Commitment Issues

Earlier this year, my younger sister Rachel bought a cat. Even though my family and I didn’t think it was the best idea for a sophomore in college to have a pet, we didn’t say anything. Well, I did, but not as much as I wanted to. The cat was adorable, so eventually we all were happy she had it. But then, in the way most people describe the addiction associated with getting a tattoo, she decided she needed a second cat. She went to the shelter and already knew which cat she wanted, no, needed. Why a 19-year-old girl in college needs one cat, let alone two, is beside me. My parents said absolutely not, no more cats. I told her that having one cat is already kind of weird and two cats is just asking to be called a cat lady. (We also have a cat at home).

Being the youngest child, she doesn’t know how to accept no for an answer. She needs to get her way. I think it’s a blessing and a curse. So she went and bought the cat. My parents threatened to cut her off and stop paying for college if she got the second cat. But too late, she already had it. She was in love. There was no way she was giving up this poor little thing that she bought from the shelter. In a similar fashion to a tattoo, if you wanted her to get rid of it you’d have to physically remove it from her body.

Something important to note is that she bought this kitten with the money that my parents have just threatened to stop giving her. She was in a bit of a pickle. What to do? I told her what any big sister would have told her, “If you had just listened to me in the first place, none of this would have happened.” So in typical little sister fashion, the only solution she could come up with was to ask me to fix it. She wanted me to take her cat. That way she could still see him and play with him and potentially steal him back one day and she wouldn’t really have to give him up.

After this story you might get the impression that I hate cats. But I actually love cats. Most of my bitterness from before most likely stemmed from jealousy. So Rachel started begging me to take her cat. She’d send me pictures of this tiny little thing, day and night. (He's pretty damn cute.)

She’d tell me all of the reasons why a cat would be perfect for me.  Before I knew it, I was really considering the idea of taking her cat. Even though I did feel as though I might be betraying my cat at home. I’m incredibly indecisive, so I started asking what other people thought. My mom said a cat might be good for me. Some companionship. My roommate was all for the idea, she had never had a cat. (She recently learned that she is highly allergic… so that would have been an interesting twist to this story.)

But a cat is a commitment. I can’t just get up and travel around the world if I have a cat. I plan to move to Paris in the semi-near future. Which, of course nobody believes that I’ll actually go. So now I might have to go just to prove everybody wrong. Would I bring this cat? My sister promised me that if I moved to Paris, she would help me out and take care of him for me. She is such a supportive sister. But more realistically, how would I go home for a weekend to visit my family? I went back and forth on this issue for a day. Two days. A week. Everybody in my office gave me their opinions: “Get a dog”, “I hate cats!”, “you are pretty and young, you do not need to get a cat. That is very weird”, “oh it’s so cute. Get it!”. All very helpful.

Finally I concluded that having a cat is a big responsibility and there is too much I want to do in life right now to have such a responsibility. I finally had to tell my sister that I was sorry but I just couldn’t take her cat. She got very angry at me and told me, “you have commitment issues!” I found this very interesting. I started thinking…

Over the past 6 years, I’ve lived in four different places. I grew up in New Jersey, went to school in Michigan for two years, moved to New York City for two years, then I recently moved to Los Angeles almost a year ago. I’m not exactly sure why I move around so much. Every time I moved I had a reason to leave. I left NJ for college, I was so miserable in Michigan I would have killed myself if I stayed another second, and I came to LA because I want to work in film. But every time I left I was also just very bored and ready for a change. I get bored very easily. Maybe I do have commitment issues? This might also describe why I’ve never been in a real relationship. Fascinating. My sister might be on to something.

But as I sit and write this, there is a girl sitting next to me on her phone. And sitting next to her is a very attractive man. I don’t mean like kind of good looking and put together the way most people here in LA are. I mean, a drop dead gorgeous Italian man who looks like some sort of angel. The type that would treat you nicely, wine and dine you, speak in Italian and be a version of every girl’s fantasy. He’s really not my type. Not the point of the story though. So the girl sitting between us over hears his conversation with his friend saying that he is a hairdresser. She politely interrupts his conversation to interrupt and ask if she heard him directly, is he a hairdresser? He says yes he is, right across the street. She works on this street as well. And what a coincidence, she really needs to get her hair done! She asks if he has a card, which he does not. She says that she just moved here and has been looking to find someone to cut her hair and didn’t know where to go. She is pulling the damsel in distress, lost in translation, help me I’m lost line. Before I know it he is putting his number into her phone! It worked! I am very impressed.

And suddenly I remember why I move around a lot. Why I love moving to new cities. Being new to a city is a very overlooked kind of super power. It’s a conversation starter. It’s an excuse to not be cool and not have friends and not go out a lot. “Oh, well I just moved here, so…” If I lived in a place for ten years my life would be considered sad and pathetic. But by leading the same life in a new place, suddenly the same exact life becomes exciting and interesting.

Plus, after living in a place for two years, everything becomes comfortable. Nothing is new. That’s no fun. Are there some underlying commitment issues here? Possibly. But I’m still young so it’s allowed. When you’re young, you can be bat-shit crazy but it’s still somehow charming and cool. At least that’s what I tell myself. But now all I can think about is sitting in a coffee shop in Paris, nibbling on a croissant and telling the beautiful man next to me that I would love it if he would help me learn French (I’m not going to let just anybody cut my hair, no matter how beautiful he might be).

blonde?

It has recently come to my attention that Emma Stone (not Emma Roberts.. I always get those people mixed up) who is the redhead that was in Superbad and Easy A.. is not a natural redhead. Apparently, when she was cast in Superbad she had blonde hair, then Judd Apatow had the idea that she should dye her hair red. I guess to make it more realistic that Jonah Hill could get her? Redheads have a really bad rep. Anyway, she dyed her hair red, really liked it and decided to keep it. Now she is unique for having red hair and has therefore become famous. It's hard to even imagine her with blonde hair. Go Judd Apatow.

Similar story. Turns out Sofia Vergara was blonde before she was in Modern Family. Google it, I swear. She dyed her hair brown so she could fit the "Columbian" stereotype. And look at her now. Famous and gorgeous. Looking back on her with blonde hair is just borderline uncomfortable.

Both people who had blonde hair.. dyed it.. and are now successful. Really makes you think.

I have blonde hair. My whole life my mother has refused to let me dye it. I know what you're thinking. Why does your mother not want you to be successful? Good question. I don't know. She told me that if I dye it I will never get my color back. So that scares me. That's a giant commitment. I don't like the words never or forever. I can barely make plans a day in advance. No, I've never had a long term relationship... Why?

I don't think I can handle red. I'm already awkward enough. Emma Stone seems chill so she can pull it off. Plus, my hair is curly. Curly, red haired, spastic, awkward girls don't get very far in life. Maybe as a writer though. Interesting.

But now I can't stop thinking I might look so much better as a brunette. How do I know that my blonde hair isn't holding me back? Why has my mom been trying to sabotage me? Maybe I should dye hair my brown and then I'd be famous. Or at least not sitting here alone on Friday night..

I guess the only rational solution would be to just ask Judd.

The Name Dilemma

I’m really bad at remembering people’s names. And I’m pretty sure I used to be good at it. I don’t know if it’s because college has taken its toll on me or if my friends are right and I am actually starting to lose my mind. But I’m pretty sure it’s because I just stopped caring. I’m great at recognizing faces; the names are my enemy. When I am introduced to somebody, my brain should send out an alert: about to hear name. Listen! In fact, I think I stop listening right before they say their name. There is so much else going on in my mind. All of my social anxieties just take over. Do we shake hands? Or is just a nod more appropriate? If I’m on my way into a restaurant or about to sit to eat, is there a bathroom or some sort of Purell near by for me to use afterwards? If not, how can I avoid touching you with my hands. Sometimes I do the “oh, sorry my hands are busying looking for something in my bag.” If it is somebody I actually could care less about, I might use the “let me just finish this text”.

If we’re in a bar or a more social situation, sometimes girls go in for the hug. Really? You’re hugging me? I barely let my parents hug me. I’d really prefer it if you don’t touch me. I am fully capable of totally avoiding the hug. Being rude isn’t something I’m afraid of. But I was raised in a nice household with morals and values so I do have a limit. The first stage of the almost-hug when they are about to extend their arms, when you can see it in their eyes, I just divert eye contact elsewhere and they get the idea. Still rude, but they get it. Maybe I’m a softy but when I see their hands come toward me (in slow motion- like its out of a horror film) and their most-likely-dirty hands are dangling in thin air waiting to grasp my shoulders, I find it hard to just walk away.

So first days of work (or in my case, internships) are always the worst. There are so many people to meet. People whose names you need to remember. Need to because in about an hour you are going to have to deliver them mail. I know it is customary for interns to be over qualified but really? I’d love to meet the kid who can meet twenty-five people and remember all of their names an hour after. And then people have the nerve to be offended.

So my most recent first day, I had to meet lots of people. Thankfully, this office was sympathetic to the very common intern dilemma and they have signs with everyone’s name next to their desk. It was great. I guess I’m more of a visual learner. So when it came time to meet my co-interns’ names, you’d think I would register that these names are crucial. I tend to make lots of jokes about the boss. And when I have to deliver something, usually I go to them to find out who is who. But of course I don’t remember their names either and have to ask them multiple times.

But then I was introduced to the interns in the other department. Seriously? Those are the least important names to know.. or so I thought. So I meet this girl, let’s call her Sarah. But I think her actual name starts with a J or a D or a K?

Fun fact: I interviewed for Sarah’s position a few months earlier and did not get it. Which was great because when the boss asked me what I wanted to do “in life” (oh how I love that question), and I answered, “write”, he kindly joked, “oh you should’ve been a writing intern”. Which then led me to have to admit that I interviewed for that position, and for the millionth time in my life, was rejected.

“So boss, who controls all progress and opportunities I get out of this internship, just so you know on the first day before you get to know me, the other interns are already better than me.” 

So I’m introduced to smiling Sarah who has the internship I wanted. I didn’t even try to hear her name. In my head I was just going over all of the reasons in which me and her differ and why I already don’t like her.

1.     She smiles. I don’t.

2.     She comes off as very nice and upbeat. I don’t.

3.     If she and I lived in the ‘60s, she would wear shirts that says ‘free hugs’. I would wear ones that say ‘don’t touch me’.

I really don’t blame people for not hiring me. Although I’m a great employee, I am horrible at interviews. I cannot, and will not, suck up to you. And I’m really bad at bragging about myself. If interviews weren’t based upon the false assumption that the intern is given actual responsibilities, I would do great. Why can’t everybody just be honest and acknowledge this.

Interviewer: “Why should we hire you?”

Me: “I’m really good at doing nothing. I have an expert knowledge of coffee. And I’m not the type to get up and ask if there is anything you need, so I definitely won’t disturb you.”

So I shake Sarah’s hand knowing I won’t be seeing this girl ever again. A goodbye handshake I can happily agree to. The rest of the day went great. I sat at my desk and did nothing but talk to my fellow intern about things completely unrelated to the internship. A pretty typical day for us unpaid interns. The day went well and not remembering any names didn’t bite me in the ass. I consider that a successful day.

The next day I’m going to class and I see her: Sarah. Why am I so bad at remembering names? She even had a sign next to her desk yesterday. I literally had to go up and offer her lunch. We interacted enough that I should know her name. When we make eye contact, I have to do the whole, “oh, you intern at the same..” “oh, hi! Yes!”. Still so peppy. There are no bosses here to impress. Why are you still smiling? And why can’t I remember your name?

Probably because I just spent the last fifteen minutes trying to avoid eye contact and avoid having this exact conversation. And probably because she just called me out on it. It was really hard avoiding eye contact and staring at the ground for so long. And in such a small elevator. Why do the elevators at NYU go so slowly? Of course it stopped at almost every floor on the way up. I really thought I was successful. I sprinted out of that little elevator so fast, never looking back. If I had, I would have seen that she was right behind me watching my attempt to escape.

After we finished our conversation and had to shake hands again, I went straight to the bathroom to wash them. And I bought a pocket sized Purell on my way home. At least she didn’t try to hug me.

ugly dogs

I don’t have many pet peeves. Really, I don’t. I’m a relatively even tempered person. There are just a couple hundred things that really piss me off… daily.

But one thing in particular, one small pet peeve, is ugly dogs. And I love animals. Especially dogs. My family has one. But lately, walking around New York City I have noticed that so many people have hideous dogs. Don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful for these non-superficial people out there who own these gross creatures. And I get it, personality over looks. But I’m certain that if I ever got a dog, it would be adorable. Similar to the one that is sitting by my feet as I write this. So far, in the past ten minutes at least five people have stopped to comment.  My dog would be so cute; cute to the point that everyone would have to stop. And that is exactly why I can never get a dog.

The idea that people are going to constantly stop me on the street to “oohh” and “aah” at my dog is enough to deter me from owning an adorable puppy. “Can I pet him?”. No you cannot put your filthy hands on my dog. “What’s his name?” Why does that matter? “How old is he?” How is that relevant to your life at all? The only possibly acceptable question (because I am guilty of having asked it in the past) is what breed of dog it is. Because that has a purpose.

Maybe this is a subconscious reason as to why I never go out with good looking guys. I’m going to go with this idea. Yes, it is a choice of mine to only date ugly men. It is definitely not that the only ones willing to put up with me are the totally desperately pathetic ones. No, it is a choice. I don’t want people stopping on the street to “ooh” and “ahh” at the person next to me.

So now that I think about it. If cute dogs are people magnets, that must mean that ugly dogs repel people. Interesting.. Maybe the people of New York are smarter than I thought.

I'm Back

So I apologize for my time away. I took a little hiatus from my blog writing. But I have good news, I'm back and funnier than ever. Well.. I'm back.

So my latest adventure is the improv classes that I started this week. After just two days, I've actually learned a lot.

The first thing that these classes have taught me is that some people are funny and some people are not. You can try to change who you are by taking improv classes and what not. And don't get me wrong, it takes a lot of courage to go to these classes. But I want to remind all of you not funny and annoying people out there, that it takes just as much courage to sit inside and do nothing. All of us out here in the real world that have to listen to your attempt at humor all day long would really respect you just as much for not coming to class. Just putting it out there.

Another thing I've learned is the first rule of improv is to always say yes. Improv thrives on agreement. One must always agree with their scene partner. So I had some trouble with that rule.. to say the least. I kept wanting to scream, no you are actually completely wrong, and correct my partner. Instead I practiced the art of saying "yes" with my mouth and "wow you're an idiot" with my eyes (Thanks Jim Halpert).

I've had about 12 hours of class so far this week. Someone laughed at me one time. It was awesome. We have a show at the end of the week. That should be more than interesting.

I will keep all of you loyal fans updated on my future adventures and endeavors. More blogs posts to come.

What do you do?

I was walking down the street today in the lovely metropolis that is NYC and saw a woman sporting a shirt that read "Dog walker. $10 an hour."At first I was amused by the shirt. Then, I thought to myself, this woman is on to something.

In our superficial society where looks are everything and our professions define who we are, we are all doing what this dog walker is doing, just being more subtle about it. Brands and labels are status symbols to tell those around us how much we make and therefore how much we are worth. We dress the way we want people to view us.

A wealthy banker strutting an Armani suit might as well just wear a shirt that reads "Banker. More than you.". The guy in the big glasses, paint stained shirt and ripped jeans might as well wear "Struggling artist. Broke but happy". The twenty something with gelled hair and the button down shirt might read "Assistant Regional Manager. Enough. (facebook me)." Or the girl in the tight black dress and four inch heels, "Desperate. Whatever you'll give me."

We spend our entire lives working to get the job we want. We study for years, go on countless interviews and pay our dues at unpaid internships to build up our resumes to get our dream jobs. We're all dying for everybody to know who we are and what we do. In this country, our profession is the culmination of everything we've done in our life up to that point. When you meet someone, one of the first things they'll ask is, "What do you do?". This, apparently, defines us. We want the world to know what who we are and what we do.

That's what style is after all, isn't it? A way to categorize ourselves; brand ourselves. Even the hipsters out there who are 'misunderstood' want the world to know they are misunderstood. Everybody wants to be noticed.

So this woman's idea of putting her business card on her shirt is really just a bluntly honest way of doing what we all do every day: selling ourselves through what we wear.

Stop And Smell The Roses

Today I came up with a great analogy for the way I view life. I was walking with my dad when we passed a bodega selling flowers. There were many types of flowers as well as an assortment of colors for each. So my dad's simple question of, "Which ones do you want?", would have been extremely difficult to answer for the old, indecisive me. But the new me had no problem with this simple decision. Actually, no problem is a little extreme, let's just say I've made progress.

Anyways, when choosing the color, I was drawn to a faded purple bouquet of roses. This was the only color that my dad didn't suggest (typical). As I grabbed the flowers, I commented, "I think the color of these roses will look really pretty when they're dead". Only after I heard those words come out of my mouth did I realize that this is a really bizarre way to think. Who chooses flowers based on what they'll look like when they die? Who looks at a beautiful bouquet of roses and thinks about death?

To a certain extent, I think we all do..

As I was putting the flowers in a vase, it occurred to me that if I didn't put them in water, they would die immediately. So I had a choice: don't put water in and immediately have my beautiful dried rose petals OR water them and keep them alive. I chose the latter. My reasoning was this: the flowers will eventually die. I will get what I want, so why not also enjoy them while they're alive, and have both.

THIS is a choice we are all faced with in our own lives. These flowers represent our childhoods. Nowadays, kids are so anxious to grow up and be adults, that they don't appreciate the beauty of their innocence. Once we kill the flowers, we can't bring them back to life. Once we lose our innocence, there's no getting it back. Flowers, as well as youth, have an ephemeral beauty. Meaning that there is an expiration date. We should enjoy the beauty of the living flowers, because once they die, there's no turning back.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about graduation, jobs and "the future". So, I think this is meaningful and relevant. You will eventually end up where you're meant to be, so why not make the best of the journey. What's the rush?

When you're old and wrinkly and gray, sitting on your couch with nothing more than your lovely bowl of potpourri, wondering where the time went (and how you became so boring)... you'll be glad to have the memories of the flower to entertain your thoughts.

Stop and smell the roses because they won't last forever.