Jun 16 2010

Current Beef: The Name Game

Hey Kids.

Just checked the sign in sheet for an audition I’m on and the girl before me is named “Nebula.” Seriously? Her parents must be a real trip. At best they’re astronauts or quantum physicist, at worst they’re existential hippies or misguided scientologists. L. Ron Hubbard wasn’t even THAT cruel. What blows my mind more than dear Nebula, is the name of the girl signed in after me: Ashlin.

At first glance I’m sure you’d say “What’s the Beef?” Here’s the beef my friend: weird spellings and name combining/making up. I hate that! I hate it when parents have neither the gall to name their children something normal, nor the cojones to name them something crazy. They want a name that is “unique,” but safe. So they put a twist on the original, like spell Henry with a “I,” Chris with a “K,” or Ashlynn with an “in.” I once ran into an Alison who spelt her name Alycen (named after her aunt Alyce) and a Michelle who spelt her name M’shell (M’shell was black so I cut her a little slack. Like the inner city kid that Pork Sausage recently tutored named La-ah. Pronounced LaDASHa. Not kidding.) At least Nebula’s parents fucking put it out there.

Which brings me back to Ashlin. What’s worse than the spelling is the origin. Ashlynn is a Hybrid name that wasn’t invented until the 1980s (research, son). Couldn’t make a decision could we? Ashley or Lynn. So you mixed them. And in mixing them you exposed yourself as a weak human being and doomed your kids to the same genetic shortcoming. Indecisiveness is a prominent sign of weakness. In separate interviews Martha Stewart, Anna Wintour, and Oprah all sited decisiveness as they’re strongest trait. Their kids names are Charles and Katherine, Alexis, and no kids….respectively. Guess little Ashlin is fucked on the entreprenuer tip.

The latest offender of hybrid names is Katherine Heigel. Look at the fucking sweet ass NORMAL name your mother gave you and you slap her in the face by naming your kid Naleigh? Hmm shall we call her Nancy or Leigh? Why choose?! It’s not confusing enough that that poor Asian baby is gonna grow up with white parents, but the name too!?

And those fucking TWILIGHT books aren’t helping the situation AT ALL, thank you very much. Probably the worst offender to date! If you can top this, I’ll be a born again Christian because miracles DO exist. **Spoiler alert if you haven’t read “Breaking Dawn”** Bella names her fucking half-breed kid Renesmee. RENESMEE? In case you’re wondering in Gods green earth how one would come to that ridiculous name and how the hell you pronounce it, here’s the breakdown. It’s a hybrid of the kid’s grandmother’s names Rene and Esme: Renesmee. If she wasn’t already imprinted on by that Graduate-emulating-pervo Jacob, I’d say the girl was going to have a rough go in the dating world. I know its fiction but COME ON!

I could go on, but I won’t. For those of you that know my real moniker, you might call me a hypocrite. Well you can suck on it.


Jun 13 2010

Self Improvement

Hey Kids.

So I’m not one of those ladies who like wants her man to lie to her. I prefer ‘em to tell it like it is. For reals. I recently took one of those Myer Briggs test and it was like “you are the type that likes criticism.” ‘Cause I see it as a chance for self-improvement. Unfortunately others don’t so much. But I continue to criticize them anyway. Like all my ex-boyfriends. Which, now that I think about it, could have contributed to the fall out.

Por ejemplo, I recently ran into an Ex at a party and I was like 10 pounds skinnier and 4 shades blonder than when I was with him. He was all “Burrito, you look great. Have you lost weight? I love your hair. God, I’m so attracted to you right now. Mrr mrr mrr” And I’m thinking, “See! Now there ya go! If you’d maybe mentioned that you would have found me more attractive had I been skinnier and blonder, we could have avoided this whole break up unpleasantry.” I mean, I told him when I thought his hair looked gay and that he needed to whiten his teeth. So, I think we know who’s to blame with that one.

Relationships aside, I began to think about critiques I’d received lately and how I could use them for self-improvement. Most of the ones I could recall were boxing related, like to fully rotate my wrist when throwing a right cross or remembering to hit with the shins on a roundhouse kick. This reminded me that I should avoid fighting publicly since I hadn’t learned defensive moves yet. But, as they say, the best defense IS a good offense (Try telling THAT to a horny teenager, am I right?).

Other critiques included two drunk 40 year olds at a bar telling me that I should be a model and to take more shots, as well as a transient advising me to “Bless Off.” When I said I didn’t have any spare change to give her.

Being me, I respectfully decided to NOT take any of their advise, ALTHOUGH I did appreciate it…especially the model comment. I wasn’t feeling very self-improved but I was certainly glad those men didn’t lie to me. I do need to take more shots.


Jun 9 2010

Losing It: Becoming a Vegetarian

Hey Kids!

I recently got my heart broken. And, although the sad reality of facing spinsterhood amidst a boom of friend’s nuptials was exceedingly depressing, it was the best diet I ever went on. I’m currently a mere 5 pounds away from reaching the weight listed on my resume. And believe me, I never thought I’d make that lie a truth. Even in this town.

For a while I felt nauseous every time I looked at food or wine (I know, BAD). Surprisingly, or not, the only thing that appealed to me was vodka. So don’t worry, I was sufficely satiated.

I decided not to question this lack of appetite and instead hoped that I’d finally stumbled into that elusive state only anorexics and coke fueled runway models were capable of accessing. This excited me and I immediately set my new wealth of attention on discovering a way to capitalize on it.

Years of therapy haven’t been lost on yours truly. I’ve gotten fairly good at self-analyzation. So, I quickly realized this new disdain for food was “severe emotional distress” rather than me finding my long lost inner model. From past experience, I knew I’d have to locate an alternate issue to replace the “distress” with as soon as the sting of loss and disappointment dissipated.

So, I carefully considered my options (i.e. took a shot of vodka) and concluded that the issue I should replace “severe emotional distress” with would be “control.” I’m a very controlling person. Sexy quality, right? BUT when harnessed in the right way, (i.e. obsessing over exercise and eating habits) it can achieve great things.

I immersed myself in spinning, yoga, and boxing classes, hoping to get a head start before that dern appetite returned, I hate her. As any lady who’s ever gone toe to toe with vanity pounds knows, it’s good to have a plan of attack. Since I’d recently given up red meat I decided my angle would be VEGETARIAN.

Almost every skinny bitch I know, or hope to hate on a first name basis, claims to be a vegetarian. I figured this angle would be golden. AND maybe I’d meet a hot health nut. After all, Christian Bale (my all time celebrity crush) is a vegetarian. And although I swore to lay down my sword on that particular conquest when him and his wife had a child (I hate to break up families), this could help dramatically when I finally do get the chance to make him my soul mate. It’s important to have practical dreams you see.

Doing anything selfless and spiritually enlightening doesn’t mean a THING until you tell everyone about it. So after making this life, and waist line, altering decision, I immediately called Ceviche to announce the news.

I always assumed that, since I come from a family that considers shooting squirrels off power lines a legitimate way to unwind after work, cutting out any meat of any kind would be damn near impossible. Not just in a genetic way, but also in a fear of backlash way.

Unfortunately I was deliriously caught up in visions of me arriving at a red carpet event looking as svelte as Carrie Underwood when I rang home, so I momentarily forgot why I’d never considered vegetarianism before. After a dramatic processing pause, my mother began screaming into the phone.

“What!?” Ceviche roared.
“I’m going vegetarian,” I repeated.
“Ermmm. Health reasons?”

I couldn’t sound so naive as to say my real reason, which was to ride the current wave of anorexia I’d been blessed with, so I tried to sound all righteous and Peta-y instead.

“Do you know how they farm meat?” I posed this question with the zeal of an asshole actor doing a political PSA. “They pump those animals with antibiotics and hormones and force feed them other dead animals covered in poo!” I think I’d heard that somewhere. “That’s why 8 year olds are menstruating!”

“You’ve been in that liberal California too long. Those people are getting to you,” she sighed with genuine despair. I actually felt like a disappointment.

“No, I’m just finally opening my eyes to clean living.”

At that statement I stamped out the Marlboro Light I was puffing and made a mental note to pick up some All Natural American Spirits next time I stopped at an ARCO to fill up my SUV.

“Well, I guess that’s fine, Burrito. But YOU’RE gonna have to tell your father. As long as you still eat his smoked duck and the occasional venison sausage I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”
“Mom, do you know what a vegetarian is?” I point blank asked her.
“That’s not the extreme one right? Where you don’t eat cheese?”
“God no.”
“Well then I don’t see why you can’t have a little duck every now and then when you’re home.”

She was starting to make sense so I quickly made up an excuse to go. Also, I was getting hungry.

I opened up the fridge and stared inside. It was full of deli meat. Hmmm. So I opened up the freezer to inspect the frozen meals. Tofu Enchiladas, Brown Rice and Vegetable Bowls, Garden Burger, BINGO Slow Churned Ice Cream. I whipped out the carton and composed the most beautiful sundae I’d ever seen, truly a personal masterpiece. Sundae for dinner. TOTALLY vegetarian. This was gonna be easier than I thought.
I plopped down on the couch to watch some Glee and dig into dinner. I scooped a big spoonful of Home-style Vanilla with melted peanut butter and strawberries into my mouth and let it melt there to the sweet sound of Neal Patrick Harris singing Dream On. As I relished in sundae goodness, I couldn’t help but visualize my Carrie Underwood arms. This was totally happening. I would be a twig in NO time. Good plan.