Back away slowly

Here’s my advice to you. 

Did you know that you can get a credit report and a credit score for FREE once a year from the government? Well you can! It’s at annualcreditreport.com.

However, if you would like to retain any of your self-worth, I strongly advise against it.

As part of my ongoing 2008 get my financial shit together resolution I just did it, my friends.

It is NOT COOL. Not cool at all.

Remember college? Remember not paying any bills because you were irresponsible and too cool for school? Remember?

Well, my friends. It’s not cool now. It stays on your credit report for 7 years! SEVEN. It won’t be gone until I’m like, 29. UNCOOL.

I only have better credit than 23.5% of the country, and I pay my bills. REALLY, REALLY NOT AWESOME. I feel like a failure.

I mean, I suppose it’s good that I know. But come on.

You should probably do it, but enter that social security number in at your own risk.

Once you do that, there is no going back.

Conversation at Walgreens

You know what? I really dislike talking to strangers. I always think I’m a nice, friendly person, but it turns out I’m super snobby.   

So last night after watching Dawn of the Dead (review to come) with D, I stopped at Walgreens to pick up some toothpaste and refreshments, specifically I wanted BBQ Baked Lays because they are sent from Satan to make me crave and consume entire bags of them.

So I go up to the counter where the sassy black lady is working. Please do not get me wrong; I love sassy people. But I know this lady. She is too sassy, and she is also really bad at her job, because even though I am the ONLY PERSON IN LINE, she decides that she is going to sit an chat for a while before she deigns to do her damn job and ring up my Baked Lays because I want them in my mouth like, 20 minutes ago ohmyGOD.

So she holds up my bag of precious Baked Lays and looks at me…and looks at it….and looks at me again and gives me the sassy look. Uh oh.

“Giiiiirl” she says “you done good gettin’ Baked Lays. You GOT to be healthy.”

“Yeah,” I say “I’m trying!” Insert awkward chuckle here.

Then she launches in to here life story about how she woke up one morning and decided she needed to get healthy. Oh my God. Shut up. Never talk again. Just ring up my Rembrandt and Pop Tarts and sweet Baked Lays and get me the heck out of here.

A dude comes in to the store, obviously in a hurry. He comes to the counter sweaty and nervous, with a giant case of toilet paper. My immediate thought is “oh God, he probably has diarrhea.”

Bitch still be talkin’.

And she’s not talking and working. She’s talking and standing there with a now growing line behind her.

I think she finally noticed sweaty possible about to poop his pants dude behind me, because she pretty much shut up after that.

But seriously. Shut up. You work at Walgreens, where people buy the most embarrassing things imaginable. Is it ok to as the old dude about his catheter or the pregnant girl about her drug test? Are you going to relate a hilarious anecdote to them? Doubt it.

Well, I need my Baked Lays just as much as that guy needs his TP or that lady needs her feminine wash. So shut the fuck up and let me have it.

So there.

The most awesome thing ever

So yesterday I was forced to meet a friend at Starbucks to consume some overpriced and burnt coffee.

So I get my tall in a grande cup and I’m all set to pay my $2.50 or whatever.

The gaysian behind the counter just stares at me as I hand him my five.

Like STARES at me.Then he leans forward, and, whispering conspiratorially, we have this conversation:

Gaysian: (nearly inaudible) Oh. My. God. Are you Ricki Lake?
Me: What?
Gaysian: (confidently) You are! You are Ricki Lake! Oh my God, you’re Ricki Lake!Me: No, I’m not. I’m, uh, I’m not Ricki Lake.Gaysian: (cocks his head to the side, as if to say “it’s our little secret, I know you”)
Me: Seriously, I’m not. Sorry.
Gaysian: Oh. Oh. Well you look like her.
Me: Oh. Um, ok.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand scene.

I didn’t say thank you because I didn’t know if he thought Ricki Lake was still fat-style a la Hairspray, chubby-style a la The Ricki Lake show, or hot bod-style a la now.

Also, isn’t she like, 40? Because I’m 24 and look 16. I don’t really think I look like her, but…Should I be flattered?

Netflix Reviews: The Madness of King George (1995)

Oh wow. Hooray for period films. Damn, this movie is good.

Are you a nerd? Then you will love this movie.

I am a nerd. Obviously.

Remember the evil King George III who tried to tax the colonies to death? Forget him. Turns out he’s adorable.

Oh, and also batshit insane.

So basically the plot of the movie is this: George starts waking up everyone in the castle at 4 in the morning to go play in the fields with him. (Cute!) He gets all vulgar and wacky and makes people play Greensleeves over and over on handbells! (Hilarious!) He starts assaulting ladies-in-waiting and thinking that someone is coming to kill his children. (Less funny!) He starts peeing blue. (What?) Then he starts screaming and crying and shitting his pants. (Uh oh. Not funny at all.)

Incidentally the whole peeing blue thing + madness probably = a hereditary blood disorder called Porphyria. Wikipedia it if you must.

So then the despicable Prince of Wales (played very flamboyantly by Rupert Everett) tries to take over the throne. Meanwhile poor George is sent away to a hardass doctor.

The story is good and interesting, if not a pretty broad overview of the state of things in Britain at the time. Though it’s a heavy matter, the story is told with a good deal of humor. However, most of the pleasure in this movie is in the performances.

Nigel Hawthorne as King George is ridiculously wonderful. Pre-dementia he’s so charming and relatable, and yet strikes a very royal figure. Hawthorn begins with a twinkle in his eye, and you see it fade and eventually disappear along with George’s sanity. The crowning achievement is the scene in which the recovering George reads (ironically) King Lear with the Lord Chancellor. It brought a little tear to my eye. And by little tear I mean I bawled like a baby.

But that’s not the best performance.

GOD BLESS HELEN MIRREN. Hot damn she is good. As the Queen (or Mrs. King, as he calls her – adorable) she is incomparable. When the King is sent away she is not allowed to see him, and her sadness and heartache is palpable. She’s fantastic. Poised, regal, passionate, tender… basically she kicks ass.

Oh, and you know what I just noticed? This movie was almost 2 and 1/2 hours long…. and I didn’t notice.

AND the entire score is Handel. Go ahead. Goo your pants now.

Anyway. It’s a fun movie with pretty costumes and good performances. See it. Unless you don’t like period films. In that case, go fuck yourself because we can’t be friends.

Blog for choice day

It’s that time again, kids. The time of year when I tell you why I’m pro-choice, and why you should be too.Last year’s blog was pretty logical. This year it’s coming from the heart.

Gals, think about this.

Have you ever taken 9 pregnancy tests in a day? Then, unable to sleep, you stayed up all night reading Web MD and crying, sure that you were pregnant?

Has the condom ever broken? Have you ever forgotten a day of the pill? Have you ever panicked and worried and stressed until that blessed day when you went to pee and thanked God that it came…then you felt crazy and almost laughed because you were just praying that blood would drip from your vagina…

Have you ever had a piece of shit boyfriend or friend or random guy say something that made you ill? How about kiss you or touch you? How about force you to go farther than you wanted, maybe even force you to have sex with him while you, silent or struggling, laid there wanting to cry or vomit or pretend you were somewhere else?

Well, I don’t know about you, but every single one of those things has happened to me.

To tell you the truth, if I had been pregnant, I don’t know what I would have done. Maybe I would have had an abortion. Maybe I would have kept it. Maybe I’d be married and miserable right now. I don’t know.

But no one has the right to tell me what my destiny is, especially not a bunch of over-70, rich, white males who live 2,000 miles away.

This isn’t about abortion. It’s about larger reproductive rights issues, it’s about dehumanizing and disrespecting women, and it’s about power. It’s about how the government doesn’t give a shit about women, especially poor women, especially women of color. It’s already harder for us to find employment, equal wages, health insurance, housing, and a fucking VOICE in this world. Forcing a woman to have a child she doesn’t need, she doesn’t want, she can’t afford… this is another way of taking the power out of the hands of women and keeping it in the hands of people who represent about .5% of the population.

Listen, women will have abortions. Legal or not, women will find a way. They’ll do it themselves or find an illegal, sometimes uncertified doctor to do it, often with dangerous or deadly consequences. Don’t believe me? Look at any country where abortion is illegal. Then look at the state of women in that country. Does that line up? Do you see that now?

This hurts me.

Respect me as a human with feelings, a mind, and a right to control my life, my body, and my destiny. Until you live the things I mentioned above. Until you feel that fear, that powerlessness, how dare you judge me or any other woman.

Celebrate Roe vs. Wade not because abortions are super awesome (they clearly are not – don’t give me that shit about pro-choicers wanting more abortions), but because it is a step in humanizing and respecting women.

Netflix Reviews: Marathon Man

I watched Marathon Man this afternoon. It was kick ass.

Dustin Hoffman is a hot grad student (am I the only one who thinks young Dustin Hoffman is hot?) and his brother works for a CIA-like top secret organization. His brother is murdered by a fugitive who happens to be a former Nazi, who then comes after him, thinking his brother gave him information. Revenge plot ensues. The Nazi used to be a dentist, and he uses dental tools for torture. Squirm all you want.

It’s from 1976, and it’s got the grainy thing going for it. Since it’s set in gritty, pre-Giuliani NYC, dirty works. Even though it clocks at over two hours, it clips along really quickly. I found it impossible to relax for very long; they throw the tension at you in nearly every scene. There is a LOT of exposition, but it’s never boring, though you have to be patient, because you won’t know what’s going on for about 50 minutes. It’s not a horror movie, but it’s really fucking scary. There is always somebody sneaking up on somebody and scaring the shit out of them. The dental torture scene is horrifying (though thankfully under 10 minutes), not only because of the torture, but because of the Nazi dentist calmly repeating “is it safe?” over and over. This is the good Dustin Hoffman, charming and handsome and super hip. He’s totally relatable, and you never do anything but cheer for him.

See it. It won’t change your world, but it’s really good. It’s a tight thriller and totally 70’s-tastic. Loved it.

Open Letters: Winter Edition

Dear Kansas City, Overland Park, and Merriam,

Hey, you silly little cities and suburbs, you. You know what would be a freaking sweet practical joke? If you’d plow after it dumped snow all over the goddamned place. No, do it! It’d be hilarious! Fucking genius, man.

Think of it! People would expect you to not plow at all, like usual! I know I’d be shocked if you got your 3 snow plow guys to actually move snow off of the road instead of sleeping in and waiting until everyone had already died on their way to work to half-assedly grind the snow into the pavement, making it actually MORE slippery!

Can you picture the look on those poor suckers’ faces if you actually did your fucking job and cleared the roads so I didn’t cry out of fear and frustration! They would shit their pants if they got to work in under 45 minutes! Hahahahahaha!

Just think about it. You’d be the captain of trickery!

Icicles and snowy hugs,
Artsy

Dear Douchebags who drive pickup trucks in the city,

Oh my God, please die. I can’t stand you.

Look, why the fuck are you driving a pickup in the city? Unless you run a landscaping business, you do not need one. I understand if you have an SUV. You suck and you’re polluting the planet, but I understand. But WTF, pickup people?

Do you have some grain you need to haul to the barn?
No?
You work in human resources and wear Tommy Bahama?
Ok, I thought so.

Part two of this question: Why do you think that owning a douchebag pickup means that you can drive like a fucking maniac all over the snowy roads? You are not in a monster truck show, and my car weighs about 150 lbs total with me IN it, so stop being a fuckstick and tailgaiting me because I’m not going 65 in 4 inches of snow. Fuck you. Go take a bath in acid.

I bet your penis is the same size as a tube of lipstick,
Artsy

Dear Maintenance Guy,

Gee, thanks for salting the stairs and driveways up to our building. That was nice. Good effort.

However.

Next time, how about you do it at 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning when we’re all sliding to our cars? It was really nice of you to do it at 3:30 this afternoon when I returned from work and everything had already melted, making your efforts totally wasted, but it would have ruled this morning not to walk on an icy death trap.

Just some constructive criticism.

Love,
Artsy

Dear Pants,

Why are you all SO LONG? It is impossible not to get snow all over you.

Or maybe the question is: WHY AM I SO SHORT THAT MY PANTS ARE SO LONG?!?!

Anyway. Sorry that you’re wet all the time on the bottom. It’s pretty much going to be that way until April or I grow up to 5′3″, whichever comes first.

xoxox,
Artsy

Happy-Happy, Joy-Joy!!!

Today is such a good day.  In fact, this past week has been pretty good. I’ve barely cried. I’ve barely felt sad and useless at all, for the first time in many months.  

I got a day job today! Just a law clerk job (which means I write up papers to sue people, which means I’m going to H-E-Double Hockey Stick), but an actual job that gets me out of the house and where I can gain experience to get me bigger and better office jobs in the future when I don’t have singing work. It pays just enough for me to get by, but with the prospect of a raise in the future, and they’re willing to be flexible with my audition schedule, and are super casual, which means I don’t have to buy any new clothes for work! I win! 

Then, right after that I found out my friend J is coming to stay with me in a month or so for a competition close by. Just for a night, but I absolutely adore him and miss him very much, and that is very fun and exciting.  

THEN I went to the gym and found out that I’ve lost 4.5 lbs. this week. The salads and running and vitamins are worth it. They truly are.   

Plus, I had a great lesson Saturday, and I’m finally smoothing out some of the last MAJOR vocal issues I have. We can’t ever have perfect technique, but this is the last thing that is major. Once this gets sorted out I feel like I’m just going to have to maintain and give it time. And the best thing is, it’s been 3 days and I’m able to (mostly) replicate what I did in the studio every day since then. If you sing, you know that’s a damned miracle.

You know, I’m kind of thinking that the salads and running and vitamins could be responsible for the happy, healthy feeling I’ve had lately.  Who knew that really, really, REALLY working hard to be healthy could have positive side effects? Huh. All I’ve ever thought that accomplished was having sore limbs and being hungry enough to stab someone in the stomach to cut out the pizza they’ve just ingested. I guess it does that too, but it also has positive effects like not feeling like a fat, ugly, depressed pile of slop.

In celebration, here’s Ren and Stimpy:

Day Jobs

I still don’t have one, but do have a second interview tomorrow. Interviews are hilarious. The first one had so many bullshit human resources questions, like “what is the best advice you’ve ever gotten?” Does that matter?  

I wish that they would just ask questions that are actually relevent. Like, if someone asked me “are you going to show up every day and work without being a total bitch?” I would die of joy. But they don’t.

Still, I hope I get this job tomorrow. The lady seems nice and they’re willing to give me time off for auditions. Good enough.

I just hope it’s not like my last job, which felt a little something like this (thanks to natalie dee):

nataliedee.com

Netflix Reviews: Perfume, the Story of A Murderer

I’ve actually read the book of this movie. It’s by Patrick Susskind and it’s one of the most disturbing novels I’ve ever read. Here’s what it’s about. Ready?

A man is born with a magnificent sense of smell. When he discovers he has no scent of his own, he decides to kill women with beautiful scents, wrap them in cloth and hog fat to preserve their scent, and create his own perfume. Yep. It’s gross. It’s absolutely repulsive and disgusting, and I knew this going in.

But the book is amazing. Horrific, but amazing. So I thought I’d give the movie a try.

Well, it stays pretty faithful to the novel.

Who knew it could be so boring? It’s long. Really, really long. And it just doesn’t work. What is bizarre and intriguing in the novel is just weird and kind of boring onscreen. Eh.

The kid who plays Grenouille, the murderer, is pretty good and makes you feel sick, his only real job other than smelling things. Alan Rickman is my favorite, and he does what he can with a crappy role that underutilizes him. Dustin Hoffman, bless him, is so horrible. He isn’t in it much, but when he is he chews the scenery and basically makes an ass out of himself. Embarrassingly bad.

See it if you want, I guess. I wouldn’t.