Hi there. How’s your week going so far? Do you like to laugh? Sure you do. That’s why you’re here reading my blog. Did that sound conceited? I didn’t mean it to be. Let’s start over. If you like to laugh, I have a real treat for you: something to make you laugh!
You Should Be Famous is a video created by Jet Eveleth, a teacher I had when I spent a semester my senior year of college at Second City in Chicago. Jet’s like an Improv Pixie Dream Girl, and in this she plays 3 different characters auditioning for an America’s Got Talent-type reality show. It’s very Summer Heights High-ish. So watch the 17 minute teaser and then donate to her indiegogo thing so she can make it into a feature length movie. At what point in this post did I decide to make this the laziest, worst piece of writing I have ever created? First syllable? Byyyye.
I know people complain about the choices Rihanna has made in the past because she is a role model to young girls, but in fairness to Ri-Ri, she is a young woman herself. Who will be her role model now that her role model is gone…. gone….? I mean, good lord, look at this:
I will be your role model.
I will be your body guard.
I will be your long lost pal.
Doo doo doodoo, doooo doo doodoo
Seriously, this bums me out. Oprah, are you too busy mentoring Lindsay Lohan to monitor Rihanna’s clothing choices and incriminating Instagram pictures? Between this and writing a Twin Peaks Broadway musical adaption, it would appear that I have to do everything myself.
So, hypothetically, would any of you fund a Kickstarter to raise money for my celebrity home for wayward girls? Basically, between general education classes we would watch repeats of 30 Rock and before bed I’d read them excerpts from Hillary Clinton’s Living History until we all fell asleep with visions of Eleanor Roosevelt dancing in our heads. My dad and a salt and pepper haired Steve Carrell would serve as the girls’ mentors and stable father figures (ps. does anyone have Steve’s contact info?).
Look, the home hasn’t even opened yet and my father is already giving Rihanna the validation and support she needs! (I swear this text is real and unsolicited).
Sorry for this whimsical tumblr-eque picture. I promise I won’t start streaking my hair with pastel chalk and transcribing scenes from The Virgin Suicides for my zine. This little kit-cat just illustrates my constant inner monologue so effectively.
You see, today, I decided to wear my Zooey Deschanel-y dress and a little extra make-up than usual in an experiment to test the theory that if I look cheerful and put together on the outside, then I will feel less like a potential arsonist on the inside, thus setting myself up for a wonderful day as a working woman. Instead, I got lost on my way to a job I’ve been driving to for the last two weeks. All I know is that I was giggling along to my favorite podcast Throwing Shade until suddenly I looked around and realized I didn’t recognize my surroundings anymore. I should have been 15 minutes early, and instead walked in exactly on time at 8:30. Despite the stressful commute, the day is turning out to be fine (yes, I’m still at work, but don’t worry, I’m writing this while I make like Ross Gellar-I am on a break. [did that work? No? What about if I said, "that sweater is a little Jason Biggs on you?" I guess that's not so much a joke as it is just bastardizing the name of an American treasure...Sorry, it is unfair to be testing out material on you, readers. Moving on]).
Okay, back to work.
Stay in school, kids because you won’t know how to collate and staple performance inspection forms effectively without a $100,000 private university education.
Tuesday night, Cher performed live on The Voice to mixed reviews from my father.
Apparently, the song had something to do with this being a woman’s world, but clearly this is Cher’s universe and we can only be but grateful to be sleeping under the same moon and stars. The woman has paid her dues many times over, and if she wants to live out the twilight of her life looking Rufio fromHook, then we have no business stopping her. May God Bless and keep that rooster-headed drag queen.
I’ll keep this brief, because I have a happy hour to get to.
Day 3, we drove from North Carolina to Nashville.
I consumed the first biscuit of the trip.
Then some Krispy Kreme donuts, and all of this took place in the first half hour of our drive.
We drove through mountains.
Then finally, in Nashville, we set out to find Connie Britton. I would have even settled for Hayden Panetierre, and yet, we came up empty.
Thanks to the lack of Connie Britton, the stop in Nashville was only satisfactory. It’s probably a blessing in disguise, though, because I had already lost the argument with my mom over whether she was allowed to tell Connie Britton about my blog if we met her.
With a dream in my heart and Trader Joe’s unsweetened fruit leather in my glove box, my mom and I finally headed out at Midnight on Wednesday morning. We wanted to leave Tuesday, but the snow stopped us. We planned on staying with my cousin, Erin, and her family on their farm in New Jersey, but because we lost a day we decided to just drive straight through to North Carolina. So, basically you could be looking at pictures of me in Hunter rainboots sliding around in manure and being chased by chickens if the snow had just held off a day. Sliding doors, Gwyneth.
We got to my mom’s cousin’s house in Kernersville around 4pm. I have a lot of trouble understanding babies and people with accents, but at one point I heard my mom’s cowboy cousin mention “Parks and Recreation” and I was like, “okay, a topic I know a little something about!” But I guess they were literally talking about the parks department of their town…
We got some BBQ with more cousins. It was good and I sat across from this 16 year old boy, that surely, I am vaguely related to, who looked just like Gunner from “Nashville,” but no one had seen the show, and I felt very lonely.
After, we went back to the house and I spent the rest of the night debating whether or not to steal this from the guest room
Ultimately, I decided not to as an additional thank you to cousin Mandy and her family for their hospitality, but I still really, really want it.
So far, my mother and I have cleared 50 feet from our respective bedrooms to the living room. If we can maintain this pace, we should be to LA by the time I’m 32. Luckily, I use anti-aging cream pretty religiously, so I think I’ll still be able to read as (Hollywood) high school age by then.
Today was my dear muh-ma’s birthday. I won’t say how old she is, but I WILL say that based on the genetics I inherited (and my diligent use of anti-aging products on both my face and neck [the neck is key, friends!]) I will probably be able to play high school until I’m 30. I could bring this talent to Toronto and with the right head shot, I think I’m a shoo in to play a teen who’s internet bullied into suicide on “Degrassi”. A plum role, indeed.
Anyway, I made my mom this cake and it turned out looking like a mix of “Troop Beverly Hills” and the last half of “That Thing You Do” interpreted through a baked good.
One of my mom’s co-workers went to Chicago for New Year’s or something and brought me back some Nuts on Clark Chicago Mix popcorn. The Chicago mix (caramel and cheese popcorn) from either Nuts on Clark, Garret’s Popcorn, or a 6 month old bag from the shelf of a CVS in Illinois is one of my top 5 favorite foods. You just can’t find this stuff in New England, and it’s like crack in the sense that it’s so addictive, but also not like crack in the sense that it’s not legitimately addictive or has the capability to ruin your life.
When I went to Vegas last year, we had a layover in Chicago. I think we had about 20 minutes to get to our next gate, and I decided it was worth the risk to find the Garret’s popcorn kiosk that I knew existed in the airport somewhere. You’ve never seen anything more an endearing than my friend with a fresh Starbucks in her hand and me with my entire arm in a bag of popcorn while we waltzed on the completely full and seated plane like, “hey, guys, we can go now! Vegas, riiight?!” as we started pouring Bailey’s nips in our coffee before we managed to get our seatbelt on. You should have seen how cute I was, like, 10 seconds before when I couldn’t find my boarding pass and had to dump the contents of my orange and pink leopard print Betsey Johnson carry on. Don’t worry, I found it- just in the front pocket hiding behind some old Forever 21 receipts! Hollaaaa! Vegaaaas!
Anyway, it’s the freakin’ weekend and I’m about to go buck wild on some $3 happy hour nachos. Hope you are doing something equally glamorous. You’re only in your 20′s for 10 years, after all.