Dear Diary,

2008's a HIT!

PS McKenzie Astin is really cute in the Garbage Pail Kids movie!

"I won't be needing a plastic bag,"

said the lady on line behind me at the overpriced fancyorganicgourmet store up the block. The one I shop at when I'm lazy or busy or just really need a $6 pint of hisbiscus rose ices.

She started pointedly at me, with my box of cookies in a bag. "I don't need a bag, and I ESPECIALLY wouldn't if I had one thing, because that would be wasteful. For the ENVIRONMENT." Pointed look again.

Things I could have done in response:

1. Explained that I keep all of my bags and reuse them. Which I do.

2. Self-righteously pointed out that all of her items are rife with animal products, which is way more wasteful than one plastic bag. As in, feeding plants to animals just to kill those animals and eat them. Plus, the cow farts destroying the world. (That's true - look it up. Methane!). But then I'd be a) a preachy vegan b)stooping to her level.

3. Kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "Thank you." Slowly, deliberately pulled the box of cookies out of the bag and handed it back to the cashier with a rueful smile.

I ignored her and left.

Tableau

On my way to lunch and back to my office, I often pass a porn store. Porn shop? Establishment with pornography available for retail purchase. When I passed by Friday on my way back from Zen Palate, the door was open and blasting "You Can't Hurry Love" by Phil Collins. A defeated-looking man with dreads had his face down in his hands, sitting on the doorstep. Sitting about 3 inches in front of him was a shredded, decrepit brown glove.

I was going to theorize about the scenario, but I think it's probably more interesting to put the details out there and then let you use your own imagination.

Because I Never Sleep Anymore.

Here are some things I really, really hate.

1. Spitting in the street. When did this become socially acceptable? Would these people blow snot rockets onto the sidewalk? Is your mouth really so flooded with saliva that you cannot possibly wait to get to a sink or swallow it, for fear of drowning? And does anyone even spit in sinks when they're not brushing their teeth or at the dentist?

This makes me question what you do at home alone, when you're free to be even more Josie Grossy. Play cat's cradle with your phlegm? Writhe around in a bathtub of boiling diarrhea?

2. When you haven't mentioned the outcome of a potential good thing you stupidly mentioned to someone, and they ask you about it. Example: Douchey Friend: Hey, remember that guy you went on one date with like, 4 or 5 months ago and said was the only person to melt away the icy dungeon where your keep your heart? The really awesome, funny, hot, probably rich (not that that really matters) one? You know, the one I've never heard you mention again after that, nor seen you with? Did he ever call you?You:No.
Or, Douchey Neighbor:Hey! Did you end up booking that TV show you were auditioning for the other day when I ran into you last spring? The one that filmed in LA?You:No.

Guess what. If something amazing happens to me, I'll tell you about it. I appreciate your interest in my life, sincerely. But especially if you ask multiple times, "So, did you ever hear back about that submission you sent to The Onion?!", and I explain to you that I'll let you know that I'll tell everyone when I do...then you are a doucherabbit.

3. Lettuce. The texture is gross, and you never know when it's going to appear in a dish, without being on the menu. I hope a plague of locusts descends on every lettuce crop in The Land. (Note to my lettuce farmer readership: But I hope you also have many other successful crops that grow bountifully to make up for it.)

Subtly retarded

Look, you missed my birthday last weekend. And it's almost too late to apologize, just save it for next year.

I turned 28. That's some late 20s shit, (girl). And because of my oldyhood, I can freely admit to you the retarded thought I had as my birthday approached.

My hair is long and supercurly for the first time in many years. I get sick of it easily, and as I looked in the mirror, I thought about chopping it all off. Up until semirecently, when that urge struck me, I would take a pair of horrible old rust-crusty scissors and hack it off (I was so spontaneous and CRAAAAAAAAAZY). Now I would never. But the niggling thought that was causing me to consider it was, I realized, less about boredom and more about this feeling that with my hair long and curly, I didn't look 1)cool 2)alterna 3)hip 4)easily identifiable to others in the... counterculture? Mainly, boys with stupid hair and snarkitudes who somehow had it burned into their synapses that short dyed hair in a certain style = hottie.

As I had this thought, I simultaneously had thoughts about how stupid that was, along with a third set of thoughts that came in with their hands up in the air, all "Hey, man, don't judge your thoughts; you can't control them, you can only control your actions, and you shouldn't be ashamed."

I'm very different than I was 3 or 4 years ago. I guess most people are. But even 3 years ago, I would never have dressed like I do now - meaning, half my wardrobe is, dare I say it, "cute". Pink, flowery, little-girlish. Whereas when I bought a Hello Kitty (ringer, duh) t-shirt in high school, it immediately went into the back of my closet because I was totally not the kind of girl who liked that shit, I mean, not like there's anything WRONG you know with girls who like that shit, but you know...(there is).

Also, while I still have a fluffy spot in my heart that the right amount of snarky banter makes fluffexpand, I realize that it's probably not a good idea to attack people with it once you first meet them. And being (faux)mean isn't hot. And maybe it's just because I can't make a hip reference anymore that's not at least 6 months old, but I promise I won't (secretly, even though I think I'm too good to do that) judge you for liking Billy Joel nonironically.

People will just have to like me even though my hair no longer looks like a wig.

Tagged Like a...

Skin Tag? Like a Bathroom Stall? YEAH! I still got it, guys.

Jen MacNeil, my dazzlingly floopy friend and co-Pearl Brunswicker, has tagged me. This means I will tell you 5 facts you didn't know about me. I can't vouch that you all don't know them, but they should be at least new to some, and rehorrifying to others.

1. Before "fan fic" was even a concept to most people, I wrote Mickey Mouse Club (MMC to the cool kids) fan fic. Hundreds and hundreds of pages in marble notebooks. I also watched the show every single day, and audio taped the musical numbers by putting my pink boombox on a chair up against the TV. (Sidenote: I also did this with National Lampoon's European Vacation. And La Bamba, which sucked.) I even made up an excuse to miss the 5th grade class trip to Mystic, Connecticut, to watch a rerun I'd seen 5 times before. The fan fic was mostly about how I was a mouseketeer, and every male 'teer fell hopelessly in love with me. It was really an internal, Hamlet-esque struggle - how do I deal with the fact that I'm so incredibly desirable, even to other girls' boyfriends? How do I cope with the fact that I'm the best singer, dancer, and actor on the show, and everyone is ragingly jealous of me? In real life, I cried because my mom wouldn't take me to the auditions and furiously berated her in my diary for not wanting to move our entire family to Orlando.

2. I spent a total of about 5 years, on and off, sick and out of school. I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, among other crap. During part of that time, I had home tutoring. I'd come back to school after months or a year and have to deal with being the weirdo freaksickgirl who had everything from AIDS to quadruplets to "spoiled and lucky"-itis. This occupies the coveted #1 slot on the "Top One Reason for My Mental Issues" list.


3. When I was 21, my childhood home was destroyed (I lived there at the time). Supposedly, workers on the roof of the building left a blowtorch on and went home. Towering inferno ensued. The floors above us were incinerated - everyone got out, but some pets died. (A couple of people later died from heart attacks from the stress - one right after climbing the stairs to see the ruins of her apartment.) Our apartment was flooded, destroyed by the water the fire department used to put out the fire. And smoke damage, natch. We managed to save some things, but we had only a short period of time to come back and carry them out ourselves, amidst the buckling floors and newly created wallpaper made of mold (every color of the rainbow!) covering the walls and what remained of the ceilings. Additional fun fact: despite the tremendous stress, or because of it, this was one of the few times in my life that I managed to stop biting/picking my nails.

4. I've never had a cavity.

5. Even though I consider myself agnostic (but culturally Jewish), I cannot lie if I say that I am "swearing to G-d." I feel terribly guilty, and slightly afraid that I will have to Face the Consequences. So, if you really wanted to be a jerk, you could probably coerce me somehow now knowing this information.

I can't think of anyone to tag, everyone's been tagged already! So, if you're reading this and haven't been tagged it, do it and let me know about it.

Freakily-deakily

OK, so I'm blog-lazy. I'm not winning any Bloggies or Blogoos or whatever the blogger awards are called. According to an article I read that I can't remember so I won't actually cite, 100 MILLION blogs have already been abandoned. And blogging analysts(?) predict that blogging activity is at its peak right now and will level off.

But I'm also getting kinda freaked out realizing how easily someone could keep track of me if they really wanted to. I post various places about all my shows, and a guy I met online emailed me to let me know that when he Googled me, he could find my cell phone number. Creepy of the guy to Google me? Maybe, but everyone does it. Creepy that a profile page I made on NYCastings.com with all my contact info can be Googled? Definitely.

This didn't come from nowhere though - I've recently had a few people who had seen my shows contact me online in creepy ways. It's a fine line, I guess. You want people who aren't just your friends to come to your shows, and you get flattered, but you don't necessarily want them showing up at every single thing you do. I guess this is just training for being Totally Famous, right?

(I did delete my phone number from that page.)

Happy Hanukkah!