Showing posts with label Dear Diary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dear Diary. Show all posts

Ingredients

Don't ask me why, but I decided to read the ingredients in Febreze while gathering laundry today. The results are staggering:

The first ingredient is 'odor eliminator', which, I say with authority, is absurd. That's like listing the first ingredient in Coke as 'blood strain remover' or Ben & Jerry's ice cream as 'frozen ass-mazingness'. DUH.

The second ingredient is water. The third is fragrance. This seems like what 'odor eliminator' is made of, yup! Science?! Science! And marketing.

Small Thoughts on Childhood

Fuzzy memories of childhood
Remember that thing that would happen from time to time in your childhood? 

Where you've fallen asleep on the drive home, and as you're being carried from the car to the house, you wake up just for a second; just long enough to see a glimpse of the lawn, wet from the sprinklers and sparking in the moonlight? 

Getting a ride on someone's shoulders (at a parade, for example) and you never feel like you're going to fall off of the shoulders, but you also feel very wobbly? And then when it's time to get off and walk on your own, how your legs and feet would be all pins and needles?

Remember riding your bike to your friend's house, letting them get their bike, then the two of you would go to the next kid's house and then that friend would hop on a bike, and before long you had a whole crew of kids on bikes? Remember when a whole gang of your friends would show up at your door on their bikes to see if you wanted to ride with them? 

Remember Chinese jump rope? Remember hanging by your knees off of the jungle gym and swinging so you could see sky, then ground, then sky, then ground? 

Remember starring out the window at cars parked out front while you were stuck at home the summer before you had your driver's permit, bored out of your mind and wishing you could just hop in and drive to the mall? 

Remember feeling like you'd never get out of school, and thinking about how you'd spend your entire life in a little desk waiting for a bell to ring?





Michael J. Fox Versus The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles



Michael J. Fox versus the The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

That's not a Chuck Norris-versus-Rabid-Wolf-Who-Would-Win type of hypothetical. It's not a hypothetical at all. It happened, and I was there.

You know that episode of Seinfeld where the gang plays in a theatre league softball game with Bette Midler, and Kramer... Kramers all over Bette? Those entertainment industry games happen in real life, although usually without Bette Midler. (Michael Richards does play in every single game, though. Fun factoid.)

I started playing softball in middle school (no celebs on the field- just boring, regular kids), and then experienced my first 'entertainment industry' game playing in an amateur theatre league in Los Angeles after high school (in case you're wondering, Bette never showed- much to Micheal's chagrin!) and then I started playing in TV/Film games after I moved to NYC and started working in TV.

My first game in NYC was pitching for 'In Treatment'  in the 'Mildred Pierce' Versus 'In Treatment' pairing. It seemed appropriate to have Mildred battling a psychiatrist. Also appropriate? In Treatment was whooping Mildred until we got heat exhaustion and then Mildred took the lead and never looked back.

Which brings me back to Michael J. Fox versus the The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles:

The Michael J. Fox Show battled Michael Bay's TMNT movie on a dusty diamond in Queens, NY last summer. It was a matchup that was shaky at best; many of the competitors were green.

You'll never believe it, but The Turtles beat MJF. If we had MJF the man, the myth, the Canadian on the field we probably would have won because the only person I can think of who could best a team of ninja turtles is Marty McFly. He still rides around on the hover board. Fun factoid.










Dreams I've Had

I had a dream the other night, and in the middle of the dream, Louie CK walked in with a young man and announced, "this is my son, Johnny CK."

They exited, and my dream continued uninterrupted.


Naming the Colors - Orange You Glad Edition

Signatures: Atomic and Stylistic
Guess what- the fruit orange existed before the color! Imagine a time before the color orange was invented... that'd be so weird!...
*time warp..... to the year 1404, before the color Orange had been named, to a street scene that MIGHT have been!*

"Good day, my lady. Doth thou know the date to-day?" asked the 15th century gentleman to a young woman passing by with a basket of berries freshly plucked from the bushes o'er the yonder hills.

"Why yes, my good sire, todoth's date beith the fifth Monday of the lord's year 1404, the 4th of February," the lady replied quite verbosely to a strange man she had never met before.

"And may I ask you another question?" asked the 15th century gentleman.

"Yes," said the lady, quite quickly. She shouldn't be talking to a man who is not her relative without a chaperone present, per the societal rules of the day.

"What ungodly color hath your garb been dyed?" asked the 15th century gentleman.

"Well," the lady paused quite pregnantly, "there is no name for the color of the dye of my dress."

"What do you mean?" asked the 15th century gentleman.

"I mean to say, it is somewhere between yellow and red but it is neither yellow nor red-"

"Nor is it blue! But I hath not asked what it is not, I hath asked ye what doth isith!" said the 15th century gentleman, in a less than gentlemanly manner.

"It is nothing, it is a shade that has not yet been named!" cried the lady.

"I ask ye again: what color hath thou dyed thy garment? Answerith me, woman!" hissed the 15th century gentleman, as a bit of sour spittle gathered in the corners of his lips.

"There is no name for it, strange gentleman! Tis a new color! One that exists only in the moment where yellow fades to red as the sun sets over the River Th-" and with that he slapped her check. It was the first time a man other than her papa had every touched her skin.

"Witch!" the 15th century gentleman exclaimed, "Witch! Witch! She hath created a new color! Burn her body to see if it floats! Hang her to see if she can swim! She hath doth aught that we shant!"

The lady remained in silent shock, considering for a moment if now she would be forced to marry this strange man since they had made bodily contact... but before the moment passed, the 15th century gentleman produced a small dagger from within his coat and sliced her virgin throat.

"My virgin throat!" the lady gurgled through the blood.

The 15th century gentleman screamed as he watched the devil fabric absorb the definitely red blood that twas spurting from her jugular. Just then, another man approached the 15th century gentleman.

"What hath thou done?" Asked the second 15th century gentleman.

"She wore a garment dyed a color neither yellow nor red but instead somewhere in-betweenith. I used my dagger to cut her throat as she was obviously a witch! Now we must drown her to see if she'll catch afire," replied 15th century gentleman.

"Why, my good man! I've traveled across all the Europe and Asia's mountains by foot and by beast as part of my work as a cartographer, and that hue has only existed in one place! The oriental fruit they call 'orenge' is that strange color as well, and the only other natural thing I've eer seen in that hue. I've definitely never seen another fruit, flower, butterfly, sunset or anything else that particular color!  For certain! Just the fruit," said the second 15th century gentleman

"Perhaps she was a witch after all, for how else could a woman create a color that only our Creator hath produced, and only then in the distant gardens of the Orient?" ask the first 15th century gentleman.

"Indeed! Good work, my good man. Now, let's gather the towne's wagoner to pluck her wretched body from the street and give her a ye olde witch's trial in the cemetery!" cried the second 15th century gentleman.

*******
And so it might have gone... in the time before the color orange had been named.... DUN-dun--DUNNNN!!!!

So about how I announced my age over a mic to an entire bar last night...

(Eye-Witness Photo. Yes, that's the actual mic in question.)
Remind me to stay home. When I go out, I embarrass myself.

Example:

I went out to celebrate my birthday with my girlfriends last night. We were at Blue Nile watching The Soul Rebels perform when the band called up all of the birthday people on to the stage. Six Sagittariuses, including me, hop on stage. How awesome is that?!?! (PS, there are a lot of December babies... or liars...)

After they sing/trumpet the first verse of Happy Birthday, they start singing new lyrics I've never heard: "How old are you now, how old are you now?" At this point, the band member next to me leans over and asks me "So how old are you today?"
"Twenty-seven. Shhhh!" I replied.... in to an OPEN MIC.

Keep reading to see VIDEO of the event....

Best Part about New Orleans Birthdays...


Best Tradition Ever!!!

I you wear a safety pin on your birthday in NOLA, strangers and friends alike will pin money to you! So far, I've made $13 and I've only been out and about for 30 minutes!

Bye, bye, student loans!!!!

HOWARD STERN IS GONNA JUDGE ON AGT!!!!

(Image Credit: Stan Honda/Getty Images)
Best Birthday Gift EVER!

I don't care about America's Got Talent, but I do want the stigma attached to Howard to wash away so I can stop explaining to people who've never listened to him that he's not a perv or anti-woman.

Howard is friends with the LGBT community, pro-choice, and Robin Quivers is a vegan. Yes, he talks about masturbating. So if you're from 1950, you'll probably be offended by his radio show.

Now, what he does/says on Sirus will not be what he does/says on AGT. I mean, do we remember The Osborne MTV show? Sharon Osbourne cursed to high heaven on that show and everyone is cool w/ her hosting AGT and The Talk- and yet some people believe Howard won't be able to control his cursing.

He doesn't have FUCKING tourette's. He's a grown up. You know how, as a grown up, sometimes we curse and sometimes we don't? It's fucking complicated, I know...

PS to people who say 'What does Howard know about talent?!', I have two points: What do Piers Morgan or Sharon O know about talent? (Howie Mandel is a comedian, so I'll assume we all agree he has more 'obvious' talent-judging abilities.) Second point: Half of The Howard Stern Show's cast of characters were just wacky people whom Howard plucked from obscurity because he could tell they were ENTERTAINING.

So in conclusion... yay, Howard!!! Can't wait for the secret to get out that you're not a double-douche bag.

Mazel Tov.

Yes, I broke out my Italian for you, Howard! ;-P




Happy Date I Was Born on to Me!

On this date in 1984, my mom was cut open by Dr. Fleiss (Heidi's dad) at Sedar Sinai Medical Center in Beverly Hills and I was removed from her womb.

I was born at a discount because both of my parents worked at the Hospital, least anyone think I must have been rich 'cause I was born in the 90210.

I weighed 9 lb, 8 oz and I was 21" long.

Cut to 27 years later...  I am now 48" taller and 48" wiser. Not sure what that means, but I said it and I'm the birfday grrl so I choose to throw out my metaphors fast and loose. Deal with it!


Dear Diary, I am Hoff-Val

I had a realization in the ladies room today (don't worry, I washed my hands): Just like how David Hasselhoff accentuates/interjects the 'hoff' sound in to words to remind us that his brand is hoff the chain, so to speak, I also VALUE the VALIANT.... uh, I forgot where I was going with that.

Look, the point is that I am Val-obsessed. I've coined phrases such as Val-matize, which literally means to woe friendship from a standoffish stranger using my 'personality', and The Val Vault, which is just my asshole way of saying I can keep a damn secret. I have also been known to come up behind my coworkers' chairs, shake them and yell "Val-Quake!". (It's funnier and less annoying than it sounds... I hope!)

Hiking in Los Angeles


This is a picture of me and Lucy going for a hike in Angeles Crest, California. My boyfriend Max and I only had to drive 20 minutes from our place to get here. You know in movies when the teenagers go to 'make out point'? Well Angeles Crest is like the the make out point of Crescenta Valley. It was refreshing to go here just to hike. Although making out is nice, too... call me, Max! :-P


Smilodon, You're on Candid Fossil!

(Tar balls and a sack lunch, two bits!)
Born in LA, I took the La Brea Tar Pits for granted. I thought every city had a lake of tar that swallowed monsters whole that dates back to the ice age.

La Brea means The Tar in spanish. I suppose the Department of Redundancy Department was responsable for naming the La Brea Tar Pits. Good enough for government work, I suppose. It was probably the same people who named The Los Angeles Angels, which literally means 'The The Angels Angels'. Can we please hand out English/Spanish dictionaries to all Los Angelinos, por favor please?
The Tar Pits were the original ancient fly paper. All the dinos and dire wolves and mammoths got stuck in the tar and died slowly and horribly over several days. Then, the oily content of the tar seeped in to their giant bones and acted as a preservative. Mmm, spread those preserves on toast and BOOM ice age toast. Yummy. Do it, kids.


One amazing monster that was preserved by the the tar tar was called Smilodon, or more awesomely, the saber-tooth cat. Yes, this bag of lion bones with 11 inch canine teeth looks like a dentist's nightmare, but the real nasty part is that unlike modern cats, this guy could open his jaw 120 degrees (a lion can only open 60 degrees).
(Before)


(After)



In layman's terms, that shit is gonn kill you. And not in a fun way. In a bleedy, bloody, punctured jugular way.

Letter from Earth to the Student in the Sky

Dear Manny,

I hope you are enjoying your time in the clouds. I received your postcard, but I suppose the moisture in the air must have been quite heavy on the day you mailed it because all the ink ran together and I couldn't read a word you wrote!

Luckily, I saw that it was postmarked 'The Clouds' so I knew it had to be from you. I hope you were writing to tell me that going to Cloud College is everything you had hoped it would be. Too bad there's no wifi up there yet.

What are your dorms like? Are all of the structures made of clouds, or do they build houses on cloud foundations? Do you make a lot of 'silver lining' jokes up there? Can you see the Great Wall?

What do you eat on a cloud? I assume you don't EAT the clouds, but I also can't imagine it'd be very easy to grow crops or keep animals on a cloud. If I had to guess what you're eating, I'd have to say astronaut food. I know that in deep space, the human tastebud is dulled so they have to make space food extra flavorful- are your tastebuds dulled on the cloud? I hope so, only because it would suck if you had to eat NASA's strong cooking without the weakened tastebuds.

I have a lot of questions! Sorry if they're stupid but I've never lived anywhere but on the ground.

I'm enclosing a little envelope filled with dirt for you. You may recognize the type of envelope- it's the red and gold kind that we bought together in Chinatown. I hope you enjoy the dirt! It's from a potted plant I purchased at Ikea.

Write back soon! And make sure to laminate it!

-Val

Val Von Deep... on just blurting out the story I hear in my head.

I made it to the 3rd round in the NYC Midnight flash fiction contest! Woot.

For the third round, I got 1,000 words to write a horror story set in a private school, and I had to mention a mouse. I almost gave up on this one. I wrote and then deleted and then rewrote the first 400 words three times, each time with a totally different spin on the story. I almost gave up when I only had eight hours left and was staring at a blank page, but I was still feeling regret for dropping out last year after I got a disappointing score on my 1st round Romance story, so I pushed myself to finish.

And I'm so happy I did! I am not all that concerned with how 'good' or 'bad' my story is- my true victory is that I learned a valuable lesson about my own writing process: I wasn't having trouble writing this story because I lacked ideas. I actually knew exactly what story I wanted to tell. I had that familiar flash I always get when an entire story just POPS into my head all at once. The best way to describe how quickly and completely I get the idea for my stories is by quoting my favorite  actor in my favorite movie: "Whoa, I know kung foo!"

Awesome and useful right? The problem is that even though I know exactly what I want to say, when I sit down at the keyboard I get jammed up. It's like 3 people trying to get through the same doorway all at once. All of those ideas pushing to get out of my head and onto the screen paralyse my fingers (sidenote: just found out I  can spell paralyse w/o spellcheck!!!) and I just freeze up.

It's the reason I have so many great story ideas that ultimately sit in intro paragraph purgatory.

Dear Diary, Who is my favorite Yankee?

I really want to buy a Yankees jersey, but the problem is I can't decide what # to wear because I can't choose a favorite Bomber!

When I'm watching a game, I'll see a fan wearing a #2 jersey, and I think to myself 'Hell yeah, Jeter fan! I want a #2 jersey!', but then Swish gets up to bat... and I love Swisher! He looks like a square-jawed bulldog who needs to be adopted. Plus, he is so great on the field- joking and smiling while still acting professionalz, and he has so much love for us fans, and sometimes he wears a mohawk! Now that's a jersey that I wanna wear.

Okay so Swisher is awesome- but can I even say he's my favorite outfielder?! I mean, let's not forget about Gardner. Once he perfects his bunt, he will be an unstoppable baseball machine. He is so effing fast- stealing bases, rushing balls in left field, and he's got a powerful bat, too. The funny thing is, he can look tiny when compared to some of the bigger Yankees but he's 5'10.

And then there's CF Curtis Granderson. I saw his first at-bat as a Yankee last year (it was a home run). After seeing something like that, it's hard to not wanna make him my favorite. Plus, he's always giving back to the community. He seems like a great guy... is he younger than me? Let me google that (hold on)...

Dear Diary, Salty and Sour

I just noticed how sad my container of salt is. I mean, just look at how this company has decided to portray it's product.

First of all, they've decided to go with a picture of salt being spilled all over the table. Right off the bat, they've depicted salt failing at one of it's two jobs- staying in its shaker (its other job is to make things salty). What pops in to your head when you think of spilt salt? Having to throw some over your shoulder for fear of bad luck? Is this ad making you think something horrible might happen?! Or maybe you think about the annoying, lingering granules that stick to your forearm long after the initial spill has been cleaned up? Who doesn't hate when that happens?!

Maybe it makes you think about all the spilled, wasted salt in this world. How there are 1 billion starving people, and this company has the nerve to spill salt willy-nilly for glamour shots. AND, just to rub salt in the wound, they've also pointed out that their product is FREE FLOWING. 'Yeah, so go ahead and starve, Africa! Us salt spillers are doing just fine and we don't care about you!' That's basically what this salt is saying to you. I think I know what you're thinking... how dare they? (Am I right  that that was what you were thinking about? I have a knack for that.)


Final point on why this is the wimpiest packaging ever: This salt supplies iodide, a necessary nutrient.

Look dude, we don't care about why there's iodide in the salt. You had us at 'salt', we didn't need to know anything else. You just seem desperate. It's sad. I mean, it's not 1925. Iodized salt is not a new thing anymore. We all know that unless otherwise stated there's muthafracking iodide in our salt because it's good for us and our brians and stuffs. Case in point: Doritos doesn't put a label on the front reading 'this chip supplies cheese powder, a necessary nutrient in getting fat'. It's Doritos. It's implied.

In conclusion, I'd like to say to whoever designed this packaging, you should really take a look at yourself. In what ways are you not living up to you own ideal? I think that something in your own life is holding your work back. Why is this salt failing, even when it is being glamourized? Why is it so cheap, so willing to flow freely? Why is it pushing so hard for us to need it? Do you hate your mother?

Sincerly,

Val

Dear Diary, Feel the burn!

I never had heartburn until I was 25. Then one day I felt this hot nastiness in the center of my chest, and I knew what it was. Before TV, I bet it was really scary to all of the sudden feel this fire burning around your sternum. I can picture it now...

(Heart Burn would be a good Halloween costume.) 
It's 1903, I'm a strapping young chap, and I just ate some Polish sausage on the boardwalk. La-de-da, what a jolly good stroll I'm hav- what the fligament?! Suddenly, a demon fire burns in my chest! Ah! Help me, please! My emotionally distant turn of the century parents never warned me about this! Someone get me a sarsaparilla- 

Ahem... What I mean to say, Diary, is that thanks to prescription drug commercials, I knew I wasn't breathing a demon fire and that a little Prevacid, Zantac, Tums, or Mylanta would make everything all better.

I love you television.

Dear Diary, I am bananas

Is it weird that I keep thinking about the fact that I have 6 bananas? I just happened to notice this morning, and now I keep looking over at them and thinking 'there's 6 of you'. I am also thinking about eating a second banana the next time I eat one. Having an even number of bananas is very nice.

Theoretically, since I know I have 6 and will eat 2 bananas for breakfast tomorrow, and I will eat 2 bananas 1.5 hours before my evening jog, and then will eat two again for breakfast on Wednesday, I will be out of bananas before my Wednesday evening jog. I better go shopping before 6pm on Wednesday.

I must admit that eating 4 bananas a day sounds like too much of a good thing. Perhaps I should find someone to help me eat the second and fourth banana?

Or maybe I'll suck it up this time round, and just make sure I buy my bananas in odd numbers in the future.

Two good solutions! I feel better.

Good night, diary. XO