Feb 23 2010

Current Beef: Zodiac-ers

Hey Kids!

I’m so perturbed…yes PERTURBED…with people who ask you your zodiac sign. Like you’ll be talking to someone, usually someone you haven’t known very long…OFTEN someone you just met, and they’ll interrupt you mid-sentence to say, “Wait, what’s your sign?” Then you tell them and they get all-knowing like they’ve  just figured you out. Like they understand your essence because you spouted out Leo or Virgo.

These people are bullshit!! Sometimes I just lie to see how they’ll react. And you know what? They react the same. It doesn’t matter what you say, their still gonna open that bag of self assurance. It’s their personal security blanket when the balance of power shifts your way. Trying ass-hard to convince everyone in the vicinity that they posses some sort of power over you. Just because you know Geminis are two faced and Aquariuses are social doesn’t make you a friggin oracle. See! Even I know that shit!

Well suck on it you zodiac-ers. I’ve come from too long a line of personally inflicted issues for anyone to figure me out that easy. And if you want the right to sit back and bask in you’re all knowingness of The Burrito, you’re gonna have to put in the hard time.

Peace.

BURRITO


Feb 22 2010

The difference between crazy and Crazy

Hey Kids

I’m sure NONE of you will be shocked to hear that I see a shrink.  And will be un-floored even more to hear that my shrink’s office is in a psychiatric hospital, not a business high rise with a a nice waiting room and day sofa, an in-patient psychiatric hospital fully equipped with padded walls and straight jackets.

There is one tiny office where the head of the hospital sees out patients on a casual basis.  I believe that casual basis involves me and two other people.  I feel special….in both the good and bad way.    His office is on the top floor, right outside two large metal doors that you need a special ID and finger print to get into.  I can only assume it’s where they keep the serious crazies.   Sometimes being on the floor of this building makes me feel normal and pulled together.  It reminds me to snap out of it cause, no matter how big my mother issues are, theirs are probably worse.  Other times I feel a mere hop, skip, and jump away from loony…literally.

It took me a while to be comfortable with a doctor of this caliber listening to me bitch about how hard it is to be an actress when a mere 20 yards away some lady is having full blown conversations with her dead cat, but eventually I convinced myself that he enjoyed a break from the schizos and psychos. This is me assuming that spending an entire hour talking about eliminating red meat from my diet is a break from the psychos.

So, besides me and the two other “casual basis” peeps, everyone at the hospital is either a patient or works there.  Naturally when I’m seen by other employees walking around without a hospital gown covered in paste, they assume I’m one of them.   You should see their f-ing faces when I tell them otherwise!  HAHA.

Today I came out of the office and was waiting for the elevator.  Some hot shot male nurse eyed me ( I’m attractive, btw.  I know I don’t always make that clear) and I could tell he was waiting to make his move.  Finally, just before the doors open he goes, “Hey….so you just start working here?”

“No,” I go.  ”I don’t work here”

“YET… you don’t work here yet.  Interviewing for a job?”

“No, definitely not interviewing for a job.”  Then I kind of chuckled in a sinister way.

“Oh.”  He looked concerned and then I laid it on him.

“I just got out.”

His face went ashen just as the doors opened and we stepped into the elevator.  He looked like he’d finally realized I was Dexter or something.  I just stood in the corner and practiced this acting technique I’d learned the week before where you stare at something but think of something else and mumble.  It’s suppose to make you look possessed.

It worked.

That guy bolted as soon as the doors opened.  I don’t even think it was his floor.

That’ll teach him to hit on newbies.

Haha.

BURRITO


Feb 16 2010

5 Levels of Fluff

Hey Kids!

Funny thing happened when I was out with a visiting girlfriend this weekend.

While at a bar in Hollywood I noticed a woman/girl about 5x my size wearing a black tube top dress I wouldn’t dare wear at my skinniest.  WHY do these woman/girls (and I call them this because they’re obviously women who blindly shop at girlie chain stores like Forever 21….btw just because you bought an ensemble there, does NOT make you 21 forever…like they think it’s a “Big” magic shop or something) think it’s okay to dress like this?  It’s worse than the heels!

I posed this question to the club’s (yeah okay I was at a club, not a bar, sue me) valet guy.  He responds all Latino lispy with this theory…

“Damn girl.  That’s the fluff.  They’re all over the place ’round here.”

“The fluff?”

“Yeah, the fluff.  You don’t know the  five levels of fluff?”

“Five?!  No, I don’t know the levels of fluff.  What are the five levels of fluff?”

He waves his hands around like a magician about to execute a very advanced card trick and begins to list these “levels” pointer to pinky.

“See you got your fluff, right.  from smallest to largest its fluffy, chubby, fat, big and damn ”

When he said damn he through his hand down and jumped back like he was slamming a pop it down on his own foot.

“Really,” I said.  ”That’s fascinating.  I had no idea there were levels.”

“Awe hell yeah.”

I looked at my friend and examined our collective physiques. In my book we were average at least, fit even, and very classily dressed.

“So,” I started in, prepared to stump him “what would you call us?”

He didn’t skip a beat “Awe, yoos is fluffy for sure.”

“WHAT!?” our jaws just dangled.  I’m pretty sure I drooled a little in shock. “Did you say we’re fluffy?”

“Yeah.”  He responded with attitude. It had that  ’what the hell did you think i was gonna say? I didn’t say you were fat. Be grateful’ essence.

“Alright then.” I composed myself.  ”Then what do you call anorexic girls?  Like really skinny types?”

“Yeah!” My friend chimed in, “you gotta round out the bottom half of that scale.”

“TWIGS,” He said.

“So what are the 5 levels of Twig!?????”

We looked at him hopeful.  I’d rather be a fat twig than skinny fluff.

“Ummm.  I dunno.”

Suddenly our car appeared and we were swiftly scooted away.  I had a feeling there were no 5 levels of twig.  And judging by the valet’s facial expression after a last once over, we obviously didn’t fall into that category anyway.  My self confidence and positive body image went out the window…so did Mr. Valet’s tip.  Fluff indeed.   If me and tube top dress are in the same category I’m giving up on spinning and opening another bottle of vino.  What’s the point, right?

Cheers!

BURRITO


Feb 4 2010

Lets go see a Boozie

Hey Kids.

So lately I’ve really gotten into sneaking bottles of wine to the movies.  It’s very exhilarating AND practical.  The thing is, I always find myself wasting loads of calories on popcorn or candy during some shitty RomCom, when I’m actually jonesing for a glass of chard.  Therefore I resolved to have what I really want at the cinema….booze.

It started last year when PS and I smuggled two bottles of pinot grigio into the Sex and the City movie.  As first timers we were a bit loud and obvious, clanking the bottles during a dramatic moment and fumbling with empty soda cups we’d purchased at the concession stand.  But, we still pulled it off.  And given the movie, I feel fairly confident that the other viewers were supportive of our efforts.  My success here gave me confidence and launched a series of boozie attempts.

Many lessons were culled at that inaugural boozie.  First being, only sneak the sauce into movies that AREN’T sold out.  We got lucky with Sex in the City.  Unlike that crowd, most movie goers don’t find that drunk girls and the smell of alcohol add to the experience.  So give yourself some space…preferably in the back of the theatre.  You don’t need to be as “back corner” as say a high school BJ, just avoid the family of 5 camping out front and center.  Use that noggin.

Secondly, Open all bottles before hand.  Nothing gives you away more than the careful pop of a cork.  AND, when you’re being covert, nerves sometimes get the best of you and you’ll rip that thing in half.  Screw tops are a very good alternative.

Thirdly, bring external cups.  Go to the store and purchase some to go coffee cups.  Once in the theatre pull them out of your bag and fill ‘er up.  Put that sippy cup top on and have at it.  It’s more drink friendly than a straw, muffles the smell, avoids having to deal with buying a suspicious “cup of ice” (or worse, buying a coke and having to pour it out never really getting the coke taste out of the cup), and lastly the way you drink coffee is more consistent with the way you drink booze.   When you’re done, toss it in the waste bin as you leave.

Lastly, if it wasn’t already very obvious, store this ALL in a big hand bag.  It’s vogue.  Women hide dogs in their bag.  You can handle a bottle of wine and some empty coffee cups. NEVER pre-fill your cups.  Some places don’t let in outside food and they’ll stop you at the ticket stand.  Oddly, though they never suspect coffee once inside because most movie theatre’s sell coffee just people so rarely order it, employees don’t know the difference.  And honestly, once you’re in the darkness of the theatre nobody can really tell anyways.

Which reminds me.  Don’t crack open the bottle til the feature presentation has begun.  There is still ambient moving about and work lights on during trailers. By feature time, everyone is settled and the place is pitch black.  It’s your task to screw up.

***Disclaimer: If you’re already drunk, take caution.

Example: most recently Spam and I went to see a movie with a big bottle of red after a dinner where we also enjoyed a big bottle of red.  Half way through the first act we were slow dancing in the row and twisting in the isles (this movie had really good music)…laughing like idiots.   I passed out by Act 3, spread eagle in two arm chairs, and poor Spam had to escort me out and drive both of our drunk asses home.  If the theatre hadn’t been near empty, we surely would have been asked to leave…possibly arrested cause when woken I was feeling very confrontational.

So there you have it.  My new hobby and your new mission.  I’m getting more bold with this so hopefully by my next entry I’ll be telling you how to smuggle in an antipasto platter, and by the end of the year… how to roast a rack of lamb during the opening credits. Cheers!

BURRITO


Feb 1 2010

Current Beef: Fat Girls in Heels

Hey Kids!

What is it with fat girls in heels?  I mean honestly.  Don’t they know they look ridiculous?  Teetering around like a watermelon on chopsticks.  I just stare at them waiting for one to topple over.  It’s a friggin tower of Babel.  God does not want them getting that high up.

And, if they’re gonna wear ‘em why can’t they wear something substantial?  Something sturdy like a wedge, platform, chunky, or even spool!  But I swear to Jesus, it’s a strappy stiletto every time!  Like the slim heel shape will project on their ass size or something.   Do they honestly think the heels make them look slimmer?  ‘Cause they don’t!  Exact opposite in fact!  It just draws attention to how top heavy they are.

The shoes never fit either.  Those poor tootsies are strapped in like Vienna Sausages bound to a cutting board with guitar wire.  So rude.  The only swollen feet allowed to assault my eyes are the feet of pregnant women and cancer patients.  Other than that, put your pickles in a pump.

Look, I’m not saying that if you’re a little corpulent high heels are completely forebode.  I’m just saying think about the ramifications of your choices.  Like blond hair on Asians or Brazilian waxes on Women over 70, some things just aren’t meant to be.

BURRITO