Court's blog

Top O the Pops

2006-07-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in my very first blog I'm prone to addictions, and I have found a major one in the ever popular myspace.

Recently i've found myself thinking quite a bit (obsessively of course, as is my nature) about the debacle that is...THE TOP 8.

To some people this matters very little, but to most, even if you don't admit it, it matters a lot. If you consider yourself a very close friend of someone and are not listed in their top 8, it is a shot STRAIGHT to the heart.

If you are listed in someone's top 8 that you didn't feel you were that close to or have lost touch with, at first you feel truly flattered (it's like being awarded a medal, really) but then you feel guilty as they are not represented in your top 8.

Should you move around your top 8, which has been so carefully crafted, to include someone you hardly talk to? Or should you just take the flattery and roll with it and assume the person doesn't obsess about the situation nearly as much as you do?

Also, what to do when friendships become strained or you become closer to someone else and you feel you must give a top the boot, or worse off, demote them to a lesser ranking within your top 8?

I have worried about how others felt when I have pulled similar moves. Again, hopefully they don't care nearly as much as I do about the matter and don't take it personally.

Now, luckily, thanks to the myspace gods (or Tom, as it were...that lucky rich bastard) you can have up to a myspace top 30, I think. I think i'm at a top 20 right now, and I still feel that i'm letting certain friends down that should be represented and unfortunately are not.

I feel that the Myspace Top Friends situation can be related to a classic episode of Seinfeld. (In my eyes, all episodes of Seinfeld are classic, and it really is true that absolutely everything can be related to this show). Jerry was thrilled to learn that a girl he was dating had put him at the top of her speed dial list on her phone. He begins a waging war between him and his girlfriend's step sister/step mother or aunt (I can't remember) as he was moved above her on the speed dial, and she had worked YEARS to get to the top.

The myspace top friends has become the new promoting/demoting system of the speed dial scenario. Most young adults only have a cell phone as their main lines of phone communication now, and nobody seems to really care (or i'm sure don't even know) if they are on speed dial in someone's cell phone. But, mostly everyone I know is on myspace, and you can be certain (again, whether you admit it or not) that myspace is checked each and everyday, along with everyones friend's pages. You want to make sure you rank is still secured, cry havoc if you've been demoted (or heaven forbid, excavated from the top friends list) or see if by some good grace you've been brought onboard to someone's friends list.

It really is quite a pressing matter to us all. I know, as I live it daily.

Good luck to all you fellow myspacers. May your rankings stay in good stead, may demotions leave you unfettered, and may you make the right choices in who stays and who goes on your own myspace top friends list.

Brooklyn Bound

2006-07-14T08:19:00.000-07:00

I apologize from the depths of my soul for my absence in the maintenance of my blog.

Usually I have been quite diligent in updating my blogs, filling your hearts with laughter about my crazy experiences and random insights on life, etc. However, there have been some major changes going on in my life, stashing this here blog away on the back burner, though i KNOW it should always be on the front burner. So, once again, i'm sorry.

But, i'm BACK, to regale you with the current goings on in my life.

As Carrie Bradshaw (or rather, the show's writers) so insightfully said on an episode of Sex and the City (I'm sorry if I quote this wrong), "In New York you're always looking for 3 things...a job, an apartment, and a boyfriend." Sorry to the men folk reading this who are looking for a girlfriend, but it's still applicable and i'm sure you catch my drift.

Well, this year, 1 out of the 3 things had really been plaguing me and I had been in desperation for a change. That one thing, was the matter of finding the apartment. The bane of most New Yorker's existence. Whether you're moving here, whether you're moving out of an apartment, whether you need a roomate, whether you dislike your roomate, or whether you want your own place, and so forth. For people like myself who aren't self made millionaires (or at least yet), there is the big matter of cost. Additionally, if you're like myself, you want to live in a fun area, and a safe area, whether it's in Manhatten or one of the other boroughs.

For the past two years i've been shacked up in a relative watering hole of an apartment on the Upper East Side. When first moving to NY, it seemed like the right thing to do. The Upper East Side seems safe, I found an elevator building, sure it was a small apartment, but a good starting out point.

I got this apartment through a broker (there's basically no getting around that, ESPECIALLY when you come up to look for an apartment for a weekend before even living in the city)for a relatively reasonable price. Although in retrospect, not really, considering the size of the apartment and that it's about four avenues away from the subway....a rather long walk.

Needless to say, this apartment went up a significant amount in rent after the first year (this is for reasons I won't bother to get into, but let's just say roomate issues were the cause of rent increase), making the apartment less and less worthy of living there. I shouldn't complain, I scored the bigger bedroom, which is big in terms of Manhatten room sizes, but the apartment itself is tiny and the living room area is even tinier. The living room also became cohabitation central for my roomate. This has left me to spend most of my time spent in the apartment, strictly confined to my bedroom.

Why didn't I just move apartments after the first year, you may ask? Well, last summer I was pretty crazed after finishing a one year acting program. Finishing that program (already as a post grad who went straight from college into another program) meant I was really about to enter into the 'real world' and needed a job to survive. I was way too stressed out about finding jobs to even think about finding a new apartment, so my roomate and I agreed to stick it out another year in our dwellings. (Meanwhile, the real world bites the big one, and this year I bounced from job to job quite a bit, but that's a whole other topice and set of stories due for another time).

I endured another year in the apartment, and let's just say, this year was neither pretty, happy, nor a fun-filled year of living on the Upper East Side. I won't really divulge in full detail, but let's just say tensions abysmally flared between said roomate and I. All year it felt like the apartment was closing in on me more and more and more each day.

I knew this would be the last year I would spend on East 77th Street, but in order to make that change I needed a roomate or roomates, I needed to settle on a new location in which to live (as I desperately wanted to leave the Upper East Side, and about a month and a half ago I realized I needed all of that STAT.

I sent out a mass email to everyone I knew (and even those I didn't know who happened to be in my address book) and immediately got some responses. Eventually a fabulous girl contacted me (she found out about me through a friend of a friend) and we met up and clicked and decided we wanted to get a place together with a fellow law school classmate of hers.

About a week later, her other friend backed out, but we decided to continue to look for 2 bedroom and 3 bedroom apartments and to find a third person if we happened upon a great 3 bedroom. She was pretty set on moving to Brooklyn (namely Park Slope or Carrol Gardens) and while these locations are farther away then what i'm used to, I've always loved Brooklyn and due to my imminent want of a change, it seemed like a promising new step. Plus, I adore all of my new roomates friends (who I immediately clicked with after spending the majority of July 4th weekend hanging out with them). Most of them currently live in the Brooklyn area.

It really is dumbfounding as to how much can change within a week. Though I was totally down with moving to Park Slope, I realized that finding a decent place there could be a difficult feat. Park Slope is extremely nice, and due to how nice and hip it's become, over the years it's become more and more expensive. It's comparable in price to many parts of Manhatten.

However, sometimes after a constant losing streak, you scratch off the right set of numbers and win the lottery. Last week I was planning to meet my roomate after work to look at a place in Carrol Gardens. I'm all set to meet her there, when I see that I'd received a text message from her around 4:45 pm saying, come to Park Slope as fast as you can, we have our apartment! I rushed to leave work a few minutes early and met her at the apartment as fast as the F train could possibly shuttle me there. Low and behold, I stumbled into a huge 3 bedroom...on its first showing on the market.

The word perfect doesn't really do the apartment justice. It is charming and adorable complete with all the nooks and crannies (which I love) that are so indicative of Brooklyn brownstones. The apartment has a massive living room, three nice sized bedrooms all on one side of a very long hallway. At the end of the hallway there is a nice sized kitchen (no more gally kitchen for me!) with a door in it. Here's the real clincher. When you open the door in the king you walk OUTSIDE down a set of stairs and enter into a backyard. Yes, our very own PRIVATE packyard complete with surrounding garden/shrubbery...it needs some work but is pretty nonetheless. There is also a nice sized patio area in which we will set up benches and chairs and a grill for nonstop barbecue action. (You can be assured that we'll be grilling even in winter).

So basically, this place is a dream come true...and...i'll even be paying a couple hundred dollars less a month than at my current locale. This is so unheard of for the area we're moving to (and we're central Park Slope, not the outskirts), especially with all the perks of this apartment.

The only catch was that we needed a third roomate asap. Obviously, the sooner the better so we wouldn't have to pay off the MASSIVE initial fees that come with getting this dream apartment between just the two of us. The inevitable broker's fee was due in a few short days, plus first month's rent and security deposit. Like I said, we'd won the lottery, but not the powerball. We didn't get quite so lucky as to score this place without a broker's fee in the mix.

We promptly sent out mass emails between the two of us and posted an ad. Within literally a day, we got our third room, who is equally awesome.

So, my friends, after a year of strife in which I bounced around from job to job, lived in crappy circumstnaces, and went through a plethora of other stuff (which I won't get into here) somehow my life is beginning to dramatically shift and change for the better. Optimism has one again set in and i've got about 2 weeks till move in day.

Watch out Brooklyn.

Also, while I AM back in the blogosphere, due to my nearing move, I may not be able to update too often until i'm totally settled in. Bare with me, though. I'll once again be back in the habit to stimulate my dedicated readers. (Whoever you may be)

Happy Bastille Day!

If it's Rotten it Won't Keep the Doctor Away

2006-06-21T08:34:00.000-07:00

(this is another piece submitted for my writing class)

“I know we’ve only known each other for like an hour, but I want to be honest. This isn’t going to work” He said.
We were sitting in Union Square Park. Before he had told me what he thought, I was staring wistfully at a cute couple having a nighttime picnic just a few yards away. Beside their checkered red and black blanket was a bowl of honey that glistened in the moonlight. The man was holding a golden red apple that he would alternate between dipping in the honey and feeding to his girlfriend.
We spent several arduous minutes in silence picking at the slightly dewy grass and listening to the drone of crickets chirping.

“Well alrighty, I think I’m gonna go” I finally said.
“Look, I was just trying to be honest” He replied.
“Well, maybe you could’ve just not called me, or sent me a polite email saying you’re not interested” I responded.
True, we had only known each other for an hour and I wasn’t all that into him, but I wanted to give him a chance.

“You know, the last date I went on was with a girl who was really pretty and nice but all of a sudden she said to me ‘You know you’re a lot skinnier and shorter and not as attractive as I thought you would be’” He said.

I found myself agreeing with his prior date as we walked around the east village before things went awry in the park. He seemed nice and talkative so I wasn’t going to just write him off. Turns out I didn’t have to, he took care of that for me.
I headed to the subway laughing and shaking my head at the same time.
“I think I must be some sort of masochist!” I thought to myself on my ride home. “What other explanation could there be for my going on one bad date after the next?”

Overtime I’ve become more accepting of other people’s imperfections. It’s true that certain degrees of mental and physical compatibility are necessary ingredients to a good relationship; but mostly all I require is one thing from the opposite sex. Do not be a psycho!

It’s sad enough that I’ve resorted to the whole online dating thing. I know that lots of people do it. Hell, I even know plenty of people who’ve met their current or future spouses from it. But finding a lack of luck offline, thus resorting to the online world with even worse success, makes you feel beyond pathetic.

Through word of mouth and hearing countless success stories, I decided to give online dating a whirl. The millions of possibilities presented to me by living in a big city had only magnified the hardships of meeting people, namely suitable men to date. I have always thought that the best way to meet people is through friends, but my friends and I never seem to have anyone to introduce each other to. You can meet people through work, but then the phrase of ‘not shitting where you work’ usually comes to mind. And the slurring words of ‘baby, you know you want to come home with me’ spouted out from a drunken balding frat guy at a rowdy bar gets altogether tiresome.

In online dating, it seems like you can weed out all the bad guys in the world to find the good ones. Somehow, despite all my screenings, I’ve found quite the patch of apples.

There was one brunch date I had with a budding lawyer. This date seemed promising as he appeared goal-oriented and funny. My feelings quickly shifted when we met in person. Not too soon after general greetings were exchanged and omelets were ordered, he brought up an interesting topic.
“So you do acid, right?” Lawyer asked.
“Ummm….no” I replied
“Well, you’re in the arts.”
“Yeah…so?”
“Well, I did a lot of acid. I still do sometimes” Lawyer admitted.
The next hour and a half turned into him telling me about the numerous acid trips he’d been on throughout his life. He regaled me with tales ranging from his near death experiences, to his excitement of seeing the moon reach the seventh house. I just wanted to have a nice date with potential for a second. I really didn’t need to know about what a long strange trip he’d been on.

And let’s not forget the banker from upstate New York. This guy was very sweet and chivalrous, but he had this tendency to pull me into very awkward kisses out of nowhere that were impossible to escape. Randomly we’d be getting into a cab and then, boom! He would slobber all over my face and jam his tongue down my mouth so forcefully, it was like he knew how to limit my ability to breathe.
“You know, my apartment is just around the corner. You don’t have to go home yet” Banker insinuated after our second date.
“I think I’m just going to head home, if that’s alright” I replied.
We both could tell there would be no third date. He wanted to conquer all of the salivary glands existing in my mouth, whereas my stomach was not up for battle. In fact, if I had to ingest any more saliva than necessary, our third date would have taken place at the Lenox Hill Emergency Room.

I’ve only described less then a dozen of the bad apples in the barrel. After every bad date I swear that I’ll never put myself through these experiences again, but yet I still do. It’s like I’m cutting myself, except instead of a razor, I’m using the World Wide Web as a mound of flesh. I know I shouldn’t keep setting myself up for these bad situations, but it gets frustrating being single in a city where you constantly see those cute couples having picnics in the park.

Recently, I had yet another sour date. Colin and I met in Bryant Park with things going seemingly well. He admitted that this was the best online date he’d been on. Sitting side by side in the grass, soaking up the daylight, we somehow got into a discussion on how to let someone know you’re not interested after a date.
“After the date I just say ‘Good luck to you, see you around.’ Not like that would be the case with you,” Colin told me with a smile.
I plucked out a piece of freshly cut grass and smiled back.
As I walked with Colin out of the park twenty minutes later, I became giddy, confident that his enthusiastic nature on the date would assure me a “call you soon” goodbye. As we stopped at the corner of 42nd Street ready to go our separate ways, he turned to me and said “good luck to you, see you around,” instead.

The Shoe Still Fits

2006-06-13T12:15:00.000-07:00

(I apologize in advance for this posts length...this is something i'm submitting for my writing class)

I’ve laughed at you behind your back. I’ve mocked you. I’ve even wanted to kick you for no good reason. From Florida to Alaska. From Europe to Asia. Even from Zimbabwe to Katmandu, I’ve held prejudices against you.

None of these feelings are based upon where you come from or what you do for a living. None of these sentiments are because of any wrongs you’ve been held accountable for. I’ve become frustrated with you simply because of your visits to the city in which I live. You are New York City tourists, and lately I feel that I’ve judged you unfairly.

A friend once said to me that in Times Square there should be two separate walkways.

“One walkway should be constructed for the tourists, who stand around taking in all the sights for hours on end. And one walkway should be constructed for the New Yorkers, who only cross through Times Square when absolutely necessary” she said.

New Yorkers avoid Times Square like the plague because of tourists who take up every inch of the area. Tourists carry everything from disposable cameras to Digital cameras. They snap their picture phones and zoom in and out of their video cameras. They cannot believe their eyes as they take in the visual overload that is Times Square.

They gasp at the JVC globe. They smile at the large glass window that houses the huge Ferris wheel that goes up and around the center of Toys R’ Us. Their eyes twinkle at the dozens of Broadway Marquees displaying lit up fluorescent displays of today’s most popular shows. They stare at the countless images passing them by on the larger than life NASDAQ monitor. They snap photos of the famous Roxy Delicatessen billboard.

While taking in the sights is all well and good, once I was accustomed to the New York way of life, my ever-busy city swagger became a force to be reckoned with. Usually I don’t have a lot of things to take care of in Times Square. But if for some reason I need to be in the Times Square area, my strides develop urgency.
I sense that I will run into one of you. I know you will be standing there, with your head held high in the air, not looking at the oncoming hordes of traffic.

“Can you take a picture of me and my family by the TKTS booth?” you will ask.

“Can you tell me which way 8th Avenue is?” another will question.

I know I’ll have to weave in and out of various groups of you, highly concentrated, so as not to push into you or knock you down.

I now realize that my actions and aversions towards you are wrong. The other day I was walking in the Times Square area in the early evening to meet my friend for a night at the theatre. Per usual, I expected to get off the train and frantically rush to the theatre to avoid the lot of you. All of a sudden around 44th and Broadway, I began slowing my pace.

I saw a group huddled together just staring at the glittering lights and flittering images before them. The night was clear and the smiles across their faces were contagious. I found the edges of my lips rounding upwards into a smile of my own while my eyes sparkled at the surroundings. I started remembering my first few visits to New York. All I wanted to do was spend days on end in Times Square. I wanted to take in all the sights.

“Daddy, I want to see every show on Broadway” I’d say.
“We’re only here for two days, honey” he’d reply.

Somehow, even with our short visits, we’d manage to squeeze in at least two
shows. My dad could tell how much it meant to me.

I realize once again what it would be like to visit someplace new. Places like Tokyo or London or even Chicago. All places I’ve never been to before and would not know how to navigate. I would stare endlessly at the masses of people who roam the streets of Tokyo. I would fly around Piccadilly Circus gleefully staring at the sights and intently listening to the sounds. I would zone out, strolling through Hyde Park.

“Would you mind taking a picture of me?” I’d ask a Chicago native.

I’d be standing outside of Wrigley Field wearing a Cubs hat, though hardly a Cubs fan at all.

I would be you; a tourist, an excited vacationer. Now I’ve become like a jaded celebrity who always dreamed about making it big. She promised never to forget all the little people, but of course did once stardom arrived. I used walk around New York in your shoes. Now aware of my insensitivity, I have decided to put myself back in your shoes and remember the ones I used to wear. They may not have been super chic, by upper crust New York standards, but they were comfortable.

They were like a good pair of Converse ‘chucks.’ Chucks are comfortable shoes that never go out of style. In a city like New York, where anything goes in terms of fashion, I brought a pair with me when I moved here. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll put mine on one of these days. I’ll stop and smell the roses, like you good travelers. Or at least the garbage, as it were.

School's IN For Summer

2006-06-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

I usually don't really write recap posts about the direct happenings in my day to day life, but I've been excited about something so i'm going to post about it. If it bores you and you miss my normally downright satirical postings, I guess just deal for the time being.

I've gone back to school this summer. I mean, not really, but I started taking a class for non-credit. Recently I've gotten very into writing (which has always been a passion of mine) and I wanted to take a class so I could take my writing to the next level. After weeks of deliberating about taking a class, I finally signed up for a "Finding Your Voice" class at The New School. It's basically a class that deals with writing creative nonfiction (essays, humor, etc.)...kinda like what I do on this here blog. Only hopefully, i'll come away with more publishable content then some of the wierd dribble I post on here.

It's so funny how being in this class makes me realize how much I have MISSED school. I guess i'm a big nerd, but, getting to take a class where we discuss authors, and we have books to read, and writing assignments are to be turned in, is just simply how I get my jollies. (Yeh, I really just said that).

It's also great to be around people of varying ages and different backgrounds who are as excited to debate different writing styles and authors and get to work on their own writing as well. Ok, I sound like an even BIGGER NERD here, but again, this is a way in which I get my jollies, so bare with me.

Although when I was growing up, the ending Summer days when classes were fast approaching could be a buzzkill, you KNOW that there was always just a little bit of excitement in getting your new school supplies. You bought cool notebooks and pens that were top notch, high quality writing devices. (If you never did get excited about that I apologize for assuming everyone did, like myself). Well, for this class I only had to get one notebook and they have awesome pens at my office (score!) so I 'borrowed' one...but that still filled me with some cheap thrills, just the same.

This class is taught by a pretty established writer who is a tad intimidating but also quite open to debate and discussion and all kinds of styles, which is key. She's going to force me to work my ass off which is also good as i'll have weekly writing assignments. I'll basically be writing all the time for the next two months which should be an interesting (and possibly) draining process, but fulfilling nonetheless.

An interesting tidbit--we went around the room the other day telling everyone a bit about ourselves. This dear, old man coincidentally used to be the head of the english department and served as principal at my teacher's alma mater High School in Brooklyn. He was there while she was in High School. I think she tried to mask the fact that she was sort of freaking out. I mean, i'd feel wierd having to grade her predecessor's papers.

One last thing. We were discussing an essay and a fellow classmate noted that a certain essay's style seemed rather 'blog like.'

A Samurai in a Metro Man's Clothing--A Pressing Matter Revisited

2006-06-08T07:48:00.000-07:00

In one of my first postings I discussed the aggressive nature of the Metro Man who is at the 42nd and 5th Avenue stop. I also mentioned that luckily I only had to deal with him, as opposed to a similarly aggressive Metro Man who was stationed last year at the 77th-6 train (where I start my commute). Well folks, the tides have seemed to turn as of late.

This week I noticed an unfamiliar face at 77th Street. Although he seems like a harmless enough man who just wants to give the people the daily news, he makes the annoying little 42nd Street Metro Man look like a harmless butterly just flyin around, in comparison.

This new man makes me anxious.

He makes me fearful on my walk from 1st Avenue to Lexington.

I think of ways to dodge him.

I think of ways to shield myself.

Yes, you heard me right.... SHIELD myself!

I should mention that previously i'm only used to verbal harrassments ordering me to take a paper. This man resorts to PHYSICAL tactics! He is a Samurai Warrior who uses his papers like an ancient katana and literally strikes peoples shoulders with the newspaper so they take are forced to take it out of terror! And he also uses verbal harrassments alongside his horrific physical motions, saying things such as 'take the paper already!'

This is truly an outrage, and as I write about him I become more and more embittered with my angst towards him.

I long for the days when all I had to think about was dodging my tiny little metro man at 42nd street, which usually is always an easy feat.

Now I have to start off my mornings with a greeting from Miyamoto Musashi.

Don't worry, I didn't make that name up, he really is Japan's most famous Samurai Warrior.

The Siddhartha Syndrome

2006-06-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

The following list contains statements that may or may not apply to you. Also, the ordering of said list is in no particular order of importance:

*Do you find yourself lost and feeling like your life lacks meaning?
*Do you feel like you moved to a big city, like let’s say New York, with a suit-case full of dreams (whatever they may be) and feel frustrated whilst waiting around for them to come true?
*Are you a young 20-something and are constantly told, don’t worry, you’re still so young…you have plenty of time to figure out your place in the world?
*Do you feel like all the hard-work of getting good grades in High School, to go onto a good college, to excel in a good major, are now all for naught as you’re not close to where you want to be, nor even really KNOW where you want to be?
*Do you feel like you finally have the job you’ve always wanted but aren’t sure if it’s the right one for you?
*Less specifically, do you feel like you’re at a job that is unfulfilling?
*Do you feel like you have to scrape by day to day just to make ends meat?

If you said yes to any of the above there is no need to panic or worry…you’re NOT ALONE!

Many people call this The 20’s Something Crisis.

Well, I call it something a little different…The Siddartha Syndrome

I know this, for as of late, I've spent all of my time researching and coining this new scientific term, because I’m going through the SAME.. EXACT... THING!

Lately, I for one, feel like I’m Siddhartha…minus the Indian descent and gender, of course. Maybe it’s being a young 20 something. Maybe it’s the fact that while I’ve been in New York for almost two years now and while pretty much adjusted, still find the city to be an overwhelming place at times. Maybe I don’t know if I can handle the waiting for what could be (as I look down at my watch) the ‘a quarter to never’ success on a possible great acting gig. Needless to say, an alleged acting gig that could just be a bit part in an Off-Broadway show that doesn’t necessarily lead to anything else. I know that’s what some call cynicism and pessimism. But I also know that these thoughts and realizations are what others call realism.

For all those familiar with Siddhartha’s plight, we know that eventually he leaves his once known life to follow in the path of enlightenment. Though it’s not easy for him, and takes him nearly a lifetime to achieve self-peace, he eventually does, and becomes a ‘wise-man’ or what many people think is the embodiment of Buddha.

Don’t worry, I don’t find myself so closely linked to Siddhartha that I want to go on a life long adventure to find out what my true mantra is specifically sounded out in Buddhist ommmsssss. Although, at present, I do feel lost about where my own place in the world is.

Yet writing this now, and while I do think there are evident commonalities between The 20s Something Crisis and feeling of lack of fulfillment that is The Siddhartha Syndrome, I can’t help but feel that Siddhartha didn’t have all that much to bitch about! Siddhartha had a great and easy life ahead of him. He was the son of a wealthy Brahmin, and had a life filled with little to no responsibility. He frolicked about outside all day with his good buddy, was meant to follow in his father’s foot steps which was a life of continuous wealth and luxury, and had no financial worries to speak of. Right about now, I envy that kind of life. If I had that life I could audition, or write, or volunteer, or ramble about in my awesome NYC penthouse all the live-long day, everyday!

I know I should stop, though. I’m being insensitive here. Even if you have an easy life and don’t have to worry about making your own way, who am I to say that those kids can’t still feel empty and lost and need to leave the nest to find fulfillment? Why do you think Nicole Ritchie and Paris Hilton still do The Simple Life? They want to discover different aspects of themselves!

Ok, I guess they get paid for it and all…but you catch my drift….

I'm a Hustler Baby...

2006-05-30T07:05:00.000-07:00

Well, not really. However, I sure do know how take em' down in Chinatown.

Yesterday in honor of Memorial day, my good friend from work and I decided there was no better way to spend the holiday than to get knock off designer items in Chinatown.

I had mentioned to my friend that I was an expert at bargaining with those that work in Chinatown. She, mystified and curious about my haggling ways, mentioned that she would like to take a trip down to Canal Street with me at some point.

After several months, yesterday we finally braved the trip. It was a hot, humid, sweaty day, but I had my confidence on high and my mental list of the items i'd be searching for (at the best bargained down prices) in tow. I was after a long gold necklace, and some sort of trendy new purse. I was not sure of what it would be yet, though. I've come to realize that with purses, you know you are meant to have a certain purse when you eye one and it just just sort of screams out to you.

My friend fell in love with a necklace for which she was willing to pay full price. Though full price wasn't all that much, I needed to be her knight and shining armor and get it down at least a buck or two and really show her my true worth. I unabashedly went up to the lady selling her the necklace and said she'll take it for such and such amount. I forget the exact price but I know I said for a couple dollars less. Without even an expected price allotment banter back and forth, she wrapped up my friend's necklace, and I was back in the saddle again.

My personal success story took a bit longer to attain. At the first stand we went to, I gazed almost immediately upon (what is now) the love of my life...the new, trendy Marc Jacobs quilted granny bag purse. The vendor said she'd give it to me for $20/25, but I knew I had many more stands to look at in terms of different purses and different prices before hastily making my decision.

Along the way I found cute jewelrey that I bargained down (obviously) and surveyed each and every purse of the 100s upon 100s of purses displayed along Canal. There were some other purses I liked, but none made my heart beat as fast as the Marc Jacobs one.

After about an hour of meandering, we decided to go back to the first stand and tell the woman I wanted the purse. But, ALAS, she told me she would only give it to me for $50! This was an outrage! For, along the way, we spied the same purse in a bigger size, that some places were selling for $45! I told her there was no way I would spend that amount, I told her I saw the purse in bigger form for less money elsewhere, and assumed in so telling, she would cave and our money diatribe would begin accordingly. This woman would NOT cave, however. No matter how much I showed her I was not willing to give in to her overpriced ways (which pretty much always works without fail), she was just as saucy right back at me. No dice! I left with my heartbroken, but pulsating to a new rhythm of finding the purse again and getting it for at the MOST, $35. I decided this was an acceptable price even though the real bag, as we later looked up online, is nearly $800!

We spotted the bag in a couple of places, but no place was willing to go less than $45...until...we spotted one in our last place of visit. The seller and I, with our metaphorical boxing gloves on, started at $45. I told her I would pay $35. She said, 'NO...$40.' I said..."NO...$35!" She said "NO...$38!" I said "NO...$35." She wouldn't give, and frustrated, I left the store. Not 2 feet out the door, a man yelled for us "miss, miss...!" I whipped my hair around, turned back towards the stand with my shoulders back, and sauntered back to what I knew was about take place. There was the vendor, sighingly, getting a bag out to put my purse in. I handed her my $35, took the purse, and waltzed out a grand champion.

Walking towards Soho afterwards, I saw a woman donning the same purse, i'm sure at the real Marc Jacobs price. If anyone asks me, mine's real too.

An Event for 'The History' Books: J-Day (5/23/06)

2006-05-24T08:03:00.000-07:00

It started out as a typical enough night at the theatre. One of my closest friends has a particularly supreme affinity for snagging optimum seats for any and all Broadway shows. Though getting rush or student rush tickets is something anyone can do, I still deem her the messiah of getting prime seats for all new shows going on about town.

This night, that seemed just like any ordinary theatre outting that we take (almost weekly), however, started out with a bang. I noticed our tickets were row BB which I assumed to be upper level, yet, as we entered the house, we were led to the front row center of the orchestra! That in itself is History in the making (har har har we saw The History Boys) as the tickets were only $26. You heard it folks, $26.

That windfall, in and of itself, should be cause alone for celebration. The beauty and thought provokation of the show and the acting should have simply added to that (as it did)...but, somehow, this blissful New York City night at the theatre just gets better and better and better. I also feel that the events that are to follow which compliment the night to extraodinary means, were brought about by acts of fate and the good Lord above lookin out for my best interests.

As the curtain fell at the end of Act I, my friend and I decided we should quickly try to hit the bathroom. Now, not only does this friend of mine have an innate sensibility in scoring great theatre tickets, she has a keen eye at spotting celebrities.

As we went downstairs to the usual ginormously long line of women waiting to use the facilities, my friend whisperingly shouts "Oh my god, there's Calista Flockhart!" I quickly looked over towards the bar at 'Ally McBeal' and looked in the mirror facing the bar to only stare at Harrison Ford's reflection (who, for the record, looks ridiculous donning his big silver hoop earrings). Not that seeing Calista Flockhart is really any huge deal, but somehow, spotting celebrities when you're in New York is a neverending game. If you spot one, it's like you've won the coin bonus round in Super Mario Brothers and instead of receiving an ample amount of coins you have the glorified prize of text messaging your friends to make them envious of who you've just spotted (which her and I both promptly did, quickly pulling out our cellphones).

Now here is where fate TRULY steps in. The line for the bathroom wasn't really making much headway as the lights started to blink and that annoying chime started to sound announcing the nearing start of Act II. As we were both so engrossed in the show, as fun as it was to stand next to Calista and Harrison, we wanted to get back to our seats before the lights went out. As we're walking back to our seats, wondering if more celebrities are lurking nearby, my friend doesn't whisperingly shout to me as she did before, she just all out shouts "OH MY GOD, THERE'S JAKE GYLLENHAL, THERE'S JAKE GYLLENHAL!" I nearly fainted just at the mention of the fact that his presence was near! My heart stopped beating as I loudly shouted "WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS HE?!" My friend pointed in his direction, but I still couldn't place him! I needed to see his face, STAT, I tell you...STAT! Finally, my panic subsided, my heart started beating (this time at an abnormally pulsating rhythm)as I saw him nearly 10 feet away from me. He had just the perfect amount of scruffiness, he looked just as fit as he does on screen, and he looked even better in the flesh than I could have ever imagined.

Now, the way I just described my encounter with Jake may sound wierd and even freakish, but like I said, celebrity sightings amass infinite amounts of pride in oneself, let alone, celebrity CRUSH sightings. You know how we all have a list (boys and girls alike, and don't act like you don't have one, you know you do) where we have a top 5, top 8, top 10 whatever of celebrities we harbor adoring feelings for. It's the kind of list that you and your boyfriend or girlfriend discuss in depth; admitting that if you had the opportunity to be with such and such celebrity on your list, you'd each allow it. Not that I currently have a boyfriend to discuss this list with, (which isn't the point at all...and I digress) but the fact of the matter is, Jake, no matter how often the list changes (because it does, we always develop new celebrity crushes that outrank other ones or drop certain ones from the list entirely) has been #1 on my list for quite some time now.

Case in point, I saw my #1 people, I saw my #1. Yes, he may have played a gay cowboy in what I found to be an overrated movie. He may date Kirsten Dunst on and off in real life, who in my opinion, is no great shakes. He may actually BE gay in real life. Yet, he is still my #1, dammit! He is still my #1. Last night's memory will forever keep my heart aflutter at the thought of it, and will forever be remembered in my mind as nothing less than a historical event.

I leave you with this:

Front row tickets to the theatre: $26
Delaying your need to use the bathroom until almost 11 pm: A bit intense (not gonna lie)
Spotting Jake Gyllenhal: PRICELESS

The Business of Show, At an All Time Low

2006-05-23T06:21:00.000-07:00

It made sense when I heard that the classic film The Producers would be turning into a Broadway musical.
I nodded in compliance when one of my favorite movies growing up, Hairspray would be hitting the Great White Way.

As a teen, I was in awe when I viewed the spectacle that became the onstage version of the hit Disney movie, Beauty and the Beast and I was dumstruck by the creativity and originality that went into Julie Taymor's version of The Lion King.

However, growing more and more into the world of theatre, and having moved to New York City to pursue acting, i've grown baffled and utterly bewildered by the lack of originality I had previously associated with the Broadway stage.

It's one thing, to reinvent certain stories or movies and place them on a stage. Like I said, some shows make perfect sense in so doing. These being movies or stories musical in nature, and with an intuitive design team, only becoming heightened in their move from screen to stage.

Lately, I've noticed a trend that does not seem liable to stop at any current juncture. This being movies, cartoons, and interpretive depictions of bands or solo artists onto the Broadway stage, which is a movement that does not seem likely to stop at any point soon.

Now we will delve into my listing of shows, presently playing or upcoming, which I feel are ludicrous in becoming stage showcases. I'm sure I'll miss a few because the list is growing daily in its vastness.

There's The Wedding Singer, which I may have to bite my tongue and declare myself a hypocrite because I actually heard this was a lot of fun and catchy and I may want to see it, however, absurd in nature no less.

Finding Nemo is beginning workshops, so now not only do we have a string of Disney musicals continuing to find a home on Broadway, now we have Pixar films to eagerly await;

Evil Dead the Musical-- Leave campy horror films where they are...as campy horror films, NOT fit for the stage;

Sister Act--You know my friends and I actually sat around one night and started predicting shows that would turn into broadway musicals as we constantly laugh at the absurdity going on. We predicted Sister Act, and it's now incidentally having a test run in California. Sister Mary Clarence, all I can say is that I can't wait to see you step it up on Broadway.

Lord of the Rings-- Apparently this show couldn't find a stage big enough to have a home for Frodo to frolic through the forest in search of the ring. Turn to US's eager neighbor, Canada, to house what is sure to be a classic broadway musical of this tale. I imagine the lyrics to go something like this, "Frodo, Frodo...where is the ring??"

High Fidelity-- This just saddens me. A great book, a great movie with a wonderful cast starring the likes of John Cusack and Jack Black and unless somehow they reinvent this stellarly, I cry at the thought of this moving to Broadway.

Legally Blonde--this was a really cute, fun movie (I'll admit), but COME ON PEOPLE, does every cute little movie HAVE to become a musical!!!?

And I haven't even really gotten into Hot Feet (the musical version of the group Earth, Wind, and Fire), The Times They Are A Changin' (a dance spectacular based on Bob Dylan's music, I mean, Bob Dylan's music as a musical tour-de force...Bob Dylan people, BOB DYLAN!), Lestat, based on the Anne Rice novel, a show so horrific I actually walked out (vampire musicals just do not work onstage), and Ring of Fire, which actually just closed and pretty much had nothing to do with Johnny Cash at all.

I guess my main beef with the theatre world today is with the lack of new and fresh ideas that are coming into existance in today's musical theatre world. I know those fresh voices are out there, I have friends who create original ideas daily, it's just, Broadway like anything else, is a business. Those businessmen don't feel that new ideas will necessarily sell. Especially to tourists who want to see what they know, even if it is, dare I say, a reinvention of Sister Act.

Sadly enough, being a struggling artist, if by some unusual fate, the part of Sister Mary Clarence were offered to me; a petite, Jewish, white chick, i'd jump for joy and consider myself a success in the world of theatre.

A Grey Matter

2006-05-17T12:16:00.000-07:00

Throughout the ups and downs that come along with being a single girl trying to make a life for herself in New York City, there are certain things that can help get you through the tough times that come your way.

A burst of sunshine after many dismal, dreary, rainy days. Finally being able to sit outside for Sunday brunch after a long, cold winter. Finding a cheap, but cute restaurant and enjoying a long dinner with friends. Finding that purse or necklace you’ve been dying for but cannot afford from the ever expensive, Pookie & Sebastian, only to find that there’s a Pookie & Sebastian outlet store nearby! Or better yet, using your excellent New York infused communication skills to bargain down fashionable items in Chinatown. Getting cheap tickets to a Broadway show or better yet, someone offering you free tickets. Finally getting a job. Nailing an audition. Finally get cast in a show. Meeting a nice guy. Making new friends. The list goes on and on.

But then, there are the simple things in life that touch you on a deeper level (not that some of the listings above aren’t simple things, however, finding that bargain necklace is a bigger issue for me). Examples include, the man at the deli knowing how you take your coffee. Updating new songs onto your Ipod. One of your favorite authors coming out with a new book. Forcing yourself to go to the gym when you don’t want, to but then having the best work out ever.

However, there is one simple pleasure that has truly gotten me through this year. In two words that simple delight is…Grey’s Anatomy. I don’t really know what it is about the show that sends me as much as it does. It could be the cute cast of characters, it could be the interesting medical procedures that occur, it could be the inappropriate doctor/intern, intern/patient, intern/intern relations that develop, and it could be all of the above and more.

All I know is, every Sunday night at 10 pm, whether I’m tired or not, a familiar anticipation and wave of excitement overcome me as I lie in my bed and watch this show. The previous week I could have endured a job firing, a string of bad auditions, a fight with friends, a horrible date, a breakup, monetary crisis, etc., yet, come Sunday night, all previous debacles temporarily dissipate as I got sucked into the lives of (in no particular order or merit) Meredith, Izzy, George, Christina, Burk, Bailey, Alex, McDreamy and other series regulars or new cast additions.

This show has become my coffee break/water cooler moment. This show has become a means of lengthy email, phone, IM, or text messaging conversations amongst friends. This show has become so vastly important to me that I grow agitated at people who say they’ve never seen it or aren’t that into it. Or, better yet, say that The Sopranos is on in the same time-slot so they couldn’t possibly start to get into the show.

This past Sunday AND Monday entertained a 3-hour long season finale for “Grey’s.” The mere thought of the 2 part finale made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on other, more relevant things going on in life. The finale was amazing (as is per usual of any episode of this show) and while watching it brought me great amounts of joy and fulfillment, the fact that it is now over until next season, brings me a vast amount of sorrow.

Who will be there for me when I need them the most now? Who will I turn to? Who will love me unconditionally…no questions asked? I suppose like the hardships that come about when two lovers decide to take a break to sort things out, that is what I’m now experiencing now with Grey’s.

Maybe this will be good for the both of us. We’ll each have the summer to reflect, do some deep/introspective thinking, have time to really be on our own for once, ya know? And then, come Fall, after the heart wrenching time apart, we’ll come back together in a better way than ever before. And we’ll even take our relationship to a new level. We’ll hang out on Thursday’s for once, not on Sunday’s.

There's No Place Like It

2006-05-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

This week, after nearly 6 months of not visiting my family (due to circumstances preventing me from doing so; albeit rehearsing a show, etc) I finally visited my family in honor of Mother’s Day.

There are certain feelings that come along with visiting home for me.
One, seeing my old stomping grounds and turning down the street of my childhood house. Although, unfortunately, that house is now sadly passé. My parents recently moved into a condo, literally the WEEK after my sister got married. This condo is gorgeous, though, and on this trip I finally saw it in its up-to-date form, and it does look dashing.

On this trip, I stayed with my sister and brother-in-law in their awesome Woodley Park apartment and got to spend time with our beloved family dog, Zoe (who’s staying with them for now…though bitterness overwhelms me at that fact). We are all a little bit (no, a lot) disgustingly in love with this dog. So in love, in fact, to the point of where (if you look at my comments section of this blog) you can see that somehow Zoe comments on my blog. Hmm…wonder how that happens? I guess she’s really really smart! (Or my sister knows how to dictate her barks into text) So enormously in love with this dog are we, that my dad wants Zoe to be a star dog and have an agent and make the family a fortune! Moreover, so in love, that when we had Mother’s Day brunch at my sister’s apartment and my mom and dad came up to the apartment, all he really cared about was seeing the love of his life that is Zoe.

My mom calls Zoe a traitor because she seems to love staying at my sister’s. My sister came to pick her up from my Mom’s place a few weeks ago, and Zoe barely cared about leaving my mom. Zoe practically ran out the door with a slam, bam, whoosh, like a cartoon character (as my mom says) on speed. I was worried Zoe would forget me upon my homecoming, but alas, she did not and was pleased as punch to see me. I even had the pleasure of her company while I slept on saturday night. She snuggled with me, an occurrence that brought me true serenity and joy that this dog also enjoys MY company! I also have to add that my family is a little bit competitive about this dog, namely my sister. My sister and Zoe have many things they share in together that I have the honor in hearing about most days. Best Friends Club is one that is constantly rubbed in my face. Zoe is the president of this two member club, and I’m often told by the Vice President (aka, my sister) that I’m never going to be allowed membership, not even a trial run. But, enough about Zoe…sorry pooch, you know I love you! (She’s going to read this, I have to be careful!!!) I have a more pressing matter to touch on.

I’ve come to discover that the main reason that makes home feel like home, I’ve learned, is not so much about visiting and spending time with your family. It’s not so much about seeing places from your past, dining in familiar areas, running into friends’s mom’s, nor going to your favorite mall. I’ve come to the realization that going home is going to your hair salon.

Zohra’s…ahhhh…just the mere mention of my home (I mean salon) away from home puts me at ease. Ya see, I’ve been in MAJOR need of a haircut. A friend recommended a wonderful salon in Chelsea earlier this year where I found a hairdresser of my dreams. This is mainly because he reminds me of the fabulous hairdresser (of my reality) back at Zohra’s. However, much to my dismay, the gem that is, Raul, has suddenlty left the salon! Who to turn to now?! Anyways, amidst my laziness in a crazy rehearsal schedule and the desire to experiment with growing out my hair, I never got around to making an appointment with another hairdresser at the salon, nor, tried to stalk the city for the whereabouts of my new dreamboat hairdresser.

So I waited, and waited, and waited, and decided that my weekend trip home would be the perfect time to get the much needed haircut and hairlighting session at, no other than, Zohra’s. As soon as I walked into the mecca of hairstyling goodness that is Zohra’s salon, I was immediately greeted by a cast of many familial (I mean familiar) faces! The receptionist gave me a big hug and told me how adult I looked (even though she’d only seen me in December whilst home for my sister’s wedding). Several other hairstylists (even though I don’t use their services) greeted me with hugs as well, because I’m so known there. My colorist also added that I looked so grown up and sophisticated. And, the wonder that is my hairstylist, Ofir, greeted me with two kisses on each cheek, as per usual (and is his customary Israeli greeting). Ofir cut my hair into a funky, stylish, up to date version of me with his magical hairstyling powers.

Lest we also forget, that I was greeted for the first time that weekend by my mom (who has her weekly, longstanding Saturday hair appointments) and my brother-in-law (as again, we are so loved there) managed to get squeezed in for a quick trim. I am known at Zohra’s…I am loved at Zohra’s…my family is one of their most, if not, beloved set of customers.

I may not be famous (or famous yet) but at Zohra’s…I feel like how Taylor Hicks will ultimately feel when he returns to his hometown after Idol (lord help us all that he’s made it this far). Thank you Zohra’s, for making me feel special, loved, not forgotten, and more importantly at home , on my trip back home!

Choo Choo Choo Choooose Me!

2006-05-11T10:46:00.000-07:00

This is a topic i've been meaning to discuss for quite some time. It has plagued me, it has wrattled my brain, and it has made me feel, well, guilt and at times, indeed, sorrow. It is a grave subject to delve into, my friends, but I shall. I need to unload this burden in my brain to somebody. Anybody?!

Everyday the city of New York offers me a public transit system called the subway in which I ride to work. On my morning commute, I encounter several humbled individuals who interrupt, said commute, only to fulfill their daily job duties. I'm speaking of the 100s of men and women scattered about the streets of New York (in front of all subway stations) to hand out free newspapers.

They are the newspaper delivery men, minus the aspect of actually delivering. They act like more of a daunting, throw it in your face as you're walking (while they stand put) kind of person. However, it would be one thing if I only had one free newspaper person to deal with, but alas, I have two...yes...two!

Mr/Ms AM New York and Mr/Ms Metro New York are a constant source of daily aggravation. Last year I managed to only have to avoid Metro New York man at the 77th Street Subway station I ride each morning. Sometimes i'd throw the man a bone and take the rather poorly written paper. But most mornings, i'd sorta flip my hand at the man saying "please pretty lady, please take your Metro" as if I were swatting a fly, and saunter down the stairs to catch my train.

This year, the Metro man at 77th Street is not as pushy as last years, so I can dodge him rather easily. However this year, there is QUITE the aggressor as I get off the 7 train to work. He doesn't stand at the top of the stairs where you exit the subway station but instead is RIGHT at the bottom of the stairs...making it IMPOSSIBLE to boulder past him without totally giving him the shaft. To make matters worse, he's the Metro man, and this year I've realized (even though both papers are total shit), I prefer AM New York. There's really no rhyme or reason other than the fact that they usually have front page headlines that deal with a bit more pressing issues, not including "Tarzan the musical" officially having opened on Broadway.

Anyways, I cannot get away from this man. Moreover, he blocks me from walking up the stairs to the slightly better paper that is AM New York. With his cunning antics of saying "thank you miss" or "have a beautiful day" or "you're such a great support" or "thank you so much pretty lady." I'd like to digress for a moment and ask you, HOW am I supporting HIM?! By taking his free paper, i've somehow supported this city?! The AM New York lady never pulls that cheesy bullshit with me!

I know, I know, I should just take both papers and quit my bitching. But in the morning, I don't care to hold on to two papers that are both relatively the same pieces of garbage. I want to hold one paper in one hand, my iced coffee in the other, and call it a day.

Sometimes I manage to slip past this manipulative Metro man, saunter upstairs, and grab my more beloved paper. Sometimes I give him the stony eyes that read, "No! Take your paper I will not!" Sometimes I walk right by him and the other paper lady upstairs and decide I don't need either trashy paper at the start of my day, thank you very much. But usually, being the sucker I am, I choose his paper, and give the more or less kindly/harmless Metro Man the satisfaction of taking one of his 1000s of copies of print, and showing him my (ahem) support.

Biting into that Apple (Just like Eve)

2006-05-10T11:41:00.000-07:00

I have an addictive, obsessive personality. I give in to fads, crazes, trends, etc. quite easily and readily. Lucky for me, most of my addictions are relatively harmless. I have said no to las drogas, I drink in moderation (well, most of the time), and I don't smoke nor am I a wild bangee sex addict. But, as for giving into the little things, well, that's a whole nother can of worms.

It all started as a wee young thing. Harmless enough, wanting more barbie dolls, etc. But, as we move on into the trials and tribulations of my growing years, there is an apparent line of a long list of addictions. I'm going to regale you with a simple set, as the list is way too long to get into all the dirty little vices

1) Troll Dolls-I simply could not get enough of these (in all honesty) freaky creatures. Lucky for me, I have a mom who also feeds into the latest fads. Like a crackwhore to her drug lord, my mom became my troll doll enabler, filling me with 100s (I repeat) 100s of them. Leading me as a forerunner in this trend of a lifetime...

2) Beanie Babies!- those rascaly little fellas. 100s of troll dolls beware, I may have close to 1,000 of these suckers. And my mother, the dealer, wouldn't just buy 1 of each. As she thought/thinks they are going to be worth FORTUNES someday, she'd buy maybe four of the same kind. Why, you ask?! Couldn't tell ya...but with beanie babies, I guess it's all about the bling and the status that having a lot of them (albeit, some rare originals, like the Princess Di addition) allays.

3) Snood- In college I was warned...I was warned again and again. "Don't do it! I repeat.. don't do it! It ruined my life! My grades dropped, I couldn't leave my room, I neglected friends...this is BAD NEWS...RUN AWAY!!!" I figured that I certianly wouldn't fall prey to being SNOOD'S victim, I could play and walk away...walk away I tell ya. Well, my grades didn't suffer, and I still maintained a social life, but I certainly missed precious hours of my life on this game...my friends, ultimately, were right.

4) Friendster/Myspace/Facebook- These sights have made my addictive personality run rampant! I am OBSESSED with finding every single person I've ever known on these sights, even if I've met them for like 1 minute of my life. I also have an inherent need to know what all these people up to, who they're dating, where they've been recently. Some may call it stalking, I call it, merely keeping in touch.
Myspace is a whole different ballgame, though! With little to do at work at times (well, let's be honest, lots of times) I manically have to fill out every survey, post bulletins, comment on friends pages, comment on pictures, post new pictures, hope that one day Tom WILL have a myspace tracker where I can stalk the people who may have viewed my page. Ah, it's all a mess.
I have very little to say about facebook except I feel jipped out of that craze. Sure, I have a facebook page, but I feel like this site really caught wind the year after I graduated college. I find my usually computer savvy mind distanced and confused from this whole 'tagging' pictures thing, and I feel isolated when my alma mater college posts events that i'm out of date with attending!

5) Instant Messenger- I'm not as bad about it as I once was, but in college, I had to update my profile constantly with new quotes, new events, etc. And also, god FORBID if my away message wasn't changed to properly showcase what I was doing at any given moment. IN FACT, if I happened to read friend's away messages that said they were 'in the shower' for more than what I believed was a properly alloted length of time for a shower, I felt a little agitated...i'm not going to lie.

Being an actress, not all my addictive disorders are for naught. I use my compulsions for good like being punctual to a fault; sending my headshots out daily; constantly trying to make new connections....those are all good, not evil, see?

However, with my friends starting blogs, and me wanting to write more and have a creative outlet to do so...just like Eve in the Garden of Eden couldn't resist the temptation of biting into that golden, luscious, sparkling red apple...here I stand before you...throwing caution to the wind...giving into temptation, and adding yet another addiction into my life.

I hope you'll enjoy reading my entries as much as I already know i'll enjoy writing them!