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.

Rocky Update

So apparently the California Department of Fish and Game decided that it was not under their jurisdiction to decide Rocky's fate. Their investigation showed them that Rocky had not put the general public at risk and so it's not up to them to decide what will become of him. It is up to his owner. I read that there are no current plans to euthanize him. But I don't know much else. I also don't know if there is anyone else I can write letters to. Do you know anything else?

I, unfortunately, read a bunch of comments posted by Stupid Americans alongside several online articles. I had to stop reading because the number of people who wrote things like, "That bear shoold be kill'd" and "Lets bbq that dumb bear" made me physically ill.

Anyway, a hearty Thank You to all of you who wrote letters to the DFG. It means a lot to me to know that I'm not alone in my concern for this wild beast who's gotten into a mess because of human error. Let's all pray for the state of mankind. I think it's kind of a disaster.

Rocky the Grizzly Bear

Yesterday, 'Rocky' the five-year-old grizzly bear that wrestled with Will Ferrell in 'Semi-Pro' bit his trainer on the neck. His trainer, Stephan Miller, died from the injury. Click here to read a news article about it.

I want to offer my prayers and sympathy to the family and friends of Stephan Miller.

Now I want to say that when a human being makes the decision to "train" a wild animal such as a grizzly bear, they are making the decision to risk their life. The California Department of Fish and Game (DFG) will be conducting an "investigation" to "decide" what should happen to Rocky as a result of his trainer's death. It is very likely that Rocky will be destroyed.

I URGE you to contact the DFG and protest Rocky's euthanization. I am very sorry that Mr. Miller was killed. I think it's terrible. But Rocky is a wild animal and wild animals do what their instincts tell them to do. Rocky is NOT a cruel or calculating killer. He's just a bear. He does not deserve to die. He never asked to be kept in a cage and "trained". Can you imagine how he must have felt as humans were "training" him? He must have felt as if he was being teased and taunted almost constantly. HE DOES NOT DESERVE TO BE DESTROYED.

If you agree with me, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write a letter and/or send an email to the DFG. I did both. The mailing address for the DFG is:

DFG Headquarters
1416 9th Street
Sacramento, CA 95814

Click here to send an email.

Below is a copy of what I both emailed and hand-wrote to the DFG. Feel free to copy it, or of course, write your own.

My heart breaks for this bear. I pray that his life is spared.

To whom it may concern:

Regarding 'Rocky' the five-year-old Grizzly that killed his trainer Stephan Miller at the Predators in Action facility on Tuesday, April 22, 2008.

I understand that you are conducting an investigation to decide how Rocky should be 'dealt with' since he killed his trainer this week. Please, please, please take into consideration the fact that human beings who choose to "train" these wild animals are also choosing to risk their lives. Grizzly bears are wild animals. They are not cruel, calculating killers. Whatever reason Rocky had for biting his trainer, he had his wild grizzly bear reason. I feel terrible for Mr. Miller and his family. However, I am certain that Mr. Miller would have admitted that when he decided to work with a grizzly bear, he knew he was risking his life.

As you well know, grizzlies are a rare breed that must be preserved. To euthanize this bear because he followed his instincts would be cruel and terrible. He never asked to be kept in a cage and made to do tricks. He does NOT deserve to be punished because he behaved as what he is - a wild animal.

Please be thoughtful and wise in making your decision regarding what will happen to him now. It would be a travesty if he were to be destroyed as a result of human choices.

Thank you.

an call him Georges!

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xo Georges!

Happy Birthday, Maya Angelou!

Her birthday is April 4th and I hope it's a wonderful one. I love her. Check out this article about her - it's great. She's great. *happy sigh*

AAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!

DUDE! Check THIS out!!!!!

Then go HERE.

How freaking awesome is that????

Easter Choir

Remember when I told you that Theo likes to sing with me? Well, he's got the Chiremlin joining in now. Check it out:

p.s. Yes, I know I'm a complete dork. It's cool.

Happy Easter!!!!

see more crazy cat pics

I Want This Weekend, Too.

Again, thanks to Kim's Kitchen Sink. She reads good stuff, that girl.

Wanna know my fantasy weekend? Read this. Though the article is really about much more than just a nice weekend.

p.s. as I work Saturdays, I haven't had a real weekend off in almost a year. Sundays are the only day I get to myself and can you guess how I usually spend them? Catching up on chores and errands. And not fun ones. But life is good, so I'll keep my complaining to a minimum.

Dear Vatican: Hiding Those Golden Vaginas Is A Sin

This article is WONDERFUL. You MUST read it. NOW.

Thank you, Kim's Kitchen Sink.

No One Memed Me

So, I'm totally obsessed with the blogging world now. Which is funny because, when blogs first started becoming a "thing", I thought they were the LAMEST thing EVER. I NEVER thought I'd be writing one, let alone reading the blogs of strangers. But I totally do it and I totally love it.

People In The Sun is one of my faves, and a few weeks ago, he memed the world in this post. And, since I'm stupidly bored at work today, I thought I'd take on his challenge.

(Oh, just in case you don't know what a meme is, and don't feel bad because I had to look it up myself, a meme is like a chain letter game, like the emails you get that say "send to 7 other friends..." This one is about 7 different things that you most likely do not know about the person writing. And like People In The Sun, I'm not going to challenge 7 specific people, but I WILL collectively challenge the universe!)

Ready? Go.

1. I'm afraid of monsters. Seriously. I'm terrified of the dark and I ALWAYS check for monsters wherever I think they might be hiding. The shower, closets, behind curtains, under the bed ... On a really bad day, I think they could hide in the most impossible places and I find myself checking in the oven and in cupboards and whatnot. God only knows what I'd do if I actually FOUND a monster one day. Probably stab it with a pencil* or something. And you know what really freaks me out about having kids? I just KNOW that the first time Frosty Jr. comes crying to me that there's a monster in her closet, I will absolutely LOSE my shit. No way can I handle that kind of crap. No way.

2. Other people coughing REALLY freaks me out. Really really really freaks me out. I HATE it when people cough without covering their mouths. It makes me want to throw up. And I hate it almost as much when they cough all over their hands, because you KNOW they're just gonna go touch something I have to touch, so they might as well have just coughed all over everything. I get so freaked out that I think I can actually SEE their germs crawling around all over the place. The only acceptable thing is to cough into a tissue, or at the very least, into ones elbow. Ones elbow does not touch the keyboard I have to touch, or the door knob I have to touch, or the support-pole-thingy on the subway that I have to touch. Which leads me to.....

3. I'm terrified of germs. I can't stand touching stair rails or doorknobs, or soap dispensers, or anything that is touched by the general public. I think the general public is generally disgusting. I'm afraid of my shoe laces and the bottoms of my shoes. I'm afraid of the ground because I believe it is crawling with fecal germs from the bottoms of shoes that walked on the floors of public restrooms and dirty sidewalks. I think a toilet seat is one of the grossest things in the entire world. And yet, somehow, I'm able to completely turn off that part of my brain whenever it is convenient for me. I LOVE it when my dogs, who happen to enjoy eating poo, lick my face. I will happily lay belly down on the filthy sidewalk if it means getting a really good photo of a dead thing. I'd rather let my bathroom turn green with mould than actually clean it. And I'd rather have filthy, germy hands than use that hand sanitizer crap because I'd rather have hands full of live germs than hands full of the corpses of dead germs. Because I just think that is grosser.

4. It drives me crrrraaaaazy when people are early. I think it's rude and inconsiderate. I'm not talking about for appointments or anything. For appointments, like a job interview or something, being five minutes early is appropriate. I'm talking about social engagements. If I've invited you over at 7 p.m. and you knock on my door at 6:45, I officially HATE you.

5. It is physically painful to wake up in the morning. Probably because I never get enough sleep. Because I hate going to bed. I dread it. No matter how tired I am, I just do not want to go. But once I'm IN bed, almost nothing can pull me out of it. My alarm will go off twenty times over a two hour period and I won't budge. Though, Poompy and a fresh cup of coffee usually do the trick. I usually get up for that. I heart Poompy.

6. My absolute favoritest favoritest favoritest FAVORITEST thing to do in my free time is to pull out the couch bed, pile it with pillows and blankets from my bed, curl up with Poompy and the beasts and watch hours upon hours of Netflix DVD's. Gawd how I love that. And Poompy and the beasts are all the most fantastic cuddlers in the world. Seriously. Poompy lays down first and I curl up into his side with my face on his chest. Then Theo squeezes in between us and buries his nose under my chin. Then Valentine lays down on top of Theo and pushes her nose in the little space between my face and Poompy's chest. Then Toby squeezes himself into whatever space is left up against my belly. And if we're really really lucky, even Amelia will come and curl up on our feet. Oh, it makes my heart swell just thinking of it. I live in the most exciting city in the U.S. and all I want to do is curl up in my tiny nest with my tiny family. It's just so heavenly.

7. I'm going to be famous. And by 'famous', I mean I am going to be a highly respected, highly paid, award winning actor. I know it, deep deep down inside my soul, I am absolutely SURE that that is who I am: a highly respected, highly paid, award winning actor. I just happen to be stuck in the body of a starving, non-working actor, but that is really just temporary. For reals.









-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I used to have a roommate who kept very different hours than me. One night I woke up around 1 a.m. and heard something shuffling around in the living room. I knew it was a monster come to kill me. I just KNEW it. I lay in bed, sweating furiously, shaking under the covers, barely able to breathe, trying desperately to figure out how to protect myself. I scanned my brain for every possible weapon-like-object in my bedroom. The only thing I could come up with was a pencil. I thought that at least, by sticking the pencil in the monsters eye socket, throat or even his knee-pit, I might buy myself some time. So I creeped out of bed, got my pencil, and stealthily made my way out of my bedroom. I tip-toed into the living room, pencil poised for stabbing, and found my roommate just sitting on the couch, goofing around on his computer. He looks up at me, my face white with terror, arm poised above my head, pencil ready to go and says, "What the HELL are you doing?" Uh...... I thought you were a monster?

OMG OMG OMG! I'M ON YOUTUBE!

I'm such a rock star, you guys. Seriously. I edited my own film reel and then posted it on YouTube for all the world to see.

(p.s. this is all thanks to a couple of agents I met last week who said they needed a 60-90 second film reel. 'But how do I show my acting in such a short amount of time?' I wanted to know. 'It's not about your acting,' they replied, 'it's about whether or not you look good on camera. Does the camera love you or hate you?'

Well folks, the camera loves me. Check it out:


***Update: I re-edited for more Awesomeness. It's now 90 seconds, including all titles. And I took some of the sexy out. Apparently there was too much of that. At least that's what I was told. I guess I'm just too sexy for my film reel. Das right, biyatch. I said it. I'm too sexy for my film reel.

For 'cita

K, 'cita, these are for you. I'm pretty sure that all the rest of my loyal readers (I think there are at least two of you out there) have already seen these videos, but I'm equally sure that 'cita has never seen them and she just MUST.

Ready, 'cita? You're gonna laugh until you can't laugh any more. I posted them in order of how you should watch them. Not that I'm a control freak or anything.





This last one I discoverd on Sibley's site. I gotta give him credit for making my tummy hurt with happiness on a Saturday morning.

Eat Air

I Fart On You

My horoscope for the week of March 10-16 says:

Don't sabotage yourself where love is concerned. The only person blocking your happiness now is you. Once and for all, leave the past behind. A career discussion will go better than you expected; just remember that you're a star.

I hope this is true because I feel like if I don't get an acting job soon, I might start going crazy and reciting monologues in subway stations and buses and bodegas. I feel like a starving, penniless person in a bakery. WON'T SOMEONE THROW ME A BREAD CRUMB ALREADY?

Why I Can't Get Anything Done

She just won't let me.

Top 5 Reasons Why Cats Are Awesome

1. They are decorative


2. They give themselves manicures



3. They add pizazz to boring furniture


4. They leave you presents "just because"


And #5 ....

5. They teach you lessons about NOT leaving your brand-new iPod headphones lying around


psssst! you can click on any of those pics if you wanna see em bigger, k? K.

He's A Lovely Tenor

He sings with me. It just started this week. I spend my mornings exercising my voice, singing up and down the scale and he sits on the couch, his long tail whipping against the cushions, staring up at me and howling - perfectly in tune with me.

He melts my heart.

My Cat is Internet Famous

Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

pssssst! That's not really my cat. He just really looks like my cat.

Bombing in Times Square

This is just terrible.

If you heard about the bomb going off in Times Square this morning, here's a good article about it. Thank God no one was hurt.

Safety is for Wusses.

You cannot imagine how bummed out I was this morning when I realized I'd left my camera at home (again!). Because walking down 9th Ave., I saw four used needles hanging out on the sidewalk next to the garbage pile.




I took these pics with my phone and the camera in my phone (obviously) sucks ass. But man, oh man, can you imagine what awesome pictures I could've gotten if I'd had my real camera?

New York is awesome. Used needles just hanging out on the sidewalk with banana peels and empty cigarette cartons. I once found a used needle in the bathroom of the Starbucks I worked at in Hollywood, but this was much better. I hope I get to raise my kids here because, man, those people living in the suburbs have no idea what they're missing.

Big Dreamz

see more loldogs are funny dog pictures!

Leap Year

It is, isn't it? Shouldn't we do something to celebrate? Or something?

Well, I don't know about you, but this leap year is gonna bring something good for me. Here's my horoscope for this upcoming week:

Aquarius: Jan. 21 - Feb. 18
"Creative accounting" is one way to describe the effect innovative Uranus in your Pisces money house has on your checkbook. Shortly after the annual Pisces sun-moon conjunction re-energizes your ruling planet, you may discover another way to utilize its power to dazzle. Look for a nontraditional approach to acquiring something you want quite badly. Then mention it to a few imaginative folks and see what happens. There's no telling what sort of miracle will materialize when mystical Neptune in your sign works its magic.

Dead Things: Or Why Poompy Loves Me

If you've ever been to my Flickr account, you know my fascination with dead things. Sadly, since I've gotten kind of used to living in NYC, I've stopped carrying my camera with me everywhere I go, so now I regularly miss good photo opportunities with the city's beautiful dead. Which just drives me nuts. I'll be walking down the street and I'll see a squashed rat and I'll stop in my tracks, squat on the pavement for a closer look, dig through my purse for my camera and then curse myself for leaving the camera at home. And then a moment passes as I'm squatting on the sidewalk hovering over the rotting carcass of some poor creature, where I seriously consider putting the thing in my pocket so that as soon as I get home I can take a picture of it. Or, if the thing is REALLY dried out, perhaps I can bring it home and just ... save it. Maybe to put in a frame at some later date*. How cool would that be? I think. But then the practical side of me (yes, I have one too) takes over and I realize how upset Poompy will be if he finds out I've stuck this dead rat or pigeon or sparrow or whatever in my pocket and brought it into our tenement. So I sigh, wistfully, and walk away, knowing I'll never have the opportunity to photograph that particular dead thing ever again.

A couple of weeks ago Jen brought Sexy Sadie into work with her for the afternoon. Sadie is a good little doggy, so she has free run of the spa when she's there. A few hours into the work day, I hear Jen screaming in the back. Before I have a chance to see what's going on, she's running up front with Sadie in her arms. "Oh my god! Is my dog's face OK? You'll never believe what just happened!" Sadie's face looked fine, so I follow Jen into the back room where there are two sprung mouse traps on the floor - one of them with a dried out little mouse in it. Apparently, Jen had gone in to check on Sadie and found her crunching on something which turned out to be the mummified mouse in the trap. (Jen was worried that the empty trap had sprung on Sadie's face, but we've since decided that it probably wasn't empty when Sadie found it. If you know what I mean.) So here I am, at work, with a lovely dead thing and no camera. I took a deep breath, looked at Jen and said, "Can I take it home?"

ÅND SHE DIDN'T MIND. You have no idea how thrilled I was to be able to take that little dead mousy home. We put him in a biohazard bag (it was the only plastic bag with a seal that we had around) and put that in a Dean & Deluca bag. I was worried Mr. Mouse would just crumble up if I stuck him loose in my purse. I had a lot going on that night, so I wasn't able to photograph him right away. Instead, he stayed in his baggies on top of my fridge. Until Poompy found him.

We're in the bitchen** getting ready for bed when Poompy asks me, "Hey, what's in this Dean & Deluca bag? Did you get cupcakes?" And because at the core of my being I'm actually quite cruel, I respond, "It's a treat I picked up for you. Open it!" He opened the bag, looked inside, looked up at me, grinned, put the bag back on top of the fridge and said, "I should've known," And that was that.

Does that mean I have permission to bring home dead things?



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*In an envelope inside a box on the top shelf of a closet in the tenement is a dead frog that my parents sent me in the mail about ... oh gee, I guess that's nearly two years ago now. He's beautifully dried and quite gorgeous, really. I'm just waiting to find the time (and money) to bring him to a shop to have him framed. I think he'll look really nice in one of those glass, shadow-box type deals. A real conversation-starter, you know?

**You didn't forget about our bitchen, did you?

CONGRATULATIONS DOPEY!!!!!!

YOU GUYS! My best fried Dopey just booked a national commercial! And got her SAG card! I am jumping up and down for her and in a perfect world, I would have sent her a giant bouquet of flowers today. But there's this thing that happens when you're broke. It involves the bank calling you because you have no money, which is just lame because honestly, it's not like they need to rub it in. Anyway, it means I can't do nice things like buy flowers. So this will have to do. If your name is Dopey and you are reading this, I just want you to imagine for a minute that a gorgeous muscular guy has just knocked on your door to hand you these...



And the card attached reads as follows:

Dopey,

You're my favorite Orbitz Girl EVER. Go you. Rock Hollywood, get famous, and let me use you for your connections.

xo,
Frosty

I heart you, Dopes!

Unofficial - This is where YOU come in.

So, my darlings. Here is where I unofficially announce the launching of my sparkly new website, PatriciaFrost.net.

True, PatriciaFrost.net has been around for a while, but it has a whole new look! And I did it all by my little lonesome. Seriously. Your little Frosty, the notorious computard, built and designed and launched a website all by her wee little self. And it looks pretty good, if you ask me. Which you didn't. But still.

Now, I want you to go visit it and look at all the goodies and tell me if you think I forgot something crucial, or if something is confusing or unclear or if you think it's not user-friendly or if you thought something was superfluous..... or if you want to be linked and you aren't, or whatevs. Just don't be ambiguous. I don't like it when people say stuff like, "I think it looks good, but you should change blah blah because it would look better if you blabity bloop, but actually you don't really have to cuz it's OK the way it is," That is totally NOT helpful.

Also, um.... you can now hear me sing on the Media page. I haven't posted a film reel yet, because I still don't have that finished, but that is (I think) the ONLY thing missing from my website.

Oh, and I'm waiting to OFFICIALLY launch the website after I've heard from ALL of you. So there. Get to it!

www.patriciafrost.net. Or you can just click here.

At Your Feet

I got this message from someone on Flickr:

:: At your feet


Hello I must say to you that you have the most beautiful
feet that I have see in my life. Thank you for your Photos
and for your album.
Pardon for this message and for my English who is very bad.
I am a Spanish slave, in this moment I don’t have
Mistress, It is a dream for me to be able to get to be your
servant, your maid, your butler, your houseboy, your cleaner
house, and your slave. I have 5 years of experience in the
submission and the servitude to a Mistress and her partner,
I had been her maid, her servant and the her partner’s
servant from 5 years ago.
It is a dream for me to be able to be your servant your
real slave a live in slave. I always have wanted to be able
to manage to be a slave 24/7,It is a dream to be able to
your slave and be able to belong to you, to your feet my
Princess
If you wish to have vacations/holidays in Spain in a house
on the beach, you have here your house and a slave 24 hours
to the day to your service.

At your feet always

Slave A.

You know, the thing is, if he's willing to give me mani/pedi's .... I might have to think about it.

PETA - They love animals.

PETA loves animals so much that they routinely "put them out of their suffering". Even when they aren't suffering. And they don't even get in trouble for it. Check it out one very small example here.

February 14, 2008. Oh Yeah.

Poompy and I have never celebrated Valentine's Day. We don't (he doesn't) "believe" in it. We think (he thinks) it's a stupid holiday invented by candy and card companies.

This year, I went against everything we (he) believe in and asked him if maybe, just this once, he might do just a little something to acknowledge the day. No big deal, you know, just a card. Or a flower. Or if he wanted to go all out, he could pen a little haiku. Just something. I thought he'd roll his eyes and scoff at me when I brought it up, but I was pleasantly surprised when he responded, "Sure! That sounds like fun!" And then I pretty much forgot I'd asked, because, you know, I'm a chick.

I get home from work last night and there's a huge bouquet of orange roses (my favorite rose color) in a vase in the kitchen. Poompy is wearing a suit and grinning at me, "Hurry up and change! We gotta go!" I didn't even have time to ask where, I just threw on a dress, touched up my makeup and we were out the door. He took me to this Ethiopian restaurant across the street that we've both been wanting to try, but we're always too lazy to get dressed up for (it's sort of fancy - meaning you have to wear something other than dirty sweat pants) and we had a wonderful dinner. Then he surprised me with front row center tickets to 'The Seafarer'. SO FRONT ROW THAT MY TOES WERE TOUCHING THE STAGE. Holy. Crap. It was the best thing I've ever seen. The play itself was wonderful and the acting was pretty close to brilliant. I mean, it was a stunning production. Everyone was incredible. And we were literally sitting just a few inches away from the center of the stage. There were moments I was afraid of getting kicked in the head. I could reach out, without even leaning forward, and rest my hand on the stage. At one point during the show, a prop rolled off the stage and landed in Poompy's lap and he handed it to me and I put it in my bra* for the rest of the show, and then during the standing ovation at curtain call, I took it out of my bra and handed it to the actor standing closest to me. It was an absolutely thrilling, exquisite, perfect night. I will never forget it. 

I'll let you in on an awesome little secret: the entire evening cost us less than a hundred bucks**. Because apparently, we are (Poompy is) learning how to rock New York.

When the show was over, and we stood up to put our coats on, I suddenly burst into tears because - being that close to the stage - And Poompy was like, "I know baby, we got good seats," but no, no, that wasn't it. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that I'm standing on this very thin line between being an audiance member in a Broadway show and being an Actor IN a Broadway show. I feel like it's really close, you guys. Really close.

*Yeah, I know. I was just going to hold it, but my hand got tired. Stop laughing. I'm serious. I thought about putting it in my purse, but I was afraid it would get lost amongst the crap in there. I hadn't decided if I was going to keep (steal) the prop or give it back, and in the end, because I have a conscious the size of Jupiter, I gave it back. Poompy said he wished he hadn't given it to me, because he would have kept it. I said it was a karma thing and I just had to give it back.

** We're starving artists! What do you want from us?


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New York - the 411 (Frosty Version)

My mamacita is totally dying to get all the deets on my recent "vacation", and just in case you are too, I am providing them here.

But first, let me explain that the reason I put "quotation marks" around the word "vacation" is because while I certainly "felt" like I was on a "vacation", I never actually "left" my "tenement". I mean, I totally left the tenement "every" day, but then at "night" I "slept" there. As "opposed" to sleeping in a "hotel". Which is "why" it was a "vacation" instead of a vacation. And now I'm "just" using "quoatation marks" at "random" to be annoy"ing".

Now here are the details.

But first, (I know, you can't stand the anticipation) let me tell you why I had a "vacation". Because it was my birthday! And my Best Fried Dopey came to visit from LA as my present which also makes her my Best Fried Present. AND she wrote all about her trip here. So... read it. Now. And then come back and finish reading this.

K. Details. Below. Now. For Reals. Right after now. Now. Now.

THURSDAY, MY BIRTHDAY: I woke up and ate breakfast. Then I went to yoga with Poompy. Then I took a shower. Then -

Whoa. Sorry. That's really boring. You don't really want to know all that crap. K. I'll start with when Dopey showed up on my stoop and I was all excited and stuff and she gave me a big ol' hug and I was like, WHOA! Why is she touching me? And then I remembered that people in Los Angeles don't think it's weird to hug, so then I was all like, WHOA! Awesome! And I hugged her back. Then I gave her a tour of the tenement and then we exchanged birthday presents. First, Dopey gave me a gift from my BFF Shmadam, which was freaking awesome (I love you Schmadam) and then, even though she TOTALLY didn't have to get me a present because she WAS my present (seriously, flying 3,000 miles to spend my birthday with me is the best present EVER, no offense Shmadam, I know you know what I mean) she gave me a copy of The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham. I'm really excited to read it because I know it is a book that has a lot of meaning for her and I think it will carry a lot of meaning for me, too. But I'm in the middle of reading Poompy's book right now, so it will have to wait a bit as it is impossible for me to read more than one book at a time. I'm just not one of those people.

Anyway, so then we headed off into Times Square (read: The Dunkin Donuts in Times Square) for some sight-seeing (read: coffee drinking). We eventually ended up on the same block that Poompy works on, so I brought her by the restaurant just to say hi, but the owner found out it was my birthday and so he forced us to sit down, and then he forced us to enjoy some delicious shrimp cocktail (I got Dopey to eat shrimp cocktail for like, the first time EVER. And she LOVED it. Contrary to her belief, it does NOT taste like bugs) and then he forced us to have several cocktails. ALL on the house. What a mean, mean man. (Read: Awesome, awesome man.) So now, we're all like, tipsy and stuff and Poompy was done with work, so the three of us hopped onto the subway and headed uptown to have dinner with friends at my favorite antipasto bar. (By the way, Sibley. Just so you know, Dopey was totally slick in both the purchasing of and the swiping of her metro card. She was faster than Poompy!) We had a lovely dinner that included a birthday song and some molten cake, and then we crashed at Jen's apartment to watch the newest Grey's Anatomy. Which was kind of lame. But that's OK, because the evening was freaking awesome. And then we went home. And cleaned up dog pee. Well, Poompy and I cleaned up dog pee and Dopey brushed her teeth for about forty minutes.

FRIDAY: We set out early (is 2 p.m. early?) for some shopping and sight-seeing. We walked past Radio City Music Hall, we admired the Chrysler Building (from afar), we wandered in Rockefellar Center and laughed at the ice skaters that fell on their asses, and then I took her to Starbucks (because I'm pretty sure they don't have those in LA) and then we did some hardcore 5th Ave shopping. 5th Ave had no idea what to expect. You see, Dopey and I are Master Shoppers. We have developed some pretty amazing skillz when it comes to shopping together. Seriously. We're Ninja Shoppers. Unicorn Shoppers. Magical Fairy Shoppers. I mean, even alone we're pretty good, but when we're together.... man oh man. The shop clerks didn't even know what hit them.

After several hours of exercising our Shopping Muscles we were STARVED so we went for dinner at Patsy's and then we walked over to Serendipity 3 for their famous frozen hot chocolate. And HOLY CRAP that stuff was good. Except for the 435 lb woman who stared at my frozen hot chocolate the ENTIRE time I was sipping it, the whole experience was lovely. We spent the rest of the evening shop-shop-shoppping, even though we could barely waddle what with our full bellies and all. By the time we got home, we literally passed out from Shopping Exhaustion. OH! I almost forgot. I also took Dopey to see the Statue of Liberty that day!

K, between you, me, and the lamppost, I know that that is not the "real" Statue of Liberty. Dopey was confused at first, because she expected it to be bigger and someone had told her it was on an island, but then I told her that people were much smaller in the olden days, and that made the statue "seem" bigger. And that the island it's on is really the island of Manhattan. (Even though we all know it's really on Brooklyn. Geez.)  She totally bought it. So don't say anything to her, k? I just didn't feel like a trip to Brooklyn while she was here and I thought taking her to one of the plaster rip-offs in Times Square would be WAY easier. Besides. I don't know. I've never really been to Brooklyn.

SATURDAY: We hit the 10:30 a.m. yoga class at my yoga studio and then we spent a good two hours or so primping. Well... I did. I'm not sure what Dopey was doing. OH! She was chatting with me. Duh. That's why I took so long! She was distracting me. Ha. When I finally looked pretty, we headed uptown. We did a little shopping along the way - Dopey bought a kick ass mood ring that provided hours of entertainment (though I hear it has since given her finger a most attractive green hue.) I walked her past the Dakota, through Central Park, we stopped at W******* to say hi to the girls and so I could show Dopey where I work, and then we stopped at Dunkin Donuts, shared a grilled cheese "sandandwich" from a bodega and stopped to ogle the apartment building which was used as the facade for Holly Golightly's apartment building in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Then, since we were right there, we walked through the first neighborhood I lived in when I first moved to NY. It was strange to be there - it's been nearly a year now! Anyhow, we couldn't wander for too long because we needed to primp for my birthday party. And you KNOW how long it takes me to primp. So we got home, and primped and primped and I tried on eight different outfits, some of which belonged to Dopey, and when we were finally ready, we took a cab downtown for my party which gave us a nice little driving tour of Chelsea and the Village - I was able to point out Hotel Chelsea, you know, where Sid stabbed Nancy. My birthday party was freaking awesome. Lots of good friends showed up, and those who couldn't were missed. But all the same, it was a fantastic night. Except for the part where a drag queen projectile vomited all over the stage and then masturbated a rubber penis. Except for that part, it was really a fantastic night.

SUNDAY: We woke up bright and early and went to yoga. HA! Yeah right! We slept until after noon more like it! (My birthday party had kept us out past 4 a.m. the night before. That morning? Whatever.) We'd both really wanted to go to Glennis's Dance Dance Party Party, but it started at 2 and Dopey didn't think bouncing around with a severe hangover would be good for ANYONE. So instead, we took the mutts to the dog park for a bit. Dopey got peed on and the Chiremlin tried to start a fight. But that isn't unusual. After that we were in dire need of greasy food and coca-cola, so we got some and curled up in my living room to watch 'Into the Wild'. We eventually got our butts in gear to get to Jen's for game night....but that just turned into a bunch of girl talk (sorry Sibley) and no actual game playing was had.

MONDAY: We went down to Union Square, the lower east side and then to SoHo this day. Did some more shopping, ate some more good food (Red Bamboo, introduced to me by JT), and had some more Dunkin D. We had to head back early to meet Sibley for a top secret mission by 7. Unfortuantely it fell through, but we managed to have a good time sitting in a coffe shop and having some seriously NSFW conversations TOTALLY worthy of overheardinnewyork. Did someone say DVDA?!?!? Then, to culminate the vacation, Dopes and I rented a few chick flicks, made some crispy treats and had a pillow fight in our panties.

You sicko. We SO did not do that. I've never had a pillow fight with anyone other than my brothers in my ENTIRE life. And all participants were fully clothed. Dopes and I DID rent chick flicks and we DID make crispy treats but the rest of the evening was spent curling our hair, cuddling stuffed animals and talking about boys.

TUESDAY: Sibley, Dopey and I reconvened for our top secret mission. Well, we had breakfast first and introduced Sibley to the "LA" idea of on-time...you know...45 minutes late. (Totally Dopey's fault.) After the mission was accomplished we had some more coffee talk and then it was time for Dopey to leave. And once she was gone, I sat down on my bitchen floor and sobbed. Because, for a moment, I could not remember WHY I am so far away from the ones I love.

Watch Out For Poompy

Sibley wanted to know. And now I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep at night.
56%

After he came up with these results, I looked at him and said, "You'd eat human flesh to survive???" He replied with a completely straight face, in a calm, even voice: "You'd starve to death with food nearby?"

Oh. My. God. I'm married to a cannibal.

Thanks A Lot, Sibley.

24%

I am now thoroughly freaked out.

We Reap What We Sow

Poompy and I come home from an evening out with friends and were looking forward to curling up and doing married people things, but oh no. Not tonight. Because, see, we have four animals. Four. We open the front door and are greeted by the following scene:

The Chiremlin feasting on a pile of litter-caked cat poo, Theo lapping up a puddle of what could only be cat-poo-vomit released unto the carpet thanks to the Chiremlin, Toby cleaning out our toaster oven with his tongue, and Amelia hacking up a hairball onto our clean but not yet put away laundry.

Remind me again why we have four animals?

Tragedy

Let's just take a minute and say a prayer for the family and friends of actor Heath Ledger. He was an artist I truly admired. It's a terrible, terrible loss. And a frightening reminder of just how fragile life really is.

Los Angeles Tourists:

Stay the hell off the freeways during commuter times! I think that it is great that you are here, really I do. Everyone should see L.A. at some point. Hollywood Boulevard, Sunset Strip, Disneyland...well...that is Anaheim, but oh well. It is all great, I know. And I understand that you want to "get a head start" and "take advantage of the day". But if you don't know where you are going, Please, for the love of all good things, don't get on that freeway until at least 10:00 AM. We Los Angeleans KNOW where we are going. We know what lane to be in at all times. We know exactly where our exits are. We know what the traffic should be doing at every minute of the day. You, you tourist, DON'T. I understand that in every other part of this country (except Texas) 65 mph might be considered a bit faster than the norm. DEAL WITH IT. If you cut me off again going a cool 50, I will hunt you down and slash the tires of your compact rental car. If you signal left and jolt into the right lane in front of me again, I will stop you fast and rip you out of that driver's seat. This one I don't understand at all; rental car or not, isn't the turn indicator a standard down=left, up=right? MORON.

OH! And one for the spammers who insist on replying to posts: stop peddling your shit on my blog. I don't need to meet some 90 year old psycho who claims he is 26, asks me for coffee, then they find pieces of me scattered througout the Hollywood Hills. Also, it is pretty damn obvious that I don't know you when you offer me, a very small 85 pound person, weight-loss advice. I've got enough of that to share. THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

I am sorry, I don't know what has come over me. My brain is fried from this heat. I will be happier tomorrow. I promise. Don't go away! I really can be a very positive, happy person. You'll see.

I have the BEST Poompy EVER

He just gave me my birthday present and it's something I've wanted for years.

Guess what it is!

No, it isn't a dead animal. No, it's not a shiny piece of charcoal either. It's a pair of 20-hole Doc Martens! I really do have the best Poompy in the world.

Puppy Shower

I was cruising Overheard In New York when I saw this. I thought to myself, "No Way. No one would ever have a puppy Shower because that's stupid." Turns out I'm wrong.

Click here to see the latest thing to make me want to gouge my eyeballs out of my head with a dull butter knife.

If anyone ever invited me to their "Puppy Shower" I would immediately end the relationship. Immediately. Because a Puppy Shower is just a really lame excuse to make your friends buy you crap you don't really need. And because I'd be really jealous because I have two dogs and no one has ever thrown me a Puppy Shower. 

24 hours Rock Star-style

Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a Rock Star? Well, I can tell you. Because I know. Because I lived it. Sure, it was only for 24 hours and I didn't have to deal with paparazzi or screaming fans and I didn't accept any awards or perform any awesome shows or do copious amounts of drugs or sleep with any random strangers or anything like that, but still.

This past week, Dr. J and I left beautiful Manhattan for Sunny California. We were invited to the Aesthera Annual Awards Dinner in downtown San Diego as "Guest Speakers". Pretty freaking snazzy, huh? Well, at least for me. Dr. J is used to that kind of thing. Anyway. At 7 a.m. sharp we hopped into a sleek black town car and drove to JFK. We flew Jet Blue (Yay Direct TV for five hours straight!) to San Diego and aside from the plane taking off over an hour late, the trip was easy and uneventful.

We were met at the airport by a chauffeur holding a sign for us, escorted to another sleek black town car, and driven to this GOR-GE-OUS five-star hotel in downtown San Diego. I felt totally famous. I mean, except for when the chauffeur slammed the car door on my legs (twice) so he could help Dr. J get out of the car and except for when he made me carry my own bag even though he totally could've carried mine and Dr. J's at the same time but apparently he just didn't feel like it, and except for when he shut the trunk after putting Dr. J's bag in and I had to ask him to open the trunk so I could put my bag in and rather than opening the trunk for me and taking my bag like it's his JOB to do, he just popped the trunk and made me do it myself, except for all that I felt totally pampered. When all that happened, I felt more like the assistant-to-a-Rock Star rather than an actual Rock Star, but still.

Once we got to the hotel, after we waited for forty-five minutes to get our room key, I totally felt like a Rock Star some more. I mean, this place was insane. Doormen, cabana boys, velvet wallpaper, antique furniture, marble floors, absolutely beautiful. Our room had this unbelievably lush carpeting, gorgeous bathrobes waiting for us, a coffee maker (ok, even the Hilton has a coffee maker, but still), a HUGE flat screen TV, a Dream Machine (seriously), an enormous marble shower, down comforters, down pillows, feather mattresses..... I've always thought that MY bed was the most comfortable bed in the world, until I took a nap in the bed at this hotel. Holy. Crap. It suddenly became VERY clear to me why some people would choose to spend upwards of $500 a night on a hotel room.

So here I am, my first time in such a posh hotel room, feeling like the Biggest Rock Star of All Time and what do you think I did? I pilfered the place. You can take the girl out of The Valley, but you can't take The Valley out of the girl. Travel size shampoo, lotion, mouth wash, sugar packets, coffee pods.... nothing was safe from my little fingers. Anything small enough to pocket landed in my suitcase before I even tested out the softness of the mattress. And of course, a couple of hours later when Dr. J wanted to make some coffee, I had to fess up and sheepishly hand her a coffee pod. Only slightly embarrassing. Five minutes after that she says, "I can't believe they didn't give us sugar and creamer!" Sigh. Out they came from my bag, to her utter amusement. Luckily.

Anyway, after we dropped our bags at the hotel, after I'd pilfered the goodies but before I'd had to fess up to it, Dr. J and I headed down the street to this little sushi place where we GORGED ourselves on fresh sashimi and cocktails.... for free. Well, not for free, but we didn't have to pay for it, so basically for free. Because we were like totally Rock Stars. After that, we took delicious naps in our comfy 5 star beds and after that, we primped and after THAT we were GUESTS OF FREAKING HONOR at this awards dinner. We got applauded and thanked and PAID and everything. Totally hot, right? I know. The dinner was an unbelievable four course gourmet spread involving teensy beautifully arranged servings of lobster and steak (poor little lobsties and cowsies) and cappuccino cakes and lots of free wine. And all night people came up to us gushing about how freaking awesome we are. I know. You're jealous. It's cool. I would be too.

So with full happy bellies, after a mere nine hours in San Diego, we packed our little carry-on's and said good-bye to our luscious hotel room and hopped into our third sleek black town car of the day and headed back to the airport where Dr. J treated us to upgrades so we could take our red-eye in style. Oh yes. You read that right. This little Valley Girl flew first class. I slept through the whole thing, but still. It was beautiful. Except for the turbulence which woke me up several times and had me praying for my life and except for having to change planes in D.C. and except for having to ride with the common man in economy class from D.C. to NYC. Other than that, it was beautiful.

So, yeah. Pretty much, if (and I'm saying "IF", people) all it took to be a Rock Star was to spend a lot of time on a plane in a 24 hour period and nap in a posh hotel and eat a lot of expensive food, then I would be a completely real Rock Star by now. Because I did that. Me. Well, me and Dr. J, but still.

________________________________________________

Don't you wanna know WHY we were asked to speak at the Aesthera Awards Dinner??? Because Dr. J is an awesome doctor who uses the Aesthera laser and I am one of her patients who went from being a nasty-ass pizza face, to having gorgeous, flawless skin in a matter of months! I stood up in front of a hundred business men and women in evening wear and talked about the trials and pain of being an adult (in name only) who suffers from acne. I even cried, you guys. I cried. It was perfect. The audience ATE IT UP. I gots me some serious stage presence, fo sho.

I love my neighborhood

Amazing things happen where I live.

It happened before I could stop it....

I've often been heard whining about how I think New Yorkers are really lazy because they think it's too much trouble to travel from downtown to uptown. Kids, learn from my example. Watch your mouths. I totally get on the subway now instead of walking ten blocks. I cringe with dread when I know I have to head all the way downtown for something. I have my groceries delivered because walking four blocks with a weeks worth of groceries is too exhausting. I HATE traveling cross-town even though I know Manhattan is only about three miles wide at it's widest point. But the real kicker?

Yesterday I dropped my laundry off to be washed for me. That's right. I can't even do my own laundry anymore. I'm actually paying someone else to do it for me.

I don't think I'm in the Valley anymore....

No Odors, so you can get some. Some what?

For the man who is too lazy to shower, but not too lazy to apply cream to his nads, click here.

Happy New Year!

I hope you all had a simply wonderful New Years Eve. Poompy and I shared a really perfect holiday together. I mean, we paaaartied haaaard. Seriously.

Ok, I'm lying. We totally took it easy because we were (are) EXHAUSTED from our Christmas holiday. We slept until about 11:30 on the 31st and the first thing we did when we got up was eat cereal. I know, it's pretty exciting. Then we took the dogs to the park for about two hours, then we came home and did an hour of yoga together. And chanted mantras. Yes, you read that correctly. It pretty much rocked. THEN we made jalapeno poppers and ate Christmas dinner left-overs and THEN we made giant lists of our goals for 2008, which we hung on the door in our "office" where we can look at it every single freaking day. THEN we plopped down in front of the TV and watched four episodes of The Shield and Superbad. And we forgot to ring in the New Year with the bottle of bubbly Poompy bought. But that's ok, we'll save it for a date night.

So, yeah. It might sound lame to you, but it was exactly what we needed to seal 2007 and open up 2008. I feel rested and happy and ..... now this you might really get a kick out of..... I'm totally ready to show off a new hair color for the new year! OMG y'all! I'm a brunette!

Whaddya think?

Old me:











New me:








We* think we prefer the dark hair. It's slimming! And it makes our eyes more intense, for sure. At least that's what we're told!**

Anyhow..... here's to wishing you a happy, healthy 2008 during which you make all your beautiful dreams come true! That's what we're*** aiming for!

_____________________________________________________

*From here on out, as in, for the rest of 2008 we are referring to ourselves as the Royal We. Totally.

**Ok, sorry, enough of that. I just read Perez Hilton and I got stuck in his obnoxiousness for a minute. I won't really refer to myself as we or whatever. It was a phase that barely lasted the length of this post. You can now breathe easy.

***Me and Poompy, not the Royal We. Silly. I stopped doing that! Seriously.