Today, I went to Starbucks to be classy and read the paper and kill some time and do the obligatory caffeination. So I got my unfortunately hard to memorize Venti Soy Misto, more coffee than milk, with vanilla bean powder. (Once they put protein powder in instead. Another time, they said, "More milk than coffee, right?" Sigh.) I was trying enjoy my morning before a trip to, well, the gyno. There's nothing embarassing or gross about it, people, every woman goes every year. I'm not giving you the details, it's just where I was headed.
So I sat down with the Monday Times, the Arts section, but of course, reading an article about a woman who used to be on CNN and now is on the Onion News Network, and...HOLY SHIT MOTHERFUCKER. Thought my subext. And I probably said something similarly outloud, because as an actor, we are told not to swallow our impulses but rather live on them and in the moment. And in that moment, I was feeling the burn.
The scalding hot coffee spilled - the cap to the drink wasn't on securely - and the coffee spilled in between my thighs. Yup. I was bound to have welts. Insert number degree burns. A man came over and gave me some napkins to help me with the spill on the table, and I thanked him and waddled (yes, waddled) my way over to the restroom to put water in between my legs, which I know better than to do in public most of the ti me, and to make sure there wasn't any serious damage on my inner thighs. I could just imagine my impending appointment - "well, all is fine in that area, but what's going on with those welts in between your legs? Is everything all right in your interpersonal relationships?"
I checked out the damage, and it looked fine, but it was painful, and there was some legit redness. I remembered that I left my coffee out in the open. Ihoped no one stole it. Or poisoned it. Or put drugs in it. Unless it was Vicodin, which could very well help facilitate the course of my burning sensation...
I waddled back out, probably overdramatizing the fact that I had just been burnt, and the man who handed me napkins was sitting at a table drinking his coffee and reading the paper. He asked me if all was allright; if I was okay.
"Yeah," I said, "I'm just pretty badly burnt, and it hurts to walk..."
And I walked by him to where my coffee was, and I saw that he had a metal leg. Yes, a missing leg and an implant, like the people in the meningitis vaccination commercial. And I told him it hurt to walk.
And I thought, "on my way to the gyno, I spilled scalding hot coffee in between my legs" belonged on FML.com.
I was a little saddened that the baristas didn't notice, and I wondered if I should have complained. I remembered a few years back how someone sued McDonald's because she or he spilled scalding coffee in between his or her legs and got badly burnt. But I like Starbucks. I didn't want to sue them.
And for the record, the welts aren't that bad, and I can walk right now.
I'm a terrible person.
Til next time,
Small Fry/That Girl...
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
I'm Going To Be An Astronaut, I Think
Today is Father's Day. So happy Father's Day to all of you dads out there, illegitimate and legitimate. Really. Who am I to judge? (PS - I might be the most judgmental person I know, but that's only because I'd rather make a harsh judgment and fully commit to it than be wishy washy on where I stand. So maybe I'm not judgmental, I just have strong opinions? Who knows. I swear, I'm not a terrible person. Only sometimes.)
I went out to dinner to PF Chang's (insert excitement here - pseudo-Asian-American fusion! Steamed mixed vegetables for the girl with IBS and acid reflux and lactose intolerance!...yup...all of those)...with my sister, dad, my aunt and my uncle. My parents are divorced - my dad's been married twice - my mom was Wife #1, and my mom just got engaged for her #2. (Go Mom! The rock's pretty hefty, too.) My aunt knows that I'm a theater and English major, yet she always feels the need to ask me if I'm still double majoring. Or like I changed my mind to accounting or something. Which, I assure you, I will not do, as I got a C+ in Math In Action. I had a B test average, yet somehow, after a few poor studying decisions (when did I ever think studying over a bottle of wine was a good idea? I'll tell you when - the day before my Math In action final). It's humorous - actually - because my entire college transcript is A's and A-'s. And then there's Math In Action....C+. Some future employer will laugh at that someday. That is, if I ever get employed.
Because, you see, I am entirely unemployable as I would like to be an actress/writer. I'd like to make a living hustling - I don't mean like Terrence Howard in Hustle And Flow, or whatever that move is, I mean like...working my ass off to make sure I get to act and write! Romantic, huh? But then my aunt always asks me what I want to be when I grow up. I say, oh, I'm going to be an actor, and I'm going to write, too.
"Oh, you mean like...you want to be...on Broadway!?" Like I'm a little girl who just said I wanted to be an astronaut, and my first stop was going to be Pluto, which by the way, boys and girls, isn't even a planet anymore.
(Tangent: How can it not be a planet anymore? I don't understand. If something's there, isn't it there? Like, if I have a small coffee mug of Haagen Dasz frozen yogurt sitting next to me right now, can I just say, "It isn't a coffee mug of froyo anymore." I can say that, but it doesn't change the continuum of matter, does it? Unless it evaporates, which I don't think a ceramic mug can do. But the froyo can melt. Which is worrisome to us slow froyo eaters who like to truly savor every single yogurt culture that enters our mouths. I mean, me.)
I don't mean to be a terrible niece, or terrible daughter to my father by possibly knocking my aunt, but seriously. I think next time I'm just going to tell her I want to be an astroanut. I completely abandoned all of my passions and hopes, and all those acting classes were for naught, because aeronautical astrophysics interest me. And besides, I have a better chance of landing on the moon than landing a leading lady role, anyway.
But fortunately, I know better than that. I know I'm not a leading lady. I'd be content playing Annie, as long as it meant that I'd get to work everyday. And I totally would go to an open call for Annie, fully aware that I am twenty years old and the other girls are eleven. But the sun can come out for all of us.
And if it won't come out for all of us, then you can be your bottom dollar that we can go out and find it.
By being astronauts, of course.
Til next time,
Small Fry/That Girl...
I went out to dinner to PF Chang's (insert excitement here - pseudo-Asian-American fusion! Steamed mixed vegetables for the girl with IBS and acid reflux and lactose intolerance!...yup...all of those)...with my sister, dad, my aunt and my uncle. My parents are divorced - my dad's been married twice - my mom was Wife #1, and my mom just got engaged for her #2. (Go Mom! The rock's pretty hefty, too.) My aunt knows that I'm a theater and English major, yet she always feels the need to ask me if I'm still double majoring. Or like I changed my mind to accounting or something. Which, I assure you, I will not do, as I got a C+ in Math In Action. I had a B test average, yet somehow, after a few poor studying decisions (when did I ever think studying over a bottle of wine was a good idea? I'll tell you when - the day before my Math In action final). It's humorous - actually - because my entire college transcript is A's and A-'s. And then there's Math In Action....C+. Some future employer will laugh at that someday. That is, if I ever get employed.
Because, you see, I am entirely unemployable as I would like to be an actress/writer. I'd like to make a living hustling - I don't mean like Terrence Howard in Hustle And Flow, or whatever that move is, I mean like...working my ass off to make sure I get to act and write! Romantic, huh? But then my aunt always asks me what I want to be when I grow up. I say, oh, I'm going to be an actor, and I'm going to write, too.
"Oh, you mean like...you want to be...on Broadway!?" Like I'm a little girl who just said I wanted to be an astronaut, and my first stop was going to be Pluto, which by the way, boys and girls, isn't even a planet anymore.
(Tangent: How can it not be a planet anymore? I don't understand. If something's there, isn't it there? Like, if I have a small coffee mug of Haagen Dasz frozen yogurt sitting next to me right now, can I just say, "It isn't a coffee mug of froyo anymore." I can say that, but it doesn't change the continuum of matter, does it? Unless it evaporates, which I don't think a ceramic mug can do. But the froyo can melt. Which is worrisome to us slow froyo eaters who like to truly savor every single yogurt culture that enters our mouths. I mean, me.)
I don't mean to be a terrible niece, or terrible daughter to my father by possibly knocking my aunt, but seriously. I think next time I'm just going to tell her I want to be an astroanut. I completely abandoned all of my passions and hopes, and all those acting classes were for naught, because aeronautical astrophysics interest me. And besides, I have a better chance of landing on the moon than landing a leading lady role, anyway.
But fortunately, I know better than that. I know I'm not a leading lady. I'd be content playing Annie, as long as it meant that I'd get to work everyday. And I totally would go to an open call for Annie, fully aware that I am twenty years old and the other girls are eleven. But the sun can come out for all of us.
And if it won't come out for all of us, then you can be your bottom dollar that we can go out and find it.
By being astronauts, of course.
Til next time,
Small Fry/That Girl...
Oh....hi.
Welcome to my world. It's unfortunate, it's accidental, and it's not entirely plausible all the time - but guess what. It is. I'm your resident Small Fry. I'm four eleven, and I have a big head of hair, and I recently got bangs and everyone likes them. They make me look less like a seven year old, and more like a seven year old who reads the Sunday Styles.
I've tried doing the blog thing before, and I've failed, because I often start things and get such bad creative ADD where I start a new project instead that I completely abandon the first one. But I've decided that it'd be nice to write down my everyday misadventures. That way, you can laugh at me - or I can just revisit this page over and over again if none of you do, and laugh at myself.
So perhaps before you dive headfirst into my universe and bang your head on the cement at the bottom of the pool (yup), you should get to know a bit about me and, you know, my biorhythms. Capricorn! Oh wait, that says nothing. Except "Goat, born between Dec 21 and Jan 20." Damn. Anyway.
So, yes, I am That Girl. No, not the sitcom for x years ago starring Marlo Thomas, because although I aspire to be super trendy, I often fail. For example, I buy skinny jeans but they're too big in the butt so it looks like I have some major issues going on in the rear end section. Then my pants slide down my legs and I tried to wear a belt, but..
I'm the girl who, yes, whose pants fall down in public sometimes. I'm the girl who is addicted to caffeine and has a really simple beverage at Starbucks, which is essentially coffee + steamed milk (a misto), and they always get it wrong. I'm the girl who is addicted to caffeine and has acid reflux and IBS and they told me to stop drinking it, and I said no. I'm the girl who went as Nicole Richie, Pregnant one year for Halloween and as Amy Winehouse the next. The girl who had a bit too much wine and accidentally showed up drunk to her math final. The girl who realized, while getting felt up, that maybe today wasn't the best day to stuff her bra with toilet paper like a twelve year old.
I also have a fondness for Asians. I don't really know why or how this happened - and I swear, I mean fondness, not fetish. I just sometimes want to be like Gwen Stefani, and have a Harajuku posse following me around or something.
Oh, and since I'm quite small and resemble a child, I often shop in the kids section. And yes, I often get mistaken for a child and am told I can't enter theaters by myself because you have to be at least twelve. I'm twenty.
So, like I said, I'm Small Fry, I'm That Girl, and wecome to my little planet. I'm a theater and English major, which means I not only play action and dramatize everything, but I can write about it, too.
Blogs are kinda like vanity projects if you think about it, unless you know people find you amusing. People have told me I'm amusing, but they also have told me a lot of other things. Like that present that I got when my little sister was born when I was four was made by her in my mom's stomach. I totally believed that for a really long time. Fetuses can make Sesame Street xylophones and wrap them. Right?
Til next time,
Small Fry/That Girl
I've tried doing the blog thing before, and I've failed, because I often start things and get such bad creative ADD where I start a new project instead that I completely abandon the first one. But I've decided that it'd be nice to write down my everyday misadventures. That way, you can laugh at me - or I can just revisit this page over and over again if none of you do, and laugh at myself.
So perhaps before you dive headfirst into my universe and bang your head on the cement at the bottom of the pool (yup), you should get to know a bit about me and, you know, my biorhythms. Capricorn! Oh wait, that says nothing. Except "Goat, born between Dec 21 and Jan 20." Damn. Anyway.
So, yes, I am That Girl. No, not the sitcom for x years ago starring Marlo Thomas, because although I aspire to be super trendy, I often fail. For example, I buy skinny jeans but they're too big in the butt so it looks like I have some major issues going on in the rear end section. Then my pants slide down my legs and I tried to wear a belt, but..
I'm the girl who, yes, whose pants fall down in public sometimes. I'm the girl who is addicted to caffeine and has a really simple beverage at Starbucks, which is essentially coffee + steamed milk (a misto), and they always get it wrong. I'm the girl who is addicted to caffeine and has acid reflux and IBS and they told me to stop drinking it, and I said no. I'm the girl who went as Nicole Richie, Pregnant one year for Halloween and as Amy Winehouse the next. The girl who had a bit too much wine and accidentally showed up drunk to her math final. The girl who realized, while getting felt up, that maybe today wasn't the best day to stuff her bra with toilet paper like a twelve year old.
I also have a fondness for Asians. I don't really know why or how this happened - and I swear, I mean fondness, not fetish. I just sometimes want to be like Gwen Stefani, and have a Harajuku posse following me around or something.
Oh, and since I'm quite small and resemble a child, I often shop in the kids section. And yes, I often get mistaken for a child and am told I can't enter theaters by myself because you have to be at least twelve. I'm twenty.
So, like I said, I'm Small Fry, I'm That Girl, and wecome to my little planet. I'm a theater and English major, which means I not only play action and dramatize everything, but I can write about it, too.
Blogs are kinda like vanity projects if you think about it, unless you know people find you amusing. People have told me I'm amusing, but they also have told me a lot of other things. Like that present that I got when my little sister was born when I was four was made by her in my mom's stomach. I totally believed that for a really long time. Fetuses can make Sesame Street xylophones and wrap them. Right?
Til next time,
Small Fry/That Girl
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