30 Days of Better Fashion

So, it’s decided.  I’d like to become a better dresser.  And what better way to BECOME a better dresser than to actually take stock of my wardrobe and practice pairing outfits together?  Thus born is the 30 Days of Better Fashion EXPERIENCE *cue lights and dramatic music*..

For the remaining days of March (approximately 2 weeks), I will document all the jewelry, clothes, shoes, bags (the 2-ish I have!), and accessories I own.  I will give myself a little budget wiggle room (I totally trashed my extra expenses budget already this month, but I’m doing well everywhere else so I don’t mind the slight hit) to pick up 5 items (I already bought one, so I’m down to 4!) that I truly need: a nice blazer, 1-2 new pairs of shoes, 1-2 accessories depending on if I truly LOVE anything I see.  Once April hits, it’s ON!

My goal will be to create as many outfits as possible utilizing every piece of my wardrobe.  It will be a LITTLE tricky, as the seasons are changing now so some of my stuff will be getting turned over.  I want to take the time to actually pay attention to what I’m wearing.  I always look nice, and sometimes I look REALLY nice, but I want to be more aware of what I’m putting on and how I style myself.  It’s the little details I don’t always pay attention to, so by FORCING myself to get good at them, I’ll (hopefully) be able to do them on my own without thinking.  And one more well-dressed person in this world certainly couldn’t HURT.

This won’t turn into a fashion blog.  I don’t have the capabilities to turn this into a fashion blog.  Or the finances.  Hopefully, though, I will have the fashion sense by the end…

Dr. Doctor- Or Why I Love My Birth Control

Anyone who has access to my facebook page (a number of people I’m routinely attempting to diminish, mind you), could tell without question that I am ALL about healthcare covering birth control.  There is NOTHING about ease of access to/information about birth control that I don’t like.  Even just as a baby-making control feature, I love it.  Less people, meaning less people who annoy me, require access to monetary services, use up human resources, etc.  I get that monotheistic religions have this notion that their God wanted them to populate the Earth but DON’T WORRY- it’s populated enough now, thanks.  We’ve already killed the Dodo bird and various other animals to extinction..

However, my love of my birth control is a far more personal issue.  And while maybe one person reads this blog (Hey cousin Sophie!), maybe word of this post will get around and people will see how this seemingly tame pill can have such a blessed effect on a person’s life.

My initial meeting of birth control started at the tender age of 15-16.  I had been complaining to my doctor for a year or two that my ‘lady time’ was all over the place.  Not only was it not a discernible cycle of any sort, the discomforts it caused me ranged from passing pain to absolute mental breakdowns.  Long resigned to the fact that I am an emotional basket of mismatched goodies doomed to drive people batty with my rampaging ‘feelings’, I had no idea that a fix was soon at hand.  After switching to the ‘Lady Doctor’ as I call them (mine is a gem, seriously, she’s brilliant if you’d like a new one), she suggested that perhaps having a MONTH LONG bout with the Red Devil was probably not healthy and that birth control could be a solution.  I balked- what could some anti-baby-making pill do about the havoc my girly bits were wreaking inside my body?

WHAT THOSE LITTLE PILLS DO: Basically, they regulate your hormones into avoiding all the things that help you become pregnant- avoid releasing eggs, make it difficult for sperm to GET to the egg (although why you’re not still using a condom is beyond me- extra precautions are smart!), and making it difficult for the egg to attach to the wall.

WHAT THOSE LITTLE PILLS DO FOR ME: Regulate.  Hormones.  Brilliant.

Suddenly, it was as if all the hormonal issues I’ve ever faced were gone.  You know how men scoff at the ‘emotional roller coaster?’  Imagine instead of the happy kiddy coaster, we’re more in line with Superman: Ride of Steel.  Like climbing Mount Everest before being thrown off the side into the darkest depths of the ocean.  All that skyrocketing up and down was GONE.  I felt like ‘me’.  All the anguish I’d felt growing up, at being hysterical all the time and feeling like an absolute wreck had disappeared.  It seems silly to say that a pill could save your life, but it did.  Because I’ve messed up.  I’ve had to stop taking the pill (due to forgetting and messing up the cycle), wait for my body to get back into cycle before taking it again.  I’ve had to remind myself what my body can do when it has its way with my hormone levels.  It is scary.  It is painful.  I could wipe out half of humanity with a push of a button and giggle before sinking into a mind-numbing depression.  Those pills keep me beautifully sane WITHOUT the risk of suicide (aren’t depression pills supposed to PREVENT that?!?), nausea, sneezing, hallucinations, and downright awkward ishness that other medication can bring.  The fact that they keep me baby-free is a bonus.

I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t access birth control.  I’m pretty sure, however, that I wouldn’t be here without it.  Birth Control pills not only keep me happy, on a healthy cycle and baby free, they also saved my life and sanity.  Which, sorry religious lovers, Jesus CAN’T do.

The Oscars

Yes, I know.  Hopelessly over-harped-on-about.  But despite the fact it’s horrendously fixed and cliched and such, I love it.  The glitz, the glamour, the excitement of it all.  But this years Oscars reminded me of WHY I love them the most: I love acting.  I love good film, beautiful stories, and intriguing people.  I love spending a few hours of my day going on a journey that is both shared and personal.  I love making movies.  I love watching them.  I’ve always felt the Oscars should celebrate that..

Even though they don’t anymore, I still want to.  Watching Hugo, watching them discover the beauty of films long gone, was a triumphant rediscovery for me.  It is my goal this year to rediscover the joys of creating art in film.

Simple Subway Rules

If you’ve ever set foot in NYC, chances are you’ve taken the subway.  Now, personally, I consider myself a connoisseur of the underground caterpillar that makes up the city’s subway system.  I’ve taken just about every line (at least once- I’m looking at you BDFM), gone to every borough and back again.  The shuttle, the G (useless train), to Queens (yes, people live there), and places that would curl my mother’s hair.

Now, what people need to realize is that there is an etiquette involved in this whole process.  Trains can be crowded, smelly, loud, full of screaming children, hectic, fun, and just plain odd.  Occasionally scary.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been completely alone in a train car (I have once or twice, never again if I can avoid it), but it can be awesome or bat-shit terrifying.  But no matter what’s going on, there are certain unspoken rules of the subway.  If you break these rules, be prepared for glares, mental death-threats and judgement.

1) Do not feed the animals..I mean people- Soliciting on the subway is against the law.  Yet tons of people do it every day.  Homeless people, homeless people with dogs, Mariachi bands, men with drums, guitar players, dancers/street performers, immigrants, etc.  Hypothetically, you shouldn’t give them any money.  I highly suggest you don’t, unless they’re so fantastic at whatever they’re doing that they should be making millions.  The one time I’ve broken this rule is the time this ‘comedian’-esque guy did some stand-up schpeal and actually made me chuckle.  But otherwise, no way.  Why?  Because it gets REALLY old, really fast.  Plus, I once watched a man I’d seen soliciting on the subway a day or so before, downing a bottle of listerine on a corner outside my dorm.  Not a fun sight.

2) Scoring a seat, or How to Calmly Ask the Creeper to Not Use the Subway Seat like His Personal Bed- I maintain that there is a way for you to get a seat on the subway without getting the death glare.  What it involves is what I call the ‘Sorry Bump’.  It involves ‘accidentally’ bumping a person, particularly if they are sleeping.  Look really apologetic, and then maneuver yourself in a way so as to squeeze into the space (if the seat fits 3, squish on either side).  So many people forget the ‘Sorry’ part of this and go straight into the ‘Plow your ass into a nonexistent space’.  I can’t tell you how many people I’ve seen try ‘The Plow’ and get death glares and even into an argument afterwards.  Please.  Stick to the ‘Sorry Bump.’

3) Let People Out BEFORE YOU GET ON- I swear to God.  This is NOT THAT HARD PEOPLE.  It’s very simple- you wait until the train has cleared of people exiting before you try to get on.  I have seen countless numbers of people get pissed that they’ve been hit in the face by someone exiting because they decide to act like a football tackle and bust their way into the car.  Sorry girl, if you’re gonna try to diva your way on that train instead of waiting 5 seconds, you deserve to get a quick whack.  Not only that, but having to wade through the congestion that results from this type of play makes it take THAT much longer for the train to get going.  So please, in the name of efficiency and courtesy, wait an extra two seconds to board.  It will not kill you.  More than likely, that seat you’re eying will be filled before you even get to it.

4) Get out of the way as best you can when people are exiting- Move.  If you are by the car doors that are opening on the platform side, take an extra two seconds to prepare to either temporarily step out for people to exit, or squish yourself up against that railing that shields and supports the seats.  Sometimes you’re awkwardly stuck as that one person in a sea of people pushing into you to get off the train, in that case: pretend like you’re stuck in a rip current and attempt to ‘swim sideways’.  It is my most effective method when stuck in a Platform Rip Current.

5) Apologize Constantly- You will bump into people.  You will hit them with purses or backpacks.  You will unintentionally wake them from a nap.  You will scuff their new boots or ruin their chance for a high score at Angry Birds.  No matter what happens, just apologize.  If it happens to you, stop taking it so goddamn personally.  In close quarters, shit happens.  That being said- if someone gropes you, you have the god-given right to knee that assface in the groin or ladybits.  That shit ain’t legit.

In conclusion- just be courteous.  No really, subways would be SO much easier to deal with if people didn’t act like entitled morons every time they boarded MASS TRANSIT.  As in it’s meant for massive amounts of people.  You’re in public, start acting like it.

Role Has Been Cast

30 second vent:

For the LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY- if you are posting a breakdown and a role has already been cast, DON’T MAKE IT SO PEOPLE CAN SUBMIT FOR THIS CHARACTER.  You will save time in two ways: Me having to go through the effort of submitting all my stuff.  PLUS you will save double time- Reading my email, and then telling me you’ve already cast that part.  Seriously.

If you want to include the role description because it’s important, that’s totally fine.  Mention at the bottom of the synopsis that the role for ‘XYZ Character’ has already been cast.  That happens.  But if you have pre-cast the character and the person is NOT replying to a breakdown that’s over a week old…come on.  Really?  Why put in the effort of typing up that character and making it so people can submit for them (I’m looking at you, Mandy and Actor’s Access), if you’re not looking for that role in the first place?  WHY?  Then I feel like an idiot for a hot minute thinking I’ve misread the breakdown.  Nope.  Some crazy person just typed away at their keyboard for a role that does not exist.  It’s like when you look up your illness in WebMD and it tells you your options are A) Cold, B) Neurological Damage, or C) Imminent Death.  I’m sorry..What!?!

Everybody was Kung-Fu Fighting..

My favorite Workout Warrior HAS RETURNED!!  *cue Angels Singing, Cymbals Crashing, Triumphant Music, Video Montage of Me Walking Down Streets*…ehem.

Zuzana, the infamous babe behind BodyRock, is back in action with Zuzana Light, and ZWOD (Zuzana’s Workout of the Day).  Instead of putting up vids with a few clips of her doing the exercises mashed together..she’s doing it rep-by-rep style, so you can see her sweat, struggle and succeed.  Personally, I’ve missed her terribly.

*Cue Dramatic Backstory Montage, preferably in Black and White*

When I decided to start exercising again (without having a sport to focus on), I found myself hopelessly unmotivated.  I had no spark, no reason, nothing to say ‘Hey girlfriend, get your butt off your bed and start moving those gams of yours!’  Until I found Bodyrock.

Zuzana was strong, fit, and looked amazing in a sports bra and soffes.  Not only that, but she was adorably sweet and inspiring.  Plus, she had an adorable accent.  And we all know I’m a sucker for accents.

So, I found my motivation.  Short, intense workouts with fun moves with ridiculous names (Dive Bomber?  Reptile Pushups?), which usually had a song name attached (We Found Love, Set Fire to Your Abs [or the Rain])..that way you could jam to the song while working out.  The majority of it was body weight stuff, or body weight modifiable.  If there was equipment, people gave tips to make it or work around it.  I was in heaven.  I was looking fabulous.  Even when I fell off the wagon for a few months here and there, I’d always find my way back with her help.  Plus, the community that developed was encouraging, inspiring, and full of dedicated people who loved to help each other.

Then she left.  And MAN did it go downhill.

I couldn’t work out without her.  As awesome as their concept was, SHE was my spark.  With her cute little coffee talks, engaging questions, and adorable sexiness that said ‘Hey, come try really hard.  Even if you’re not perfect, you’re TRYING.  THAT’S what matters!’  She had inspired me, and I just didn’t want to do it without her.  I tried here and there, but the sweetness was gone.  And while the new people were lovely, they just weren’t for me.

BUT NOW SHE’S BACK.

I watched her first workout, and I don’t care if she thinks she’s out of shape.  I don’t care if she’s moaning and groaning and breathing in ways that my roommates tease me about my excessive porn watching.  I don’t care if I look at this workout and say ‘Uhhh…not today.’  My spark has returned.  And DANG does she still look good.  That trailer?  Makes her look AMAZING.  And she’s even wearing pants!

Casting Notices

I have a beef with some casting notices.

For the record, I have no problem with nudity.  I think the human body is an inherently beautiful and majestic thing.  It’s composition is the stuff of pure poetry (which is one big ‘duh’ considering people have written about it for centuries)..blah blah blah.

My issue is with directors.  Or writers.  Or whomever decides that this role for some chick HAS to be naked.

I mean seriously.  How many times have I clicked on a perfectly good casting notice, only to discover my least favorite word: nudity.

Now, I don’t mind tasteful nudity/artistic nudity.  But nudity for the sake of having some chick rocking her birthday suit (or part of it, at the very least)..no.  Just…no.  If you think we can’t tell, we can.  And it annoys us.  I mean really, would it kill you to have me strutting around in a bra and panties at LEAST?  As far as clothing designs nowadays, that’s basically a swimsuit.  And I don’t mind rockin’ a swimsuit.  What I mind is feeling like my career is being stunted by the fact that I don’t want to flash my girls to every dude who shows up on set that day.

It doesn’t help that the casting notices that require nudity for girls FAR outweigh the ones that require nudity for guys, or even both.  It’s like dudes never get naked.  What the heck?  Haven’t people realized that girls go NUTS over shirtless guys?  Hello Ryan Gosling!

Seriously, though.  Rethink the nudity.  If you want some hot naked chick in your flick, your probably in the wrong spot.

Dear Genetic Donors..

Dear My Genetic Donors,

I’d like to take this time to thank you for your generosity (hah- see what I did there?  Did ya see it?) in donating your base DNA to me.  Unfortunately, there has been some recent part malfunctions due to a mishap with the DNA Synchronizer.  As a result, there are some issues with the form created.  For example, both hip joints are prone to extreme amounts of pain after standing for hours.  Also, the back cramps excessively in the cold due to previously overexerted muscles.  Such issues as well as others noted elsewhere (feet misalignment, shoulder stiffness, etc) are a result of faulty gene selection.  Because such faulty genes were offered, they had to be meshed in the pool.  As such, I am now in extreme pain this evening.  Thanks Mom and Dad.  Although, it is because of you that I also have gorgeous blue eyes and a fantastic facial bone structure.  Although others might blame you for my narcissism.  You’re welcome.

All the Best,

Scooby

In the beginning…

I’ve always been a fan of starting at the beginning.  Yes, it’s super cheesy.  YES, it’s horrendously cliched.  But without all that is cheesy and cliched, how would we know what ISN’T?  Therefore, I bring you to the beginning of this perilous journey into the amusing catastrophe that can be my life and thoughts.

I’m not going to claim that I’m the most original thinker among mankind.  I’m probably right there with the weirdest, but hardly the most original.  I’m not going to go all hipster on you and claim I was original and weird before it was cool to be so.  Which, thanks to Lady Gaga, all seven shades of weird are about as en vogue as bleached blonde hair in LA.

Where to begin, then?  I suppose we shall begin here, at the beginning of my *NYC BIG DREAMS* journey.  I have moved into my first apartment.  I am living away from home, again, but this time with the joys of paying my own rent and bills.  I have a decently enjoyable job, but it’s not like I’m getting paid to stare at cute kittens.  The people there are lovely and the working is relatively stress-free.  I am here for the most cliched of all cliches- acting.  Yes, that’s right.  My parents dropped a big ol’ wad of cash on a liberal arts degree in ACTING.  So I’m back in the city again to try my hand at making this a reality.  Will it be tough-going?  You betcha.  Is it going to take hard work, determination, and a whole lotta Scotch Guard to protect from the waves of FailSauce that are sure to drown me?  Oh hellz yeah.  But I’m the type of girl who loves a good challenge, and acting is my first love.  Possibly second to food, but I could never cook as a career.  So, here goes nothing.  A deep breath and a jump into the crashing ocean of my new reality..3..2..1..