humanity that cus and smoke like chimneys still have the accent, and the bad parts of town still have the cobblestone roads- its a win win. There's another thing too. They look down on us. I know it's incredibly xenophobic, but can you blame them? I mean they have a different cafe on every corner, free admission to museums, artful cathedrals, etc- we have monster truck ralleys, Walmart on every corner and George Bush. (Even after he's out of office, he's still from here and we can't do anything about that. I've given it some thought...)

So Imagine my shock to find- A ghetto. A real, live, more liquor stores than banks ghetto. even more shocking my BROTHER, my flesh and blood,more stable, better educated, better spoken, (but not better looking. Hey, sorry. God doesn't give with both hands.)brother living in it. At first I thought I might be mistaken. I mean- It's London, after all. The Queen- she's the Queen of England, you know? How could a place that has the most amazing history, architecture, and the ROYAL FAMILY have a ghetto?

And then I saw this. You're reading that correctly, friends. It's a chicken and rib house. I mean it might as well be Rosco's. That's when I started to really look around. I mean- take some walks around the neighborhood. One thing I realized- there was one grocery store on the block and one drug store- and yet FIVE liquor stores and THREE bars.

And the kids! Look, okay, I think little kids from England with the little accents are maybe the cutest things ever. I mean, come on. But these kids? No- these were like thugged out, dickhead, drunken, bat-shit crazy mutant kids. And yes- while I will freely admit that a thugged out Brit is incredibly funny; when you see them take a bag of rocks and hurl them at a bike cop with absolutely no fear, it's also quite disturbing. Especially for an American. It's like seeing a sweet old lady give a beat down to her cat. It's like DOES NOT COMPUTE.

So I started getting used to the idea. And the noises. For example, there was a loud and drunken shouting match practically every night in the streets. And the sound of raucous, drunken teenagers, swearing and breaking wine bottles, became but a white noise after the first week. And then came the GUN INCEDENT!!!!

I bet you're thinking "But wait, no way. Aren't guns illegal in the UK??!" Yes, yes they are. But sure enough, on my last night in London, there was an incident. A full blown, fight in the street, shots fired, CSI: London incedent right across the street from my brother's house. Here is my proof:

I'm not being a drama queen (type c, thank you very much) here. This was literally ACROSS the street from the flat where my brother, sister-in-law and this little man (If you don't think he is the CUTEST thing alive, you simply are not human.)live. Where they live, sleep, eat their vegetarian meals, where they watch tv and read the paper! Across the street. Like we heard the entire fight from beginning to end!We saw the gun and got the plate numbers from the shooter. I mean- DOES NOT COMPUTE!!!!

So- what is my purpose in sharing this little gem with you? Was it to get all self righteous and "Proud To Be An American"? No. I simply wanted you to remember that every rose has it's thorn, every model has a flaw (just ask Tyra)- and even London has a ghetto.

And there ya go.

What you don't know about women....

I want to talk to you all about something men do that really pisses me off. And for those of you that think I'm about to say anything about a toilet seat- get out of the eighties stand-up routine, will ya? I mean come on, toilet seat? It's so not that big of deal- one, two- it's up, it's down- where's the problem? And if you're really not looking where you're sitting before you sit down, ladies- well we got a much bigger problem here.

No- this is a big deal. This is something that only men do- specifically those cocky, 'I get alot of action', guys' guys. It's the thing where they antagonize you- not because they want a healthy debate, not because they want to play devil's advocate, not because they actually believe the opposite of what you believe- but because they think it's fun to piss you off.They actually think it's cute when you get mad. They love to see if they can get you all riled up. And isn't it adorable when they can?

NO!!! I repeat: NO IT IS NOT CUTE, FUN, OR ADORABLE!!!! I completely don't get this phenomenon. Don't they get that pissing us off isn't a good idea? Haven't they been in enough fights with females to know that they cannot and will not win? And, AND, if they do- what then? What happens when they win the big debate? What do they expect? That we will crumble to their feet exclaiming "Oh, I will never be right, for I am stupid and female and submissive..." Uhhhhh no.

Because A: They don't win.
And B: When they don't, they always try to win by going "I'm playing with you, baby!" (which is such a cop out. We all, that is all of us, know that you're only saying this because you realize you're in too deep and you need an easy out..)And it doesn't work, does it?

No it does not. And here's why. Here is what happens to a girl's brain when you you stupid boys pull that "I'm playing with you" stuff.

Wait, what? This was a game? We've been fighting for half an hour and it's been a game to you? I used my best material! I questioned your ethics and morals- I wondered if I even knew WHO YOU WERE! And this was a game? This wasn't even real? You PLAYED ME?!?! Maybe we calm down for a second- but know this.....

It is not over. Girls- we don't play that way. Have you ever seen girls in competition? Not like tennis or volleyball or anything- I mean girl competition. We're brutal. We take no prisoners. And we don't give in.There's no "I'm just playing with you.." with girls! We're serious competitors- You may not know it yet, but your little game, it cost you, buddy. And it cost you big. And someday when you least expect it- we're calling it in. Maybe it's a tantrum in front of all of your friends. Maybe it's a really important "talk" during the game. Maybe it's a really embarrassing sexual detail you thought no one knew about that we put online. Whatever it is- consider it check and mate. Not so cute now, is it?

I want that image to haunt all men whenever they start to imagine how cute it would be to get us all pissed off. It's not a good idea. Trust me. It's NOT a good idea.

4am and she's typing cuz' she's still awake.....

Sleep. The ungettable get.


I've been functioning insomniac for fifteen years. I'm gonna let that sink in for a second. I get alot of reactions to that. Usually the reaction I get to that is "You haven't slept in FIFTEEN YEARS?!?!" Well, no, of course not. I'd be dead if that were true.

Sometimes it's just pity. "Oh, my God. That sucks." Yeah, yeah it does.

Some people have to know how I cope- "Well, what do you do?" I lay there, I toss I turn. I turn on the tv, I turn off the tv. I read. I listen to music. I blog.....

And then comes the advice. Oh, the advice. I think that some people think that insomnia is like the hiccups, and that all I have to do is come upon the perfect cure and then, poof! I'll sleep like a baby! Trust me, friends, I have in fact, tried everything, EVERYTHING you can think of to fall asleep. (Except meditation, brother o' mine, which I will explain in a minute)

Some things I've attempted in my pursuit of the perfect night's sleep:
Teas
Warm Milk
Warm Baths
Warm Milk Baths
Exersizing right before bed
Performing the exact same ritual before I go to sleep every night so my body knows it's time to shut down
Reading
Counting Sheep (yeah, I did that)
Melatonin
Moving all of my furniture that isn't my bed out of my bedroom, so that my mind will only associate the room with sleep (Laughable)
A glass of red wine
A bottle of red wine
No alcohol at all
Repeating a mantra
Not eating for 3 hours before bed
Lavender
sleep masks

Are any of these sounding familiar? It's probably because either you've heard it or you've dispenced it. Truth: NONE OF THEM WORK FOR ME!!!!! Infact, I can count on one hand the amount of times I've fallen asleep naturally in the last fifteen years without the aid of some sort of drug. Off hand- three. THREE.

So what do I do? I take pills. I take ALOT of pills. I know it's wrong and unhealthy and probably doing unspeakable things to my liver- but I need the pills. I NEED the sweet release of sleep, when my body and my racing, ADD mind simply can't fight the glorious strength of whatever OTC remedy cocktail I've concocted. And it's always OTC, mind you. I'd love- no, love isn't a strong enough word- die, kill for, maim for, pillage and do unspeakable acts for a paid prescription to one of those drugs I see comercials for. Lunesta. Isn't that green butterfly pretty? I WANT IT!!!! Sadly, no money and no medical insurance..... You know what the worst part of it is? Sometimes- once a week at least- the pills aren't enough! So I'm blitzed out of my mind and still awake! What justice is there in the world?!?

The most common reaction I get to the admission of a fifteen year old bout with insomnia is this "What happens? Why can't you sleep?" I usually try to explain by saying "I have a racing mind" or "I can't stop thinking". But this isn't an accurate depiction. Thinking isn't exactly what keeps me awake- because it's not neccesarily tangible thoughts. Picture this: There you are lying in your bed. It's the perfect temperature, your body is relaxed, you have the absolute ideal number of pillows to support your head and neck- yet there next to your bed, someone is sitting there talking. They go on about your day, what so and so really meant when they said whatever they said. How so and so may have taken it when you said whatever you said.They talk about tv shows. They sing songs. Not just popular songs- showtunes, commercial jingles, the musical bridge to November Rain, the theme song to Family Matters. They do poetry. Jaberwocky- really, That person is sitting next to your bed literally going "Twas brillig, and the slithy tothes did gire and gimble in the wabe...." Monologues, jokes, the perfect comeback to something someone said six years ago. They tell you what to wear tomorrow- do you get it? THEY DON'T SHUT UP!!!!! The only way to shut them up? DRUG THEM. Drug them hard, drug them alot. Drug them now- drug them before they get a chance to pull up that chair- Drug the hell out of them so severly that they not only shut the fuck up, but they do not regain the ability to speak until a few hours after you wake up.

So we're clear, I don't actually believe that there is a person next to my bed talking, singing, etc- that would be crazy. Plus I'd have killed them off long ago and buried them where they'd never be found. (Kidding. Crazy again.) It's just the closest thing to describe the absolute torture that is insomnia. Because it isn't that you aren't tired. Nay- you're exhausted. Your body aches, you've got a day tomorrow, a flight, an interview, a date- whatever. Sleep is a fickle bitch. She'll be there when she wants to be there. If she doesn't show- well that's your loss. Read another book, watch another rerun of Becker and change positions for the eight-hundreth time.

Sweet, unmerciful God. I'm so effing tired.

A thin line between love and hate.

"Truth and love must prevail over lies and hatred" Vaclav Havel 1989

Beautiful words. Beautiful sentiment- amazing artist. I was inspired by this quote and found it to be moving and powerful. It's a shame that it appeared at the top of this page

I find it incredible that the very church that was behind 44% of the funding of Proposition 8, produced the incredibly bigoted commercials demonizing the gay community, and then loudly and proudly displayed their clear prejudices could have the audacity to then form a website called Above the Hate.

What the Mormon church fails to recognize is that what is happening to them right now isn't hate. It is disappointment. How quickly they seem to have forgotten the persecution they themselves faced less than 200 years ago (in 1878), when the rest of the country condemned their own marriage practices. Maybe it slipped their minds that their own church disrespected the "sanctity of marriage" they seem to hold so dear- Let's take a look at that bible quote they love so much:

1Corinthians 7:2 "because of prevalence of fornication, let each man have his own wife, and each woman have her own husband"

*Note- That's one wife and one husband, my friends.

Another quote we keep hearing is: ‘Marriage is the lifelong union of one man and one woman unto one flesh.'

Funny story: That isn't from the bible. It's from 'Luther's Small Catechism"

But my purpose isn't to point the finger at the Mormons. I don't want to persecute or make them feel hated..... like another group of Americans we may know about. If it seems like gay rights activists are singling out the LDS church it's only because they started it . That's the list of all the Mormon donors above $1000. The proof exists!

Here it is in plain, non-blame game English: All of the propositions banning gay marriage were bigotry, pure and simple. Any claims anyone made to "keep marriage sacred" were hiding behind a mask thinly veiling homophobia. To keep two people from legally declaring their love for one another isn't sacred; it isn't righteous; it isn't morally just. It's HATE. So I ask again: How can the main supporter of such a proposition claim to be above the hate?

They can't. They won. So anything following their "victory" is well deserved protest. Booker T Washington once said "Every race or nation that has ever gotten up on it's feet has done so through struggle and persecution." Lets hope so. For love's sake.

Call me what you will.....

Everyone has always called me a drama queen. I hated it, I mean, I suppose I can be a bit loud at times; I speak in hyperbole. You know "I swear to God, I was in line for seventeen hours". When something's beautiful, I call it out, when something is awful I make a point of making that clear. I guess I'm not very guarded. So what? I always thought that was a nice quality to have. But noooo. Nobody ever says "You're a drama queen" with reverence or admiration. It's like a bad thing to be. I blame Mary J Blige.

So I did a little thinking about that term. "Drama Queen". And I 've come to a conclusion. It is okay to be a drama queen- as long as you're the right type of drama queen. And a theory was born. Behold the three types of drama queens.

Type A: This is a girl (or boy) who does not thrive unless there is drama. There always has to be a huge scandal. She can't date anyone unless she has to overcome obstacles to get him. (He's in prison, he has a girlfriend, he's gay...) You can't keep her attention unless your life is in peril. She's your best friend when she can be there for you, not neccesarily because she wants to be there for you, but because she wants in on your drama. She starts fights, she holds grudges, she gets off on confrontation. She usually has a bunch of friends, but is kind of mean to them- but they take it. They love her and they think the way she acts is kind of funny- and maybe they're a little afraid of her.

Type B: This one is always a victim. Everything is so much worse to her than it actually is. She can burst into tears at the drop of a hat. If something minor goes wrong, she's in an exsistential crisis. A flat tire could ruin her life. At least in the moment it does. If she has a boyfriend, she is always putting him through the ringer. Bad news, he's never gonna be good enough because any mistake he makes, whether it's showing up late or leaving the toilet seat up, he's gonna hear about it, alot. If she's single- she's got bad taste in men. Like- abysmal, catastrophic taste in men. She likes bad boys, bad guys- guys she has to save, guys she has to pay for, guys who treat her like crap- She's a magnet for thses guys- almost like she's looking for them.

Type C: She's Liza! It's not that things are so intence for her- she just has an intence reaction to everything. Good music is "brilliant", Bad food is "intolerable, disgusting, repugnant". When she's startled, she screams. She talks loudly, she sings out loud to the radio- regardless of where she is. She's even been known to dance on tables. She's social, fun, has an eccentric style of dress and isn't afraid to flaunt her stuff. If she has low self esteem- she hides it. Very well. She has intence, relationships because she usually falls for guys that are like her.

You can guess which one I'm gonna say I am, right? With a Z, baby! No- seriously, I know that there's a little of all of them in me- but I prefer to believe I'm Type C. And I have a big problem with type A's. The point is- I'm not ashamed of being a drama queen anymore. It's good to be queen.

No, it's fan-fucking-tastic.

Oy Humbug

So here's a few fun facts about me that you might not know. Touching cardboard gives me the chills. I hate lipstick but collect lip glosses like it's my job. I'm afraid of choking to death when nobody's home. I like emeralds better than diamonds. And I hate Christmas.

You read that right. I hate Christmas. There's a reason why more people commit suicide this time of year than any other. I mean, first there's Thanksgiving. Then less than a month later, it's Christmas. A week later is New Years then you get a month and a week till Valentines Day! It's like rapid fire, bam, bam, bam! If you're alone- boy, are you ever alone. What with every other comercial on television reminding you the "Holidays Are Here!" with the painfully beautiful and happy families smiling and laughing and wearing hideous sweaters,sharing huge meals. Those frickin' bells playing everywhere. Got no one to kiss? Well don't worry about it, every kiss begins with Kay. No money? The holiday's begin at Wal-mart! Everything is geared toward the holidays. You can't sneeze without Santa saying "Ho Ho bless you!"

Alright, so maybe I'm a cynic. I used to LOVE Christmas.I'm the youngest in my family. Both of my brothers were away at college by the time I was six. But at Christmastime, the family magically came together. My mom would cook, just like the moms on tv. Sometimes we would even wear horrific matching holiday sweaters. But times changed. Mom and Dad split up. We all moved away. Soon, our Christmas numbers dwindled. First it was me, mom, and my two brothers- then me, mom and one brother- one year it was me and mom. And then one bad year, while I was living in Florida, it was just me.

There's this thing that happens during a show,about a month into the run. You get into the routine. You're used to the people, the space, the timing and the show- just becomes three hours of time you have to get through before the next thing. You can fight with one of the girls in the dressing room about using your lash glue without asking, get upset that your check hasn't cleared, make plans for the weekend, and then want to scream because the guy you've been seeing hasn't texted you back in two days- but then the overture starts and boom- you plaster on a smile and go do your job. It's just what happens.

That's what Christmas is like for me. Every other day of the year, you're allowed to fight, to be annoyed, to be normal. But for some reason, sun up Christmas day it's overture, cut the lights. It's time to pretend. Lets pretend we aren't completely irritated with each other right now. Lets pretend we don't miss mom. Lets pretend this isn't totally awkward. Lets pretend we don't NEED A COCKTAIL LIKE IT'S THE ANTIDOTE. It's all an act. It's not that we don't love each other, fiercely. It's just that we don't love each other like that.

There are parts that I love. I love it when I get to see my big brother. I love the present exchange between me and my best friend that's become ritual. I love when I get a present for my dad that he loves- not likes but loves, enough to smile a for real smile and go "Okay!". I love egg nog lattes. That's not a Christmas day thing, but the red cups are only around for Christmas. I just wish those things could be around on another day. On a day that we're not only doing it because we think we have to. And yeah, being alone has something to do with it. Only because there is no other time of year that we are reminded just how alone we are than Christmas.

So I hate Christmas. Sue me. Technically, I'm Jewish anyway.

So there ya go.

A disappointment, a theory and a movie premise

Greetings from London! Jolly good! Pip, pip! Cheerio! Bangers and mash, Bob's your uncle, here you are then!

Alright, enough of that. So- here's the thing, as you know, I'm quite broke. It's one of my defining characteristics. So you'd think it would be tough to find one's broke self alone in London. Whatever can I do to entertain myself? Well..... Museums of course!! Anyone who's been to Europe knows that museums are free here. So that's what I do with my day. I am incredibly cultured. There's this specific exhibit (see above) at the Tate Modern which features the work of Mark Rothko, an internationally known modern artist who's work is awe inspiring. *waits for reaction* See how the paintings stir up feelings of passion, rage, and deep sadness. *Waits for reaction* Notice the very thought provoking use of color layered upon color.... (nothing?)

Yeah, me neither. This exhibit is all the rage- in fact, this artist is all the rage. I remember a scene in that horrible movie "Prime" starring Meryl Streep and Uma Thurman where they dine in front of a Rothko, the picute alone bringing Uma Thurman's character to tears. When I saw the movie I thought Well, I don't really get it. But maybe if I was in front of the work I would feel it.After all, some modern work is incredible. Some work actually does stir up emotion- certainly if he is internationally known his work must do something. *still waiting for reaction...* Nothing.

As I walked around the gallery, I noticed people standing and staring at certain pieces. They would gasp or nod their heads. They would discuss the artwork in hushed tones with their friends. At first, I felt, well, really stupid. What the hell were they seeing that I didn't see? Was there something embedded within the colors I was missing? Was there a hidden message? Was it like those 3d pictures from the early nineties where you had to cross your eyes and you'd see a sailboat inside? Then a theory was born. They don't see anything either. What if everyone was just pretending? A sort of Emperor's New Clothes sort of thing. "If we don't say anything, no one will think we're stupid." That's my theory anyway. I'm no art expert- but I didn't see anything revolutionary about the lines and squares. The colors were pretty- yep, that's all I got.

So I wandered around the (nine room) exhibit, staring at each (mind numbingly similar) piece and a pattern emerged. Some were lines, some were squares. And then a brilliant movie idea hit me. A handsome, young, brilliant technical scientist goes to the Tate Modern to take in the exhibit, when he unearths a shocking discovery that Rothko himself had planted in plain sight.There, staring him in the face are the plans for a fusion bomb buried deep within the tunnels of London, even below the London Bridge perhaps; written in BINARY CODE. Laughed away by the rest of the scientific community, he enlists the help of a beautiful young museum worker, as they unearth the bomb and stop it before it's too late. I call it : The Roth-Code.

Huh? Yeah- that's hot, right? I'm thinking someone like Jake Gyllenhaal for the scientist and Kate Bosworth for the museum worker? Seriously- I'd see it. Under duress of course but, you know, in a pinch. If I had nothing better to do.

Anyway, let me know if you felt something when you looked at the paintings... Anything other than "By, God, it does look like binary code!!" or "Pretty colors."

Older than Christmas.

Things I've said this week that prove that I am currently incredibly old:

(On seeing a commercial for Saints Row II [a colossally violent video game])
"Why are they making the kids think that's cool? They ought to be ashamed of themselves!"


(On the decision to see a midnight movie)
"I don't know. Usually I would have been in bed for like an hour and a half by then."

(On seeing a girl in a stupidly short skirt)
"I mean, are they trying to get pregnant? Is this like an ode to that Jamie Lynn whatever?"

(On finding out at that a hot guy was actually 21 years old)
"Good God. Has he gotten chest hair yet?"

(Inside an Anchor Blue)
"I can't shop here. The clothes are made for children- and those trollops from The Hills"


Age- 5

Me- 0

Plum Dumplings

A couple of days ago, I came into the kithen to find that it had been simply overtaken by some strange items. The counters were covered with boxes and boxes of bread crumbs and powdered sugar. And there were two large baskets of fresh plums. I looked around, completely confused by what I was looking at. So I asked C. "What are you making?" Alot of times, she would get these incredible culinary inspirations (Fruit pizzas, Irish Creme chocolate chip cookies, pumpkin tiramisu) and let them come into fruition in my father's kitchen.

"It's just some plum dumplings" she said. I of course thought Plum dumplings, wow- that sounds incredible! But I didn't say anything. Usually, her creations are not there for me or my dad to sample, they are for her and her household only. (which I think is a little unfair, isn't it? I mean, it's our resources, our oven- we have to smell it, right?) Anyway,for the next few days, the house smelled AWESOME. It was this interesting combination of baked goods and awesome fried food.

Then, she left them laying around the kitchen. Like plates of these things- and they looked fantastic. So for days all I wanted was one of these dumplings.

So today after I ate my dinner (meatless tacos with tofu sour cream and soy cheese, if you're wondering)I swallowed my pride and asked for one. She was surprisingly agreeable. I was stoked. I took one- I heated it up, sprinkled it with powdered sugar like she suggested. I bit into it- and it was bad. No it was really bad!It was doughy and salty, sort of. The plum was mealy- it was just really bad. And I really wished I'd never had one. I literally wished I could go back in time to before I ate that dumpling- because the anticipation of the dumpling was absolutely so much better than the dumpling.

And I realized that virtually everything in life is a plum dumpling. The anticipation of everrything, the dream of what it is going to be is almost always better. Life is a plum dumpling. There ya go.

Some stuff from California

So, I didn't update much in California. I couldn't, really. My computer (the one that I was stealing internet on)inexplicably freaked out the day I got to Santa Maria and, shocker, inexplicably fixed itself a week after I returned. But I did experience ALOT while I was out there and I figured now would be a great time to do a clip show kind of blog about California. I'm gonna call it "California: There We Were" mostly because I'm hilarious, but also because I'm still obsessed with the OC.

The Dude.
So as I may have mentioned, I lived in a house all summer that also housed about nine other people. It was alot like a youth hostel- only when you woke up you didn't get to explore Amsterdam or some other amazing country that made it okay that you basically just slept on top of the unwashed masses of the world; you woke up to Santa Maria. The great thing about the roommates was that they all had such extreme personalities that you didn't have to mention them by name- only personality or defining charateristic: "The Crazy Lesbian.", "The Hot Chilean", "The Tiny Painter", "The Alcoholic Redhead"- But the most recognizable one? "The Dude."

I don't like to mention names because it gets me into trouble- but in this case, it's completely irrelevant because anyone who knows that house will know instantly who I am talking about. The Dude, first of all, is 20 years old, which explains everything. I can literally excuse any stupid behavior by saying "he's 20." And people go "Oh. Ok." He is also incredibly offensive. Like- it's his "thing". He says racist things- incredibly racist things and waits for your reaction. I think he thinks its hilarious. Like he's Dane Cook or something. I see this behavior in alot of really young guys- they say horrible things simply for the reactions. And the worst part? People laugh- that's why they do it. It's awful. Hey, if you know a guy like that- don't laugh at him. But the most offensive part about The Dude, and probably the most bizzare was the ladies. I mean the endless parade of the ladies. I'll just say it. Dude got laid ALOT.

First of all- much like The Real World, The Dude had to have a relationship with someone in the house. The most offensive straight guy always hooks up with a member of the house, it's just good ratings. So Dude and Tiny Painter became "The Couple". But Dude was not happy with just the one. So at least once a week, well after Tiny Painter went to sleep, Dude brought someone home. Someone who worked with us. Someone who Tiny Painter could have EASILY found out about- not just at work, like if she WOKE UP while it was happening and went to get a glass of water. This happened so many times during the course of the summer that I stopped being disgusted by it and kind of started to be a little impressed!He wasn't afraid I would tell. I caught him like a million times and he never once even attempted to say "its not waht it looks like" or tell me to keep my mouth shut. He wasn't afraid Tiny Painter would wake up. She lived two doors down from him- literally one room between his bedroom and hers and he wasn't afraid she'd catch him. He wasn't afraid one of the conquests would talk. (They didn't, but still-) I mean, who has balls that size? Answer: The Dude. And why? He's 20.

Myself. In Sixty Years
I walked everywhere in Santa Maria because the weather was amazing. (Then again, I live in Arizona so- the weather is amazing anywhere). Everyday, when I walked to the theater, I'd walk past this house painted an odd color of pastel green, that was owned by this brassy old broad. She wore alot of velour, was always smoking and cursed like it was a second language. Often, I'd walk past her house and she'd start talking to me, but she wouldn't initiate a conversation, she'd talk like we'd been talking for hours. I'd walk by and she'd say something like "The fucking dogs, right? Why the goddamn hell can't they just fucking tie them up? Cocksuckers. That's what I said to Fred I told him and he said the same thing. Barking like goddamn Hades." And I'd be thinking Who's Fred? What dogs- I don't see even one dog. But I didn't ask. I never asked. I was afraid she'd stop talking- because I have to say: I loved it when she talked to me. It wasn't like other old ladies who smile too much with lipstick on their teeth and tell really boring stories way too slow and who you're afraid might die while your standing there. Whatever this broad said was rivetting. Once, while I was on my way to the grocery store she said "Do think his wife knows? Bet your ass she knows and she don't care. Bitch needs to pay the rent. I'd keep my fucking mouth shut too." I mean- Who? Was it a neighbor? A family member- was it someone on tv? Was it a person in her mind? DOES IT MATTER? It's amazing! The best part was she didn't want to sit and have a long conversation. After she said her peice, usually around thirty or fourty seconds of glorious random, she'd just turn around and walk the other way. Usually, she'd do that hand flippy thing like "You're useless to me now. Go away." I found myself walking past her house even if it was twenty minutes in the wrong direction just hoping she'd be outside.I hope she has a family- like a few kids and grandkids, and I hope they realize how ridiculously cool she is.

Sir
The best thing about California is that it's a pretty liberal state. Most of the people there not only vote Democrat but think people who do otherwise are a little crazy. Which- I guess kind of sucks for Republicans because it's kind of like being a Democrat here. So they're pretty defensive. I get it- I mean, they think we're crazy too, only there's alot more of us so they constantly have to defend themselves. But something I noticed about Republicans- well- Conservatives while I was out there: They think that saying "sir" is really condecending. They always say it. "You didn't answer the question, sir" Or "That's not what the bible says, sir." And I don't get it. I mean, it's not condecending, it's nice. It's not like with women who take ma'am as an insult. You know if you're in Neiman Marcus and you ask some snooty sales girl to take something out of the case to show you and she says "I'll be right with you, ma'am" And you know what she meant was "You know you can't afford this, bitch." Well, men don't do it that way. Infact, men think "sir" is a term of respect. It's like 'Did you catch that? He called me sir. I'm a man now.' You know who I call 'sir'? Really old men and people I'm trying to get a job from. Oh and also Sir Ian McKellan- because he was knighted. So why do they say "sir" to be condecending? I think it should be something actually condecending. Like sweetie. Fact: If I'm explaining something to you and I call you 'sweetie', I'm being condecending. For men it's something like "pal". Pal is never good. you don't say "pal after you just said something nice or respectful Its always like "Out of my way, pal" I completely think that is what conservatives should say in a political argument. "That's not what the bible says, pal." Snap. You might as well have just slapped him across the face.

So Hot That I'm Stupid
I mentioned the Hot Chilean, right? I always say this: Hot guys make me stupid. It's true, it's really true. If I ever marry a really hot guy, I'll drop at least ten IQ points a week. By our tenth anniversary, he'll be reteaching me the alphabet. I was fortunate enough to share a house with one such hot guy. The Chilean. At first, I thought it was all in my head. That I was overthinking the situation and I actually wasn't being as stupid as it seemed like I was in my mind. Then after a "conversation" with the Chilean that went something like this:

Hot Chilean- Did you have a good show today?

Me- I think like, the audience was like- you know when they're like all, you know and you're like "shit man!"

Hot Chilean- Um, yeah.

Me- *gesticulating wildly* I mean, you know- i think it really depends on the audience. So like- if they're not like awesome- I mean, do you know what I mean?

Hot Chilean- So was the show good or not?

Me- I guess it was like, whatever.

I realized that sadly, it was not. So what changed in California? I realized how to fix the situation: Honesty. Sounds bizzare, but I tried it and damn it if I didn't have the best results. Sdhortly after that disasterous conversation, my show friends and I headed to a bar after a show. While waiting in line to get a drink, a strangely hot man started talking to me. *Note* I really think it was sheer proximity that launched the conversation and not his interest in me. So he says something like "Jesus, this place gets packed on Saturdays, doesn't it?" and I immediately go completely Rain Man.
"Definitely, packed. Definitely" And it hits me. I'm never going to see this man again. So after he made another ambiguous observation about either the bar or Santa Maria, I decided to just let him know that we couldn't have a conversation. "You know, " I said, matter of factly 'It's really hard to talk to you because you're abnormally hot."

After the shock wore off he said "Wait, what?"

"You're so hot that I'm stupid right now." I said.

"Who says that?' he asked. And started laughing. "Nobody's ever said that to me! What's your name?" And bam- there you go. Now I'm hilarious and bold and honest. I din't get this guy's number or anything like that- but I went from being practically retarded to someone this hot guy will probably remember for a long time. All I'm saying is- bring it on, hot guys. I aint scared.


And there ya go.

Oh, I love a technical!

They said "bring a book". I did that.

They said "wear comfortable clothes" I did that.

They said "be patient and flexible!" I am doing that.

However.... A tech rehearsal is rarely- nay, never a super fun experience. I can't think of a time when a ten out of twelve (def: a rehearsal that is scheduled for twelve hours with a two hour break for dinner) was scheduled and I thought to myself "Yipee! This is gonna be great!!!" You're either sitting around waiting to go onstage or onstage waiting on a hold. When the house lights are down, you can't read. You can text, but if the people ain't talkin' then they ain't talkin'. Alas, a ten out of twelve isn't a magical experience- but what am I gonna do? Complain I have a job?

So there ya go.

Jenn goes back to college!

It wasn't that long ago that I was working in a coffee house, spent every waking hour that I wasn't working in front of a tv, thinking things to myself like "This is awesome. Only four hours till the rerun of Psych comes on." It was a wasted life. I was bored and tired. I barely spoke to anyone. I was in bed by ten everyday. I had no idea how good I had it.

Greetings from Santa Maria, CA. I tell you, when I was offered this job, it sounded way too good to pass up. I get to be in California, a hop skip and a jump away from my friends. I get to be eight miles away from the beach, THe hottest it gets here is a scorching 85 degrees, and I get to be in Ragtime!
I'll never forget the night I saw the Ragtime opening on the tony's and thought "I gotta do that." The ten years to follow that, the role of Sarah topped my "to do before I die" list. So when I got the offer of Ragtime ensemble and Sarah's understudy, I snatched it up without looking back. So what if there was no travel stipend? It's california! So I have to pay rent- who cares? Um ok.

I am now living in a seven bedroom two bath (you read that right) house where I have effectively begun my journey back into college. Don't get me wrong. Ragtime is awesome. It's closing tomorrow and I have to say it's been one of the greatest shows I've ever worked on. The other actors in the show are fantastic. The musical I'm currently working on, Hot Mikado is great too. the work is amazing. Its the house.... THE HOUSE!!!!!!

It didn't sound so bad when it was described to me. I mean when you hear about a seven bedroom hous with a tennis court, your immediate thought is mansion, right? I was thinking terraces, pools, weekly maid service, luxury- what I got was chicken coops, ant infestation, a kitchen that could give you vd and extreme poverty. Something that wasn't explained to me effectively when I got this contract was that this theater company, while it is a respected Equity house is also a conservatory. A two year college for theater folk. So I don't share this house with other actors, i share it with STUDENTS. 18 yr old theater kids who have never left home before, never had to clean up after themselves before most of them aren't even allowed to by alcohol! (not that they don't drink- they just don't do it legally.)

It's not all bad. I've actually had alot of fun here. I never really had that stereotypical college experience you see in the movies- this is kind of like that. The kids are cool. It's made for an interesting summer! More stories to follow.

and there ya go.

Much ado about 2008

Oh my GOD!!! I haven't updated, I mean truly updated in quite awhile. See, this is my problem. I go for weeks, nay, months neglecting my blog, then I let the guilt affect me profoundly so I overcompensate by making tragically long posts and doing weekly recaps of the OC.

But- ok, there are a few things I need to tackle here today. Have you ever had this moment where reality catches up to you and you blurt out something incredible obvious to everyone else in the room? Like you're in the coffee house and quite suddenly you say "Omigod, I'm wearing green!" (No? just me?) I had such a moment today. I was at work at the Random Gig Between Contracts (RGBC for short)And I had this moment of actualization. It's 2008. I mean, I know, whatever, it's 2008, right? But It's actually 2008. Like- I remember being a kid watching the Jetsons, thinking Yeah, by the time I'm 20, we'll have these moving sidewalks and we'll have phones in our wristwatches. I also remember in third grade, figuring out how old we'd be in the year 2000. It had this air of mystery to it, I mean it was so far away and we had no idea what was in store for us. Anyway, it came and went, sans end of the world, and now its 2008!!! I don't know- when you were a kid, did you ever think of how casually you'd exist in 2008? (No? Just me?)

So, I am writing to you today on my new (very old) computer and stolen internet. Dude, internet is just so much more delicious when it's not yours. I don't know why. It's more precious. I'm actually grateful for the actual internet, because any moment, someone could catch wise to my savvy theft and cut me off. It's like...forbidden. Ooh. Fabulous.

And I am now 357 days away from the dreaded thirtieth birthday. Days, you feel me? Can you feel the panic tonight, people? I almost want to just get it over with. Like- I wish I was turning 31 in 357 days, you know? Then it would be like the worst is over with. I don't know. It may be incredibly shallow, but it physically hurts me that I'm turning 30. Good God.

Also- sixteen days till CA. I need to do some laundry. RAGTIME, YA'LL!!! Okay, that's the word.

Why don't we do something?

WARNING: Rant approaching.

Soooo..... 2008, ya'll, huh?


You know what 2008 is, people? Its a HUGE year. We're taking our country back this year. This is the time. Remember when they called our generation the most apathetic generation in history? Yeah, what was that? How could we just sit back and take that- Oh right, I guess that's the definition of apathy. Well, stop that! It's embarrassing. I mean, look at what the generations before us did for us: they fought for equal rights, fought against the war, for free speech, they organized the new left, the fought for feminism, gay rights, integration, the list goes on and on. This was a generation that was done with it's rigid culture and broke free of the social restrictions of the previous generation. Basically: they were mad as hell and they weren't gonna take it anymore. Look at us- what do we fight for? What is our purpose? What are we gonna look our children and our children's children in the eye and tell them "Yeah, we DID that." So far.... nothing.

Tell you what, this is still the best country in the world and why? CHOICES. If we don't like what's going on, we don't have to sit there like some abused animal and take it. We can turn around with honor and force and say "Hell, no! Not in MY country!" So lets do something this year, friends! Let's be active participants in our nation instead of spectators.

Progressives: Isn't it our turn YET?!?! Let's show them what we're made of. We got some good guys out there fighting for us this time. We're tired of having to set aside our beliefs for leaders who make us ashamed to be Americans. We're tired of losing elections. We're tired of "We'll get 'em next time." We have to remember who we are- I think we forgot- because someone came along and said that Liberal means soft on crime, soft on drugs, soft on communism, soft on defense, oh, and we're gonna tax you back into the stone age because people shouldn't have to work if they don't want to. And instead of saying "Hey, wait a minute you right-wing, reactionary, xenophobic, homophobic, anti-education, anti-choice, pro-gun, Leave It To Beaver throw back to the fifties, you're wrong, you're extremest, and you're lying!" We cowered in a corner and said "Please don't hurt us." What do you say we don't do THAT anymore?!?! We are Progressive Liberal Democrats. That means we stand for Progress, Liberty and Democracy. Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

So: 2008. We're gonna get off our apathetic asses. We're gonna stop watching the world go by and join in. We're gonna make our parents proud- even better: We're gonna make OURSELVES proud. Like I said before. We're gonna take our country back.

Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person. - Mother Teresa