Thursday, June 18, 2015

A Pretty Paradox

Published 6/18/2015

In light of my efforts to be more emotionally transparent and forthcoming, I must address the following:

I realized a few years ago that I suffer from a rather serious condition, a duplicitous affliction some call it. I’ve been told only time, quarantine, or drastic medical procedures can reverse this genetic malaise that I’m plagued with. Unfortunately, none of those options are quite feasible so I’m left to wait it out.

My super serious problem… is that I’m pretty. Now before you hurl your computer at the wall in disgust, please hear me out. My daily reality is fraught with both psychological and tangible missteps of which there seem to be no end in sight.

Until I moved to the East Coast immediately before college, it was a struggle for me to even maintain the idea that I wasn’t ugly. I attribute that to various factors ranging from constantly being the only black friend, to torment by mean girls (who I could never have fathomed were threatened by me) in high school. When I was finally able to consider that I might possibly be mildly attractive, it was a very short-lived thrill.

I suddenly went from being and feeling invisible to having much more attention than I was used to, and I quickly realized, wanted. I’d always envied the girls whom everyone wanted to date, but I wish I could’ve foreseen the hatred the mere sight of my face would invoke in other women once I began to come into my own. I’ve been snubbed, ridiculed and threatened because of assumptions people make about me based on my cloyingly symmetrical visage and my rather self-possessed nature. Suffice it to say, college was hard. I can honestly say that I’ve never benefited from the mythical ease with which beautiful people glide through life. Quite the contrary, and numerous studies have shown that my experience is not unique.

Fast forward to my adult life in which I’m still paying off a feckless bachelor’s degree which has served me little, while I attempt to make a name for myself as a performing artist. I like to joke that I’m some sort of renaissance women and while I excel at many things, I really have few marketable skills. For the past few years I’ve felt that all I’ve had to offer to the world, sadly, is a pretty face. But the truth is that as a floundering actress, I’ve failed at that as well.

Constantly being told that I’m “just not right” for parts, makes me question one of the few things that I’m sure of in this world. That, by the way, came only after years and years and YEARS of telling myself, and slowly believing that all the people who called me names and told me that I was ugly, among other things, as I was growing up were mistaken. Yes, I went through a bit of a Pecola Breedlove phase and emerged gleaming on the other side, but to what end? 

As I look MUCH younger than I am, I’m trapped in a perpetual state of cuteness, and people rarely take me seriously. Because pretty, skinny women are dumb. I often see people become instantly annoyed and sometimes even angry if I dare to admit any insecurity that I have because they assume I’m fishing for compliments. If they knew me, they’d know that’s not the case at all, but once they’ve projected their beliefs onto me it’s nearly impossible to wrest myself away from their preconceived notions.  I don’t know why people attempt to guilt me into taking catcalls from strangers as complimentary, as if I asked for the burden of alleged beauty. I’m most certainly not flattered when old men leer at me in grocery stores, when douchebags at the gym shower me with misogynistic tomfoolery meant to be both insulting and enticing, or when teenagers walk behind me, loudly singing about “dat ass” to get my attention. Nope! I don’t revel in these moments.

Men assume that I’m high maintenance and stuck up, that they can only manage me if I’m drunk, and that I’m shallow if I’m not romantically inclined towards them.  Just once I’d like to go to an improv class or comedy writing workshop without being blatantly informed that I cannot possibly be funny because I’m attractive and probably haven’t struggled enough in life to have a sense of humor. I’d like to go a day without someone telling me that I should smile, or randomly touching my face or my hair as if I’m a My Size Barbie ™ on display for their presumptuous pawing. I’d like to go a day without people assuming that I’m a slut… because they want to sleep with me. Their amplified desire has no impact on my actual proclivities, but few seem to realize that. I’d like to go on an interview and not be stopped mid perfunctory-career-goal-answer to be told, once again that I am pretty. I know that, but I want you to hire me! The same goes for a bygone group of friends I once had that feigned interest in my personal life. Any mention of professional frustration, any confession of unsolved problems financial or familial was quickly swept aside with “But you’re so pretty.” Thanks, but that solves nothing, and more often than not, it hinders me.

These might seem like trivial issues, but they’re my issues. For my conciliatory looks, I have no real career, no relationship and no sugar daddies to speak of. Not that I want those last two things, but isn’t that what beautiful idiots are made for? I’d really just like to not be interrupted when I speak, and to not be made to feel like I invite predatory behavior if it happens to be 90 degrees and I wear a dress that’s not even mildly provocative. And if that isn’t going to happen, I’d love for everyone including my agent to stop telling me how attractive I am in the absence of actual acting jobs.  Either everyone is lying to me, or I’ve failed in the beauty department as well.

Mostly though, I just want to be taken seriously. #PrettyPeopleHaveFeelingsToo

Monday, June 1, 2015

Actress Problems: Headshots

Published 6/1/2015

Guys, check out my production value!

*value is a word I use lightly*

Monday, May 11, 2015

Saturday, April 25, 2015

It's Raining and People Are Freaking Out!

Published 4/25/2015

Seriously Angelenos, it's just rain. Learn to drive in it please and thanks!

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Now and Then (and an unrelated video)

Published 4/18/2015

Last night I very seriously considered going to bed at 7:30 and that is NOT okay. I’d like to say that I had a particularly taxing day at work, or I’d been wrangling a set of triplets or something, but neither of those things are the case. I’m a young person in LA and I could have been doing something other than reliving my childhood by watching Boy Meets World, but the thought of leaving the house again was sooo unappealing.

I’m not quite sure when my idea of a good time shifted so drastically, but I’ve been realizing lately that ALL of my priorities and goals have been changing. When I was 21 and had just graduated and was planning to move here to pursue acting, I’m pretty sure I was like “I want to eat diamond sandwiches while skydiving and stay up all night drinking champagne and partying in Paris and be in blockbusters and drive a G-class.”  Or something like that.

Time, the realities of living in LA, and the ability to reassess what’s actually important has lead me to a serious reevaluation of my youthful aspirations. Now most of my fantasies about the future usually revolve around having a garage. Like, I really, really, really just want a garage because parking on the street is killing my soul. I cannot stress how much I want a garage. And a holistic dentist. I don’t understand how this happened to me.

By the way, the video I’m posting has absolutely nothing to do with anything I just wrote. So that’s happening. 

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Instead of Writing

Published 4/11/2015

Sooooo I’ve been a little bit busy and I haven’t been blogging. Sad face. So I’m using my webcam for the first time. Hooray for talking pictures.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Sometimes You Should Just Get Rid of Things

Published 3/5/2015

Dear Readers, I have a serious problem. I’m really, really frugal and I need to cut it out! Frugality in a normal, non-obsessive person is good, but my version of frugality includes eating wilted lettuce and keeping clothes way, waaayyyy too long. I cannot throw things away! The guilt. The incredible guilt! There are starving children in Cambodia and there’s always the chance that I might wear that tattered whatever one more time.

Yesterday during time that I should have been using to write, I decided to continue my quest to revive a discontinued bra at Victoria’s Secret. I decided that I would write them a letter with photo evidence to show them how sincere I was in my resolve. What began in my mind as a charming tale of customer loyalty led me to a pressing question. Why the hell do I still have this barebones bra?! I really think there’s a deeper issue here. This isn’t the first item of clothing I’ve kept longer than I should have, and I highly doubt that it will be the last. Please don’t judge me too much. My damning letter follows. Incidentally, I did get a response from Vickie’s but it did not contain any promises to bring back this forgotten style. Sadness. #VerySexyVPushUPForever 

Dear Victoria’s Secret,

I really do love you dearly. I have been a loyal shopper for years and I even went as far as to work at the flagship store in Columbus for a brief time before moving to LA. While employed at VS I bought a Very Sexy V Push Up bra and I loved it! I still love it, but unfortunately, it was 2010 when I purchased it. I paid attention while working at VS and I KNOW I should replace my bras every six to twelve months, but I CANNOT bring myself to part with this perfect brassier. I’ve gotten other bras and as a matter of fact, I never purchase undergarments anywhere else, but as you can see from the pictures I’ve attached, I really need to let this one go. But alas, I cannot!

Please, please, PLEASE consider re-releasing the Very Sexy V Push Up. Please! I refuse to believe that I’m the only person who’s requested this. I know there are similar styles but I need this one!!!!! I have hand-washed and dried flat but the mesh is looking sad. It’s questionable as to whether it actually still supports me or is purely symbolic at this point. I implore you to make this bra again, even if you market it under a different name, or at least tell me that somewhere there is a warehouse or outlet store with a couple of 34As or 32Bs waiting for a good home. I will gladly give them that home! 

(What mine looks like after five years)

And if you do decide to sell it again I will literally buy at least 12, so there’s that. Seriously please, look at the sad pictures I’ve attached. Please don’t let me go on like this! The Incredible comes close to the V Push Up in comfort, but it is NOT the V Push Up. Tell me there’s hope. I need to retire my five-year-old bra with dignity, but I can’t let it go until I know I can replace it. I really need you guys to start making that bra again. Okay, that’s all.


Ummm, whoever wrote this letter has problems! I need to get it together. #GetANewBraDummy