Two Dollars

June 28, 2014 § Leave a comment

A lonely 22 year-old laments loving. 

My tale of love: nothing happens.

But I want to account for all the times I thought it could happen with a man that I found irresistible. Here is something I would like to say first. To be in love is probably the most amazing feeling. I imagine it as waking up each morning to see someone. You actually want to wake up. You don’t need to sleep anymore. You need to see them

To love is another can of worms. It feels awful to love someone, especially when you know it is futile. Your gaze, smile, primping, laughter–it means nothing to him like his being does to you.

There’s a man who stands outside the train station selling papers and he comes up with sweet catchphrases so you will come over to buy them. I always think about walking over and just handing him five dollars for making my commute worthwhile. Today, he said, “For two dollars you can take me home. Not me! The paper.”

Immediately, I thought about him. Him. Sam, who fills me with euphoria and disgust at the same time.

“Sam could take me home for two dollars.”

That was a lie though. Sam could take me home for free. 

I have loved Sam for two months. I am revolted with my “crush” on this man. Not only are the prospects of a relationship or a date abysmal, but I am sure that he knows and pretends he doesn’t in order to remain friends with me.

But yeah.

I’ve never been in love. That’s very clear. And in fact, I’m so old that it feels unattainable. That all my ideas of love have been dashed by treating romantic comedies as unacceptable standards. I prowl for a partner, not for dalliance and because of this, I always, always have a stick up my ass.

Is my love worth even two dollars at this point? Could the man selling papers sell me so someone could take me home on a Friday night?

I also have concluded I’m not pretty. There used to be times I’d look in the mirror and nod, thinking that perhaps today was the day that some stranger would be captivated by me. Those times don’t happen anymore. I now am adroit at accepting the mediocrity in my beauty. Suddenly, my skin is inflamed constantly and my eyebrows look like cave paintings.

It is bizarre that we, as humans, experience love.

You’d think evolution would destroy that heartache and the devastation of loving and not being loved back. You’d think that my past could have prevented this present of loving Sam and wishing for him to even touch me. I have become a sponge saturated with the saccharine that makes up Precious Moments and Carebears. 

Remember how the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile for you?

Yeah. I do. I’ll remember that for awhile.


The Return

June 23, 2014 § Leave a comment

I know, I’ve been away. My life has been a series of cacophonous events and then catatonic pauses. So, I apologize. I need to attend to my lovely blog (and lovelier followers) once more.

Since I am on summer break, I’ve decided to break into the reviewing market. So, right now, I’m going to do movie and book reviews of things I read and see over the summer and perhaps throw in a couple event, play, and recreational things as well. Here is my to-do list of movies and books I have already seen/read since my summer began last week.


  1. Orange is the New Black: Season 2 (2014)
  2. Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)
  3. Submarine (2010)
  4. Frances Ha (2013)
  5. Terms and Conditions May Apply (2013)
  6. The Trip (2010)


  1. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, by Robin Sloan
  2. Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami

These reviews will be coming quite steadily from my blog very soon. I also have two lists going of the other books I’ll be reading and movies I’ll be watching. My Netflix queue is quite figuratively bursting at the moment. I also take long train rides every day, so I have been reading a lot more quickly than usual. My lists are as follows:

Movies (selections in no particular order)

  1. Prince Avalanche (2013)
  2. The Kids Are All Right (2010)
  3. Much Ado About Nothing (2012)
  4. Jeff, Who Lives at Home (2011)
  5. Annie Hall (1977)
  6. Fargo (1996)
  7. The Viscous Kind (2009)


  1. The Empathy Exams, by Leslie Jamison
  2. The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz
  3. The Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov
  4. Atonement, by Ian McEwan
  5. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte
  6. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, by Stieg Larson

So yeah. Am I being ambitious? Yes. Will I finish everything? Probably not. But hey, a girl can dream.



May 5, 2014 § Leave a comment

Don’t get me wrong. I love reading. I just never have enough time. Over spring break I was actually able to sit down with a book and read it straight through. I hadn’t done that in so long.

Tomorrow, I will be picking up a shipment of books I got from Amazon. Five books to be exact. They are, in no particular order:

  1. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan
  2. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
  3. Confessions of a Casting Director by Jen Rudin
  4. The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison
  5. Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

I am so excited to have brand new books, as I always am. But I need to be held accountable for them. What’s the best way to make sure I get things read? In the midst of exams, work, and obligations, I always pick up a book only to put it down at a place where I’m not even attached yet.

Do I set a deadline? Do I carry it around with me everywhere no matter the size of the book (or my purse for that matter)?

How do I read a book??



2+2=4: How I Got To Art School

April 30, 2014 § 1 Comment

A commentary on intelligence and the arts. 

I joke about being dumb because I’m an actor. 

“I got to art school. I’m not meant to do math.” 

I think people think I’m stupid. At least some who know that I’m an actor and I must be delusional to think I can make a career out of it. 

But I got to art school because I was smart enough to know where I’d be happiest. I don’t talk about my achievements in high school: that I was in Cum Laude and garnered other academic achievements.I tried to be a teacher’s pet and desperately wanted to get A’s on everything I could. I am an intelligent young woman. 

I got to art school because I worked my ass off at everything. I didn’t have to worry about my acceptance being revoked because I was a senior and (of course) I got senioritis, but kept pushing forward with my work. 

I got to art school because I knew myself better than any other teen. I could pick out my traits and understand. I am empathetic and can look at each person as someone with only good intentions. I give people the benefit of the doubt. 

Most importantly, though, I got to art school because I tramped through a private school for fourteen years where I was a nerd and a suck up and I succeededI rose above, I conquered, I did it. Despite being an outcast, a girl who was probably a little too passionate about theatre, and the daughter of a teacher, I succeeded. 

So, yes, 2+2=4 and that’s the reality of it. 

I can do math. I’m not just an arts major. I am a lot more important than you think I am. 

Cocktail Aphrodite

April 17, 2014 § Leave a comment

Blogging 101: Zero To Hero asked me to post something I’ve wanted to since I started my blog. This has been in my drafts for a couple weeks, so I’ve finally decided to polish it up. 

She likes to flit around the party. She likes to say hello and have a giggle with almost everyone who walks in the room.

I don’t think that she is quite who I am, but I push past it in the name of good fun.

With a glass of wine, preferably a pink moscato, she likes to sip and sip until she feels her eyes buzzing. That’s how she knows she is done. She’ll flirt with anything that moves, but unintentionally because that’s just her nature. She will smile at her friend whom she kissed a week earlier in a drunken stupor. It wasn’t wupposed to happen. They never talked about it and never told anyone, so they moved on from it.

For that, she feels powerful. She feels lusty and clear-headed and like she can do anything. But she knows it will only happen again if they are drunk enough.

She wants to feel dizzy and ditzy and different. She never lets down the guard of intelligence when she is sober.

She will dance. She will laugh. Her charm will entice someone onto the dance floor. Preferably, an acquaintance–not a friend or a stranger. They may touchandfeel or kiss. He will bring her a drink, but she may be gone. She doesn’t want to do anything that she regrets in the morning.

If she has left him, she will be in the strains of another conversation, trying to make sense of unclear minds with whom she thinks is her friend. It may turn out to be a complete stranger, but she does a good job of picking out the lonely ones.

If she waits for him on the dance floor. She will take the drink he has brought her, down it, and allow herself to make a poor decision.

How will she make it home? If she’s in his arms, they’ll walk. It probably isn’t too far from her apartment, or his. The city, when she’s drunk, isn’t that big. If she’s alone, she always calls a cab. Either way, by the very end of the night, whether it is one or four, she’ll be in her own bed.

The next morning, she will wake up and feel her eyelids ache and grow heavier. She will sleep for another hour and then wake up. Her friend will tell her to drink a bottle of water for her headache. “You’re dehydrated,” he’ll say.

She will sit with her bottle of water and wish it was a Bloody Mary.

And then she will wait another week or two or three before doing it all again.

She has to maintain some standard of class.



Me, I Guess

April 17, 2014 § 1 Comment

So, I’m doing the Blogging 101: Zero to Hero** thingamabob and completely spaced on doing the first post…which was yesterday. The prompt was to just say a little bit about myself. I think my about is a good representation of that, but I guess I’ll just give you a quick overview of myself with these nice bullet points:

  • I am an acting student, currently in my first year of university
  • I also write (hence the blog)
  • I am a HUGE Nancy Drew fan (both the books and the games. s/o herinteractive)
  • I belong in the 1930s or 1940s. Or 1920s. I am not of this time period.
  • If I could, I would never wear an outfit more than once. #stylebitches
  • I hate myself for using a hashtag on this blog

Now, onward to the point of this blog.

I want to be able to hone my writing and start exploring different forms of writing since I have stuck very closely to fiction for the past…four years maybe? I want to become more curious through this blog and so far, I feel I have been accomplishing my goal. Stay tuned for more silly ramblings, attempted works of fiction, and maybe even a poem if I write anything not too shitty.

Thank friends. Please put up with my for the next thirty days while I try and better my blog.


**The title only makes me think of the seminal classic, Disney’s Hercules. Enjoy this sassy picture.


April 10, 2014 § 1 Comment

People always tell me that they know I’ll find someone to love eventually.

They just know it.

“You’re great. You’re this. You’re that. You’re sweet. You are pretty.”

How can they know it when I’m not sure if I believe it myself?

I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t believe in soulmates. Whoever you decided to love is not indicative of a universal plan or fate or any of that.

The reason I don’t believe in any of these things, though, is probably because I’ve never met or loved anyone enough to make me believe it. So when people tell me they just know there is someone out there for me, I can’t help but be a little skeptical. I don’t think I’ll know when I find someone. I think I’m scared and a little frustrated with the whole “search.” And I think I’ve ruined love for me because I think of it as a “search.”

People tell me that it’s going to be even better because I’ve waited so long for someone. Don’t get the impression that I’m sitting up in a tower letting my hair trail to the ground. Just waiting for someone to come climb up my hair and get me because I’ve been “waiting.” I don’t wait for things. I act for things, but love has never been that sort of sport.

I ogle men on the street who exemplify my tastes–metrosexual, usually. Facial hair almost always. Tall, dark haired, bright-eyed.

Brooding. Mysterious. Quiet.

If I’m out with my friends I’ll turn to them and make an “OK” with my fingers (a la Martin Van Buren) when I pass a guy who takes my gaze from my path for a little too long. It’s all a game until I get back to my apartment and need to sit with myself and my feelings.

It’s okay to be alone. I know I don’t need anyone right now. I am a complete, whole person. I’m loud and brash and I love people. I love too hard and too openly for some people’s tastes I guess. I am comfortable with myself. So why can’t someone be comfortable with me?

I like to pretend I believe those people who say that they just know that someone will come my way and it will be magnetic. I like to pretend I believe them.




Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 50 other followers