Am I an Adult?

Like I said in yesterday’s post, I turned 25 this month, and it’s strange because I still feel like I’m in high school. It’s not like I’m clinging to youth or anything, in fact, I’m excited to turn 30 in the near future. I’ve found that every six months or so I become a little less of an asshole, so I’m hoping by 30 I’ll be a real hip woman in charge of her own destiny, getting her clothes tailored, not eating as much processed foods, the whole thing.

young-adult-poster

But for now, I can’t tell- am I an adult? Let’s look at the evidence:

ADULT: I have aged out of eligibility to be on The Real World because apparently 25 is too old to catch syphilis in a hot tub while you experiment with your sexuality. What if I’m a late bloomer, huh, MTV?

NON-ADULT: Still too young to be a Real Housewife. Not a girl, not yet a woman.

ADULT: I pay rent with my own money for a townhouse with a garbage disposal, yes, garbage disposal. 

NON-ADULT: I recently cashed in an animal crackers jug full of change at a Coin Star so I would have drinking money.

ADULT: I told a co-worker how old I turned on my birthday and he said, “25! You can get married now!” Isn’t that wild? I mean, at this point, if I had a kid in a high school bathroom stall no one would give me a reality show. They might call DCF because what am I doing having a baby in a high school bathroom stall? but 25 is a completely appropriate age to get married and have a child. In the Mid-West.

NON-ADULT: No matter how old I am when I have kids, always exclaiming “this is children raising children!” is a very charming thing I plan to do.

ADULT: Another thing about kids- I’m at least mature enough to know at what time a toddler should be in bed and not at the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival among half a million people. That would be all of the times. When I went this year it was after 11pm and I was very surprised at the toddler to screaming drunk people ratio.

NON-ADULT: At 8pm on a Sunday I locked my keys in my car and waited until 1am to ask AAA to get them because I was late for karaoke. Somebody, quick! Give me a baby to raise! I might accidentally lock them in the back seat, but I promise I’ll fish them out after last call!

ADULT: I got my oil changed all by myself this week!

NON-ADULT: I didn’t get my oil changed all by myself until I was 25 year old.

Welp, I am no closer to an answer, but at least I have enough self awareness to limit the amount of times I say the phrase “quarter-life crisis.” That counts for something, right?

Throwback Thursday: Me in High School

I realized just now that I’ve never mentioned much about my time in high school on this blog. Since you’re probably having a tough time functioning in normal society without having even a cursory knowledge of my lower educational experience, I will regale you with some stories of my completely typical youth as a musical theatre nerd. I’d tell you about junior high when I was a chubby brunette who believed in fairies and briefly dabbled in Wicca, but that was a dark time we can revisit on another Throwback Thursday.

For now, we can start with the setting for most of my prominent high school memories, my community musical theatre group.

196747_1002761749449_2855_n{My brother and me posing in production photos for the show, A Year with Frog and Toad}

I wish I could say that I spent my weekends drinking in the woods with my field hockey team, but in reality, I didn’t spend any time with people I went to class with. Instead, for most of high school I was in one show or another and I’d spend Saturday nights watching movies like Basket Case in the basement of the girl who played The Baker’s Wife in Into the Woods. 

208318_1003443449473_9729_n {That’s me, wearing just a host of things that don’t match, with a basket on my head, reenacting a scene from the seminal classic horror film, Basket Case}

But, listen, we theatre kids had some boozy, all-American Pie style fun, too. I have some fond memories of planning cocktail parties with my best gal pal, Ian:

200772_1002779792906_1594_nThat’s a little greeting card I made with some vintage MS Paint software. And who is Muffy and Biff? Why, that’s the married, upper class, Connecticut WASP personas we created for ourselves that would throw these parties. Because who else would put out a spread of hors d’oeuvres and request that party guests wear festive cocktail attire? Certainly not high school students.

With all of this information, you might think I was too much of a loser to actually date in high school… and then you’d be WRONG. I had one boyfriend, and he played the Beast in Beauty and the BEAST, thankyouverymuch!!!

206777_1002780872933_3405_nHere’s a disposable camera picture of me when I was a sophomore during my boyfriend’s senior prom (ummm, yeah, my boyfriend was 18 AND played the title character in a New Hampshire children’s community theatre production… I can’t believe I wasn’t homecoming queen, either). I remember a few weeks before prom I had just bought my dress, and I was pretty angry with my boyfriend of maybe 5 or 6 months. He told me that saying “I love you” made him “physically ill” and asked if we could please go back to just casually dating? And I was all, “yeah, sure, that probably won’t contribute to any kind of crippling trust issues in my adult life!” But, I questioned whether I was really okay with this new arrangement. My dad told me that I could dump him if I wanted to, regardless of the $400 dress, but I stuck it out for a few more months. Then, a couple days after we went to the Oasis concert I bought us tickets to for his birthday, he dumped me over the phone.

With my best friend and her boyfriend (his best friend), we drove to the summer camp he worked at and I dropped off a bag full of his stuff including some Buddha beads he gave me for Valentine’s Day and his Beauty and the Beast cast tee-shirt. Then we stopped for lunch, and I held back tears in a Boston Market like the little soldier that I am.

After that, I vowed to never date another actor, until I dated another actor in college and, like, really vowed to never date another actor.

Flash forward to my own senior prom:  promThat’s me with my gay date. The proof that he is gay and not my boyfriend is that he has the same hair color as me and I would sooner put out a cigarette in my eye than date a fellow ginger.

I didn’t really want to go to my senior prom, but I knew my mom wanted me to, so I sucked it up. You can really tell that I didn’t care about going since I used the same dress I wore to my sophomore prom and because in that picture my skin color is at its resting tone. If I care about what I’m doing, you better believe I’m bathing in tubs of Jergens natural glow moisturizer until that main event.

Okay, what else, what else…. I own(ed) the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode soundtrack, memorabilia script, and sheet music. I had some blunt bangs for a while. I’d go to Rocky Horror midnight showings, which is the symptom of the worst kind of theatre nerd. So, ya, that was high school for me. A lot of gay people and pancake stage make- up. I wish I had more pictures to show you, but it’s hard to locate them because Facebook wasn’t really a thing then. Which, by the way, thank GOD because I got into enough trouble with my DeadJournal. And then my subsequent LiveJournal. And then Myspace.

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?

Sick Day

I woke up this morning ready to be productive and deliver you all a blog in a timely manner, followed by some light exercise and some…that’s basically it…. A Dr. Oz 3-day juice cleanse was also on the agenda, so that would have taken up some time and energy.  Basically, the day stood before me, full of endless opportunity and promise, until the weirdest thing happened: I just up and puked. I normally have an iron stomach unless I have a touch of alcohol poisoning, so this never happens. I felt fine, enjoying my Dr. Oz sanctioned green tea, until suddenly I was stricken ill.

It was so startling that I just decided to pack it in and call it a day. This is a reenactment:

285cc61d935e1fe6180f99d66881a0a9

Bonus that the juice cleanse was no longer necessary.

Hopefully, I’ll be back to doing pilates and living my life of no responsibility or steady employment by tomorrow.

The Life of a Promo Girl*

*I mean Promo WOMAN.

If you’re not familiar with what a promo female is (or as I so coyly put it on my resume, a “Brand Ambassador”) you need only think back to your last visit to a bar when a young woman in some kind of midriff baring outfit that’s only appropriate to wear at the Teen Choice Awards circa 1997, came up to you and offered up some free Captain Morgan’s paraphernalia. I have never done this kind of “marketing”– the most revealing outfit I ever wore for a promo was a red American Apparel jumper with an Amstel Light tee and matching red Keds. Admittedly, I looked adorable.

Feminism!

The kind of promo stuff I do requires me to wear a brand tee shirt and jeans or black “professional” wear. If I’m going to look like a whore, I do it when I am off the clock– my parents raised me with standards, okay?

I either go to a bar, an event or a super market and do samplings of whatever drink I’m promoting, but most recently I’ve just been handing out beer samples at the grocery store. This is both the best and worst job ever.

Best:

  • It’s so easy. You literally just stand there with no one supervising you.
  • You get payed pretty well, and shifts are generally 2-3 hours.
  • The bar is set exceptionally low. I hate to generalize, but I’ve been in the biz for years, Kid, and there are a lot of dummies doing this. Worse than being dumb, most promo girls are lazy and perpetually a half hour late. I’m a model employee by being only 5 minutes late, actually smiling at people, and making a minimal effort to hide my phone behind a tower of beers while I text.

Worst:

  • Ugggh…. people. Just all these people. And you have to fake laugh at their jokes and you can’t tell them to leave when they start trying to recite the Dos XX’s slogan to you.
  • There is literally nothing more depressing than just observing people at a suburban grocery store in a predominately middle class area. Just because they’re giving out free chocolate chip cookies at the bakery doesn’t mean your 7 year old on a leash needs to eat it! Also, there are so many older women who seem to be positively indignant towards the accepted practice of wearing a bra in public.
  • The only thing to pass the time is to think. Like, about all your life’s choices leading up to this moment, and why did you major in acting, and should you have even bothered going to college at all since it’s pretty clear that you don’t need a BA to pour beer while you smile and go numb as some middle aged man hits on you? And other things like that.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a bad economy and I’m happy to at least have some form of income to pay for my clothing and margaritas habit. Plus, it could be worse. I see the envy in the little 12 year old stock boys’ eyes every time I get to leave for the day.

A Day in the Life: Sephora and Churros

Date: 3.31.12 (a Saturday)

Morning: This day started in the same way all my days start when I have to go to work later– a total blur of complaining until everything goes dark and then I eventually come to, wearing head-to-toe black standing in a grocery store or a restaurant.

2pm: On this particular day I woke up in the newly renovated wine aisle at Market Basket. For 3 hours I stand at a table hanging out wine samples while I fake laugh at middle aged people until I can’t remember what real laughter feels like and I wonder if I’ll ever smile with genuine happiness again. Then I calculate how much I owe in student loans bills and then I realize that I probably would have been qualified enough to pass out wine at the grocery store with or without a bachelor’s degree.

5pm: My dad picks me up from work and we meet my mom at a Mexican restaurant for dinner (and if you’re one of those people who’s wondering, “Dara why do your parents still drive you to work at 23 years old,” or “Gee, Dara, you seem to spend a lot of time with your parents,” ya, I get it. Keep it to yourself).

5:15pm: This starts making the rounds through my bloodstream–

5:45pm: And another…

6:00pm: Churros in my belly.

6:45pm: We go to the mall, and my dad and I go to Burton’s for a drink… but Burton’s is full! No bar chairs! I don’t stand around at a mall restaurant bar.

6:50pm: We try Red Robins… we see all the ladies wearing jeans with no back pockets and men in Tapout shirts and realize we just can’t do it and turn right on back around.

6:55pm: Finally. Unfortunately. We head over to Joe’s American Bar and Grill, which I worked at for a hot second but then quit 15 minutes before my waitressing test. I didn’t want to run into any employees I knew, but times were desperate, and so I popped my collar, messed my bangs in front of my face, put my head down, and b-lined to the bar. Luckily, no one still worked there from when I worked there, except for one manager that I effectively eluded. Dad and I drank our margaritas in peace.

8pm: I make my way to Sephora for some Super Market Sweeps style shopping. When I was a kid I always wanted to go to Toys R’ Us and run through the aisles with a cart for 5 minutes picking out everything I wanted (I think I saw kids do that on Nickelodeon) (Babysitter’s Club dolls for daayyyyz). The closest I’ve come to doing that is every once in a while when my dad get’s a bonus, he lets me and my mom go to Sephora and buy a bunch of stuff. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. The margaritas were just a prelude to the main event.

{A little sample of what I got: NARS The Multiple stick, Bare Essentials bronzer, Anastasia eyebrow pencil, Benefit under eye highlighter, Sephora liquid eye liner, Make Up Forever HD foundation}

9:05pm: I finally finished shopping, and paid for it with my dad’s credit card while he and my mom got pretzels (going all out).

9:10pm: I realize I ‘forgot’ (3 margaritas make you very forgetful) to use my 15% off coupon. Sephora was closed, so I scratched on the door like a cat until they let me back in, and I apologized profusely through tequila breath while they returned all my make up, and then rang it all back up again with the discount.

Thanks for the fun date, daddy and mommy!

A Day in the Life

Date: 3.13.12 (a Tuesday)

Morning: I had one hour to get up, get ready, and leave the house to take the hour drive into Boston to go to an audition for (brace for impact) a local Honey Dew Donuts  commercial. I went to bed the night before not wanting to go, and I was sure I wouldn’t end up mobilizing myself. Unexpectedly, I had a surge of energy and a will to live get up and be proactive. All of a sudden, I found myself driving in circles around Boston trying to find parking, close to tears. I was so proud of myself.

11:30 am: I get to the audition, realize –and this time it really settles in– it’s for a non-union, local  Honey Dew Donut commercial, and I start questioning all my life choices (i.e. “Will being Ray-Ban deep in student loan debt I’ve accrued through an acting degree make me any more likely to believably play a donut girl?”).

I forget about this as soon as I see a man in his 40’s come out of the audition room sheepishly smiling and making excuses for what a bad audition he just had (to put this in perspective, all he had to do in the audition was stare at the casting director and look confused). Then, the other 40 year-old guy in the room is quietly stricken with fear and starts asking what he’ll have to do in the audition. It was all very sad. For them. I felt great. I’m young and vital and have a theatre degree! The world’s at my feet!

I just hope that anyone who reads my blog will one day remind me of this post if I’m 45, living in Boston, and still holding out hope that I might get cast in a Casey Affleck crime movie and become a STAR.

12:15pm: I enjoyed a little Boston treat and got myself a Finagle-a-Bagel.

12:25pm: Finished my bagel, got a little sad…. A lot sad.

Night: I wrote a Twitter Tuesday post on Devon Sawa, and tweeted it to him. I guess he took the post as a compliment(…) because he retweeted it!

What a thrill. This brings my celeb retweet/reply total to 4 (Andy Cohen twice, Camille Grammer, and Donna from Parks and Rec). My only criteria to get a celebrity reply is that I can’t ask for a retweet, and I can’t say something to the effect of “my little girl is dying of a rare toe disease, can you please pray for her and RT?” Reality stars just love it when you ask for a prayer and a retweet (God can only hear the prayers of Real Housewives). That’s too easy. Sorry, but I like to EARN my retweets.

A Day in the Life

Date: 3.12.12 (a Monday) 

Morning: I wake up to this email from my mother:

These emails are pretty routine- most emails from my mom include tips on not getting raped and stuff about dogs. I’ve mentioned before (like in my tips for not getting murdered/molested post) I am very cognizant of my surroundings.

You know those women who think that every guy is hitting on them? I’m like that except, I think every guy is going to murderer me (though, I think men do this more… strippers and Starbuck’s baristas don’t actually like you. They’re paid to put their boobies in your face and be polite…respectively). Like that email my mom sent is about how you should always know exactly how much cash you have on you because there’s some serial murderer/rapist/racist/cannibal man on the loose at gas stations going up to women and telling them they dropped five dollars. Then when the lady goes to take the money this MAN (dammit, MEN!) throws her into a white van or something. So, moral of the story, if someone tells you that you dropped money, they are trying to rape you.

Back to my day.

Afternoon: I fielded some text messages from people asking if I actually got a letter from Lindsay Lohan, which I did not.

Then I wasted a good chunk of time doing this:

  {Doesn’t Henry look like one of the Hyenas from The Lion King? He’s scratching his ear, he doesn’t normally look like this}

{Wilburrrrr}

Night: At work (I waitress) I watched two gay guys fight for 3 hours at the bar. To help you get a visual, they looked like this:

          

{Ryan Stiles with a goatee, kinda & Josh Strickland from Holly’s World}

Josh ended up slapping Ryan, but Josh could do better than RSwG, anyway (not because he was better looking, but because Ryan was giving money to his ex-boyfriend and meeting him for drinks and not telling Josh! Oh, no no no no no), so I don’t think it’s a big loss for him.

After they stormed out, I had a party of 15 who walked in about an hour before we were supposed to close at 9:30, and I didn’t end up getting home ’til almost midnight and didn’t even get much of a tip out of it.

Later that Night: I went home and dried my tears with my student loan bills.

A Day in the Life

Date: 3.1.12 (a snowy Thursday)

7:30 am: My alarm goes off. I intend to hit the snooze until 8 am, but from downstairs I hear a raspy voice coming from the television. Could it be?

7:33 am: I run downstairs to catch the tail end of Matt Lauer showing a clip of him interviewing Lindsay Lohan. They will be airing the rest of it after the break. There’s no going back to sleep now.

Good one, 'Today Show' caption.

10 am: Due to the snow my father is taking my younger brother to work, and I come along because I’m promised free lunch and irreplaceable father-daughter time at the mall.

11 am: My dad and I go to the mall Starbucks to do some work. I order him a hot caramel macchiato with skim milk, and get myself an iced caramel macchiato.

11:05 am: I forgot to specify that I wanted skim milk and sugar free syrup! Now I refuse to drink it.

1 pm: Dad and I go to Red Robin, and I get a burger with onion rings all over it. And two skinny vodka lemonade iced teas (I feel it’s important to add that there was hardly any alcohol in those drinks).

3:30 pm: Pick up mom from work. She hasn’t eaten lunch yet so we go to Portland Pie. I have pizza and more fries and an Applehead beer. (To recap, that’s burger, fries, spiked lemonade, fries, pizza, beer).

5:00 pm: We go grocery shopping. I take pictures of things and buy more booze.

Night: I drink more beer, but feel nothing, partially because I am cold and empty inside and partially because I ate too much.

A Day in the Life

I’d like to introduce you to a new segment where I talk you through a day in my life from the previous week. 

Date: 2.26.12 (a Sunday)

Morning: Without getting too into detail, I woke up to what I can only imagine was mild food poisoning from the Indian food I had the night before.

Afternoon: Worse still, my self indulgent choice of substituting plain naan for garlic naan on my combo meal has resulted in a kind of Peppy La Pue sort of stink where you can actually see the smell wafting from my body. I have to work at a restaurant later, and I fear that nauseating body odor may impact my tip earning potential.

I frantically search online for garlic odor neutralizers, and it would appear that my only options are to sweat out the garlic or eat the contents of a black tea bag. My mom won’t let me eat a tea bag.

So:

That would be me in snow pants, several layers, and hot tea in my car with heat on full blast trying to make my Corolla my own private YMCA sauna (without the gay sexual encounters).

45 Minutes Later: According to my brother (whom-mmmmm I work with) we apparently don’t have to work, so my dad comes outside to get me (takes pictures first).

Night: I stink alone in peace.

Later that Night: I stink with Billy Crystal (Ya get it? He stunk! Hu-gos? He goes! ‘Cuz he’ll never work in this town again! Rotten potatoes, I tell ya!)

This has been a Day in the Life.