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.