Category Archives: i don’t even know

I does what I does.

Jul

2012

Why is it so hard for me to do this? Is it depression? Laziness? Is it a desire to seem deep and mysterious, sitting my dark apartment with wine and this melancholy mix (or something) as my soundtrack? And please feel free to suggest songs that I can add to it, because I welcome everything now.

I do not understand why I choose to not do things and choose to do others. The easiest way to fail is to do what you have always done. Unless of course you have been doing well. Soaring over our heads. If you are doing well, and I hope that you are, you should tell me how you are doing it. But in a way that is not a lecture. In school when I had to sit in lectures I would draw cartoons of pigs in my notebook. Ask Dave, he will tell you that it is true. I do not know if Dave is even reading this. But if he is, he will vouch for me. My pig doodles are what started our friendship. I did not know this until years later.

Any great writer, artist, musician, even some actors, reached the levels we dream of because of talent, hard work, and discipline. I used to have all of those things. I believe that I still have talent, in the way that people believe in The Secret. There is a strange comfort in sitting here, thinking about wasting my talent in this dark old apartment, staring at the mess that is on this table I am typing on. I wish that computer keyboards clacked louder. That would be an improvement for struggling writers everywhere. It’s hearing the click of those keys that convinces us that we are working. The “CLICK CLICK FUCK YOU CLICK CLICK CLANG FUCK OFF CLACK CLACK” that comes with the hard press and release of old keyboard keys of Fitzgerald typewriters and 90’s computers.

I want to be Fiona Apple.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Is cable dead?

Mar

2012

This concerns my cat.

Soon I am moving out, presuming that I find a place, which I kind of have to presume, and I’ve been wondering if I should bother to get cable. Here is why I have cable:

— I love television.

— I love AMC and HBO.

— Dr. Phil. Sometimes Dr. Oz.

— And really, this all comes down to having the DVR. I need to be able to record all my shows and watch them whenever I want.

I have a Wii on which I can stream Netflix and that’s it. And yes I have my computer to watch things from Hulu and…other places, but I don’t want to watch TV on my computer. I work on a computer all day. I am internet. I want to watch TV on a TV.

There’s this thing called Roku that I’m wondering if I should get.

Can someone help me out? For those of you who don’t have cable, how do you:

— Watch Mad Men and The Walking Dead? And shows that aren’t available on Netflix or Hulu or the show’s site?

— Watch a daily daytime show like The Today Show or Dr. Oz or Dr. Phil? And just do me a favor and pretend that you watch Dr. Phil. And yes I already googled “watch Dr. Phil online” and I can’t find anything reliable. Am I supposed to use a VCR? Isn’t that a gigantic step backwards?

— Why does my back itch and what are these red bumps on it?

I guess I could get HBO 2 Go or whatever boy band it’s called but what about AMC? Am I supposed to wait until the entire season of Mad Men comes out on Netflix, or until the episode is available online the next week? I can’t wait a week, I work in social media, the spoiler alerts, the goggles, they do nothing.

So what do you do? Do you think cable is dead? Also if you’re one of those people who says, “I don’t watch TV” I just want to let you know that you are missing out on everything ever.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Smell ya later!

Mar

2012

Trustworthy, honorable, sober, etc.

A few days ago, Max Landis shared something gross and fascinating with me. Naturally. He brought to my attention something I wasn’t aware existed and would probably be okay with never knowing existed.

I am talking about Pheromone Parties.

What is that? You may ask. Yourself. Where does that highway go to? I’m sorry, I have an affliction where I occasionally segue way into Talking Heads lyrics. But that’s not important right now. A Pheromone Party is where you go to meet someone you want to date/fall in love with/bang with a twist: BYOS — bring your own shirt. But before you bring it, you have to sleep it in for three nights in a row and then take it off and leave it sealed in a plastic bag (the longer the better). I hope I never feel like that plastic bag. Then you bring it to the party. And when that bag opens, that’s when it all goes down. To quote their website:

Bags are placed on a table. Guests smell the bags at their leisure throughout the party.
If a guest finds the smell attractive, they take a picture with the bag at a photographer station. These pictures are projected as a slide show on the wall at the party.
If you see a picture of a guest you find attractive holding your number, this is the greenlight to talk to them. Haaaay.

Minty fresh!

As gross as I find this concept I also find it interesting. First of all, I think the last thing anyone needs is to be rejected for smelling the worst out of all of the smelly t-shirts. Also I’m glad I’m not single because if I were I would have to go to this and try it and report back. I’ll still go but I’m not bringing a dank t-shirt. Also I would cheat by rolling my tee around in a nice pumpkin pie, because apparently that’s a scent that men love. I read it in a study. With the candlestick. And Mrs. Peacock. But I can’t deny that I like my boyfriend’s t-shirts. I like how they smell. And that’s the whole point of this. We’re all gross and we like how we smell. Because we’re basically jerks who walk around smelling for love. And then when we smell something we like, we bang it. Or marry it.

Here is my favorite tip:

“Some things for women to consider:

Strippers get more tips when ovulating. It is not proven whether this is because of pheromones or just actions, but worth considering for coordinating your odor print phase.”

This entire party sounds awesome. Can someone please go to this and report back? Are you adventurous enough to go? Wouldn’t this be the best “…and that’s how I met your mother” story ever?

But most of all, what do you think — is this idea legit? Do you like how your dude or lady smells?

Get thee to Cinefamily on April 5th.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Vicodin with apple juice and graham crackers.

Jan

2012

Yesterday started out like the day before it and the day before that and the day before that. I was getting ready for work. I was buttoning my shirt when all of a sudden I heard a crack and pain shot through my neck. I couldn’t move my head, even the slightest. The pain was unbearable. I managed to get to my bed where I laid down for an hour and a half, because I couldn’t move. So of course my cat Obo decided to sit on my chest.

I was scared. I knew I needed help. I called my mom. I am so lucky that she lives here. I persuaded my mom to come over. By the time she got here I was surrounded by two cats and I dog who would not leave me alone. My mom tried to get me to move but the pain was so bad I started crying. Finally I realized that I had to go to the hospital, and this was terrible news.

This meant I had to waste a really cute outfit.

We get to the hospital and damn, what a nice hospital. UCLA hospital is like a really nice hotel. We had to wait about an hour but in that time the kindest nurse I have ever met (Hi Nadia!) saw me and said, “You look like you’re in a lot of pain. You’re so pale. Would you like a Vicodin and some juice and crackers?” JOKE’S ON HER I ALWAYS LOOK PALE. No but seriously. Then later we get into a room and wait some more. And I get more pain killers! The doctor comes in and examines me and determines that there are no broken bones and that I have torn a large muscle in my neck. Ew. They run some tests. They send me on my merry way. Merry because I was so high.

And here I am. In pain. In bed.

Now here’s the thing. There are people who look at a situation like this and think, “Bummer, that sucks.” Then there are people who see this and look for the meaning in it. Why did this happen? Karma? Or is it a message that I need to slow down?

My cynical side really wants to roll my eyes at my spiritual side. But lately I feel like it can’t hurt (pun not intended) to look at things from a view different from my own. Who was it who said, “The unexamined life is not worth living”? Probably Neil Patrick Harris.

Has something weird and/or traumatic happen to you that made you wonder if there was a deeper meaning behind it?

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

We’re adults. When did that happen? And how do we make it stop?

Dec

2011

Picture of me taken 600 years ago at MoMA by Julia Gazdag.

I wrote something for Hello Giggles that will be out tomorrow/in a few days called “Top ten ways to tell you’re an adult.” (Oh hay in the mean time check out the other things I’ve written for Hello Giggles, and it will open in a window so you can read it right after this, don’t even worry about it, friend.) It made me think a lot. I don’t usually think a lot, it’s easier to just do stuff and then apologize. (<– just tweeted the fuck out of this.) I had to really think about how I’ve changed in the last few years and the whole process was so meaningful and inspiring, like a tampon commercial. It wasn’t as sad as I thought it would be. I say sad because recently I turned into someone who cares about their age and I hate it. I blame everything and everyone but myself. So sometimes looking back can be a little frightening.

Do adults feel like adults, ever? Will I reach a point where I look down and think, “I just balanced the shit out of that checkbook.” I really don’t want to. I like buying things and occasionally checking what’s up with my money, and hoping it all works out. I like to do stupid guff that makes me feel like a kid.

Guys I am Tom Hanksing the fuck out of this situation. You know, Big. I don’t mean that I am a little kid named Josh trapped in a boyishly good looking 30 something man. But close! I am little Uncle Almie with her long messy tangled fringed hair under a Mickey Mouse cap stuck in grown Almie’s body. Unfortunately, it’s not cute for me to act like this. I’ve reached the age where it is not acceptable to act like I don’t know how to act like an adult. Indoor voices. And I’m too old to pretend that I don’t know better.

And that’s how I know I’m an adult.

When and how did you realize you were an adult?

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Job offers.

Aug

2011

Someone on my Facebook wall pointed out, ” Isn’t it funny, how when things are happening with one guy it makes things possible with another? It’s like being offered a job when you’re already happily employed.” (Rachel M).

Yup.

Is it because you’re confident that someone likes you and things are going well that you bring about this sense of confidence that attracts other people to you?

OR is it that everyone is a big JERK and wants you when they can’t have you just to FUCK WITH YOU??

I’m listening to The Cranberrie’s “Zombie” right now, which is why I am so aggressive.

Let’s review:

People + what they can’t have = want.

Love = what people want.

Mel Gibson (does not) = what women want.

I’m not good at math so I don’t know what any of those equations mean. I tried to Beautiful Mind it, but I’m kind of Gladiatoring it. My point is, when you seem really happy, other people want to suck the happy out of you so they can have the happy too. Some people are true friends, and they don’t want to suck your happy, but everyone else needs to be side-eyed. I really believe that this is why you’re suddenly more attractive to men when you’re with a certain man. I think women do this too. You see someone with someone who isn’t you, and all of a sudden, it’s “Game on, buddy. Challenge accepted.”

Or maybe it’s just that you never realized another possibility was there and you’re in a place where you can open your eyes.

What do you think?

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

It’s Not TV.

Feb

2011

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted about myself in a while. I’ve mentioned that a lot has happened in my life recently. I’m not going to get into all of it, but I’ll tell you this. I am going to move out with another single gal and we’re going to live together in a cute little house here in LA!

The other single gal is my mom.

Yes. I never, ever saw this coming. My mom and I are two single roomies. My friends say it sounds like a network sitcom but I think it’s more like a Showtime dramedy. Who would play me? You know that teen from Californiation, the one Duchovny effed? “Mia”? My mom thinks we look alike. She could play me. Shannen Doherty is too old now to play me now. I’d like Kat Dennings but she just got a show. So did the girl who played Janis Ian in Mean Girls and the indie girl in Cloverfield. When I was younger and blonder, right around when Lost In Translation came out, people told me I looked a lot like “that girl from that Bill Murray movie.” But then I guess I got uglier. Or maybe she just changed a lot. No one looks like me. I look like no one. This is a good thing but I don’t want to play myself in this show. I don’t even want to play it in real life. However I will take any offers and/or suggestions.

Suzanne Somers would be a great person to play my mom except she’s a little too old. Lauren Graham would be good, as we already have that Gilmore Girls vibe going, but that seems overdone with her now. I kind of want Lisa Kudrow, she would be good. She doesn’t look like my mom though. Ali MacGraw does, but my mom thinks that’s an insult (I have no idea WHY, MacGraw is stunning but O OK mom), and now MacGraw is too old anyway. If we’re going to do the sitcom route, it could be Jessica Simpson. That would be hilariawesome. But OK, sticking with the Showtime pitch that I do not have, I should suggest someone more like…Angie Harmon. But blonde.

I already wrote a pilot based on my blog but I’m wondering if I should go in a different direction. This mother/daughter thing might be worth looking into. There’s Gilmore Girls and Golden Girls, but are there any other good mother/daughter shows? And wtf, what is with adding “girls” to everything? Spice Girls. None of those women were girls. Backstreet Boys, Beach Boys, New Kids On The Block — your problem was not thinking of your future and injecting your band name with an idea of eternal youth that doesn’t hold up. The Rolling Lads? Yeah, no. Although The Beatles are my favorite band ever, I think that The Beatles is the worst band name ever. At least they didn’t go with “The Shoes.” Lennon suggested that name because he said the name didn’t matter, they could be anything. OH WOW, SO DEEP.

I kind of get what he means though. You could cast anybody as me or my mom and you could turn my life into any kind of show, and it would be different, but it would still be the same at the core. It wouldn’t matter because it’s from the same place, the same us, the same truth.

MONEY.

Find It — The Carrie Nations (Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls)

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

“Some things for women to consider:

BUY MY BOOK! Only $2.99. I'll love you forever.