breathing room

So, I'm not a good breather.

I don't know any other way to say it, really. When I'm stressed, I have to stop and follow my breath, all the way down to my core, to where it begins, full and lilting, at the bottom of my lungs, coming all the way to the top and expanding my ribcage, helping to uncurl my fists and drop down my shoulders. When I'm stressed and trying to sleep at night, I wake myself up in the night, pitched forward on the bed, gasping for air; I've stopped breathing. And when I'm underwater, I stop breathing. Well, that last one is probably for the best, but you know what I mean. You go underwater, you hold your breath, things are still flowing and you're calm and trustful and relaxed and oh look, a shiny quarter at the bottom of the pool.

I go underwater and panic seizes the tiny amount of air in my small lungs, I flail, twist this way and that, and come up sputtering. This even happened while I was learning to scuba -- I'd have a breathing apparatus, pumping air into to my lungs...and I'd still panic once I was under water. The scuba instructor would just shake his head at me and motion for me to come up to the surface.

"You need to relax," he'd say. "Or just quit trying to do this."

"But I can't quit," I'd tell him. "I love the ocean too much. Even though I'm terrified of it."

What kind of girl loves the things she's terrified of?

Me. I do.

Southern California is on fire. Don't know if you've heard. It's now threatening Mount Wilson, home of an amazing hiking trail and incredible observatory; it's creeping along the edges of some of my favorite hiking trails, trails that I walk and explore and visit when I need a little breathing room.

Today it feels like I'm running out of breathing room, just a bit. My weekend was busy, and I worked most of it, and while some parts were very enlightening and a good investment in my future acting and writing careers, none of it was relaxing and now it's Monday, I didn't catch my breath over the weekend and my hackles and boundaries are up a bit. My teeth are bared a little bit more than usual and my hands are closed a little bit more and my breathing is a little bit shallower, the full breaths that I usually take to deepen it and drop it down and let it go are leaving me full of ash and smoke and impatience.

I'll blog more later today about the good things that happened this weekend, including having a great time at the UCLA Writer's Faire and spending a good portion of Saturday morning with a casting director for a hit television series; just had to get this post off my chest and clear my lungs a little. You know how it is.

screwing with your work productivity...

Best time-suck website ever... just make sure your boss doesn't catch you laughing your ass off.

Other gems include this one and this one...but the entire website is pretty damn hilarious.

Happy Friday, everyone! Have a great weekend and I'll catch ya on Monday :)

It's National Goat Cheese Month!

Don't pretend you had no idea. You know you did.

Okay, so everyone tends to get a bit...over zealous... with the months these days (um, apparently August is also National Catfish Month, National Peach Month, and filed firmly under a category quite aptly named "Didn't See That One Coming," I will note that in Tipton County, Tennessee, August 8th is National Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night), but goat cheese IS kind of awesome so I thought I'd share my latest recipe, and by recipe I mean I chucked the following foods into a bowl and prayed to the gods of appetite not to forsake me.

They listened. All those animal sacrifices DO work!

At any rate, I know I'm also slow to catch on to fads of any kind (that's definitely a New Englander thing) but the internet has been all abuzz lately with talk of beet and goat cheese recipes.

So being a true, die-hard fan of goat cheese, I thought I'd take a stab (no pun intended) at a beet and goat cheese salad.

Again, to reiterate, I'm not a cook, I'm an artist, which means I can't give you exact amounts or reproduce exactly what I've cooked, ever. This is also why I'm an actor, people... the key is to keep people's expectations low, and if I hit my mark and remember all my lines on set I get a treat and a pat on the head from the director.

K, here we go!

Ingredients:

Goat cheese
(I like the non-seasoned goat cheese from Trader Joe's)

Beets
(Trader Joe's also has ready-made beets, but serve them cold for the salad)

Arugula

pecans or another type of candied nut
(if you don't like nuts in your salad, because I don't either, make sure the dressing you use is sweet to bring out the flavor of the goat cheese and beets.)

Olive Oil

Balsamic Vinegar
(to make up for the lack of sweet nuts, I used my blackberry ginger balsamic vinegar and it freakin' rocked)

Toss everything in a bowl until the goat cheese is creamy. Also, you might need something hard or crunchy to give the salad texture. Next time I make it I'm gonna try those Chinese dried noodle things. I'll let you know how it works out.

So go forth, celebrate August in all its monthly awareness awesomeness, and eat goat cheese and peaches and catfish and your neighbor's zucchini, just not all at once.


PS I got the picture here, with this story. Apparently dogs like goat cheese just as much as humans :)

conversation*

Mom: (handing a book over to my aunt) This is a great book, I definitely recommend it. I finished reading it on the way over here.

(My aunt and I look at my mom.)

Me: What do you mean, you finished reading it on the way over here?

Mom: You know, at red lights.

Me: You READ at red lights?

Mom: Yeah. What, you don't?

Me: NO.

Mom: Then what do you do at red lights?

Me: I WAIT FOR THEM TO TURN GREEN.

Aunt (to my mom) : How do you know when the light turns green?

Mom: When all the other cars start moving-

Me: Or when the honking starts behind you -

Mom: Seriously? You just wait at a red light? But it's so long.

Me: It's like a minute and a half, mom.

Mom: But that's so LONG.

Me: Well, I definitely don't read. Mom? You really read at red lights?

Mom: Well, sometimes I do Sudoku.

*This conversation was brought to you by Adult A.D.D.

Random Tuesday musings

Ok, so to follow up on a couple things I've put out there in the past few days:

a) apparently you CAN hide yourself on Facebook, you just click "Offline" on the chat section. Sorry guys, I'm a little technology-challenged (I once turned my cell phone French by hitting, oh, TWO buttons and then obviously couldn't change it back because all my menu options were then IN FRENCH) so I'm a little slow on the trends. Hey, did you guys know there are cellphones out there that can take pictures?! And check email? Holy crap... :)

b) I have to say the debate is still-ongoing with the whole "Do I wear the t-shirt of the band to its own concert" issue. Not world-changing stuff, mind you, but hey, world peace has to start somewhere, and it might as well begin with us agreeing on the little things. Ban Ki-moon, take note. And hire me.

Krista has a good point that we Californians try to be as obscure and random as possible to thus make us even cooler - and I think Stewbottum gets to the source of it pretty quickly as well -- it all started off as TEAM pride, with music being the default (and Gwen noted, quite correctly, that the two are totally different.) I'm totally with Drollgirl about getting annoyed at the little trendsters who show up to concerts these days, and Des, I like to think that musicians appreciate fans no matter what they're wearing!

I think Celia summed it up best as "who cares how long I've been a fan?" -- people should be way less interested in what others are doing and just freakin' get out there and enjoy being who they are, regardless of what anyone else thinks. (Celia - I'm from Merrimack, just outside Nashua, by the way...and I'm totally jealous you got quality-Krista time). Both AJ and Jenn pointed out that this isn't necessarily an issue separated just by coasts (gah! An entire country seized in a concert t-shirt epidemic!), and Archana gets some serious cool points for naming the correct movie (Empire Records) that I quoted, but I gotta say, Archana -- the best concerts I've been to (and Flogging Molly is definitely one of these), the bands played their music much longer, louder, and insanely better than off their albums. If I go see a band that plays exactly how they sound on their CD, why did I bother...and believe me, I've seen my fair share of bands who do exactly that...and sometimes even worse. But when Green Day invites people to come up from the audience to play their instruments for them, or James Hetfield and Lars do drum battles at their Metallica concerts, or Flogging Molly riffs for 15 minute sessions...damn is it worth the price of that ticket...and maybe a few obnoxious tweens and some drunk idiots here and there.

I think we can probably concede, much as Shanna Suburbia pointed out, that wearing an older t-shirt from the band isn't quite as bad, and I think Jo, Sarah Alaoui, Iva, and Wine and Words are still making up their minds either way. As for you, Mildly Sensational... yes, I was totally going off of the movie PCU, and I love you too. :)

With that wrapped up, I can now move on to the two most interesting things that happened yesterday (besides the fact that I finally got to hang out with a wonderful girl last night for the first time in eons) by letting you all know that yesterday, while waiting in line at the bank, I was hit on by a blond guy named Hudson. In front of his mother.

Yes, Hudson and his mom were waiting just in front of me and he suddenly turned around, flashed me the most adorable smile I've seen on a guy in quite some time, and proudly announced that at home he had a rock and it was his and not mine.

Hudson was probably 3 and 1/2 years old.

At which point, his mom turned around, took one look at me and then Hudson, rolled her eyes and replied, "He's gonna be a big flirt."

At which point I'M thinking, Yes! I still got it!

And in the flirt/unexpected love department, approximately twice a year my cat Mocha (yes, occasionally she guest blogs on here) decides that she adores me and wants to be my pet. So late last night, after getting myself tucked into bed, she crawled all the way up the covers (she usually stays down by the foot of the bed), head-butted me to let me know that she now owned me, then curled up against my stomach and fell fast asleep. And it wasn't even cold in the apartment.

I think my jaw dropped. Here I was, thinking I was just an indentured servant for her...turns out she actually likes me once in a blue moon!

I hope you all are having lovely Tuesdays and that you enjoyed the Great T-Shirt Debate as much as I did. I loved hearing from all of you and I'll try to pose some more controversial questions in the future...like, is it okay to put salt on food that someone just cooked for you? That's always a touchy one... :)

east coast vs west coast, part two

So this conversation started, as many good conversations do, in the parking lot of a Trader Joe's. We park, I'm talking about how freakin' excited I am about the Flogging Molly concert we're going to next month, he drops the bomb. And by bomb, I mean that he says, "Yeah, I just wish I had a Flogging Molly shirt to wear to the concert."And I look at him. He looks at me. Wait, what?

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. If I had a Flogging Molly shirt I would totally wear it to the concert."

"But...you're AT the concert. You'd be That Guy. You don't want to be That Guy!"

"What does that mean? That Guy? Because I'm wearing the t-shirt of the band I like to their concert? It shows I'm a fan."

"NO. It shows you're That Guy."

"Well, on the East Coast..." blah blah blah words.

Anyways, he goes on to say that on the East Coast there is nothing stronger than what they refer to as old-school fan pride. That is to say, if you've been a fan since the beginning of the band's creation, or first album, or whatever, you can show your pride and how much you like the band by wearing an OLDER t-shirt (this is key here, folks) from ANOTHER concert or tour to show that you've been a fan for a long time and thus you are cooler than all those hip wannabes that are just now finding out how much your band kicks ass. Point in case, when we went to the Metallica concert in Jersey together, there were a ton of older Metallica t-shirts being worn, and none of those guys looked embarrassed to be wearing them. Or that they wouldn't be able to kick my ass if I made fun of them.

And I am baffled by this. Because all my life, since I moved to California at the tender age of nine, through Smashing Pumpkins and No Doubt and Beastie Boys and Green Day and Depeche Mode and Rage Against the Machine and U2 concerts, it has been drilled into me: never.wear.the.t-shirt. Ever. Unless, as Krista pointed out, it's to be ironic, which rarely works. Mostly you just look like the person who's trying too hard. And if there's anything we abhor in SoCal...it's trying too hard.

Which brings me back to the fundamental difference between East Coasters and West Coasters. East Coast people are totally cool with how proud they are, almost rabidly so, of their sports teams, bands, neighborhoods, ethnicity, whatever. And if it's suddenly hot and trendy, but you liked it BEFORE it was trendy, then woe to the guy who tries to claim he's a bigger fan than you. Because fan pride is what it's all about, and being there before the band or artist "sold out" and got big is a huge claim to fame. East Coasters like to go against the grain, but in a "damn the man, save the Empire" kind of way (give yourself a pat on the back if you know what movie that's from). On the East Coast, you get made fun of for not trying hard enough.

But California plays it chill. We have so many different neighborhoods, ethnicities, restaurants, sports teams (hell, we even have two basketball teams!), up and coming bands, tv shows, and artists, that we float from scene to scene and pretend we don't really care. Trying too hard or caring too much about one particular band is the ultimate un-cool. So we scoff at those who wear the t-shirts and show off their 13 year-in-the-making fan pride. We try to turn it around like, "Yeah, I just got here, I don't even know the name of the drummer, and that actually makes me COOLER than you." Our detachment from ever truly loving, caring, and rabidly following something is what supposedly makes us cooler than everyone else.

But...I dunno. I got to say, since I started writing these two posts...maybe those prickly New Englanders are on to something. Maybe it IS kind of awesome to follow a band since its days back as the opening act of some lame music festival where we saw what it would take others decades to see, and to wear that band's shirt in pride, to show that we actually followed through and have cared about something long before it ever showed up on YouTube or TMZ.

So...I turn it over to you guys now. Yes, we can probably all agree that buying a t-shirt at a concert and then putting it on before you even get back to your seat is kind of lame, the trying-too-hard to end all trying-too-hards.

But what if you've been following a band for years, catching them in concert as much as you could, and you dig through your wardrobe, pull out that concert tee from 1995, when the album kinda sucked but man did they give an awesome show, and you wear it so that all the little fourteen year olds out there who don't even know who Kurt Cobain is anymore can be just a little bit embarrassed for jumping on the bandwagon when you built that bandwagon's damn WHEELS.

Thoughts? Comments?

east coast vs west coast, part one

So I'll just put it out there that I'm sort of an LA transplant (that's what we call 'em out here...those from other parts of the country who come to sunny Los Angeles to make their dreams come true.)

I was born, raised, and grew up in New Hampshire, then moved to the OC when I was nine. In some ways I am very much a California girl, except for the part where I don't actually tan, but that's not because I'm a New Englander, that's because I'm Scottish and Dutch and go from pale to sunburned back to pale. As a Scottish-Dutch girl, I was built for being a kick-ass fighter and being very organized, respectively, and I do both equally well. Tanning is not required in either Scotland or The Netherlands (raise your hands if you thought Dutchland, then smack yourselves), nor is it required to start a bar fight or make a swell to-do list. I rest my case.

The California parts of me are the "woah, chill, dude, just feel the energy" aspects of my personality; an undying curiosity of what, exactly, my neighbors are up to; a love of all things ocean or sunny; and the crippling fear that I will be the first to show up to a party. I really can't help it, it's in the water here, kids.

There is also the all-important California attitude of playing it cool. (This will come into play later, everyone, so pay attention.) As a Californian you are expected to not care TOO much about any one thing, not try TOO hard, and look as if there is always some place a little bit cooler where you COULD be, but hell, you're a saint tonight, so why not just grace everyone with your presence and stay here. As a wildly over-enthusiastic spaz, I rarely do this one, but every so often I fall prey to it.

What I retained from New England (and more specifically, New Hampshire), is the will and drive to succeed at everything I do and base my self worth off of how productive I am; a very strong resistance to anyone who tries to tell me what to do with my life, ever; the general feeling that if I feel crappy, a four-hour long walk through a forest will help clear my head (think Robert Frost); and STUPID FRAKING CAR WHY ARE YOU GOING BELOW THE SPEED LIMIT AND IN FRONT OF ME. That last one really freaks out the poor visitors to New England. Sorry, guys. In my last post, I noted that I was courteous and polite driver, and I am now... after driving for several years and scaring the crap out of my friends.

Side story: Until I was about 21 I thought it was perfectly fine to stop my car about three and a half inches away from the car in front of me at intersections. Finally a friend politely asked me exactly what the hell I was thinking.

"This is the way I was taught to drive," I replied.

"And who taught you to drive, may I ask?" (apparently my friend was Mr. Belvedere)

"My dad."

"And what driving experience does your father have?"

Pause.

"He was a cab driver in Boston."

Riiiight.

Anyways, this isn't a post about my poor upbringing as a super aggressive Boston cabbie in training, this is about something entirely more important that seems to be a huge contention between East Coasters and West Coasters. Are you guys ready?

This is about whether or not you are supposed to wear the t-shirt of the band that you are currently at the concert of.

Part two to follow on Monday as I explain my reasoning...so have a good weekend :)

survey says...

So the always awesome Jenn over at Jeans Friday tagged ALL of her followers with a cute little questionnaire to help everyone get through their half-way-through-the-week mark, so I'll do the same. Fill it out if you want, don't if you got something better to do, enjoy the randomness. :)

I've come to realize that my chest-size...changes based on how many push-ups I can do. This makes it very frustrating to buy bras in my size, because I technically waver between two sizes. Yay for working out.

I've come to realize that when I'm driving…I am very polite and courteous...until you do something dick-wadish and I take it personally.

I've come to realize that I need...to spend a little bit more energy taking care of myself and a little less taking care of everyone else.

I've come to realize that I have lost...many hours of my life being way too hard on myself. And I can't promise I'm going to knock it off anytime soon.

I've come to realize that I hate it when...people try to tell me what to do with my life. Not gonna happen, kids...

I've come to realize that if I'm drunk.... lol then I am probably someone else. I don't drink alcohol.

I've come to realize that I'll always ... look for the best in other people.

I've come to realize that my sibling(s)...are amazing guys. I wish I knew them better.

I've come to realize that my mom...is one of the strongest and most amazing women I've ever met.

I've come to realize that my cell phone...will probably always cut off my phone calls when I drive in the canyons. Le sigh.

I've come to realize that when I woke up this morning... I'd already missed a phone call from a friend in Oklahoma and a text message that my best guy friend accidentally sent to me instead of his fiancee! To his credit, he apologized and then texted me, "Good thing it wasn't something dirty!" To which I can replied: "Yes, Eric. I am VERY grateful."

I've come to realize that before I go to sleep....I need to talk to that boy I adore.

I've come to realize that right now I am thinking...I should probably be writing another post for the Examiner already!

I've come to realize that my dad...probably did the best he could.

I've come to realize that when I get on Facebook...sometimes I wish people couldn't see me on there and start chat conversations with me...it always happens at the worst time and I look like I'm avoiding people.

I've come to realize that life...has its own built-in little sick sense of humor. So I try to have one too.

I've come to realize that this weekend...I am working! Ugh.

I've come to realize that the best music to listen to when I am upset...is quite honestly, ABBA. Particularly Take a Chance on Me, Dancing Queen, and Chiquitita. Don't judge, I still like Metallica and Alice in Chains.

I've come to realize that my friends...are the best people I've ever met.

I've come to realize that I love...quite a lot of things about life right now.

I've come to realize that I'm totally terrified... of fear getting in the way of me doing something great in my life. Well, that and the great white shark that lives in the deep end of my swimming pool.

oh, snap!

thanks everyone for the very kind comments on my photos! You guys always make my day :) Here's the rest of the wedding photo booth pics!

weekend in photographs

As promised :)

Friday night I ate deep dish Chicago-style pizza and pizookies (huge, piping hot chocolate chip cookies, the size of personal pizzas!) at this place, then caught the movie (500) Days of Summer, which is fantastic. I can't say enough good things about this movie, except go see it, and then go buy the soundtrack.

Saturday night I went to a good friend's wedding, (I actually know and adore both the bride and groom) and there was a PHOTO BOOTH at their reception. HOW cute is that?! So I just had to take advantage and get some photos with my friends... and for the sake of not making this the longest post ever, I'll only include one and put the other photo booth pics up later this week!


On Sunday we went to the Natural History Museum in Los Angeles, where we got to walk through the Pavilion of Wings (a special exhibit where you get to walk around in an inclosed garden with lots of beautiful butterflies flying all around you) and later on I got to pretend that I was going to be eaten by a dinosaur. Good times!





And finally, Sunday evening ended with a trip to the Melting Pot, the best fondue restaurant that I know of. The meal was delicious and the company...was fantastic. :)

Have a lovely rest of your Tuesday, everyone!

blog love... and I'm a winner!

Hi guys,

I hope you all had lovely weekends... I will post a bunch of photos I took over the weekend tomorrow (playing catch up at work today) and in the meantime I thought I'd share with everyone that I have won my very first blog giveaway, over at Miss Anne's blog Indefinitely Definite. Anne, thank you SO MUCH - I LOVE your blog...I love the fact that you post inspiring quotes with beautiful pictures, share adorable heart-warming videos that you've found, and seem like an all-around awesome kind of woman. What other kind of person would have a surprise giveaway on her own birthday? (And no, I don't know what I won yet -- but I will post pictures when I get it!)

So Anne, happy belated birthday (again) and thank you so much for all of the blog love and support. I love reading your thoughtful comments on my blog and you've always been so kind to me. :)

And to pass along a little bit of love, I wanted to highlight the fact that my bff Radical Bradical is now blogging, and she was inspired by my top ten list to create one of her own, which I think kind of rocks: The 10 Best Things About Being an Adult. Because trust me, we all need reminders.

Finally, I got a lot of fantastic responses from everyone who commented on my Top 10 Lists, but one person really stood out after I began reading her blog, and reading this post made me sit back and re-think a few things. You can feel free to agree or disagree with the blogger's point of view, but it's totally fascinating to read someone else's perspective on a somewhat controversial issue. Go ahead, take a look. :)

Have a wonderful, survivable rest of your Monday and I should have lots and lots of photos up tomorrow that documented how amazing my weekend was... let's just say that I went to a wedding on Saturday night and the bride and groom had set up a photobooth(!)

Apologies to the other guests for how much I hogged that damn machine. But seriously, how fantastic an idea is that?!

Top 10 best things about being a female

Here we are, folks. Having received love, a few complaints, and a few laughs from my Top 1o Worst Things About Being a Female post, I revel now in writing about how truly, truly awesome it is to be a female most of the time. I wouldn't want it any other way.

I am off to an early start this weekend, and I hope you guys have some fantastic stuff planned. I've got a movie to catch tonight with friends I haven't seen in a while, a wedding to attend Saturday night, some butterflies to visit at the Natural History Museum on Sunday afternoon, and a lot of other fun stuff in between...and I'll hopefully have some pictures to share on Monday. So have a great weekend and enjoy reading all about the other side of being a woman. :)

1) I wouldn't trade my ability to multitask for just about anything. Good lord can women Get.Stuff.DONE.

2) Women can actually look GOOD in skinny jeans. Men, don't try this in public. Or at home. Hell, just don't try it at all.

3) In the wintertime, we can cheat and not shave as much. If guys don't shave, everyone notices. And while we're on the subject, can I get another amen that women don't have to put sharp blades near their THROATS in order to look respectable?

4) Unless a male is 150% sure that his opinion is correct, if he is arguing with a woman, he is wrong.

5) Women have more freedom to be emotional - and I'm not just talking stereotypes about PMS or crying to get out of speeding tickets. I'm saying that when a woman tears up during an amazingly inspirational speech or historic moment or highly emotionally charged event, she is called proud and fierce and strong and connected. If a guy tears up, how is it fair that society then deems him a wimp? Why is it that strong men are not allowed to cry?

6) Our secret weapons: little black dress, knee high boots, kick ass red lipstick, leather jacket.

7) People are a lot more forgiving of women who show up to the beach wearing very little clothing than they are of men who attempt the same thing.

8) The amazing networks of support that women create for each other, as my friend Lira pointed out in my last post. When the chips are down, we females can rally and hold each other up and there isn't a single force in the universe that is strong enough to break us.

9) Say what you will, agree or disagree: giving birth is an honor, a gift, something unique and special, that only women can do. Do not let yourself live in a culture that would paint you as weaker than a man for your ability to give life to another human being.

10) Amelia Earhart. Louisa May Alcott. The Bronte sisters. The U.S. Women's Hockey team. Maya Angelou. Jane Austen. Susan B. Anthony. Mia Hamm. Helen Keller. Rosa Parks. Clara Barton. Ella Fitzgerald. Harper Lee. Florence Nightingale. Eleanor Roosevelt. Sandra Day O'Connor.

And because I'm a cheater:

11) Being a lady. Remember what I said in #9, about not letting yourself live in a culture that would paint you as weaker than a man for your ability to give birth? Yeah. Add on to that this thought: do not let yourself live in a society that would tell you that in order to be a cool woman, you have to act like a man. We can be just as much fun as the guys and still be apologetically and unabashedly female, if we so choose.

12) One of the most powerful forces in this universe, something so incredibly commanding and intimidating that many grown men are terrified of it, religions have been created to undermine it, cultures and societies around the world strive to control it and crush it because of its dynamism and potency: a woman's sexuality.

Claim yours, use it wisely, and never, ever, EVER, let someone make you feel ashamed of your sexuality or tell you that it doesn't make you powerful.

Of course it does. That's the whole point.

Top 10 worst things about being a female

So last night, after a week or so of over-sensitivity, rage, insecurity, and neediness (sometimes I would literally go from one emotion to the next in about five seconds), I ended up breaking down in the middle of a PetCo parking lot for no apparent reason, then narrowly avoided the Halloween Candy aisle while grocery shopping (why? Why would you do that, people?! It's freakin' AUGUST) only to cave in when I saw ice cream sandwiches on sale.

When I got home, the groceries weren't even unpacked before I had devoured an entire ice cream sandwich in three bites.

Yep.

So to celebrate, um, monthly happenings and other things, I thought I'd come up with a top ten list of the worst things about being a girl. But in the interest of fair and balanced blogging, tomorrow you'll get the ten BEST things about being a female...if I can even narrow it down to ten, because being a woman (most of the time) rocks.

Anyways, here we go:

1) women: can spend upwards of hundreds of dollars on an outfit, spend hours doing hair and makeup, and get stuck all night in damn expensive shoes to look hot. men: throw on a shirt and tie, run hands through hair, good to go. Not.Fair.

2) The term "slut," which can mean anything from "how dare you have multiple partners?" to "how dare you reject me?"

3) What the hell am I supposed to do with a plastic pink kitchen set and an E-Z Bake Oven as a kid? Be domesticated by age 4? May I have the Lego's and G.I. Joe toys now?

4) There is something deeply wrong and troubling about this culture that women are expected to actually be able to stand on shoes that are supported by a thin stick the size of a pencil. Really? All my weight is supposed to go on that? Explain please...

5) Longer lines at the bathroom. Every time. It kills ya, doesn't it.

6) Thong underwear, and the fact that it exists.

7) Think about the last movie you saw where an average-looking guy experienced some sort of crisis that challenged him to rise above who he was before and save the day and his loved ones. I can think of about ten right off the bat.

Now think about the last time you saw an average-looking woman experience some sort of crisis that challenged her to rise above who she was before and save the day and her loved ones. Think hard. If you count Jodie Foster movies, the number goes up, but so far I've only got one in mind (here's a hint: it's an older horror movie that is absolutely brilliant and very well-known.)

8) Most lingerie.

9) Ah, the competitiveness of women against other women. Someone once asked what the world would look like if it was ran by women instead of men. To which I say: it would look a lot like high school. ::shudder::

10) Eye-lash curlers and other torture devices sneakily designed as helpful makeup tools. Not cool, guys...and I'm on to you... and I'm coming for you...

How to tell if you're an A-Type

So this all starts yesterday morning, I'm not even kidding, at 6 in the morning. This is when I get the first text from my best friend Stacey, who's pregnant with her first child, a little girl. The first text says:

"Had contractions all night, on Oxygen and hands and knees to get baby moving...doc will be here at 8 am. Cervadil dilated me 2cm"

And I pick up the phone, blurry eyed and not sure what month it is, let alone what day, read the text, and think, Are you there, God? It's me, Tracy. Please protect my Stace and let her give birth to the most beautiful girl in the world without too much pain or jerk-wad doctors or crappy jello, make it quick and not like they show it in the movies to scare the crap out of you, and please, if you could find the time to send her an angel message that she DOESN'T HAVE TO TEXT WHILE IN LABOR that would be swell.

Thanks, God!

Alas, sometimes our prayers are answered, sometimes not, because my beloved best friend, whom I have known since seventh grade and I have seen on more than one occasion use ONE black olive as a vehicle for which to deliver an ENTIRE TUPPERWARE CONTAINER of ranch dressing into her mouth, the girl who rolled her eyes at our German teacher even more than I did, my partner in crime for debating existentialism, Catholicism, and Smashing Pumpkins lyrics, my best friend who has lead archaeological digs in 105 degree heat in Southern California while carrying 60 pounds of gear and once got yanked into the government of Ireland's office for daring to write that Dublin's cultural centers were trying to re-write history to make it more politically correct, the self-confident woman who got a PHD from Stanford University and then got hired to teach at a university in Idaho before she even finished her degree, the bad-ass who wrote her thesis while pregnant, this Stacey, girl that I adore above many of the girls that I adore...

Is surely an A-Type. So the texts continue.

And I am getting hourly updates now of how dilated she is, what they're giving her, one text message that actually says "Breaking water now" and all I can think is that if someone gave ME a cell phone while I was in labor there would actually be a new episode of "True Stories of the ER" on Lifetime that could reenact someone getting a cell phone removed from their right eye ball, where I JAMMED IT IN after someone said, "Hey, Tracy, while you're in labor, do you want to send mass text messages to everyone to keep them updated?"

So there you have it. Stacey is, um, one of a kind. And Lana Joyce, at 8 lbs and 11 ounces, is beautiful.

As I was texting Stacey this morning and I mentioned that I'd, uh, never heard of anyone else texting while giving birth, she replied, "Trust me, it was the only thing keeping me sane." And when I asked her if I could blog about this she said sure. So just so you know, we're still best friends.

Until she reads the paragraph about the ranch dressing.

doing my best impression of a hamster

Okay. So. Yeah.

I didn't blog for a week. Every time I felt the itch to, it was sort of squashed by this resounding feeling of BLECH.

Ever have those weeks? You feel like you're spinning so fast, just trying to keep up, and then you look down and realize you've gotten nowhere? Yeah... me too. Hence the hamster wheel image.

So this past week I was super-sensitive and let just about everything get under my skin, and while I'm aware that it might just be my time of the month (yes, I went there) it certainly doesn't make it feel any better. On top of it all I got really self-protective, sort of like a five year old, but with a bigger vocabulary to scare people off lest they push me to, oh I don't know, talk about my feelings.

BLECH BLECH BLECH.

At any rate, I'm feeling slightly less hyper-sensitive and wanted to jump back into the blog headfirst, so here's some things I meant to catch you guys up on last week when I wasn't sobbing into my pillow over Extreme Home Makeover. Or a tire commercial.

Print Ad shoot

....was amazing. I got to play with three different dogs (Sadie, Sequel, and Riot) for almost ten hours while the photographers snapped away. I worked with Sadie, a six month old basset hound of adorableness, for a good part of the morning, then we broke for lunch, and then I got to romp around in a park with Sequel and Riot (Sequel was a shepherd mix, Riot looked like a mop with puppy dog eyes attached) for the better part of the afternoon. I got to play fetch and tug of war with Sequel and then I got to just hold Riot and let her lick My.Entire.Face (the makeup people freaked) for a good couple hours -- in fact, there was a point when I opened my mouth to say something to the photographers, Riot actually got her tongue INTO MY MOUTH, and that's how I end up Twittering "I just got to second base with a dog", just in case anyone was wondering. Wanted to clear that up.

The print ads should be appearing in the fall in a major pet store, I'll let you know when I do (I can't say the store's name right now, sorry, guys...) and I'm really really grateful that I got to spend such a great day with awesome people (and animals). I even won over the animal trainers, who by the end were saying, "You're a good girl, who's a good girl?!"....to ME. I took it as a compliment.

My web-series

...Hell Froze Over (for those who don't know, I plugged it relentlessly six months ago when I had about five followers) just got accepted into its first festival! That's right, Hell Froze Over (and yours truly) will be appearing as one of the 37 Official Selections in the New York Television Festival, which is a huge deal, considering this is where the television show Fringe originally appeared. It's a great place for people to network and sell their tv and web-series pilots, so keep your fingers crossed that we get some funding and maybe a second season out of all this wonderfulness.

and finally, over the weekend I went and saw:

Julie and Julia

...just go see it. It'll make you want to a) cook more, b) blog more, and c) never, ever give up. Also, Meryl Streep is a goddess.

tag, you're it...

So before I go into how my print ad shoot went on Friday, I was playing catch up with all the blogs I missed reading over the weekend and was meandering through the always-awesome Jenn's blog when I noticed that I was tagged by her to tell you 7 things about myself.

I've never been tagged before, as I think of myself as a fairly low-key blogger, and I am super-excited. And although I don't think I can compete with how freakin' cool Jenn's 7 facts are, I'll give it my best.

Thanks Jenn! You're the nicest! :)

1) In addition to once talking a man down from attacking myself and a friend in a dark alley, I also once talked a guy on the train out of knifing a girl. That remains one of the scariest experiences in my life.

2) By the time I graduated from college, I'd traveled to fifteen and a half different countries: England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Lichtenstein, the Czech Republic, France, Italy, Belgium, Mexico, Canada, Japan and Bermuda counting as the half (technically Bermuda is still part of the United Kingdom. Whatever).

Because of all my traveling, I've learned two important survival skills: a) roll with it, and b) eat whatever is put down in front of you.

3) When I was in high school I was interviewed by the LA Times, as I was in a professional children's theater group at the time, but I told the interviewer that I had no interest in becoming an actress, as I wanted to become a marine biologist. Which leads me to:

4) One of the goals I'm determined to achieve in life is to cage-dive with great white sharks. But alas, I should probably learn how to swim first, which leads me to:

5) I can't swim. I almost drowned when I was little so water on my face really freaks me out. I can barely dip my face into running shower water.

6) I was born at home, not in a hospital, on purpose. My mom wanted a home birth...she got one.

7) I love learning languages... I studied German for five years, Latin for two, I was in a French class for six months that I finally had to quit because it was at 7 in the morning, and now I'm trying to find a place that will teach me ASL (American Sign Language) that fits with my work schedule.

and now for the tagging part, mwah hah hah... I'd love to learn seven facts about Lira, drollgirl, Iva, and Shanna Suburbia.

Go get 'em, girls...