What I’ve Been Doing for Two Months

*tap tap*

Helllloooo?

Is there anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me.

If you have a middle aged dad who owns a car with a functioning radio, you probably know I’m quoting a Pink Floyd song. If not, I’m sorry, you probably had a difficult childhood and/or very quiet road trips.

Anyway, I’m baaaack.

I know I said I was just going out for cigarettes and I’d be home in time for dinner, but now here we are two months later and I’m just trying to walk back into your life like nothing happened. (At least I’m home in time for A dinner)?

I’ll be honest with you. I thought about leaving this blog in my dust and taking up with a podcast, but as my father always told me and his father told him, “you make your bed, you sleep in it.” And hey, maybe I can make this an open relationship and do both? This is 2013, after all.

I was debating whether or not to start back up with the blog when a reader (not my mother. Trust me, she has a direct line to nag me about posting new stuff) sent me an e-mail saying he and his friend missed my blog. Listen, I’m not going to copy and paste his email because that’s no better than when people retweet compliments, but I will say he was throwing around words like “insightful” and “hilarious” (full disclosure, he actually said “humorous” but as a comedy writer, I had to “punch it up” for him as we say in the industry).

I just took a break from blogging because I didn’t feel like I had anything to say, so I went out there and LIVED so I would have something to write about. (Oh, reminds me, do any aspiring Youtube stars want to take this idea: a Bonnie Raitt parody song called “Let’s Give ‘Em Something to Blog About”? Please. Run with it).

So, here’s what’s been happening with me since we last spoke two months ago:

90e6a6c28878741e92bf08de33d86cea

  • I’ve started using words like “the industry” and “the biz”. I also have “projects in the pipeline” and I’m punching it up and also loglines and back end residuals and I’m just like, selling it in the room, ya know? I also work at the front desk of a life insurance firm in Beverly Hills and I’m happy to pay $2 for a thimble of wheat grass juice… So I guess I’ve just been busy making Los Angeleez my home.
  • I started doing Crossfit.
  • I quit Crossfit
  • I gained 5 pounds
  • I’m back at Crossfit!
  • Breaking Bad finale
  • Coven premiere
  • I’m in the throes of a very serious Stevie Nicks phase (see above).
  • + Turned 25
  • – Began my 25th year by losing a booty shaking contest to a 17 year-old whilst in the presence of drag queens.

There it is! 2 months chock-full of life experience and writing material. I’m ready to get back to blogging regularly! (Until I get bored again or don’t become internet famous, which ever affects me more first).

Advertisements

Happy Friday, Gwyneth Paltrow!

That goop article you’ve been slaving over can wait until Monday, so put down your hemp seed detox smoothie and pick up a cold glass of Sauv Blah because it’s the weekend, Gwyneth!
20130816-091348.jpg
I’m excited, too!

BTW Gwyney, you fill out a snake skin bikini like a dream.

I’m working today, but I started my weekend festivities yesterday at a party celebrating the opening of a Warby Parker store in The Standard Hotel in West Hollywood. Was it worth staying out so late when I had to wake up so early for work the next day? Well, I got a free canvas tote bag containing a one-size-fits-not-me pair of slippers, so you be the judge (and duh. Of course it was worth it because all women inexplicably love free tote bags that we pack our lunch in once and then never use again).

Plus Mischa Barton was there. It was coolish to have Mischa Barton at that party, but maybe not cool to be Mischa Barton at that party. Like I said, free tote bag, but basically the event was just a bunch of hipsters in affordable glasses and skinny ties standing next to a pool. And wasn’t it just The OC’s 10 year anniversary? Surely there’s some Buzzfeed article about it floating around that might give her popularity a little resurgance granting her access to cooler parties. Or maybe she could just stay home. I’m not a fan of hers or anything so I don’t know her substance abuse history like I do Lindsay Lohan’s or Laurie Forman’s from That 70’s Show (RIP), but she definitely feels like someone who shouldn’t be drinking. Regardless, being in her presence is just cool enough to my hipper East Coast relatives that when they point out that I could be a secretary in New Hampshire too, I can counter with the lie that I live a fabulous LA lifestyle.

Plus, I can’t be a secretary in glamourous Beverly Hills in New Hampshire, can I? Uh-no.

I Haz a Job!

It has really been a long road a hoe for me to find a job since moving to LA 3 months ago-  building a life for yourself is exhausting! I know that many people in America have been out of work way longer than 3 months and have had to support an entire family on practically nothing, but in fairness to me, supporting yourself for the first time is hard too, especially with cold-pressed juice and gel nail manicures being so expensive. 

Plus, it wasn’t as if I was looking for a job in my field. I had a few interviews for some cool positions that I didn’t get, but to be honest, if I had landed something that both paid well and was Facebook brag-worthy, I would just be waiting for my parents to tell me they’re getting a divorce or that all my childhood possessions had been destroyed in a garage flood, Monica Gellar-style. It would be too suspiciously easy. 

Like when I interviewed at ABC.

I got an email on my phone with the subject line, “Social Media Manager at ABC,” and then my alert showed the first line of the message which said, “we found your resume on Indeed.com and….” AND, AND, AND?! I had this immediate rush of excitement, and I stopped what I was doing to run to the computer and read the rest:

“We found your resume on Indeed.com, and we were wondering if you would like to interview for the social media manager position at Animal Behavioral College?”

Oh, riiiiiiight, cool, cool, cool. So, not the studio, then? K. 

But you know what? I interviewed there, anyway. AND I DIDN’T GET IT. 

Another job I didn’t get was here:

photo-4This was the waiting room before my interview at a company that makes lube and other massage-y sex products that taste like watermelon. The picture is blurry because I could hear the manager walking down the hall and I panicked. He introduced himself, then took me in the conference room that was decorated with more giant canvases featuring people having sex with their clothes on, and then sat me down in a white, patent leather chair. Based on the soft core porn artwork and baskets of free lube in the break room, I can’t tell if it would have been a fun place to work or sexually hostile, but I’ll never know. 

But I finally got a temp-to-possibly-permanent receptionist job where I am mostly left alone, which is my idea of a dream job no matter what I’m doing. Yesterday there was s’more muffins from Ralph’s in the break room and I’m in very close proximity to a place that sells boba tea, so it looks like my parent’s finally have something they can brag about to their coworkers. 

Baby’s First Hollywood Pool Party

421287_4983368385133_1404516615_n

All my life, I’ve been the kind of person who clings tightly to her principles and convictions.

I am also the kind of person whose principles and convictions can be bought with blended margaritas and movie theater style nachos.

Do I consider myself a feminist? Absolutely. Will I speak up and defend myself or a fellow woman when I see a sexist injustice occurring? I believe it’s my duty. Am I so poor that I will throw all of this away so I can get my buzz on foh’ free at a Beverly Hills pool party? Within reason. But mostly yes.

The dissolution of my moral compass began when my roommate and I were invited to a pool party celebrating the birthday of Jesse from that Super Bowl GoDaddy commercial:

2349077637I’ve talked about it before, but if you’ll allow me to mount this high horse again, the commercial was sexist because it perpetuated the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful and men are supposed to be smart. Also it had a fat guy making out with a hot girl. What hope do us averages have of finding a man on our level if the media keeps telling boys and Kevin James that they are entitled to a woman who is 80% boobs and legs??

So, despite my reservations, I still wanted to go to the party because the poor kid was just in a GoDaddy commercial, not a Spike TV show. And I was promised free booze.

My friends and I arrived before Jesse got there, and after being handed a free(!!!) margarita, we were informed that they were filming a documentary on Jesse. The producer wanted a very specific shot of Jesse when he entered the party. He handed my girlfriends and me an armful Hawaiian leis and told us to go up to Jesse one-by-one and ask, “can I lei you?” Okay, so obviously this dude had no idea that this group of women included one who had read Hillary Rodham Clinton’s Living History. 

This request made me thoroughly uncomfortable, but it all happened so fast! I suddenly found myself doing an awkward Target Lady-esque shuffle, mumbled a “here you go” and threw the lei around his neck like I was doing a county fair horse shoe toss.

I felt like an idiot, but I just gave it to Jesus and prayed that if this documentary ever surfaced that my future moms Amy and Tina wouldn’t recognize me thanks to my giant mosquito sunglasses.

I drank another Jesse-rita and felt better.

photo-2

A few minutes later, the same guy asked if we would rub Jesse down with sunblock. To this I replied, “feminism!” and moon walked on my cork wedge heels back to the margarita bar. Listen, am I being a little over sensitive? Maybe. But there would never be a pool party thrown in honor of an overweight, 25 year-old woman just because she was in one popular  commercial. How about this? If any hot man reading can tell me he was once asked by a producer to rub down Nikki Blonsky with some SPF at a pool party put together by her publicist then I will just delete this post.

Anyway, as my blood blended with the Jesse-ritas, I realized what a surreal situation I had put myself in. I’m 90% sure that the house we were at is also rented out to shoot porn. I’m also 90% sure that most of the guests at the party have shot a porn in that house. Please don’t misunderstand, though, this was not a trashy party. It was an absolute who’s who of Hollywood extras. There were some big G-list stars too: the cook from 2 Broke Girls, the nerdy guy with the Jew-fro from Glee (I can say that because we have the same last name), and most exciting, Yolanda Foster’s ex-husband Mohamed.

I only ever left my spot on my beach chair to get more nachos or to go to the bathroom (if I looked a little harder I bet I would have found a cocaine dispenser next to the hand soap), but it was a real trip, and it was certainly worth going to.

Next stop, the Playboy Mansion!

Feminism!

The Mindy Project WGA Panel

1a909450c94a11e2b34b22000aaa2162_7

Mindy Kaling and Ike Barinholtz (who writes for the show and plays Morgan)

Yesterday, my roommate and I saw a Writer’s Guild panel featuring the writers from The Mindy Project. I brought along a copy of her play, Matt and Ben for her to sign and wore a neon pink jeans/chambray shirt/leopard print loafer outfit picked out with Mindy Kaling’s tastes in mind just incase we ran into her in the parking lot. The Girl Scouts taught me to always be prepared and that Samoas are at optimal deliciousness when consumed frozen.

They screened an episode and talked for an hour about what it’s like writing for the show, and then opened it up to the audience for questions.

Civilians asking celebrities questions is one of my top 100 pet peeves. It hovers around #48 right above people clinking their teeth on metal spoons when they eat. People just want to hear themselves talk. Like, unless James Lipton specifically asks you, no one needs to know what your major is in college. And it’s not necessary for 10 people in a row to thank the panel for coming. You paid to be there. Your gratitude is felt.

I considered asking a question, and I racked my brain for a good one until I realized that the only reason why I wanted to go up there was so Mindy would compliment my outfit and thoughtful question. There would be a witty back and forth between us, then I’d tweet her later that night, and we’d become social media friends until one day her assistant quits and she hires me and I become her protege and spirit sister.

By the by, living with my imagination is exhausting.

So, that was the wrong reason to ask a question, and I decided to just keep my mouth shut.

(But you should have seen my outfit, Mindy would have been so into it).

Welcome to the Babe Cave

Right now, my roommate Jillian and I are what you would call “house poor.” We have a lovely apartment in a great neighborhood, but have spent all of our money on rent and Chipotle burrito bowls, so things are pretty sparse in the way of furniture and decor.

Everything is beige and the walls are bare. My living quarters especially look like a child’s hospice room. Like, there’s a bright quilt on the bed to brighten things up a bit and a sad little plant on the window sill, but no pictures hanging on the wall because let’s just say it’s not worth putting them up since they’ll be coming right back down when the next kid moves in.

We were starting to go crazy in here, which I guess is what happens when your apartment looks like a sterile mental institution, so we decided to sass things up a bit with a chevron accent wall:

photo-1 photo-1At least I’m really self-aware and know I’m being conceited. And at least I know that calling yourself self-aware might be a good indication that you are not. Which makes me aware that I’m not aware. A real catch-22. That’s what that word means, right?

941909_10152833208905144_1129537525_nThat’s my sewing machine in the white box in the corner. To save money, I bought a bunch of fabric so I could make some curtains and pillows, but when I sat down to do it, the thing wouldn’t work. I took her in to the sewing machine hospital, and I’m sure once I factor in the cost of the repair+fabric it would be the same price just to buy some curtains and pillows from Target. But I’m in too deep now, and I really have my heart set on smugly telling dinner party guests that I reverse Maria Von Trapped our curtains.

Teen Mom

This past holiday weekend, my roommate and I were entrusted with keeping alive something far more precious than a human baby– a wittle dogggyyyyy, awww!!!

943054_4955919098918_472752998_n

Teen Mom

In exchange for wine, good karma, and instagrams of me wearing a doggy baby bjorn, we agreed to walk and feed this precious creature of God, Rufio.

I was really excited to do it because since moving to California from New Hampshire, I’ve been missing my Chiweenies (chihuahua/dachshund), Henry and Wilbur:

Bone Thugs

Bone Thugs

I was getting the itch to have something around the house that’s more pathetic and adorable than me, and I had begun thinking about how fun it would be to have my own dog. Though I can barely afford food for myself, and I’m not even allowed to have dogs in my apartment, once I get an idea in my head, I can’t get it out (unless there’s a Law and Order: SVU marathon on).

So playing puppy parents to Rufio came at the perfect time.425028_10152827182745144_417404990_nDo you remember how on every 90’s kid’s show, there was an episode where for a class  the cast had to pair up and “raise” an egg or baby doll for a week, as I guess, some form of birth control instead of just passing out free condoms and saving everyone the trouble? Well, I always thought that looked so fun, and through taking care of Rufio for the weekend, I finally got to live out my Saved By The Bell dreams.

At first, it was great that Jillian and I finally had a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and Rufio is the most well behaved, loving pup-pup two lesbian adoptive parents could ask for. Seriously, what’s the point of a farmers market if you don’t have a dog or baby strapped to your chest to stroll around with?

But, I think 3 days of parenting was long enough. I remembered how hard it is to care for a living thing if your parents aren’t there doing 90% of the work. Though we suddenly had a reason to get out of bed in the morning, we had to get out of it sooooo earllllllyyy!

However, to our credit, I think Jill and I would make great parents. I think if we’re still single at 45 we should adopt a Somalian orphan together. Preferably, a 14 year-old who can pretty much take care of herself.

What I’ve Done Today: Part II

Screen shot 2013-05-23 at 11.08.36 AMAt the end of every day, my roommate and I usually give each other a run down of how our day went. Yesterday, my roommate came home and found me at about 5 o’clock, sitting on the couch with the shades drawn and the TV on mute. I had a lot to fill her in on:

At noon I made a really strong and impassioned statement on defying racial stereotypes by spending $13 on a breakfast sandwich and coffee, proving once and for all that not every Jew is good with their money.

The day only got more productive from there:

At 2pm I came home, sat on the couch and thought about blogging. But just thinking about blogging wasn’t enough, so I put some of my resume skills to good use by being a self-starter and doing some expert multi-tasking.

So I….

Thought about blogging…

….and picked off my gel manicure.

Thought about blogging…

….and thought about exercising.

Thought about blogging…

….and picked at a scab on my chin.

Thought about blogging…

….and read my own blog.

This went on for about 4 hours until I finally got up to go to the bathroom and toyed with the idea of parting my hair in the center because #YOLO

Spoiler Alert!!! Decided against it.

Then I sat back on the couch and looked at the Facebook’s of people I went to high school with and got really smug about how they’re still stuck in our hometown, married with stupid children who ruin their lives and love them unconditionally, and they have their dumb, steady jobs, with no hope of EVER being famous. And it’s just so sad, ‘cuz like LOOK AT ME, I’m in LA. I saw Sean and Eric from Boy Meets World at a cafe once, I have an air mattress, my roommate and I are thinking about auditioning for The Amazing Race, like, it’s all happening.

………..

So after going through that one-woman show/suicide note with my roommate, she decided it was time to go see a burger about some feelings before I started thinking about getting bangs. 968784_4938956914874_1217821939_nIt worked! Look at those happy faces! We love LA, we love a burger, but most of all, we love each other. 

But seriously, how does everyone feel about me and bangs?

The Story of My Roomie and Me

I asked my roommate to write about our relationship and how we got to where we are today. My perspective is in italics…

Dara and I met while pledging a sorority in college. We bonded over pillow fights, our mutual love of fro-yo, and Paul Rudd. Just kidding, I hated her.

Woah, okay…. I was just pretty indifferent towards her, I guess.

I was a sister in the sorority and Dara was a transfer student looking to meet a cool group of girls. Little did she know, these females would dislike her to no end. It was essentially a deep seeded hate for her lack-luster memorization skills and couldn’t give a shit personality.

To give you some context, in the sorority pledges had to interview each sister and then memorize every “sister fact” about their lives, which we would be verbally quizzed on every few days. I tried, but basically, I’m just more of a visual learner, you know?  

And to be clear, I don’t have a give-no-shits personality, JILL. But in this particular scenario I gave very few shits… 

I just remember pretty much everyone having a stick up their butts. We weren’t allowed to drink for almost that whole semester we pledged and we had a curfew. Then they’d make us stay in and do things like decorate paddles til 4 am when I had acting class in the morning. I needed to be fresh for that! When you’re rolling around on the floor pretending to be a cat for college credit you can’t just phone it in!

I’m just saying there wasn’t much incentive to learn every sister’s grandmother’s name when I was essentially paying $250 to get yelled at and do arts and crafts. 

Jill and Me in Santa Monica

Jill and Me in Santa Monica

I finally interacted with her my junior year because we happened to live in the same building. I always saw Dara in the latest Juicy Couture velour jogging suit, and I’m not even joking when I say she was either in that, or fashionable gym clothes 24/7. Homegirl was on a fitness mission, and I didn’t hate it! We sort of bonded at the gym.

What can I say? Little Mama likes to keep it tight. 

Then, Dara had to leave Boston in our final semester together to attend a prestigious comedy program in Chicago. Bleh, we get it. You’re talented.

I swear I didn’t write that… but yes….

I went to Los Angeles the following January and thought our paths would never cross again.

Geez…. never again? Way harsh, Tai. 

Post grad, Dara and I surprisingly kept in touch. It was mostly me fan-girling her hilarious blog, and a few texts back and fourth about unemployment depression and satirical self hate. But then, we attended a networking event together in NYC and something clicked. We had so much fun and began discussing what our life paths would be.

Jill even came to visit me in NH where we saw Magic Mike and smuggled in wine and chicken fingers. 

In late 2012, Dara and I decided to be roommates in Los Angeles.

It kind of came up like, “I want to move to LA.”

“Me too.”

“We should just live together! LOL”

For about 2 months I wasn’t sure if Jill was serious or not, and I think she felt the same way, so we were essentially in a game of roommate chicken. Then at some point we bought a WestSideRental.com membership, and it was suddenly real.

After saying yes, I took a giant step back and realized all I knew about this girl was surface stuff, but I was still willing to live with her because she’s a hoot! I have the most deductive reasoning, don’t I?

I knew very little about Jill except she thought I was a hoot which is all I care about aside from her stealing from me or bringing home guys to do it on my air mattress. So far she hasn’t done either of those things! Thanks, Jill!

We couldn’t be more different. I am completely Type A, essentially getting off on cleanliness and organization. Dara is much more relaxed and free spirited. We are the modern day odd couple, and I’m totally okay with it…For now 🙂

Ditto!

5 Signs That You Just Moved to LA

  1. You stare at any thin person wearing sunglasses trying to figure out if they’re a celebrity. And you know what, often times it is a celebrity! Other times it’s the woman from the Wendy’s commercial! God, I love this city. Emma-Stone-Ray-Ban-Clubmastfw550fh550
  2. In case you get pulled over, you already have a lie ready for the cop as to why you haven’t gotten a California driver’s license yet. Though, as of yesterday, this one doesn’t apply to me anymore. And my new picture is AWFUL. When I passed my test, I was pretty excited to take a new photo for my license, and not because it was a bad picture — that picture was taken on my 21st birthday when I had that natural, happy glow you only get on your wedding day and when you can legally drink. TSA agents across this great country have given that photo rave reviews. But because I’m blonde in the picture sometimes I get a little trouble from bouncers, so I was happy to get a new one with my red hair. UNTIL I SAW IT. It’s like some sort of Biggest Loser “before” photo where you think “oh, she’s going to be so beautiful when she loses the weight.” The picture is so close up. I look like a bowling ball with horse teeth.
  3. Up until this week, someone has tried to sell you a Coachella ticket. No, thank you! I don’t want to pay $500 to get date raped in a teepee!63e09e62542d322f6ae4495338a03cc6
  4. You don’t know that when someone asks what you do, “unemployed” or “temp/waitress/receptionist/etc.” are never the right answers. You are either “in between projects” or you’re an “actor/writer/editor/whatever” regardless of whether or not you’re getting paid for it. For the second answer, they will inevitably follow up with, “well, who do you ______ for? Anything I might have seen?” and at that point you can just start exaggerating. While at The Den in West Hollywood a couple weeks ago, I found myself out and out lying about what I did to some guy. Then he told me he was a student at UCLA, and I said BYYYYYYEEEEEEEE as I moonwalked out the door.
  5. You get endless delight from reading street signs and freeway names in a The Californians voice. La Cienegaaaaaaa. tumblr_me6scrlCXa1rnfmydo1_r1_400 That’s really how they talk here!!!!!!