Lunchables, Lesbians, And Loo-Trained Cats

I know you guys haven't heard as much as a peep from my corner of the world for what seems like the same amount of time that it takes for "Game of Thrones" to start season three. For that I am truly not sorry at all - I have a job and a life and you can't make unpaid demands of me because you aren't my parents or a sassy talking cat. Besides, about four people total read this blog and one of those four is me so it's really three but WHO'S COUNTING?

All of the other actors have headshots on the
Facebook page for Scissr. I should submit this right?

Anyway, since our last time shooting the shit, I've gotten a new job marketing for a startup wine e-commerce website (lotta words there, I know), became an iPhone user, gained about ten pounds in cookies and Jewish guilt, and signed up to act in a lesbian web-series called Scissr. I know you only really care about the latter, so let me inform you that it will be a homosexual, racially-inclusive version of "Girls" mixed with a financially-obtainable "The L-Word." I will play the co-creator/writer/actor's best friend, Taylor, because that outrageous bitch wrote the part FOR ME. She's one my dearest friends and for some twisted reason thought I was cool enough to disregard the fact that I have absolutely no acting experience or mass-appeal and asked me to play the role of, well, me. I'm excited and terrified and I only hope that I can muster enough confidence to just be myself and not become hyper-aware of the way I act and fuck it up (like how if you pay attention too much to your own breathing you're all "I. CAN'T. BREATHE." See, it's happening now). Who knows, maybe I'll hit it out of the proverbial park and become the next famous non-actress actress like Jemima Kirke.

Sassy twat.

I also purchased a new water bottle (LIVING LARGE) and am semi-successfully trying to toilet train Shadow the cat. I say "semi-successfully" because we're only at step two and so far she hasn't fucked it up with her stupid little cat brain. They say to give them positive reinforcement when they complete the next step without any issues so that they know they're doing something right. This meant that as Shadow came out of the bathroom after the first time that I rigged up her CitiKitty (I had to carry that home without a bag just FYI), I (very gently) applauded her and gave her a thumbs up while saying in my high-voice-reserved-for-animals, "You did it! Yay! So proud!" In retrospect, the thumbs up was probably unnecessary given that Shadow doesn't have thumbs and maybe thought I was flaunting them at her, but she seemed to like my enthusiasm well enough because about two minutes later she was galloping around the apartment as if to say, "I pooped and you loved it!" I wish I received as much praise every time I successfully defecated.

At this point you're probably thinking "This post has absolutely nothing to do with Lunchables! I was seduced with false hopes of round miniature ham slices!" I respond by using the previous sentence as a terrible segue to talk about Lunchables (so there!). This topic stems from an earlier conversation with my co-workers when we all realized that we had two things in common: our strong desire to put any and all Lunchables in our mouths and having parents who refused to let us do so. I don't know about you guys, but my dad preferred to make weird artisanal sandwiches that involved bananas and curried chicken (not at the same time...well...maybe) that I had to simultaneously consume and explain while I watched my (usually rich) classmates spread tomato sauce on their ice-cold, Lunchables pizzas and feel my heart shrivel up and die of envy. I'm sure it wasn't the $7 price tag or suspect ingredients that deterred my dad, but his utter loathing of my happiness. And that's why we still aren't on speaking terms (JK I talked to my dad the other day). Was anyone else deprived of Lunchables and do you want to carthart (this is now the verb form of catharsis so deal with it) about it?

There's no way to really end this post since it's pretty much a clusterfuck of awful, so consider this sentence me slowly bowing out while tipping some sort of hat with Mariachi music playing in the background.

Subway Personalities I Could Do Without

The title says it all; these people make my commuting experience displeasing and leave me with an unfavorable attitude for the rest of the work day.


The Overeager Boarder

The rudest fucking thing in the world is to try and enter the subway before everyone has exited, but this person just does not give a shit. Even at 42nd street-Times Square during rush hour, they will slip in on the side while 20+ people try to exit through the tiny opening they are allotted. Where they have to be is just that much more important than where you have to be and you're just going to have to deal with that. The most effective method of combating the Boarder is much like the defense mechanisms of smaller predators in the wild; make yourself as big (and pointy) as possible. I usually place both hands on my hips, allowing my razor-sharp, hyper-extended, alien elbows to flank me on either side, and exit the subway without a care in the world. The Overeager Boarder can enter before you exit, but at their own risk. Hopefully some sort of lesson will be learned from the searing pain in their appendix area due to being rocked in the gut, but probably not.


Patient Zero

A lot of the time we have no choice but to be inches away and face-to-face with a complete stranger on the subway. Sometimes this can be tolerable with the help of a strategically-placed magazine or book. Other times, death is a better option since it seems impending anyway. This is because the person who you're smashed against is possible infected with the zombie virus. They sneeze, snot, hack, and cough everywhere and there is a variety of multi-colored liquids dripping from the areas in and around their mouth. There's no escape until the next stop when people shuffle around a bit and you intensely regret pointing and laughing at the people who wear surgical masks during their commute.


The Boombox

Whether it's with electronics or with their own mouths, the Boombox is loud as fuck. You can usually find them sitting down and screaming every word they say (regardless of whether they're with anyone) or playing their music aloud, sans headphones, from their MP3 player/phone. Their voice is usually one of the grating, Fran Drescher types and their music is always something severely intolerable like Mambo No. 5 or the Tiny Toons Theme Song. The Boombox usually rides the entire subway line from start to finish, most likely just to annoy people like you.



Inner Ear Issues

These people seem to have no control over their bodies. If it wasn't for them stomping on your foot every other minute, you would swear that they didn't even have legs. You surmise that even if they were sitting down they'd be flailing all over the subway car with each twist and turn. They're usually carrying a giant, turtle shell of a backpack which also slams into you every time that they do. Inner Ear Issues never notices the stink eye you're giving them, but you notice the stink eye that everyone else is giving you every time you domino into them on the subway. The resemblance to a Thwomp (of Super Mario Bros. fame) who has just gotten off of a spinning teacup ride is uncanny. The only way to save yourself from their war path is to get off of the subway ASAP.


The Insecure Stripper

We're all familiar with the stripper poles on the subway; they're not attached to any seats and have a ton of open hand room for people of all heights trying to stabilize themselves. If you're wasted, 18, and the subway isn't crowded, they are the perfect accessory for the sexy dance you've been practicing in the mirror every time you listen to a song with a lot of bass in it (oddly specific). If you're the Insecure Stripper, this is the perfect pole to hug with your entire body and not let anyone else on the crowded subway car use. If you're brave and incredibly unbalanced (physically!), like I am, you will hold onto the pole anyway. This will not detach the Stripper from the subway pole and you will most likely end up copping a feel somewhere inappropriate. Regardless of their gender, the Insecure Stripper always seems to be covered in breasts so that no matter where you clutch on the pole, there is a boob continually smashing into the back of your hand. Don't get me wrong, I love touching me some titties, but usually not unexpectedly, in public, and at 9:00am in the morning.


Subway Soapboxer

If you're an egocentric tool with a lot on your mind (or just plain certifiable), you've probably realized that the subway is the perfect venue to share your views with people. This is because as soon as those doors close, they can't escape and are forced to listen to your bullshit. In my experience, the Soapboxer is usually a deeply religious person who wants to explain the ins and outs of Jesus Christ to you or talk about how they are a fallen angel and only young girls are pure enough to touch them (the latter exists, has a ponytail, and likes to take the 6 from Astor Place). The Soapboxer may also read straight from the Bible, share their horrible poetry with you, talk about their political views, perform a scene from Shakespeare's Hamlet, tell you a boring anecdote, and countless other things. No matter how much you try to read or turn up the volume on your music, you can't block them out. You must listen and they know that.



Thanks for reading. If you think you're one of the aforementioned people, well then fuck you forever. If not, good luck riding the subway!