WHAT WOULD MIRIAM DO?

I have spent a lot of time thinking about what I want...what my goals are, how I want to be spending my time, what I want to be doing with my career, MY LIFE!

And now as I sit here, post sister visit, left with a week filled with temping to look forward to, I feel nervous.

What am I doing? What do I have to work towards? What will the New Year hold?

I have been working hard at not placing importance on things that are out of my control, (aka most things that would allow me to fulfill my goals aka: getting an acting gig, or an agent, or a boyfriend, or a job that I cared about...)

So in this week before the New Year I am going to work at finding things that make me happy. So that instead of going into the New Year thinking about things I can accomplish for myself in the upcoming year, I can spend the beginning of 2011 looking back and thinking, "Nice Job! Way to pull through and make it happen. You go girl!"

Usually this week is a throwaway week. People have thrown in the towel. It's a party week. A week where your mind is scattered and cannot be focused. But for me this is going to be the week.
MIRIAM'S WEEK! The week where I do all things Miriam.

If you were me, and you were spending this week doing all things you...What would you do?

WWMD

SWF

I had this epiphany last night while I was on a date.

A date from speed dating.

Let me be more specific.

Jewish Speed Dating.

Now this is going to come as a shock. A shock so shocking that you may need to excuse yourselves from wherever you are, whatever you are doing, and take a moment in the bathroom, sitting with your head in your hands in the bathroom stall.

Dating is weird.

VOLCANOS ERUPTING. BABIES BEING BORN. STAMPEDES OF ELEPHANTS.

CHAOS!!!

But why is "DATING WEIRD"? You may ask. And I may answer. Because it's testing, on people. It's like experimenting on people. Like Flowers for Algernon. But worse. Because it's testing with people's emotions.

People's EMOTIONS!

MESSED UP RIGHT!

So, here's what I figure.

This is one of the only forms of human testing that is currently allowed by the government. Let's face it. By all governments.

***(Correction: In some countries they do not have dating. People are betrothed, arranged, or Shidduched if you are a Jew. Which I am. There is no testing. It is product based, not process.)***

So, in the spirit of science. I say experiment away. Do it all. Let there be no shame in online dating, speed dating, blind dating, reality television show dating, extreme dating, dating strangers you meet on the train, or in a bar. Date people you know. You are experimenting to better the world we live in.

THAT BEING SAID.

You must know that the percentage of experiments that are successful are minimal. In fact. The odds that your experiment will be successful is so small that I could not manage to put in all the zeros that would have to follow the decimal.

So I will merely write.

.01 Success Rate

But you must do it. My fellow scientists. You must. If not for yourselves, then do it for your parents.

Because they feel bad for you. Real bad.

You Know Those Days That Last Forever...

Today is one of those days.

When I woke up (at 5:50 it was pitch black out), then around 8 the day looked beautiful. Around 11 we started seeing creepy clouds approaching, and then intermittent showers with patchy blue skies. And then a downpour that made the roads look slick and looked like it would never let up. But as I walked home at 7:30 it was clear and cool.

Ahhh, the "Weather".

Nature usually serves as a perfect metaphor.

______________________________________

This morning I took a spin class at 6:30. I could feel my heart pounding. Literally working with it's twin brothers, my lungs, to make it happen. Maybe I was tired, maybe I could just feel the impending day.

I met a friend at Bleeding Heart Bakery (go there...seriously...if you live in Chicago...visit Chicago for this bakery...I mean it...do it) where they were taping a video for charity. And the celebrity guest was...Joan Cusack...so we talked to her a little bit about cookies. Cusack and Cookies.

Then I went home to prep for an ORIENTATION I was going to have with a company that temped out food servers and preps. Let's face it, (read previous post) my job hunt has left a little something to be desired. As old people say "Beggars Can't Be Choosers." This orientation lasted 3 hours. Where I was told that I had to be responsible. I was shown videos about how to wash dishes properly and to keep clean by "washing my hands." At the end I was offered an opportunity, which I had to turn down because of my impending trip to Disneyworld, to work at an opening of Costco. Where I could either be a demonstrator or, if I didn't really enjoy interacting with people, could sweep and do other janitorial tasks. And then as an unnecessary added bonus would receive for lunch: A HOT DOG AND A SODA!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I dragged my sorry ass to the Starbucks to spend some quality time with my mac and a friend to apply for jobs (that would probably either be scams or completely unattainable) I thought to myself "Hey, it could be worse. It could be worse."

And then it got a little worse.

A letter was waiting for me when I got home.

My first letter I have received in the mail in my new apartment.

Which is another thing I have been dealing with.

This fear that the postal service cannot keep track of all my moves and that I have piles of mail waiting to come to me and is being dragged around the country trying to find its home.

It had my own handwriting on it.

I had addressed it to me, having been asked to so by the agency I had interviewed with on Monday.

PROSPECTIVE TALENT;

"We are sorry, but we are unable to represent you at this time. Decisions about representation are based on various criteria, including the number of actors we have in a category.

Thank you for your submission and please feel free to resubmit in 6 months."

(I had to put together the ripped up pages to type that)

Here is the thing.

Totally good.

Rejection is part of the industry.

I am ready and prepared for that.

But I addressed the envelope. TO MYSELF.

I addressed my own rejection.

LIFE IS SUPER WEIRD.

YA KNOW?

LIKE REALLY WEIRD?

and then I made myself dinner.

and if you know me,

which you probably do if you are reading this,

or if you don't know me,

now you will know,

that that is the weirdest part of all.

That I made dinner.

Open Availability. Except for Sundays from 12-3 when I take Improv.

So I realize we are in an economic slump. The job market is at the worst(this is a really weird word if you say it out loud and type it at the same time)place since the depression, and I decided that this was the time to move from New York where I was happily working as a waitress to move to Chicago to... pursue the same thing here in Chicago.

And I REALIZE, that while my experience may not be exactly what you are looking for...

-Worked as a waitress in a busy upscale restaurant in the heart of Soho for over 4 years: so basically I am incredibly personable, responsible, and able to talk about food for hours

-Interned at four offices over the past five years: they all happened to be theater offices, BUT I WILL TELL YOU Mr. Person I am applying TO: that theater offices are busier than any of your silly offices. I know because theater people are crazy onstage or off.

-Teaching Artist: teaching kids Shakespeare. This should get me any job, because if I can get a kid to like Shakespeare I can do anything...I truly mean this.

Because I am getting little to no feedback in my job search I am looking into pursuing other job opportunities:

-Modeling

-Cookie Decorating

-Chess Tutoring (I am completely unqualified for this, but there always seems to be an ad for a chess tutor where I could earn 60 an hour. So, if you are reading this and you want a chess tutor. Consider me Bobby Fisher).

-Flier hander outer

-Bicycle delivery lady (I don't own a bike, nor have I lived here long enough to make this a viable job)

I mean what I am truly confused about it why my BFA in theater isn't getting me anywhere. I have a BFA from NYU Tisch in THEATER!!! Do you understand?!? I am overly qualified for all jobs I apply because of my ability to imagine a given circumstances and character. I am overly qualified because I can create a movement piece exploring what it means to have to sit behind a desk and answer phones and file things.

I CAN ACCESS YOUR EMOTIONS.

hire me. please.

YOM KIPPUR

I mean here's the thing. I appreciate taking the time to "atone," and reflect on the previous year and what you did and how you would change.

I'm all about reflection.

And sure, it's cool that the Jewish faith gives you this week where you can get your apologies in quick so that your bad deeds won't get marked against you. And yea, the clause for the apology is that it must be done in sincerity.

But, like, isn't that a little messed up?

Because what if I don't want to forgive you? What if I have spent this whole year in misery, but because you decide last minute to apologize, I have to forgive you for your HORRIBLE actions?

BECAUSE THAT'S THE DEAL ... If someone comes to you and apologizes you have to forgive them. Or else, let's face it, that will be your bad deed going in the book.

So instead this year.

Don't even bother apologizing.

BECAUSE APPARENTLY I NEED TO FORGIVE YOU ANYWAYS.

SO...

Happy Yom Kippur.

Don't f*&* up next year like you did this one ;)

Who am I?

For a very long time people have called me Mim.

Most likely I have introduced myself to you as "Mim."

And then went into a long awkward explanation that went something like

"Not Ma'am, Mim. It's short for Miriam. Like Mad Madam Mim. From 'The Sword and the Stone?' No. Like, MIMS. Music Is My Savior. But instead MIM."

Usually by now, my face is so red, my armpits so sweaty, and the other person so disinterested that I don't continue on; and I just hope that my nickname made me look cooler than my real name.

Not that my real name is so terrible. Miriam. It's nice actually. Not so common in this generation. Because it makes you sound like a grandmother. Who likes to knit. And is sometimes grouchy. But always has candy.

It's just in middle school my friend Sara and I started replacing our r's with w's and Miwiam sounds stupid. So she called me Mim.

As it turns out, it is a pretty common nickname for people named Miriam. I thought I was unique.

As a child I was told by my father that nicknames were not allowed. Your name is your name. I would not be called "Mimi" and my sister would not be called "Tammy." Because these were in actuality names. Other people's names. Nicknames from our names, but in actuality "real names." (ya' follow?). But, Mim, for some reason was allowed to pass.

For years now that is what people have called me. They have variations on it: Mim, Mimzer, Mimtastic, Mimsical, Mimalicious, Mims, and Mimjob (which my old manager called me, out of the utmost love, but rhymes with something that need not be mentioned in my blog).

But now I am coming to a crossroads in my life. I am trying to become an adult. Or rather take myself seriously. Or rather. Be Something. Or rather. Be Someone.

And I don't know who I want to be.

Miriam or Mim?

And I know you are saying, "Hey Mimiriam, you are both. They are one in the same." But that's not true. It can't be true. Because you are different when you are Richard and Dick. And Liz and Elizabeth. And Miriam and Mim.

I remember as a child thinking that I wanted to give my own kids names that had the most potential for fun nicknames. They would have so many great options of what people could call them. Options are annoying. It means there is an element of choice and freedom. Gross.

Mim or Miriam. Miriam or Mim. Or I could just go as Chana, my middle name and call it a day. Except that only 1.2% of the population could properly pronounce the CH and I would be constantly explaining how to make that noise and would probably develop a very severe throat disorder.

You tell me.

Mim or Miriam?

Things that I will never understand...

I was born a complainer. I'm Jewish. And I'm a woman. So it's natural for me to have something to whine about. To dwell on what isn't working and what I would want to change. I try to limit myself in the way that I express these emotions, because I don't want to alienate people, or have them think that I am a downer.

And sure, sometimes I feel the need to let people know what is bringing me down. Whether it be a bad day, someone hurt my feelings, or an issue with my job.

But I will never, ever, ever understand airing your super private issues on facebook.

Perhaps I learned this, or rather didn't learn this at an early age. When I used to cry a lot people would feel bad and try to comfort me. But eventually it just got awkward. I wouldn't stop crying, and the people around me wouldn't know what to do with me. So instead of coming to comfort me, they would stare pityingly and then turn away hoping that I would regain control.

So when someone posts something that makes them look bad I want to know "WHY?" What are you hoping for in return from this post? An onslaught of support from friends, family, and strangers? Someone to make a "Group" that helps find ways of getting you out of the slump? Why do you want people to know your boyfriend broke up with you, you lost your job, or you are in a fight with a friend?

Because "Facebook" doesn't care. "Facebook" is not a person, and it is not a diary.

And you know why I want to know even more?

Because I do it too.

On Facebook.

Why does Facebook make me want to share my personal failures? Why do I feel safe confessing these downfalls that I would generally only tell a select few in person, but online feel the need to show the world?

I know I can't trust you Facebook ... But why do I want to tell you everything?

THE RULEZ!

Look, let's face it.

I'm not the worlds greatest dater...

I mean it's not that I'm bad at it...

I just don't know the rules.

So I made up a few of my own.

F#*($ the RULEZ!

1. I will text you when I am thinking of you.

2. I will email you when I see a cool article.

3. I will g-chat you the instant I see your name on my g-chat.

4. I will stop by places I know you like to hang out because that is where I will find you.

5. I want you to buy me presents when you are just thinking of me, and I will assume that if I don't get any presents it means you weren't thinking of me.

6. If I don't hear from you three days after we went on a date I will assume you are over me, and then I will spend the next week facebook/internet stalking you.

7. If I do hear from you within three days I know that you will want a serious relationship with me, and I will proceed to tell my friends and family about you.

I am looking forward to meeting anyone who will meet and understand my criteria for dating :)

Facebook is DANGEROUS!!!

Why does Facebook constantly show me what I DO NOT HAVE.

- Positions that I can't and will not have in the theater industry...

- Cool parties I didn't go to, because a) I wasn't invited and b) because I was sleeping c) parties that I have attended but people have chosen not to take pictures of me at...

- Boys that I can not date because a) they have a girlfriend b) because I am really awkward and will never let people know I would want that and c) because they would never like a girl with glasses hence the title of my blog...

It is the witching hour, when Facebook is most offensive to the weak hearted.

I have to ask my sister for...

1. Directions.
2. Dating Advice
3. Cooking Advice
4. Clothing Advice
5. Makeup Suggestions
6. Interesting Blogs
7. Internet Dating Advice (different from dating advice)
8. Job Advice
9. Exercise Technique
10. Permission

Things that happen in the 'burbs...

1. When you go for a run people say hi to you.

Which is always awkward, because you have to put on a forced smile. And it's forced not because you don't mean it, but because you are running and you don't want to acknowledge that people can actually see you. Because then you know that they can see your sweaty discolored face and the shorts that have rode up causing what my sister has lovingly coined "chub rub."

2. When you go grocery shopping people are wearing the same shirt as you.

In my case it was a green top I had just purchased at the Banana Republic Outlet in Hilton Head, South Carolina. The woman who was wearing it was a good 30 my elder. A very versatile shirt, I suppose. I tried avoiding her, but the shirt was bright green and Trader Joe's aisles are so gloriously wide open...So every time I saw her I would quietly chant "twinsie, twinsie, twinsie."

3. You fix things around the house.

My mom asked me to help fix our garbage disposal. Me! I am Ms. Fix-It. First I took off my beautiful, bright, One-Of-A-Kind shirt, replaced it with a Tom Clancy black t-shirt that could fit a small gorilla (very hip) and then placed a dish rag down for my head to rest on under the sink. My mom said "look for a red or black button on the garbage disposal." I found a red one. Then my mom said "Push it." So I did. I asked her how long I should push it. She said "Let go." I did. And thus the garbage disposal was fixed.

4. You bring in the mail. And the garbage cans. And recycling bins.

There is always mail. Every day. There is usually a can or bin to bring in. If there isn't one to bring in, there is one to bring out.

5. People drive you places, drop you off, and then pick you up...ALL THE TIME.

Today Becky's mom dropped her off at my place. Then my mom dropped us off at the Grosvner Metro station. Then we took the Metro into DC, to Dupont. Then we took the Metro to New Carrolton train station. Where my mom met us with her car to deliver Becky's baggage, and then Becky took the Amtrak train and I got in my mom's car and went home with her. TO AND FRO. TO AND FRO.

6. You deal with with wild animals.

YES! WILD ANIMALS!

This morning as my friend, Becky, was being dropped off at my house by her mother, I noticed a new statue in my front yard amidst the shrubbery and flowers. "Mom!" I called, "When did you get a snake statue?" It was a snake who was biting onto a rock, a snake that looked long and it was spotted with gold and black and was thick like the kind you see at the zoo. I walked in. Becky stayed outside. We were getting ready to be dropped off at the metro.

"The snake statue moved. It just moved!" Becky shrieked. She came in.

I went out, she followed me.

"GAHHHHHHHHHHHH." We screamed in unison. "Oh, my god. That snake is eating a mouse." I yelled, jumping up and down and waving my hands like someone who has lost complete control of their limbs, or like they have something icky on them.

"It is eating something, RIGHT NOW!" Becky ran into the house. I ran into the house. "THE SNAKE IS EATING SOMETHING RIGHT NOW OUT THERE." My mom, more annoyed than nervous goes out. And comes running back in, jumping up and down "Oh, OH, Oh, Snake!"

That's what I had said. Snake. No one ever believes me.

We try to call for help. And by call for help. I mean run inside and use the telephone. Calling for help is useless in the suburbs. It is like hailing a cab by whistling in New York. (Don't do it, it looks stupid and doesn't work.)

The humane society tells us to call the animal shelter who tells us to call the cops. The cops tell us to call the exterminator.

My mom told me to watch my step.

SUBURBS ARE INTENSE

KNEES

Are there classes for shaving your knees?

This morning I took special care to do a good job at shaving my knees. I am going to South Carolina, and I won't be able to bring a razor, because of the whole no blade on planes thing. So I thought I would be prepared and do a REALLY GOOD JOB.

This shouldn't be a problem. I have been shaving for a little less than 15 years. I could consider myself a professional shaver. But in my life, IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE, I have never done a perfect knee shaving job.

Knee shaving is incredibly challenging.

1. It is the curviest part of the leg, so there is the highest potential for nicks.

2. Hair grows in different directions, and on my knee I feel like there are at least seven directions in which my hair grows.

3. Some of the hair on my knee is blond, so while this may make me a lucky lady, I am still irritated by not being able to spot them in the shower. Because then see them, taunting me, glistening in the sun later in the day.

4. I shower without contacts or glasses so my work is more feel based than visual. (When I am really dedicated to the task at hand, I will raise my leg up to my eye to double check my work. This is usually not particularly helpful, and is incredibly dangerous, but I have caught a few strays here or there from this technique).

5. The knee is composed of the front, the back, and the sides. The back should be mostly hairless. But the sides and the front are like labyrinths. Every move creates another obstacle to get rid of.

6. Not being able to shave my knee properly makes me feel like an eleven year old.

Why knees, why is something so visible so hard to maintain?

Perhaps it is just my knee, perhaps I have unusually challenging knee hairs, or knee skin?

Am I the only one?

A League of Their Own

I will always cry at this movie. From the second that the movie starts I am crying. It's a sports movie about sisters. I don't stand a chance.

Today I tuned in in the middle of the movie, and found a new fantastic moment to tear up at.

My moments are and not limited to:

- The beginning of the movie, the opening song.

- When Marla gets allowed to try out and when she meets Nelson . (Marla the ugly one)

- When the girl who can't read tries to see if she's made it.

- When the woman finds out her husband died in the war.

- When Kit gets traded to the Racine Belles.

- Every time they sing the song "We're the members of The All American League, We come from cities near and far."

- When Kit slides home and Dottie drops the ball. (I am crying thinking about that moment.)

- I BAWL when they are older playing ball, and then go to the museum and the sisters see each other.

My new moment is during this montage when they are showing the women in the news, and there is this African American woman who is on the sidelines who throws a ball to Dottie, way farther than she thought this woman could throw, and they give each other a knowing glance.

This movie is amazing on all fronts. If I could meet Penny Marshall I would give her a hug and then cry in her arms like I cried in my Grandmother's lap when I saw this movie in the theaters. She would be just as confused as my Grandmother was. But it would be worth it.

Housewifery.

Today I did all the things that housewives do as I now live

in suburbia.

1. I worked out a little on the Eliptical machine. Which is a low impact work-out machine, which doesn't hurt my knees, and wouldn't be too intense if I was pregnant (and I am so far from being pregnant, but just wanted to further explain why the Eliptical is essential for every family home).
2. I did laundry. Whites and colors. And towels.
3. I made an egg-white omelet. With tomato's and avocados. And had some challah. Because I am Jewish.
4. Then I brought in the garbage cans from outside. Which would generally be a man's job, but as I am the only one home right now (as in both my parents are on vacation in Nova Scotia, yes my life just got a little sadder) I took on the responsibility.
5. I listened to NPR as I perused the Internet for interesting things to do today, and to get caught up on the weekend's gossip.
6. I folded laundry while watching an afternoon movie. Today I watched "10 Things I Hate About You," and mourned the death of Heath Ledger and celebrated the comeback of Joseph Gordon Levitt.
7. I ran the dishwasher. (Using the verb "ran" is very important when referring to your dishwasher, instead of "turning on". It is imperative that you take on the vocabulary once you are taking on the position of a housewife.)
8. I went for a sentimental car ride to look at my old house. (This can only be done if you are currently living in the same area as your first home that you grew up in. It can be very cathartic. I enjoy turning up cheesy 90's music, singing to it very loudly, while uncontrollably weeping. Of course that is all optional.)
9. I sat comatose in front of the television.
10. Talked to my old college roommate on the phone. (We actually just stopped being roommates less than a week ago, but it is more effective if I say "my old college" then just saying my roommate.)
11. Then I decided to bake a cake. The cake I decided to make was dictated by the fruit that was about to die on the counter. I made an "Upside Down Plum and Blackberry Cake." (http://chefinyou.com/2010/07/plum-berry-cake-recipe/) Here is what I had to substitute because I didn't have all the ingredients. The recipe also outlined things I could substitute. I went overboard.

A. Blueberries for Blackberries. (Not a huge deal)

B. Yogurt and water for Buttermilk. (I used

Greek Yogurt, it's all I had. I think it was a mistake.)

C. Matzo Meal for Cornmeal. (This is where I feel like my biggest mistake was made. I had no cornmeal, which I realized moments before I had to use it. I could not give up. I could not back down. I could not go to the grocery store. I figured it's meant to be similar to corn meal during Passover why not now.)

I put it in tupperware in the back of the fridge.

I am now officially a housewife.

I'm Living At Home

I wouldn't call me a "hoarder".

"Hoarder" is a term that

refers to people who have such a debilitating disease that they cannot throw anything away, and end up living in their own filth. I don't even like baths. I love throwing things away. What I would call myself is a "sentimentalist." Things that have meaning and tell a story cannot be discarded. They hold a moment, an experience, an event and without the object maybe that special time will be lost.

Last night I started to cleanse. I started to cleanse the life I will lead as I live in the bedroom that I grew up in. And truly grew up in. Because we moved there in the 4th grade. The moments before 4th grade you are an androgynous character. Full of emotions and opinions but mostly shaped by those around you. So truly this house was where I started to mold myself, who I wanted to be. And what I wanted to be involved a lot of half started journals, incredibly ugly jewelry, and pictures, receipts, and programs from every place I went.

Throwing out some things were

easy. But I can't throw away letters. Any letters that people wrote to me, and I don't mean

greeting cards that just say "Happy Birthday, Love Mom and Dad." I'm talking about letters to camp, to school, apology letters (which I have IN ABUNDANCE).

Can I still be an adult if I treasure this

mementos?

No. I can't be.

And so I have chosen to never pass into adulthood. Consider it illegal to have relations with me. I will always be a child. And I will spend hours, countless hours, touching and reading these meaningless pieces of paper.

And I will not feel bad about it.

A Poem

THERE ARE THINGS I WISH I WAS BETTER AT

There are things I wish I was better at,

Like music and those sort of things.

There are things I wish I was better at,

Like patience and wearing earrings.

There are things I wish I was better at,

Like directions and baking a cake.

There are things I wish I was better at,

Like poetry and getting over heart ache.

There are things I wish I was better at,

Like magic and planting a garden.

There are things I wish I was better at,

Like painting and computer jargon.

There are things I wish I was better at,

And some things I'm glad that I'm not.

There are things I wish I was better at,

And then there' the things that I've got.

I'm like a modern woman version of Theodore "Seuss" Geisel.

Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock

make the best movies.

to watch when you are single.

and sitting inside on a beautiful sunny summer saturday.

as you eat snacks and online date.

julie and sandra are only rivaled by one woman...

"MOLLY RINGWALD"

you were my adolescence, molly, thank you.

i love america!!!

LOOK ME IN THE EYES

So...
when I see crazy people on the street I know I should be cautious. Men with beards, wearing tutus and carrying big red hearts should be avoided. People getting off or starting up their morning fix should not be looked in the eye. Move to the side, walk around them do what you gotta do, but don't provoke.

But sometimes I feel like I have a connection to these people, you know. We're the ones who get it. You know. We are the ones who treasure every moment like it's our last. And so, I can't help but look them in the eye, those silly little crazies.

But I don't just look them in the eye.
I give them my smile. I give them the "I know, I'm on your team too" smile. Because I care.

Like today.
Today I was walking in full gym regalia, including the disgusting sweat drenched shirt that showed where I really perspire, on the sticky summer streets of New York. I was part of those streets, melting and disgusting.

I didn't feel like talking, I didn't feel like being looked at, and I didn't feel like being touched.

SO WHY...

when a man carrying a small little yippee dog in his hand like a baseball is approaching me screaming,
"HE'S A PUPPY. HE'S MY PUPPY. AND HE WANTS TO KISS YOU!"

...DO I SMILE AT HIM?

Why do I do that? I mean, really, WHY DO I DO THAT?

Because I could relate to him. He was enjoying a walk with his dog to the fullest. Because he looked silly, I looked silly, the pup looked silly.

SO...
this man, shirtless, tan, in his 20's, starts walking right to me. And I start smiling, more than smiling. My eyes are getting giggly and I start to make almost laughing sounds, snorts through the nose, quick of breathe. ALMOST LAUGHING. But not really laughing.
And he's walking straight to me. And singing "Puppy, he's going to kiss you. He's going to kiss you!!!"
So I decide to try and move to the right, out of his way. Puppy carrying, crazy curly haired, hipster, moves to his left to follow my lead.
I move to the left. Poochie toting, twinkle toes, tall guy, moves to his right.
There is no more sidewalk.
Check mate.

"PUPPY WANTS TO KISS YOU. PUPPY WANTS TO KISS YOU.PUPPY WANTS TO KISS YOU!"
He says as he thrusts his dogs wet nose and furry cheeks into my face.

So...
I kiss this dog, this scary screaming, crazy man's puppy...Well almost kiss him...I mean I stared the dog in the eyes. His confused, puppy dog eyes. I closed mine, and tucked my lips in so we wouldn't share a lip lock.
And then the crazy man moved on. There was no contact, with the dog or him. Not that I felt. Maybe emotional contact, but nothing physical.

And then I moved on.
Got a breakfast sandwich, a coffee, and an apple. Read the news, well...watched the Real Housewives of New York... and started my day.

But I could tell that pup did want to kiss me, I could see it in his eyes.

I mean you'd have to be crazy not to want to kiss me...you'd have to be crazy.

Why I'm too much of a mom to go to clubs.

Don't take me to a club.

-I'm short. Apparently clubs are where tall people go.
-I get so nervous that someone will steal my purse that I wear it the entire time, which really inhibits my incredible dance moves.
-I didn't like freaking and grinding in seventh grade. It is not something that gets better with time.
-People don't seem to appreciate originality and spontaneity on the dance floor.
-At least one drink gets spilled on me.
-If you find some eligible bachelor to whisk you off your feet, odds are good you will never really know their name. Or if you have exchanged names odds are good he didn't hear it right, so you will forever be Mary, Maria, Muriel.
-Sweaty, sweaty dance partners.
-Waiting for a cab to take you home, and then keeping yourself awake by playing bejeweled in the backseat, and asking the cab driver questions like "How long have you been a cabbie?" "Do you like it?" "What's your family like?"


What's a girl to do on a Saturday night?

Being An Actor

I am always evaluating what it means to be an actor. This week it meant madness. For the film I am doing with Law from Cinema Set Free I had to sit in a tub full of tea. For, I would say in total, five hours. There are a number of reasons why it was an unusual situation for me.

NUMBER ONE: I don't like baths. I never take them. I HAVE NEVER LIKED baths, even as a small child (i am almost positive this is true, even though I haven't double checked this fact with my mom). I think they are gross because you are wading in your own filth.

NUMBER TWO: I only recently started to like iced tea, which is BASICALLY what I was bathing in.

NUMBER THREE: We were filming in the bathroom of an apartment. Which meant that if we had to pee there was no place to go. I had started the shoot day off with two big cups of coffee and then proceeded to get down to my underwear in a luke warm tub of Lipton's.

That being said. I think this film is going to be so beautiful.

My horoscope today told me to take risks. That I am usually more reserved and worry too much and that good things will come from taking chances.

So today I emailed a man on Jdate. And while that may not be the most daring thing I could have done, it felt quite exhilarating to me.

I will keep you posted on his response. I screened what I wrote with my sister. So I have high hopes. But not too high. Just high enough.

Ya know?

Monday Musings

Did you know that it costs 28 cents to send a postcard. If people knew this I think they would send more postcards. I miss getting letters. If I wasn't worried about being stalked I would put my address up here, so as to increase the number of letters coming my way...

If you plan on following this blog be ready for...

1. stories about me.

2. stories about me and candy.

3. stories about me being jewish.

4. stories about me being awkward.

5. stories about me being super cool.

6. stories that aren't about me at all, but are probably about an adorable old couple I saw on the street holding hands and how I hope to one day be old and walk slowly holding hands with someone.