26 Snapshots, Spring Semester 2014

-Eating greek yogurt on the new poofy couch, watching The Real World: Explosion.

-Defending my thesis with a big smile, a bleeding thigh, and a chocolate stain on my dress.

-The three yahoo freshmen who sat in the front row every Screenwriting class: the backwards Sox cap, the famous name, the blond with a rubber bracelet.

-Dropping the bowl I was cleaning in the sink, screaming hysterically for Bisque, cockroach scuttling under the dishwasher.

-Getting the "rocking horse" and "reverse basic" on Monday night Step.

-Cartwheels in bare feet on the Santa Monica beach after winning improv regionals.

-Bex snapping photos in the Tucson salon, my hair on the ground.

-Crying in the Target parking lot. Hot day.

-Webpages about periods and Italy open in the hip coffee house.

-Trotting the outdoor mall with my sister. Palm trees and blue.

-Wet, tired, aching feet--welled with hope--mile 24.

-Henne ordering me to buy trash because we entered the rare food store with snowy boots.

-Three coaches cuddled in one bed watching Poltergeist on a computer.

-Clenching my fists, a person speaking behind me I could not like. Talented women only.

-Chelle in the 80s chair, we talk issues, we write our movie.

-I use the side door out of Literary Management. Classmates don't.

-Playing High School Musical until the playwrights woke up.

18. -The longest ride to New Mexico there ever was.

-Lights up after The Whale. The whole row in tears. Apple pasty.

-We eat chili. Muffy's family explains everything about zombies.

-Talking until the end of time in two neighboring twin beds with kid sheets.

-The post-gym shower on Saturday afternoons.

-My multi-color pack of felt-tipped pens. Doodling article notes.

-Sittin' with the kid in shorts above the auditorium, talkin' drama.
-Are You The One? and buttermilk donuts with the women of DZ.

-"The more I think about it. The more less interested I am."

Haunting

When I die I'm coming back as a ghost. I'll be at the help desk and the lady will say, "Now, if you take our basic package, you spend some time in purgatory and then eventually head on up. Or, for a premium we can send you express to heaven--"
"What about your ghost options?"
"Well, we usually reserve that for our embittered or rage-filled guests--"
"Sure, but I am just really interested--"
"According to your file, Ms. _______, we have heaven as...a giant trampoline made of Peeps? You're not interested?"
"I just really like ghosts is the thing."
She sighs, "Well, let me get my manager over here. And! You know you don't get any powers, right?"
"Not even ceramic skills?"
"Ha. Ha."
"And I have hungered for yooooour touch--"
"Yeah. You and every other person that comes through this office. Look. You want the haunting program director or not?"

My sister and I visited the cemetery for people who have died trying to climb Mount McKinley. (Some years two, some eight. In 2002 three brothers all together--27, 21, and 15.) I liked being there. I told her--my sister, I mean--that she will know my spirit remains because I'll be blowing on her with peanut butter breath for all eternity. I tell this to Bisque and he says he'll find my face in a burnt marshmallow--like a Jesus watermark. I tweet that and Shells counters, No, a Pop-Tart. Options.

AliceSr and I went on a ghost tour of Anchorage on Sunday. A woman committed suicide in the bathroom of the hotel we were staying in. Apparently something would snatch at women's ankles and shake walls until the stall was locked permanently. The chicas on the tour trickled in, took photos. One announced, "It smells like blood! It smells like blood!" and I rolled my eyes. It often smells like blood in the ladies room.

You flew out on a plane,
came crashing into the ocean,
and then you haunted me.
Don't have a clue what's the motion,
so every now and then it feels so soothing
when you float on a bit and move right though me.

Black Swan

Saw Black Swan with Dusty last week. So, while there a lot of cool parts in the movie--I wasn't the biggest fan. I mean, everyone knows Natalie Portman goes crazy, so, then it happens. And that's kinda it. Anyway, there's blood and stuff, and we all know how that goes for me:

I spent about 60% of the movie curled up in a ball on the seat kicking my legs up in the air squealing "Nooo" quietly. Dusty kept peeking down. "I think...I think there's no more blood." But then, two minutes later--BLOOD.

I was very tense the entire time. And right in the middle of some crazy psycho stuff my phone started blaring! My sister was calling. Yes, I was the doofus who forgot to turn the phone off. No big right? Except my sister's ringtone is "We Go Together" from Grease. Which I'm pretty sure is actually the worst possible song to compliment a ballerina gouging out her cheeks with a nail file. Dusty and I came up with Hinder's "Lips of an Angel" as a close second. But still second.

We'll always be together.
We'll always be together.
We'll always be together.
We'll always be together.

It Has Come to My Attention

Spring 2010

Remember last week when I regaled everyone with my victory over having a nosebleed while running? Having a nosebleed while running made me feel like a warrior. Like when I am leaving the gym and suddenly my iPod is all "Imma play 'Live Your Life' by T.I. and Rihanna!" and I'm all "Yuh duh. This is so perfect right now." And I bop all the way home and nod at strangers like "Yeah. You don't even KNOW what's goin' on in these headphones. Crazy things are goin' down. 'I Want It All' from High School Musical 3 is probably comin' up next."

So...I was retelling that story over lunch today. I was with one of my old directors and Stripes. We were at a food court, and a boy near us had a nosebleed. I launched into my tale of Xena-like proportions. But they just sort of blinked. I was laughing, "See? I didn't have a choice!" But my director said, "You...you could have stopped and cleaned up your blood...?"
"No, but like..." I was loosing my footing, "I would have been late and..."
Enter Rex, sitting nearby in distaste, "You always have a choice."
So...it has come to my attention that perhaps I am sort of neurotic and not necessarily, um, cute.

Epic Run (And I Kinda Hate the Word "Epic")

Girliest gym bag ever. Lilac socks and all.

Ran ten miles today at the gym. I only had two hours to do this. Very busy schedule this morning.

A. I was watching an episode of SNL on my iPod around mile 3 and caught my headphone wire on my hand. The iPod jumped off the little shelf and nearly flew under my foot. I offered up a little yelp. Boop.

B. I got a nosebleed at mile five, but I was on a schedule, so I just...bled. Shirt = super disgusting.

C. I now am running like a real runner. I invested in new kicks, shorts, and socks. These things MAKE A HUGE DIFFERENCE. I can't believe how with the right kind of shorts my back doesn't hurt, and my feet are virtually blister free after seriously having blisters from running for the past like...five years? I started the think about all those conversations people have about Olympians and if special water-resistant swimsuits are legit blah blah blah. And then I was like "DUH! THE OLYMPICS SHOULD BE NAKED!" Because then...you know...there's no question. It's just, well, it's just how it is!

I can't decide if I'm a genius or not.

Bloody

It's really peculiar to me that boys and men generally enjoy (or appreciate) action movies/ graphic violence and sex, yet, no boys or men seem to have an acute interest in menstruation. Isn't that like...mixing the two interests into one super interest? Apparently not?


One boy who makes period jokes/ wrote me a letter this week

It's hard to do this backwards.
You should try it in heels.