Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Lights... Camera... ME!

As you all WELL know, I hate, truly loathe, all forms of braggadocio and self promotion, but sometimes... sometimes, you just can't help it.

Today I got a phone call from the "Northern Los Angeles Area".  I was intruiged.  The call was from Terry, who had heard, (I can only assume, from one of my adoring fans), that I've been interested in getting into acting and/or modeling.  It turns out that Terry has directed sitcoms, and he would like to set me up with a Hollywood acting and/or modeling agent.

I really hadn't thought much about my acting and/or modeling aspirations before today.  I mean, as an undeniably attractive and talented person, it's not a terrible SHOCK to me that Hollywood has come calling, but I've also got so many other things going for me, other Irons in the Fire if you will, that I just don't know if I can give my acting and/or modeling career the attention it deserves.

That being said, I was impressed at Director Terry's interest in me, at his ability to notice my obvious raw talent in acting and/or modeling.  He also gave some helpful suggestions, like, "You should never have to pay someone to take you on as a client".  Of course I know this.  Maybe those with less natural ability would have to pay others for representation, but not me, that's for certain.

It's funny, and maybe a little bit sad, how much my poor husband has had to strive to get any really Hollywood attention for his writing, and here, with no work on my part, I've got Hollywood directors just knocking down my door, begging me to become an actress and/or model. And all I had to do was press 1 to be connected to an agent instead of pressing 2 to be removed from Director Terry's call list.

Oh, and don't worry.  If I do decide to grace Director Terry with my business and become a major acting and/or modeling star, I would never forget the little people.  Because it really is all you little people that make this all worth while.

Saturday, May 3, 2014


I can only assume it's character building. Probably, I would be a wretched self entitled racist puppy-kicking hater of everything good and righteous if I got the chance to be a real life attractive person. I can only assume that my yucks exist because they must exist or, like, I would die.

Dang it, if my case of the uglies doesn't have some deeper philosophical meaning, then forget it.  Forget everything.

I friggin quit.

I'm losing weight. I weight 5 pounds less now than I did at my high school graduation. Also, I learned how to apply makeup, and my hair doesn't look quite as orange as it once did, my crazy tooth gap decided to magically fix itself, and I just bought these wonderful new red shoes that just might just be the key to EVERYTHING.

So if I'm being completely honest, I'd say that I was almost starting to feel a little bit hotstuffs up until a few days ago.

My face, with it's 7 scars and generally comic features, has found a whole new way to get weird.  You know that awesome 8 miles of running I did on Saturday? Well it had an exciting new effect.

My face-skin is tanning botchy and weird. Like, I look a little bit like bleach dripped out of my hairline and splashed on my face.  I look like I have that thing Michael Jackson SAID he had which motivated him to turn himself into the White Witch. It's new.  And weird.  And WHY IS IT NECESSARY FOR ME TO CONSTANTLY FIND WAYS TO LOOK WEIRD? Stop it, Mirror. Pick on someone your own size. Like the window. 

The thing about having been an ugly duckling is that, you're supposed to turn into a beautiful swan, not a funky duck.  Of course it would seem that I have not received that memo, as my whole self appears hell-bent on the funky duck thing. 

Anyway, there you have it. Lesson for tonight: Laugh at the Mirror, folks, because he's SERIOUSLY trying to make you look like an idiot here, and you shouldn't let him. He's totally just jealous. 


And then there was April.  And then came May.  And here we are.

Running.  That's the ticket. Or at the least, that's the reason I hurt from head to toe this particular evening. It's also why I know that I live almost exactly 4 miles from my little brother's house, door to door. And then, almost exactly 4 miles back, in case you're wondering.  Across a road bridge, around and through 4 small parks, along a dried up river bed where people ride horses, past a Christian church, an LDS temple, an elementary school, a junior high, a high school soccer field, and an adult education... place.  Through dirt, over roads, along side walks. In the sun. Over the lizards and the acorns and the trash. Straight through an inappropriately timed "Earth Day Celebration" (because by the way, wasn't Earth Day... not today??) which included booths for "new energies" and Mexican food and... some hipster dude with a beard and a guitar and far too little body fat.  I'm not the weird one, Earth Day Celebrators who stared confused at the jogger in their midst. You're the one blocking the trail with your tents and your hipsters.  You're the one who seems to smoke too much pot to remember that Earth Day was like, 2 weeks ago or something.  I'm not the weird one.

I know I say it bunches and bunches, but running is COOL, guys.  It makes your body hurt, but hurt in a way that says "I'm a super cool badass who RUNS".  And it's grand. Running accomplishes multiple goals. Today, running got me to visit my sister-in-law and my outrageously adorable neice. And then running took me home.

Oh yeah, and running got me down to a a new low weight, and a new goal met: 154.8. Guys... I'm  not fat anymore. I'm officially, albeit, barely, a HEALTHY WEIGHTED PERSON. Thanks, Running!

And, AND, once upon a time, running did this:

That's me in April of 2010, then April of 2011, just after completing a 13.1 mile run. 45 pounds of weight lost in the line between those pictures. 45 pounds that were replaced by health. Joy. And the beginnings of comfort in my own skin.  It was pretty sweet.

So I haven't been blogging. And I haven't been doing an AWESOME job losing weight. But I'm making better choices. Eating less, and of course, finding time for running. And I'm sure bunches of you have gym memberships or yoga mats or PX90 DVDs that keep your hineys nice and tight, but it's definitely going to be running for me. 7 miles Monday.  8 today. That's where I get my little piece of awesome.

Post 7 mile run, legs gave out, don't care anymore that I'm allergic to grass, selfie:

Oh, and as a note to people who like to pull your car up behind runners and then honk at them? Eat poo and die. Because the one thing my already strained cardiovascular system didn't need was a heart attack.  You massive jerks.
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