August 7, 2010

I’m Kind Of Exploding.

Ever feel like everything just sort of happens all at once?

Like, you learn all kinds of things about yourself and you meet new kinds of people and you try to understand things apart from the way you were brought up and you’re just trying to make your own decisions and stuff and then sometimes something and maybe even someone can make your reevaluate everything again but while all of this is going on you’ve got, like, stacks of unpaid bills and the student loan people are calling and you really just want to take a nap but your room is frat-boy filthy and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a mold situation somewhere because you can’t breathe through your nose but you’re all “Whatever, it’s fine. Today is a new day where not a single fuck will be given about anything” but you really shouldn’t think like that because you’re nearly twenty-five which is adult-ish or at least adult-adjacent and you still need to bum gas money off of people so maybe you should get your act together but you don’t know where to go first so you get in your near gas-less car and head to Starbucks which really isn’t even the coffee you want but the Dunkin’ Donuts coffee girl nows you by heart plus you feel smarter with Starbucks because, for whatever reason, it makes you feel like you’d have no problem listening to NPR on a Saturday morning inside your cozy apartment while a steady rain falls outside even though you’d really rather be Facebooking and catching up on Jersey Shore but no one can’t tell you’re faking your snobbery because you’ve got your Starbucks and your reduced fat coffeecake which seems like a good idea because of the whole reduced thing but really it’s just less awful than eating the whole cake which you could do because your life may or may not be in shambles?

Okay. I have a good job with a great boss and I have some really great friends, both near and far, and I’m living rent- free (which doesn’t mean judgment- free, just to clarify) and I’m grateful for all of that. But I feel like to get the things I’ve never had before and have always wanted, I have to do things I’ve never done. And lately– yeah– lately, I’ve been doing just that. Jury’s still out on this whole KP vs The World: Grab The Bull’s Balls attitude I’ve got going here. But, look! It’s making me write here again. Albeit a bit cryptic and mostly spastic. But if you thought about coming back to read this update, then you knew what you could be walking into. So joke’s on you there, pal.

I think there’s a lot of freedom to be had and the ways I’m going about taking advantage of it are all new and wonderful and I like it but it scares me a little too. But it’s a good scared. It’s a “No Regrets” scared. It’s a “Yeah, I Said It. Now What?” scared.

Look, I don’t know what that means. Could you pass the half and half?

 

June 11, 2010

I Want More Readers!

Things I Can Do To Achieve My Goal:

  • Write more.
  • Write more.
  • Tweet less.
  • Stop fucking around on Facebook.
  • Write more.
  • Cheat!

Like This!

BP Oil Spill, Bobby Jindal, Louisiana, President Obama, Alejandro, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Whipped Cream, Glee, Lea Michele, World Cup Soccer, Nelson Mandela, South Africa, Jay Leno Sucks, Twilight Eclipse, Rob Pattinson shirtless, K-Stew, Blanche Died, Gary Coleman dead, Conan O’Brien, Jay- Z, Lindsay Lohan arrested, Bonnaroo, Cheap designer bags, Blackhawks suck!, Flyers suck!, Zac Efron moves in with Vanessa Hudgens, Babies laughing, Kittens, hot asians!

To add to resume: Proficient in search engine optimization.

Big titties.

June 11, 2010

Okay. Now I Feel Better Again.

Miss you, BBs.

June 11, 2010

Things To Get Off My Double D’s.

  • My best friend is moving away tomorrow. To New York City. Doing exactly what I said I’d do when I had the money. I had the money once and I didn’t go because — at 23– my father parents wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t let me. Let me. At 23, my mother had been married for a year and was raising the coolest baby ever. But I’m the youngest twenty-something I know.
  • People I know and love are getting married and having babies.
  • And I’ll miss my best friend terribly because she keeps me sane and positive.
  • I’m also really, really jealous. And I’m also really, really happy for her. And I miss her already.
  • This jealous feeling is often reinforced by the fact that I’m still living at home working to save money to get out and I still wake up to notes from Dad about chores I need to do on my day off. On my day off. I can see that the dishwasher is full. The red light is on. The cupboards are empty. I have a Bachelor’s degree. I know what comes next. Thank you.
  • I do not want to and will not ever marry my way out of this situation.
  • If I get turned down for another job interview, I’ll break something.
  • My A/C is broken and it rattles and it drives me nuts but it’s too hot without it and the whole thing is symbolic of my last relationship.
  • I watched a Kristin Stewart movie last night and thought she did an okay job and I’m sorry.
  • And I feel like I can’t grow up. Ever.
  • And I feel like sometimes that’s okay.
  • I don’t even want to clean or reorganize or whatever to my room because I don’t want to get comfortable here and I’m thinking it’ll be easier to pack up and move out overnight when that dream job of mine is finally offered. No, really. That’s the truth. That’s why I live in a sty. And why I don’t care.
  • Not like I can bring anyone up here anyway. BECAUSE I LIVE AT HOME.
  • I hate that money is at the source of all of my frustration right now.
  • I hate that I have all of this nonsense on my mind.
  • Remember the oil spill, KP?
  • Fuck, remember Haiti?
  • Gratitude.

May 29, 2010

Will You Still Need Me? Will You Still Feed Me?

I work at a casino. I interact with senior citizens on a daily basis. By the busload. Just miles and piles of grandmas and grandpas all day, every day. Hundreds of them. All tiny and wonderful. All with varying degrees of lucidity. Some are as sharp as knives, rattling off their contact information while proudly announcing that they just turned eighty- years-old this month. Others are as dull as spoons, not sure whether or not their deceased spouse was in fact carrying their identification card when they left the house this morning. And that part breaks my heart. I can’t imagine feeling more lonely; you’re the only one in your head and you have no idea where that is or what that means. It’s sad.

But other times, they just floor me. Especially the little old couples. Married for longer than some rocks I know have ever even existed and they’re still going strong. I love The Caretaker approach. It’s mostly the wife who drags her husband along behind her, carrying all of his personal items and money in her purse because he’ll just lose it and then they won’t be able to get their brunch and what if they lose each other there because they could miss their bus and their ungrateful children certainly won’t come to pick them up. It makes me wonder about the history of their relationship dynamic. Was she always in charge? (Probably.) But when did he become her whole responsibility? Was that gradual? Sudden? Does he mind? Is it love or necessity? What do they even talk about anymore? Sandwiches? How he needs new socks? Do they still snuggle?

Then there are The Comfortable Ones who are just so used to each other, so in tune with each other, that they don’t even have to try. They’re just there with each other. Always. Sometimes it seems like they’re tired. Of life, each other, of consistency. Like they’re going through the motions because that’s all they’ve known for fifty years and why quit now? And sometimes they’re just the best of friends. They still tease each other and call each other “honey.” Still steal smooches and laughs and it’s adorable.

But my favorite kinds of lil’ ol’ lovahs are The Lost Ones. Neither of them have any clue. And they have names like Danny and Rose and you can just tell that at one point, around Homecoming at Jefferson High School, 1947, they were the coolest kids around. Everyone looked up to the football stud and the prom queen. And they did what they were supposed to do and got married and had a family and served their country and hosted parties at Christmas and took care of their parents and their friends and now they’re slowly beginning to fade; their minds are not as quick as they used to be. But they’re there together.

Man: Where’s the casino?

KP: Right here, friend! You’re in the casino!

Woman: No, the machines. Where are those?

Man: Yeah, we want slots.

KP: Just down that hallway! Have fun!

Woman: What hallway?

Man: That one?

KP: Yep! That one right there. Just follow it all the way out to the floor and you’ll see all of the fun slot machines!

Woman: Right or left?

Man: Yeah!

KP: I’m sorry, what was that?

Woman: Do we go right or left in the hallway?

KP: Just right straight down the hallway. You can’t miss them!

Man: But where’s all my money?

KP: Right our your card, sir!

Man: How?

Woman: Yeah, why did you give us these?

KP: Those cards have your free play on them. You put those in the machines and play the $25 dollars I put on there.

Man: How?

Woman: How?

KP: Just pick your favorite machine. Put your card in. Select ‘Bonus Available’ and enter your pin number. Then you can play as much or as little of the free play as you’d like!

Man: Huh? Oh! Oh.

Woman: Now, which way is the casino?

Man: How?

Look, I just want someone to grow old and weird with. That’s all. I don’t need anything fancy, anything glamorous. Just someone to wander through the mysteries of life with, someone to somehow get lost with in a big building laid out in a big circle, someone to help me figure out the answers to the most obvious of questions.

Just stumble with me.

May 2, 2010

NOW HIRING

GHOSTWRITER for BLOG

Seeking young fool to keep my blog updated since I clearly don’t have the time for anything — including laundry and routine bikini waxes– that isn’t work or rehearsal. (If experienced in either area of garment care or personal grooming, please submit supplemental credentials verifying competency.)

Job Description:

  • Write posts expecting zero credit for work as each post will supposedly be “mine” and “of my own” and “true to my life” and “too awesome for anyone but me to write”
  • Write one post every two hours
  • Write awesomely

Desired Qualities:

  • Proven awesomeness
  • Access to a computer and high- speed internet connection
  • Moderate to expert command of the English language
  • Gotta talk good, ya know?
  • Obsession with popular culture
  • Must be able to lace pithy remarks with charming self-deprecation
  • Must love cheese

All interested applicants should send their stuff to me. Via carrier pigeon. House with the red roof. Above ground pool. Back window above patio. Thanks.

(I miss you, Internet. I miss you so much.)

(Maybe I’ll write more soon.)

(I’m blogging from work because I have a slight lull. Hi, Big Brother. And Lovely Boss Lady!)

(Please don’t fire me. Let’s pretend this was the equivalent of a cigarette break.)

(Come to think of it… I should get Youtube/ Internet breaks for each time someone takes a cigarette break.)

(Or I should start smoking and get a Smart Phone.)

(Bye.)

April 10, 2010

And Then There Was That Time I Thought I Could Be A Commercial Actress…

I work with wonderful people and a wonderful casino in Northeastern Pennsylvania. My boss, Mindy, is like a sugarplum dipped in honey, topped with cotton candy and sprinkled with saintly patience. So she indulges me and my writing/ theater habits. And I appreciate her for it. And when our marketing department announced that they were auditioning casino employees to pose as extras for an upcoming commercial shoot, Mindy made certain that I tossed my extra- large fedora into the ring. I say fedora because those are hip now. And I’m wearing a new pair of skinny jeans as I write this. So I’m just in a hip kind of mood, you know? And I say extra- large because of my big Irish Catholic head. Filled with whiskey and prayers, I am.

Look, I’m a tall girl. 5’11″. Boobs. Long hair. Big feet. Sizable caboose (The Best Seat In Town). I am a lot of girl. Anyone who has seen me in person knows that the only thing genuinely small or tiny or short or little about me is my capacity to remember when I put my keys or if I unplugged my flat iron before I left the house. And after ten years of ballet training, bringing up the rear of the corps and never once meeting a cavalier tall enough to ever pas de deux a damn thing with, I’m used to where this height stuff gets me. I’ve been told in countless auditions that I don’t “look conventional” or “mesh” or “fit on the casting couch which is really more of a small settee really so thanks” and that’s fine. I love my height. I love it. Just, you know, don’t be so quick to yell up at me when I wear my new blue suede pumps. I love them so much and now you’re making me feel as though they’re part of some elaborate drag queen revue. And they’re not. They’re clearance Stuart Weitzman from DSW thank you very much. Ya bitch. And now you’re sorry you didn’t eat your broccoli, aren’t you? I thought so.

Anyway. The commercial. Right. I get a call that says I’m in. And I’m happy because it promised to be a day sans polyester pants and plus a handsome little chunk of change left untaxed. Awesome, right? Right. Really awesome. Twice as awesome? Mindy and I were cast in the same segments. Less awesome than really anything ever? The whole day. The whole day, okay?!

No, wait. I’m sorry. It wasn’t horrible. It was extra change for doing next to nothing. But that morning, when we were all wrangled together and shipped up to the first bar location, seated on the couches and picked one by one so that I when found myself somewhere near the end of the pack like some kind of sixth grade gym class last picked for dodgeball bullshit, and was then walked by the director, who placed me in the very back of the room and before leaving added, “It’s a good thing to be tall”, I felt all together less than enthused with this glamorous Hollywood by way of Wilkes- Barre lifestyle. And then there was this group of four modelactorunion people who were to be the stars of this little local ad. And they were nice people and all. But oh my God. Oh my GOD. THEIR LIVES.

As Mindy and I sat, uniformed and unamused, in the corner of the ballroom/ command center of MSPD COM SHOOT TWENTY10, waiting to be told whether or not we should change for the second segment and whether or not we’d actually get any work done that afternoon, we decided that there couldn’t be a more frustrating life than that of the commercial actor. I know we were pretty grumpy ourselves, but we got our extra pay and day away from work and it was a nice change of pace and we got to dress up and whatever. But to live your life like that? Standing around and posing and the nonsense and the ridiculous time it takes to pick out the perfect outfit to compliment the carpet and I just can’t…

Maybe I’m just naive. Maybe I just don’t “get” the “biz”. Maybe I shouldn’t judge people and maybe they’re very fulfilled and in love with their careers. Maybe this is all a part of their journey on the way to dethroning Streepsy and The Cloons. Maybe there really are no small parts, just small actors. Actually yeah! Yeah, that one is true… says the tall, bored girl from the back of the bar.

The last professional-ish audition I went on was for a talent agency in New York and it was the first in a scattered list of auditions where I actually received decent feedback. I didn’t pick a monologue from Brighton Beach or Twelfth Night or a song from Wicked or The Last 5 Years. Instead, I picked Liz Lemon’s Weird Secret Stuff apology to Floyd from the “Fireworks” episode of the first season of 30 Rock where she talks about public poops and her secret allegiance to John McCain. And that’s when things just clicked.

I live for the ridiculous.

And I don’t want anything else. I could never be happy keeping quiet. I’m physically, mentally, vocally, emotionally excessive and expressive and I’m not interested in which chiffon top works best with my partner’s wool blazer. I’m not interested in which jewelry catches the light and roulette wheel just the right way. I just want fun.

And fun? Fun is not standing around in tube dresses looking thrilled while some coked- up director- type barks orders at me to “WIN! WIN! WIN!” That…

… that was the end of my commercial career. But if, you know, that chick from the Progressive commercials suddenly decides to go away and they’re scrambling for and equally strange, yet more overwhelmingly charming girl to replace ol’ Flo, then I might give it another shot.

I might.

April 5, 2010

Search Terms 4/4/10

(I’d write something legitimate, but I’m currently nursing a Lady Boner on account of my beloved Boston Red Sox. So that will come tomorrow…)

(Come.)

  • callmekp
  • yikes
  • i built steps up to the entrance and they call it a ‘porch’
  • barry manilow conan o’brien song
  • scarification
  • anthropology velvet

This is important progress, you guys.

April 4, 2010

Things About Today:

I’m usually all…

But today I’m all…

Beckett. Bunnies. Beckett. Bunnies. Chocolate. Baseball. Chocolate. Baseball. Jesus. Ham. Jesus. Ham. Ham. Jesus. Ham. Jesus. Jesus. Baseball. Beckett. Chocolate. And Ham.

April 3, 2010

Like A Colbert Bump, But Better.

Thank you, 20SB.

(I’m still giddy.)