Reading is Fundamental and so is Writing Too, I Guess

Hey Klingons,

I found out today that there is a small publishing company accepting non-represented work to be considered for print. HOORAY! This is great news.

Also, the deadline is in exactly one month.

What the Christ is my game plan, you ask? I have no idea. I guess pick a subject? A theme? I’m leaning towards either my childhood traumas or the jobs I’ve hated. So really, shitting my pants as a child versus shitting my pants as an adult. Or I could write three hundered and fifty pages on how I’ve spent $75  on ice cream delivery in one week. You would spend that much too if you found out there was an ice cream delivery store open until 2am right up the street from you.

I’ve joined a couple of online writer’s groups and it’s been the most motivating experience. Every single day, people post all the great things they are working on and have had published. Meanwhile I’m thinking, Oh. You guys actually work on stuff? You use your ideas and work on them until you feel they’re finished? Interesting. What a concept. Maybe I’ll try that.

 The discipline of sitting down to write without any idea of what you even want to say terrifies me. With that being said, this blog is completely stream of conscious. As for the overall topic, throughout the day if I become aware  I’m consistently thinking of a particular subject, I’ll think Oh yeah, maybe I should write about that in my blog! Then return to picking my nose and swallowing my gum.

I have this welcome mat sized coloring pad I started using to write down (in crayon) all the working titles of my stories. If asked on the street to share a story from my life, I’d go glassy-eyed, start slurring my words, and tell  you about my favorite Beanie Baby (Sparky). When I’m home and need to come up with enough essays for a book in under a month, then the list of ideas and stories comes in handy. I suggest you also revert to your childhood and buy a coloring pad the size of refrigerator.

For the next few weeks, this blog will probably be turning into my sounding board for what should go into the collection and what should never see the light of day again. Buckle up kids because Click-it or Ticket but also some real family truths may surfacing. Let’s enjoy it while we can.

Okay, bye! smoochxoxo

 

Food Food Food Food

I used to  take surveys and post them on MySpace all the time. I just ate a whole pizza so I thought I’d keep the fun going by answering some food related questions! Link to original survey embedded in the Food Survey title!

Food Survey 

1.     How do you feel about golden oreos?

Second hand Vienna fingers. 

2.     What is your favorite dessert topping?

I’ve been recently into KitKat chunks and/or Reese’s cup chunks. 

3.     What is your favorite flavor/brand of bubble gum?

BubbleYum or Grape Big League Chew

4.     Favorite cheese?

Mozzarella.

5.     Favorite Lunch Meat?

Mortadella because salt is god.

6.     Favorite ice cream flavor?

“Just Jimmies” by Brighams or Black Raspberry Chip from the Polar Cave ice cream parlor.

7.     Best looking food?

I like the way cartoon pizza looks. In real life, maybe one of those glazes hams with the pineapple on it.

8.     Best food to put cheese on?

Dumping shredded cheese one top of cold salsa.

9.     Best sexual food?

Are we taking aphrodisiacs or licorice underwear?

10.   Best tasting drink in the summer?

Moscow Mule

11.   Best tasting drink in winter?

Moscow Mule.  I’m not as opaque as I’d like to be.

12.   Best food for a night out with friends?

All foods.

13.   Best foods to eat with a roll?

Pasta or soup.

14.   Messiest food, in your opinion?

Burger.

15.   Easiest food to prepare?

Pasta.

16.   Cheapest food you ever ate?

Ramen Noodles.

17.   Most expensive food you ever ate?

Some sort of steak, I’d imagine.

18.   Stinkiest food you ever ate?

I don’t eat stinky food.

19.   Favorite dipping sauce?

Sweet and sour  sauce or the garlic aioli from Night Market in Cambridge, Ma.

20.   Best pizza topping?

Onions….or maybe a sprinkle of feta.

21.   Favorite potato chip flavor?

Sea Salt & Vinegar.

22.   Most toxic substance you ever ate?

Probably cheetos.

23.   Most calories you ate in one meal?

The pizza I ate this morning. I wish I were joking.

24.   Favorite soda?

Coke. 

25.   Favorite flavor of juice?

White grape mixed with anything.

26.   Favorite Vegetable?

Water chestnuts. Although, I think they might be a fruit. Whatever.

27.   Favorite Fruit?

Water chestnuts?

28.   Worst canned food?

All canned foods. 

29.   Best side dish?

Baked mac&cheese.

30.   Worst fast food restaurant?

Wendy’s? Mainly because of mayonnaise. 

31.   Best restaurant?

I’ll forever be in love with Night Market as mentioned previously.

32.   Best smelling food?

French onion soup.

33.   Favorite appetizer?

Maybe those onion string things. I could shovel those for days.

34.   Favorite cookie flavor?

Oatmeal chocolate chip… or a raspberry linzer.

35.   Favorite cake flavor?

ICE CREAM!

36.   Favorite pie flavor?

Strawberry rhubarb.

37.   Chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

This depends on the situation and ice cream at hand.

38.   Ketchup or Mustard?

This depends on the situation and the ice cream at hand. I mean, food.

39.   Best food to have on a date?

Ice cream? So you can each have your own and then cough in each other’s faces when the dairy creates a whole bunch of mucous. 

40.   Most share-able food?

French fries. They are pretty easy to grab and split up.

 

Did I do okay? Do you agree or disagree with anything? LET ME KNOW!

xoxoxoxo

Story Bored

Hi, my friends.

Like many writers, artists, monkeys, and other creative people, I get really irritated when I’m not producing anything. I have 47,000 ideas going on at once and there’s just too many chips in the cabinet for me relax and sit down to focus on one. Or twenty. OR ANY.

Thank God for the instructions of NaNoWriMo. I’ve always edited as I go which made my 5th grade book reports a real bitch in the Lo Kirby household. Half way through my stunning argument on why Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web was my favorite character I’d think, Wait…Is Charlotte kind of an asshole to Wilbur? I don’t agree with her methods at all! Do I really hate Charlotte? Oh my god, I HATE CHARLOTTE. 

It’s a curse. It also inhibits me from working on essay and letting it breathe before I start tearing it apart and eventually giving up on it altogether. I have a list published on McSweeney’s and that took nearly two years to achieve and I worked on it steadily. I wonder where 47 word documents with 3-10 sentences in each with the intention of becoming a story will get me? Hmm.

I CAN’T HELP IF I GET BORED AFTER 30 SECONDS OF WRITING BECAUSE THERE’S CHEESE IN MY FRIDGE AND I HAVE TO GO TO WHERE THE CHEESE IS BECAUSE CHEESE IS NOT BORING.

SO, I started a new process. I have a giant coloring pad that I have deemed my “Story Board” (harharhar, elbow jab, wink wink, hehe, hoohoo). Every single story idea that flashed for 2 seconds in my mind goes on the board. No wonder I was stressed out. After 10 minutes I had about 30+ stories written down. These are ideas that have been floating around for months or years. Now that the idea is down I don’t have to worry about texting it to myself 12 times over the year when I remember it while walking around Walmart or honking down a burger at McDonald’s. It’s there and now I can pick one and focus on it.

We’ll see how the focusing goes.

Okay, I love you, you smell great, here’s my number, don’t forget to feed the dog, tell the babysitter to stop stealing the K-Cups. GOODNIGHT!

Do You Want to Build a Snowm–I Mean Write a Book?

I’ve seen Frozen three times, cut me some slack. 

Also, my laptop is about to die so this whole post may be a jumbled crapball. I COULD go downstairs and get my charger but shut up already, jeez what’re you my mom? Oh? You ARE? MOM STOP READING MY BLOG, GOD. 

But I digress.

I’ve been meaning to smash a bunch of my essays together and wrap some hard plastic around them and call it a book, but I’m going to take the time and energy and make it my best. The overall theme of it will be the tragedies in my life, infused with my own sick sense of humor, of course. I have some (true) stories, if you could voice your opinion on what you might like to read?

Some toupées: 

I mean topics:

1) Worcester, MA- Part One-In which my friend and I get chased by a homeless man. SPOILER: He jerks off on the car.

2) Worcester, MA- Part Two-In which we did not learn our lesson the first time, so we get caught in the crossfire of two rival street gangs. (Yes, guns. Bang, bang, shoot-em-up.)

3) The Dentist-Part OneIn which the dentist drops his drill and I attempt to swallow it.

4) The Dentist-Part Two– In which the dentist removes my wisdom teeth and also part of my nerve, leaving my face numb (forever).

5) The Accusal- In which my fellow kindergarteners accuse me of stealing the markers and drawing on the walls. But did I really do it?

6) Vacation From Hell: Mexico-In which we have no money, no clothes, and are driving with an insane man that only speaks in Beach Boys lyrics. 

7) College Graduation– In which I am in my driveway at 8:30am. Graduation starts at 9am. I am an hour and a half away. Do I make it in time? Some factors: My mother having diarrhea, makes me stop for anti-diarrheal medicine, I knock down the display. Does she shit in my car?

Those are just some of the stories I’ve wanted to tell for a while. Let me know!

K love you or whatever, my twinkling stars. 🙂 

 

Proud Moments

Day 17! Blerg Cherhlerng.

What is my proudest moment?

Well, it certainly wasn’t last night.

I went to an open mic and bombed the fuck out of my set.

That’s okay though, I wanted to cry right after, but I woke up this morning not really affected by it.

I have no idea if I’m supposed to use “affected” or “effected” in that sentence. Help?

***

Anyways, my proudest moment!

I think it would be the time I gave David Sedaris a piece of my shit writing.

He probably gets that kind of thing all the time, but for me, I’ve always avoided doing things outside my comfort zone.

This has definitely been a year of breaking that whole pattern and it’s been great.

 

I think the other proudest moment hasn’t happened yet. That would be…

…my Showcase coming up on Monday!

 

I’ve been at the comedy school for over 2 months and all the work we’ve been doing is going to be presented at the Student Showcase!

I’m already proud that I started taking steps to doing more of what I love, which is stand up and comedy. Regardless of the negative feedback I may get (and with comedy-holy shit can the feedback be harsh) I’ve been powering through.

It might seem obvious to the rest of the world that following your dreams should be on the list of things to due while you’re alive, but it wasn’t on mine for a loooong time.

So yay for strides!

Well, it’s suppy time. Until next time my little gingerbread hens!

Please Haunt Me, Greg Giraldo

I’ve had a talent for willing bizarre things in my life. That includes both good and bad.

Some include:

  • Getting my favorite comedians to retweet me or mention me on a podcast.
  • Getting caught in the middle of a shootout.
  • Dancing around as a Van Halen girl on a movie set for 5 hours.
  • Having a homeless guy chase me through a parking lot and jangle his junk around while pointing at me.

All  instances that I followed coincidences to get to.

I like the idea of synchronicity and every time I’ve followed it, I’ve come out the other end with some sort of story to tell about it.

Greg Giraldo, an awesome comedian, keeps popping up.  In conversations, books,  and on TV. More than I’ve ever seen before, especially considering he died three years ago. I can’t turn a corner without someone mentioning him or some outlet referencing his stand-up.

It’s great, but it’s becoming unavoidable.

So I pulled up some video from his tribute special on Comedy Central. There’s a small segment of him describing his stand-up as “puckish.” I instantly thought of Puck from the Real World circa 1994. That and a Midsummer’s Night Dream poster with Michelle Pfeiffer on it, that hung in my 8th grade English class.

My ability to retain information has gone down since a six month stint in college, so I looked up “puckish.”

Essentially: “playful, in mischievous way.”

An adorable way to describe his comedy.

Then I thought to myself, I wish Greg Giraldo would haunt me and be my spirit guide in the world of comedy.

I thought on it for a while and thought of all the fun adventures we’d have.

Then I went and packed my crap up to go gym.

About ten minutes later, I went outside and opened the driver side door of my car and leaned across it. I threw my gym back to the passenger side, my ass is hanging out the door.

PSSST!

I turned around and looked at my house, thinking maybe my mom was trying to get my attention. Nothing was there.I turned back and started to climb into the car, ass still hanging out, I heard it again.

PSSSSST!

I turned around again, embarrassed, thinking someone was making fun of my ass and I hadn’t been sharp enough to catch them the first time. I turned back to the car.

PSST!!!

I looked around again, at the door of the house, the windows, the neighbors houses, behind the cars. I felt like an asshole. Was someone playing a joke on me and my ass?

It wasn’t an animal, there was no one around, and I haven’t smelt burning feathers recently. It sounded like someone was trying to get my attention.

Awfully, PUCKISH, amiright?

I scrambled into the car, locked the doors, and drove on the lawn.

Could this be another stepping stone on the synchronicity trail?

I’m going to meditate more on this and I’ll let you know if I conjure up anything else.

Until next time, fart-ners.

Animow

I’m wearing a jacket and leaned my elbow on the desk and it made a farting noise. Hehe.

But back to Animows. Today I was sitting at lunch, eating my second bowl of fiber cereal, which isn’t the best tasting, but it’s cereal and no one can just eat one bowl, unless you’re a witch.

I got to thinking about how fitness trainers and diet planners say not to reward yourself with food, because you aren’t an animal. Pardon me, while I hate all of that and drink a gallon of smashed up McDonald’s french fries. Firstly, yes I am an animal and secondly, I don’t think I want to know a person who doesn’t treat eating like a reward. That’s the whole point. Sure, it sustains life and that’s great but that only comes second to how fantastic shoving your mouth full of soda and strawberry doughnuts and pouring chocolate syrup down your face feels.

That’s how I start my day. I reward myself for getting out of bed and going to work by stopping at a coffee place and getting the largest vat of mocha iced coffee they have. If I didn’t do that, I’d be crying at my desk all day. Useless, sad, alone. But with my scrumpsh reward, I can somehow find the strength within me to live and do things like check my Facebook and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race and answer phone calls.

Another point is, it’s April. Everyone knows that April is the crusty butthole of the 12-month calendar year. It’s April, it’s raining, and it’s a Tuesday. Monday’s are better than Tuesday because you know they are terrible. Wednesday means we got through the bad part, Thursday means we can say YAY TOMORROW’S FRIDAY LET’S DRINK, and Friday means we get to sleep in Saturday. How can a person even live through a Tuesday without rewarding themselves with gourmet microwave popcorn their mother planted in a movie theater butter popcorn box because she’s a dirty trickster.

I see no other reason than to celebrate food and be enslaved by it’s glory.

Until next time, Wondersluts!

Meeting David Sedaris

By “meeting” I mean, “I hope to be meeting David Sedaris this Sunday when I go to his lecture in Boston.” The sweat beads are already pouring down my bleached mustache. I’ve never been to an author’s event before, so I’ve been doing some prep work and researching on how David (I decided we need to be on a first name basis if we are going to be best friends) interacts with his readers. By all appearances he seems to a nice guy, a gentleman, someone who is concerned with the well-being of his readers. He really cares. OR he is a master illusionist, like the old man in The Prestige who carried the giant fishbowl between his legs. He commits to the act. Even if that’s true, I still find myself in an utter panic trying to figure out what I’m going to wear. Would he like my gold sparkle oxfords or the zebra ones? He could find them hellacious, daring, or even delightfully tacky. Either way, it could make or break our trip to Cabo together, where we share laughs in slow motion over breezy exotic music you hear in those resort commercials.

Regardless of what I’m wearing, even if it’s evening ball gown, no amount of unique style and flare could set me apart from the crowd of adoring fans better than my nervous stammer. I would call it a stutter, but that implies that you might have some control over your life. A stammer is for hillbillies in the back woods, licking their lips as you lotion your elbows, repeating words in incoherent sentences. It’s something I can’t really help, but I’m hoping it won’t get me escorted from the premises. 

I’ll let you guys know how it goes, but I think as long as you have the news on, you’ll be able to get the gist.

Cats

As I’m waiting for my hair straightener to reach white dwarf temperature levels, I’ll tell you a tale about how me and my cat were handcuffed together. This is our story.

Okay, so we weren’t “handcuffed” per say, but let me paint this rolling landscape for you. When I got home from work today, I wanted nothing more than to face plant onto my couch and recover from the last 9 hours spent without break (and without feeding my kitty faces). I walked in, turned off the alarm, and  saw Litty, my 14 year-old princess tabby, sitting like an angel from Kitten Heaven. Before I even had time to dive underneath the couch cushions, I was distracted by her soft fur, her big whiskers, and her cute meow-face. Naturally, I cooed at her and slung her over my left shoulder. She gripped her furry fingers into my shoulder blade as I scooped her bum in my hand. I was Rafiki and she was my Simba. That went on for about 30 seconds until the music stopped and  I hunched forward so she could help herself down.

Then disaster struck. One of her  jagged little claws snagged  in my H&M nine dollar pullover. A familiar tale that has only ended in peril.

I set my elbow on the arm of the couch, so she didn’t have to dangle from my shoulder, like Rose on the back of the Titanic. I knelt, she sat, staring at each other like arm wrestlers do before the match starts. Now normally, a stuck claw can be relieved by simply holding the kitty’s paw and pulling the shirt away from it. But your cat isn’t Litty. What should have been a quick fix was a seven minute foray in a Chinese finger trap hell. She pulled, I pulled, she pulled, I pulled. An intense tug-of-war. The minutes passed and I began to wonder who would die first. Would my mom come home to me laying lifeless on the floor, Litty sitting on my dead face?  I tried desperately to grab her paw to release us, but when I touched her tangled foot, she slapped me with the other one.

I contemplated taking my shirt off and  letting her keep it, but we were in front of a open window and my neighbor was out standing by his mailbox.

Then came the moment of clarity, I draped myself on the arm of the chair. Litty sat staring at me like it was somehow all my fault. I looked up at the clock, 7 minutes. “We can’t stay here forever, Litty. One of us has to make a sacrifice.”

She looked at me as if to say “Whatever, bitch” and turned to look out the window.

It was my only chance. She had looked away, and I took things into my own hands.

I grabbed her paw and ripped my shirt away and screeched, “WE’RE FREE!”

Her ears went flat and she whipped her head around, staring at me wide-eyed. I did a few victory kicks and said “What? No ‘thank you’?”

She stared at me, farted, and jumped down.

So there you have it. My straightener is sufficiently hot enough to murder curls and you’ve now heard my tale of woe for the day. Did you learn anything from it? Hopefully that love conquers all,the good guy always wins in the end, and that cat farts are the worst.