Purity Balls THIS, Dickwad.

Sibley posted an article he found in the NY Times about "Purity Balls". I clicked on it expecting to find some funny article about some weird, new age-y psychedelic thing to help you with your health or something, but that is not what a "Purity Ball" is at all. It's a ball (as in formal event involving dancing) for fathers and daughters to attend where they dance all night and make pledges to each other about how they will remain pure in thought and action. The fathers promise to be pure and faithful to the girls' mothers and the daughters promise to stay pure in mind and body until they get married.

This makes me feel crazy for several reasons.

For one thing, pledging to your daddy that you will stay pure until you marry is just creepy. Sure, it's nice that daughters and fathers can talk about sex (or are they just promising never to talk about sex?) and it is certainly nice that the dads are promising to be available and supportive when their little girls are faced with pressure to have sex. That is one thing. But this goes a lot further than that. There is a photograph accompanying the article of a young girl (she looks about 14) and she's on her knees in front of her father, and he's staring down at her and she's gazing up at him with big doe eyes and as she promises to stay pure until she gets married. It just looks a little inappropriate. What normal man would feel comfortable making his teenage daughter get down on her knees in front of him and make promises about sex? Isn't that weird? Or am I the only one who thinks so?

That aside, I have a really big problem with parents teaching their kids that they must stay virgins until they are married. I mean, sure, ok, people can do whatever they want. I know I wouldn't want my 14 year old having sex, but should I make her feel like she is a bad person if she does? Because it seems like that is the message these people are trying to send. I also think that when you teach your daughter that she must stay a virgin until she gets married, you're encouraging her to get married at 19 to some schmo she's only dated for six months. Personally, I would rather my kid experiments with sex safely than marry someone before they're even old enough to have a cocktail. Marriage is a not a little thing. It's not something you do so you can have sex without worrying about sinning. Marriage is a life-time commitment and I just don't believe that 19 year olds are ready to make that kind of a commitment. I know I wasn't when I was 19. I didn't fully realize the hugeness of the commitment until after I was married. I'm just thankful I married Poompie and not one of the schmo's I dated before I met him. I would surely be divorced by now. Oh wait. I did and I am. EMBARRASSING.

You know what else? I would rather my daughter experiment with safe sex than have anal sex because she thinks she can stay a virgin that way. WHAT? you say. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT FROST? I'm talking about all the girls I knew in high school, good little Christian girls who wore purity rings and swore to their daddies that they would wait until marriage to have sex, who let their boyfriends stick it up their pooper because they could satisfy their boyfriends and stay virgins at the same time. And they didn't bother with condoms because you can't get pregnant if he's just putting it in the back door! But seriously? (Heh, heh. Butt seriously.) If you're having anal sex, you aren't a virgin. It's sex. It's sex. It's sex. You aren't a virgin, stop lying to yourself.

Then there's the whole idea that once you have sex, you are no longer pure. What is it about sex that is so dirty that once you do it you are no longer pure? These people are also quoted as saying things like, they want their daughters to be girls of "integrity and purity". So wait. Let me just get this straight. if you have sex you don't have integrity? Oh it gets me riled up.

One girl interviewed for this Purity Ball article says, "The culture says you’re free to sleep with as many people as you want to.” Really? REALLY? Because I'm pretty sure the culture says if I have sex with as many people as I want to, I'm a whore. I think this culture says that if I want to be a well respected woman with class, I shouldn't have any sex at all. Or, at the very least, I shouldn't enjoy it. The guy who organized this particular Purity Ball is quoted as saying, "Fathers, our daughters are waiting for us. They are desperately waiting for us in a culture that lures them into the murky waters of exploitation. They need to be rescued by you, their dad.” Fuck you. I'm sorry, but that is the only thing I can think of to say. FUCK YOU. A culture that lures them into the murky waters of exploitation? What a joke. These jerks are giving their daughters some horrible complexes. Want to make your daughter feel ashamed of her vagina? Embarrassed of her sexuality? Want her to feel guilty whenever she actually enjoys sex with a man she loves? Just tell her, at the tender age of fourteen, that in order to have integrity and be pure of heart, she has to be a virgin. I think these beliefs just encourage girls to feel bad about themselves for having sex and worse, it encourages them to feel bad and dirty and guilty for actually enjoying sex.

And why aren't there Purity Balls for boys? Because boys don't like going to balls? How about Purity Baseball Games? Or Purity Soccer Matches? Or Purity Video Game Nights? I guess it's because boys don't have to worry about their purity.

A girl friend told me recently that, during a break up, the guy she was dating said, "I don't want to be friends with benefits because I think you're classier than that." Because apparently women who have consensual sex simply for the pleasure of sex are not classy. What about the guy who has consensual sex simply for the pleasure of it? What is he? Does he still get to be classy?

I'm really interested in what you think about this. I want to know what other people think. Really. Even if you call me a whore.

I'll take an apple with that epiphany, thanks

Yesterday I went to Duane Reade to pick up some face wash and I ended up getting some Epiphany as well.

I was standing in the girly aisle, looking for this Oil of Olay foaming face wash that I'd tried recently and really liked. I'd run out of my usual facial cleanser the day before and knew it would be at least three days until I would be able to go to the only place in Manhattan that carries it, so I needed to get something to tide me over. I can't just not wash my face for three days, after all. 

I've had problems with my skin since I first hit puberty. I've been Acne Girl for most of my life. I've tried every acne treatment under the sun including but not limited to: ProActive, vitamins and herbal supplements, cortisone injections in my face, Accutane (which made me bleed out of my anus for six months) (no, unfortunately, I'm not kidding), over $5,000 of laser treatments (which I thankfully didn't have to pay for, but still), regular facials, prescription meds, over-the-counter meds, Microdermabrasion, the list goes on and on. After all this, I have discovered that A) my acne is hormonal B) my acne is exacerbated by anything that dries my skin out even a teensy bit and C) my skin looks the best when I wash it with super gentle cleansers and use tons of moisturizer. With all this in mind, it's kind of a big deal that I tried a new cleanser that I really like and that doesn't cost $20 AN OUNCE. And as I'm standing there searching the Oil of Olay products for the foaming face wash I’m planning to buy, I'm fantasizing about how this new cleanser is going make my skin so be-a-u-tiful and how I'll save money in the process since it's $7 for 12 ounces and the other stuff I've been using is $20 for ONE OUNCE. I find the cleanser and happily pull it off the shelf, admiring the snazzy label and smiling at how clever I'm being and how much money I'm saving. I flip the bottle over in my hand just to be sure the back label has the four magic words I always look for: Not Tested On Animals. And they aren’t there. To add insult to injury, I discover that Oil of Olay is distributed by the Godfather of ALL Evil Corporations, Proctor & Gamble*. My heart sinks. I really want to buy the cleanser because it is cheap and I believe it will not cause me to break out, but I really don’t want to buy something that is A) tested on animals and B) distributed by the demons at P&G. And as I’m standing there, I swear to you, a little red cartoon devil pops up on my left shoulder and whispers, “It’s ok. Just buy it. Your skin will be so beautiful! Just buy it this one time. One bottle of the stuff doesn’t kill or save a rabbit.” And then a little white cartoon angel pops up on my right shoulder, “Really? Can you REALLY live with yourself if you wash your face with something that was shot into the eyes of a rabbit just to see if it would burn his little rabbit eyes?” The cartoon angel won. I put the bottle back on the shelf and picked up a different product. I can’t remember every product I looked at that afternoon, but I will tell you that I looked at about seven different products and of the seven, all but one were either distributed by P&G or did not claim no animal testing. Only one. So I bought that. But I’ve gotta say, it was really really frustrating to spend upwards of twenty minutes trying to find a face wash that wasn’t distributed by P&G and wasn’t tested on animals. And the whole time I was looking for something I would not feel guilty buying, the little cartoon devil was sitting on my shoulder trying to convince me to just forget it, don’t worry about it, just buy what I want to buy because I’m not gonna make much a difference no matter what I do, I’m only one person.

And it hit me, for the first time ever, what that story** about Adam and Eve and the Tree of Knowledge really means.

As it is told in the Bible, God didn’t want Adam and Eve to eat from the Tree of Knowledge and they didn’t know why. But once they disobeyed Him and ate the fruit of that world-changing tree, they figured it out pretty quick. They ate the apple and were suddenly filled with shame over the nakedness of their bodies and they were suddenly aware of their sins and blah blah blah, right? So, as I am figuring it, and till now I’ve honestly really never given it much thought, if they hadn't eaten the fruit, they would’ve lived their lives happily oblivious to their nakedness and their various sins. It was only because they had knowledge that they felt shame and guilt.

Is the Bible saying that people should be ignorant? I mean, I think what it is saying is that if you have knowledge, you experience shame and guilt. If you are ignorant, you live in happiness. Like that old phrase, “Ignorance is bliss”. Is there an old phrase meaning “Knowledge is torture”? Maybe there should be.

This popped into my head because I’m standing in the aisle at Duane Reade wishing that I didn’t know anything about P&G, that I didn’t know about animal testing, that I didn’t care about my carbon footprint, that I didn’t give a shit about nutrition or the overall health of my body. I’m standing in Duane Reade reading the backs of bottles and wishing that I was completely ignorant of all this shit that seems to only make my life more complicated. But I am not ignorant and I do know and I, personally, cannot take the guilt that comes along with ignoring the facts.

I’ve eaten from the Tree of Knowledge.

I’m fucked.

*Proctor and Gamble admittedly does terrible things to animals during testing. Terrible, disgusting, awful things that are so disturbing I won’t write about them here. But I will tell you that P&G spends more money per year advertising that they are using “alternatives” to cruel animal testing than they spend on trying to find actual alternatives to cruel animal testing. And they test on dogs and cats too. Just so you know. If you are interested in learning more, check out www.uncaged.co.uk.

**I hope I’m not offending any of my readers (all four of you) by calling it a story. Isn’t that what it is, though? I have no idea.

One Of Those Days

Do you ever have one of those days when you just can't stand anybody? When every single person who talks to you sounds obnoxious and needy and stupid? When every time another person opens their fat mouth it takes the strength of every muscle in your body to stop your eyes from rolling back into your head? And then once the person finally walks away it takes twelve times more strength than that not to bash your head into your computer screen? When every time the phone rings you want to stick a fork in your eye because that would be better than having to answer the gawddamn phone?

I'm having one of those days.

Bare-assed and grinning.

This one time, about two years ago, I was at a callback for a new musical theatre workshop. I had auditioned the day before with a song and they had really really loved me. The director actually said, "I really really love you. You are so good-looking. Will you go out with me?" All right, I'm kidding. He didn't ask me out. But he did say, "I really really love you, will you come back for a callback tomorrow? You're the most good-looking and talented girl I've ever met," (Or at least that's what I chose to hear.)

There are about twenty other girls at the callback and a choreographer. And a boombox. And a shiny hard-wood floor. And the walls aren't walls, but giant floor to ceiling mirrors. And it becomes clear to me that I'm going to be asked to dance.

You may not know this about me, but I'm really not a dancer. I am super bendy and really strong because of all the yoga I do, but I am not a dancer. In fact, I believe myself to be a very bad dancer, so the very thought of dancing in a room full of strangers is enough to send me into Full Panic Mode.

So here I am, in a room full of dancers, surrounded by mirrors, and a very uptight and irritated-sounding choreographer is there and she's yelling at us to chasse and patada and releve and she might as well be speaking French. Which I actually think is exactly what she's doing. The dancers are dancing all around me and I'm trying desperately to copy what they're doing. And I think, considering that I am not a dancer, that I'm doing pretty well. I'm actually kind of having fun. I'm actually not panicking. And then it happens.

In the midst of my pathetic attempt to patada, my foot gets caught in the leg of my very stylish goucho pants and in less than a second, the waist of my pants is wrapped around my ankles, and I've fallen on my face in the middle of the room. The dancers continue dancing around me as I feverishly try to get my pants up where they belong, but because my feet are so tangled in the fabric of the damned goucho's I am not having much luck. Instead, I'm rolling around on the floor like an upended beetle with my bare ass hanging out (because of course I'm wearing the ittiest bittiest thong I own) and I can see myself in the mirrors, red-faced and grappling with what seems like yards of unending fabric and my ankles are completely tied together and I just keep rolling around on the floor, my ass in full view and the dancers are whizzing around me and hissing at me to GET OUT OF THE WAY.

I finally righted myself and got my pants back in place. But after that, it didn't really matter. The director, who'd seen the whole thing, looked - well, he clearly wasn't impressed. Neither was the choreographer. I tried to keep a smile pasted on my face and I tried to keep going, but it was only a few minutes before they said, "thank you, we'll give you a call," and I was (blessedly) allowed to go home.

No, they never called.

And yes, I made a similar mistake another time, but this time in front of a Tony Award Winning Playwright. No, I didn't get that role either. I am awesome.

Tricked

This one time, Gmail played this April Fools joke where they announced that they had come out with this new thing where you could post-date your emails. So, say you forgot to wish someone a happy birthday. And you suddenly remembered two weeks later that you'd forgotten their birthday. You could send that person an email, post-date it for two weeks ago and it would arrive in their inbox and look like it had been sitting there for two weeks. You could even mark it "read" or "unread". If I sent a two-week post-dated Happy Birthday email and marked it "read", I could then call the person and be like, "Hey Pucci! Did you ever get my Happy Birthday email?" And Pucci would be like, "No, you jerk, you totally forgot my birthday," And I'd be like, "No I didn't! I remembered! I sent you an email!" and then Pucci would go into his email account and voila! He'd see that, in fact, I had sent an email on the exact date of his birthday and he'd even opened it and read it and somehow, mysteriously, forgotten all about it. So then, Pucci would call me and be like, "Wow, you're right. I'm the jerk! I read the beautiful birthday email you sent me and apparently forgot all about it. I'm so sorry! What can I do to make it up to you?" And I'd say, "You can buy me a box of chocolate truffles and a pedicure and then rub my feet for me." And he'd be like, "Anything for you, Frosty, because you are the most good-looking person I know and you remembered my birthday." Do you see why this would be so fantastic? The way I figured out that it was a an April Fool's joke was not by actually trying to send a post-dated Happy Birthday email. That is definitely not how I realized it was a joke. I would never do that. Ever.

Now Blogger has come out with an option to "schedule" blogs. You are reading this and I am actually not sitting at work at my desk not working. I'm actually in California, visiting my family. You think I'm at work not working because that is usually where I am when I write. In fact, that is where I was when I wrote this. (Hi Employer!) But it is actually several days later and I'm on vacation and you're reading this and I completely tricked you by writing a post and scheduling it to be posted days later. Nice, right?

Maybe I'll write a whole slew of posts to be posted while I'm on vacation. I wonder, if by writing all about how awesome my vacation is, it will actually turn out to be awesome? Nah, I don't have to worry about that, it will just be awesome anyway. Because I am so good-looking.

Lusting For Large Open Spaces

Have I told you lately about my cravings for wide open spaces? I suppose it's a given now that I've been living in Manhattan (officially) for just about a year. Seriously. They should call it "Smallhattan". Or, "Minihattan"! THAT'S IT! MINIHATTAN! Because everything is so damn small.

Last night I dreamt that I was getting an apartment with Dopey and she had put first dibs on the bedroom with the huge walk-in closet. And I was like, "Wait a minute! I've been living in NYC for the last year! I NEED A WALK-IN CLOSET MORE THAN YOU!" But she wouldn't budge because she'd gotten first dibs and that was that. So I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least this new normal-sized closet was about ten times bigger than the closet I was used to in NYC, so it was still an up-grade. This is what I am dreaming about, readers. How sad is that?

Did I mention how when I was in LA recently, I could not get over how enormous my parents house was? This is the very same house that I was raised in, that I was embarrassed of in high school because I thought it was so much smaller than my friends houses. But it suddenly seemed cavernous. It shocked me. I didn't remember my childhood bedroom having so much empty space between pieces of furniture. I mean the floor space! It was incredible. I grew up thinking my room was tiny. Compared to the bedrooms of my friends, it was tiny. But now? Now I walk into that tiny room and I feel a little awkward. I'm not sure what to do with myself in such a large room. The room is actually bigger than my one-bedroom Hells Kitchen apartment. I'm not exaggerating. No, I'm really not.

You know what else I am lusting after? A garden. I want a garden. Badly. I want to grow strawberries and tomatoes and carrots and an apple tree (from a seedling, not a grafted one, even though the apples will most definitely be inedible, I still want a seedling apple tree) and cucumbers and kale and chard and mushrooms and avocado trees. I want to be able to harvest my vegetables and eat them for dinner every night. You know, ever since I read "In Defense of Food", eating is so much funner because I am exploring all kinds of new and interesting vegetables and fruits that I've never eaten before. And they are yummy! And healthy! And that debilitating fear of getting fat that I've been carrying around with me for my entire adult life is beginning to dissolve because, no way I'm going to get fat eating vegetables all day long. So now, along with eating all kinds of wonderful vegetables, I want to grow them. I'd be happy growing them on a beautiful roof-top terrace, I don't need a backyard. But I do need a roof-top terrace. So, now I'm lusting after that too.

Maybe it's time I get a gig on Broadway so I can afford a larger, more roof-top-terrace-with-organic-vegetable-garden-y apartment?

"Eat food. Not too much. Mostly Plants"

This is one of those perfect nights. Poompy is cooking dinner, I'm perched on a stool in the kitchen, we're chatting about our day and interesting things we've read and upcoming plans we have while we sip a delicious red wine. Even the pups are happy - trotting around in circles, following Poompy's feet as he cooks and, inevitably, drops tasty bits on the floor for their doggy delight.

I'm particularly excited about the meal Poompy is making because he is using ingredients that I chose from several local farms. The kale, portabello mushrooms, tomatoes and artichoke are all organic and locally grown. And the duck! oh the duck! The duck came from a local duck farm that promises that all of its ducks live happy, full lives, swimming in ponds and flying around and eating delicious ducky food like tadpoles and larvae and plants... we're going to eat a duck that had a long, happy, beautiful life. A duck that lived the way a duck should live. Until it became our dinner. But I digress.

I have always carried the sneaking suspicion that people would be happier and healthier if their food was happy and healthy. I've always believed that we should eat more plants than anything else, that if and when we choose to eat meat we should eat meat that comes from an animal who lived the life it was meant to live and ate what it was meant to eat instead of spending a sad life locked in a pen, surrounded by miserable sick animals and being forced to eat things it was never meant to eat (like fish meal - hi! Gross!) and getting so sick from eating so badly that it must be pumped full of antibiotics and hormones and all kinds of other unnatural things and then murdered in such a way that it's muscles are soaked with anxiety and adrenaline. I mean, that can't be good for anyone. It's not just awful and unnatural for the animal, but it's got to be bad for us, too. And I'm not just talking about karma. But there is that. Or so I've always thought.

Anyway, I've always tried to express these thoughts to Poompy, but have been met with much resistance. Because, you know, buying organic locally grown produce is expensive. And going to the trouble to only eat pastured animals is too time consuming and expensive. And bread is healthy! Pasta is a staple!

Remember when I wrote that I was gonna write about this most awesome and fantastic book I'd finished reading by Michael Pollan? Well, today is THE day.

My hour has finally come. Poompy has finally stopped arguing with me about how we eat. Apparently, anything Michael Pollan says carries more weight than anything I say. And as long as I get what I want, I'm totally cool with that.

I don't really know where I'm going with this post, except that I feel really validated by Pollan's newest book. I'm always floored when someone sees me eating an apple and says, "You better be careful. Do you know how much sugar is in that?" I feel like you won't even believe that I've just typed that, because, hello! It's a freaking apple. There is not so much sugar in an apple that it's going to make me fat. That's just ridiculous. But maybe you're one of those people who says, "I don't eat fruit. Too many carbs," though I hope you're not. Because if you are, you're going to have some serious health problems as you get older. And I'd really like you to live a long and healthy life.

Anyway, since I don't know how to force the power of this book onto you, (other than by begging you to pleasegooutandbuythisbooktoday!) I'm just going to quote some Michael Pollan right here. But before I do, I want you to know that he's a really smart guy and he did a lot of research and, unlike me, he doesn't just spout stuff he thinks sounds good. He actually only writes it if he has real scientific evidence to back it up. I mean, the guy's got creds. Yes, he's a writer and not a scientist. But he quotes scientists, so that's gotta count for something, right?

Let us start with this little doozy. In this section, Pollan is arguing against the arguments that we are "adjusting" to the Western Diet (refined white flour, refined sugar, processed foods, the entire "low-fat" culture).

"But our 'adjustment' [to the Western diet] looks much less plausible when
you consider that, as mentioned, fully a quarter of all Americans suffer from
metabolic syndrome, two thirds of us are overweight or obese, and diet-related
diseases are already killing the majority of us."

Do you know how to starve a rich person? Feed 'em. I'm not kidding. Americans are eating more and more empty calories and getting fatter and fatter. We're eating WAY less fat than we were fifty years ago, but because we aren't eating natural fats, we're hungrier all the time and thus, we eat waaaaay more calories and get really fat. If we stuck to fruits and veggies, we'd be more satisfied and all-around-healthier.

"An American born in 2000 has a 1 in 3 chance of developing diabetes in his
lifetime; the risk is even greater for a Hispanic American or African American.
A diagnosis of diabetes subtracts roughly twelve years from one's life ad living
with the condition incurs medical costs of $13,000 a year (compared with $2,500
for someone without diabetes.)"

How messed up is that? Seriously. Thank you, Processed Food. But wait - it gets better.

"Although an estimated 80 percent of type cases of type 2 diabetes could be
prevented by a change of diet and exercise, it looks like the smart money is
instead on the creation of a vast new diabetes industry. The mainstream media is
full of advertisements for new gadgets and drugs for diabetics, and the health
care industry is gearing up to meet the surging demand for heart bypass
operations (80 percent of diabetics will suffer from heart disease), dialysis,
and kidney transplantation. At the supermarket checkout you can thumb copies of
a new lifestyle magazine, Diabetic Living. Diabetes is well on its way
to becoming normalized in the West -- recognized as a whole new demographic and
so a major marketing opportunity. Apparently it is easier, or at least a lot
more profitable, to change a disease of civilization into a lifestyle than it is
to change the way that civilization eats."

And this is one of my favorites. Because I've secretly always loathed "low-fat" crap and "lite" shit and "skim" milk and blah blah blah. I drink half n' half. And I love it. Gimme more fat, please.

"Very often food science's efforts to make traditional foods more nutritious
make them much more complicated, but not necessarily any better for you. To make
dairy products low fat, it's not enough to remove the fat. You then have to go
to great lengths to preserve the body or creamy texture by working in all kinds
of food additives. In the case of low-fat or skim milk, that usually means
adding powdered milk. But powdered milk contains oxidized cholesterol, which
scientists believe is much worse for your arteries than ordinary cholesterol, so
food makers sometimes compensate by adding antioxidants, further complicating
what had been a simple one-ingredient whole food. Also, removing the fat makes
it that much harder for your body to absorb the fat-soluble vitamins that are
one of the reasons to drink milk in the first place."

Pollan also goes on to uncover all these studies that show that taking vitamin and anti-oxidant supplements are more likely to do harm than good. And he talks about how the way we farm our produce and our animals has so depleted the soil of nutrients that our produce is waaaay less nutritious than it was a hundred years ago and because our animals eat such bad food, they are waaaaaay less better than us than they were and on and on and on. It's really incredible. And eye-opening.

And if you think you don't want to read this book because you don't want to know all this bad stuff and you can't do anything about it anyway, GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR YEASTY ASS. Because, YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE EVERYTHING. FOR THE BETTER. For reals. It really actually does not cost that much extra to buy locally grown organic produce. And, FYI, the "locally grown" part is actually incredibly important. It is stupid to buy organic produce if it was grown in China and shipped to the states before it was ripe, which is how a lot of organic produce works. And it doesn't cost that much more to buy pastured organic animal products. It really doesn't. And again, the "pastured" part makes a HUGE difference in the quality of the food you are consuming. And it is much more likely that the animal was a healthy animal if it spent it's life eating grass in a pasture, as it was intended to do. So there. Anyway, buying food like this isn't much more expensive, seriously. I'm shit-ass-broke and I can do it. So you can too. You just have to want a better life for yourself.


Americans are entering into a terrible, terrible state of ... I don't even know what to call it. We're losing our jobs and our homes, most of us are without health care, food and fuel costs are shooting through the roof, we are fat and unhealthy and unhappy. This cannot go on. I don't mean to get all preachy, but I totally do. LISTEN TO ME. We have got to start taking responsibility for ourselves and we have got to start holding ourselves accountable and we have got to make a difference! WHAT KIND OF WORLD DO YOU WANT YOUR CHILDREN TO GROW UP IN? You don't want children, you say? WELL, WHAT KIND OF WORLD DO YOU WANT MY CHILDREN TO GROW UP IN?

So just do me a favor, read this book, follow Pollan's wonderful suggestions for eating in a way that will make you healthier and all-around-happier and that will also be good for our Earth, our country, our children and our animals. Please. I'm begging. I'm actually on my knees begging. You just can't see me. But you have a good imagination, so use it.*

OH! And one last thing. Go here to get tons more info on how you, too, can eat healthier while taking care of Mother Earth. This is also a great website. DO IT NOW! Shazam.

*I just want you to know that I do not work for Michael Pollan, nor am I getting a kick-back on the sale of his book. I just think he's a smart guy with some REALLY important stuff to say. But I should start getting kick-backs. Because that would be cool.

Stellar Speller

I always spellcheck my posts before I post them. And not because I am worried about my misspellings. I do it because when I see the glorious words No misspellings found I just feel really good about myself. When I see my new post under the scrutiny of spellcheck and it becomes clear that my only misspellings are for words like "geez" and "sheesh" and "favoritest" my little shriveled, blackened heart puffs up with happiness. The fact that I am AWESOME at spelling* makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I'm alright.

We should all have something in our life that makes us feel good about ourselves. For me, that thing is spellcheck. I heart you, spellcheck. Thanks for hearting me back.

*For the record, I make no claims as to the quality of my grammar. In fact, I'm most certain that my grammar sucks stinky ass.

Playing catch up.

I have so much to tell you! I mean, I never told you how totally rad The Bangkok Five music video shoot was. I never told you all about the awesome book I was reading that I'm done reading now. I never told you how excited I am about my upcoming visit home. I never told you about how I signed with a new agent. I never told you about my job interview at a House of Domination. And I never told you that I booked a flight to Seattle for this upcoming September! See? SEE? SEE HOW MUCH STUFF I HAVEN'T TOLD YOU???

Where should I begin? Perhaps at the beginning?

~I signed with an agent. On April 8th. He's rad, I'm super excited, I WANT TO GET AN ACTING JOB NOW SO PLEASE CAN I START GOING ON AUDITIONS? *breathe* I know, I have to be patient. These things take time, blah blah, it's hard to still be excited that I have an agent when I HAVEN'T BEEN ON AN AUDITION YET. 

~The Bangkok Five shoot was fantastic. I was surrounded by a group of wonderful people and it was just awesome to be working with artists who were genuinely concerned about the artistic aspect of the project. I feel like I have a bazillion stories to tell about the three day shoot, but if I tell it here, this post will take you an hour to read, so I'll save it for a rainy day. But I do want to say this one thing: Whenever I belched, the entire crew erupted in laughter and applause and then a belching contest would ensue. I always won. It might have been the highlight of my year.

~I'm going home to visit my family and friends and I will be there in just four days. I am very excited. It will be sunny and warm and I will spend at least one whole day at the beach. I will go shopping with Dopey and lounge around drinking tea with my Mama and my Marta and I will have coffee conversations with my Papa and I will have long lunches with my brother and his beautiful wife. I will drink wine and indulge in deep heart-to-hearts with Pucci. I will revel in the joys of a party Dopey is throwing just for me and Poompy. I will bond with my niece and nephews. I will see dear dear friends I haven't seen in a year. It will be wonderful and, I'm certain, far too short.

~I purchased tickets for me and Poompy to go to Seattle to visit my grandmother and all my aunts and uncles and cousins and I am so excited. Poompy has never been to Seattle and it is one of my favoritest places ever. I am really looking forward to seeing family I haven't seen in (gasp) seven years, but I'm mostly excited to meet my new cousin-who-isn't-yet-finished-being-made-but-should-be-ready-for-his/her-world-premiere-somewhere-around-July-22-and-in-the-meantime-is-currently-residing-in-the-uterus-of-my-beloved-and-beautiful-and-brilliant-cousin-Angie. The trip wouldn't be possible if my Auntie Anne and Cousin Angie hadn't offered up their spare beds. I am forever grateful to the both of them.

~I got called for a job interview at a House of Domination.

Do you ever just like to waste time goofing around on Craigslist? I sure do. My favorite things to read are the 'm4w' and 'w4m' sections because I think they're just hilarious. Especially when those freaks include naked-y pictures of themselves. (It is a personal favorite past time of mine to look at people's self-proclaimed Sexy Pics and point and laugh hysterically.) I also occasionally like to read the 'Rant and Rave' posts. I don't read the 'Pets' postings because they make me cry. Once in a while I check out 'ETC Jobs' because those can be pretty funny, too. Last week there was an 'ETC Job' posting for a Dominatrix at a House of Domination (No experience necessary!) Too funny. I couldn't resist emailing. I had this fantasy of going in for a job interview and watching a training session just for the story I could write about it afterwards. AND THEY TOTALLY EMAILED BACK TO SET UP AN INTERVIEW! And then.... and then.....

I lost my nerve.

See, I think that if I was a real writer, I'd call and set up an interview. But, try as I might, I just can't bring myself to do it. I talk a big game, but I'm really just a kitten. Not even. I'm a teensy mouse.

~I read this incredible book. Everupme I love must read it. It's called In Defense of Food and it is written by Michael Pollan who just might be my new hero. It is such an incredible book that I am not going to write about it right now because you've been reading this post for so long that you're probably just skimming by now and when I decide to write about In Defense of Food I want your complete and utter undivided attention. So check back later for details.

Love you, miss you, sorry I've left you hanging for so long, I know it just kills you not to know every sordid detail of my sad little life on a daily basis so I promise I will try really hard to write more often.

Smooches.