This is Why I Can’t Carry Cash


Do you like how that quarter shines with the brilliance of a thousand LED lightbulbs?

Or maybe you’re impressed with the somewhat wrinkled, yet incredibly crisp, dollar bills.

How do I keep my money looking so presentable?

That’s $2.25 fresh from the washer/drier.

I think I should stick to charging everything.

Side Note : dollar bills are more resilient than I thought.


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The Assistant’s Lament

Y’all, I’ve got so much to get my Faithful Readers caught up on that my head is spinning out of control just pondering it.

Hawaii, Webseries Shoots, Photo Doubling, Disneyland, the extended shower I had this morning.

Where do I start?

Oh yea, how about with how life really stinks right now.

By “right now” I mean in this moment, not really in general, because something I overheard in a coffee shop today really got me feeling kind of low.

Girl #1: What do you do?
Girl #2: I’m a writer.
Girl #1: Oh, cool!
Girl #2: Well…Right now I’m an assistant, but I want to be a writer.

To the casual observer (read: eavesdropper), this tiny bite of a larger conversation could mean nothing. Two girls just getting acquainted, chattin’ it up.

To someone who is coming up on her 10 month-aversery with Tinseltown, it’s nothing short of depressing. Mostly because I am in that exact situation and I can’t help feeling like I’m floundering.

I realize that I’m really lucky to be a Hollywood Personal Assistant and I am even luckier to have a boss that isn’t a total psycho. She understands that I’m here in LA to pursue acting and my schedule is such that it’s flexible to do so.

But what the heck is the use of having a flexible schedule if I have no auditions to go on? If my actual paid acting gigs are extremely few and far between? If I can’t get a serious agent meeting?!

Being someone’s assistant, helping them to pursue their personal and professional goals while putting yours on the back burner, is daunting. Seeing people around you make strides that you have yet to achieve is like having someone put salt in an open wound…or salt on an unsuspecting slug (same effect).

I don’t want to get angsty on you, but I’m feeling like the protagonist in a cheaply written teen novel. Except here, I don’t have a love interest, just a professional goal that happens to be classified under “astronomical”.

If there was a career oriented Bella Swan, I’d be her, grunting at the camera and cowering under my own awkwardness.

I feel like I’ve been treading the waters of the Pacific Ocean for hours and am nowhere nearer the shore of the soundstage than when I started. How do I get there and which path do I take?!

Which way did he go? | Photo Credit: Yours Truly

Which way did he go? | Photo Credit: Yours Truly


Stop right there, missy.

You made the move less than a year ago. Since then, you’ve worked on multiple sets for both network and cable shows (no role too small, remember).

[Pause: Am I really directly addressing myself in my own blog? Yes, yes I am.]

You’ve met lots of people in the industry, networked (even if just a tiny bit), and established a steady support system for yourself. When you do get the opportunity to get out there and audition, you won’t have to worry about how you’ll pay the rent in between gigs or where your next meal will come from.

You’ll be set. You’ll be ready.

So calm the heck down, Bella.

[Note to self: please stop comparing yourself to Bella or anything related to K-Stew. I’m sure she’s lovely, but…ew.]

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Boston: The New American Reality

I’m having a really hard time processing yesterday’s events in Boston, on what is known there as “Patriot’s Day”.

I just ran my first half-marathon last month in San Diego and I’ve been meaning to write about the experience here, but haven’t gotten around to it.

Now is definitely not the time.

It’s pretty surreal when I think that what happened yesterday was so random, that it definitely could have happened when I attempted to cross the finish line. The feeling of elation I felt at having accomplished something so massively hard is now dwarfed by the reality that people in the same situation in Boston may have lost their limbs or their lives doing the exact same thing.

However, I wasn’t at all shocked or surprised by the bombings.

The place was unexpected, as was the time, but I’m starting to live in constant mental preparedness for the bottom to drop out.

Worse has happened in this country within the last few months (Newtown?), and worse will inevitably happen in the future because bad people will always exist. It’s the sad reality that we’re all living in now. Random violence is plaguing this nation and it’s something that, in my mind, only a superhero could stop.

When I saw Facebook light up with live news coverage and people wrote about shedding tears, I felt like an absolute lump of worthlessness–because I didn’t feel anything but numbness.

As the day progressed, all of the feelings started to surface.


Then, I heard that the cause of the explosion may have been an IED, or a roadside bomb.

When I heard about that sweet little 8 year old that lost his life in Boston, my mind unwilling flashed to the hundreds of children in the middle east (and elsewhere) who are killed by these same devices.

Some of those devices planted by the armed services of my own country.

How unpatriotic is that?

Uncle Sam would be most displeased with me. But I can’t help it.

If we are to consider the death of this one child by IED explosion a tragedy, then we must consider the loss of all those little souls a tragedy, as well.

I’m honestly not a bleeding heart liberal, and I’m not a staunch conservative, either. I’m a person who can’t help but see the value in all innocent human life.


This New American Reality, one in which I can’t sit in a movie theatre without planning a possible escape route or wonder if living in a major metropolitan city could cost me my life, is scary as hell.

The West Coast hasn’t felt the sting of terrorism as much as the East has. Is our turn next?

Yesterday, as I walked into the public library, I wondered if I was walking into what could be another random attack. Then, when driving home, I imagined every siren I heard was going to what my imagination decided was a terrorist attack.

I had the urge to barricade myself in my apartment and never leave.


“…in the light of Voldemort’s return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort’s gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.”

~Professor Dumbledore, Harry Potter

The words “Lord Voldemort” could easily be replaced with the word “terrorist”. I hope who ever planted those horrible devices is found, and soon. Although we don’t know the answer to “who”, we already know the reason why someone did it: they are evil.

But for every evildoer on this planet, there are millions of people ready and willing to do the right and honorable thing. For every life lost to war or terror attack, there are a million waiting to honor the memory of the dead.

I don’t have much confidence that this world will ever see peace, but I’d love for humanity to prove me wrong.



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As I Lay Dying…In My Shower.

If you came here for Faulkner–my bad. This post has no literary merit.

I am up writing this at the insane hour of 10pm.

You read that correctly: 10pm. Way past my bedtime.

I am fairly certain that I’m a geriatric old crone in the body of a 20 something who appears to be in her early to mid-teens. It’s surprising that I don’t have more identity issues.

I’m mostly awake, partially asleep at the moment because my throat has newly adopted a sandpaper-like coating and my stomach feels like it’s full of [insert something that makes you nauseous here because just thinking about the possibilities is making it worse].

I’ll be the first to admit that when I get sick, I turn into a big baby. Actually, I’m worse (sorry, babies, didn’t mean to insult you). I think the reason behind my sickly downward spiral is that I have a wonderful immune system that very rarely succumbs to any ailments. At most, I get sick twice a year. I’m not used to the misery.

Since relocating to LA, my allergies have been non-existent (huzzah!) which is one less opportunity for my body to form a mutiny. But I already feel those tiny little germs banding together to cripple the mighty sailing prowess of the S.S. Short and Feisty.


To relieve some of my nausea, I decided to take an extended (read: 30 minute) shower just a moment ago–a remedy I came up with in college after imbibing one or four drinks too many.

This time around, being completely sober, was eye opening. Here are just some of the thoughts that rattled through my mind while coaching myself to keep my dinner from floating down the shower drain:

  1. Life is too short–if I make it out of this bathtub, I’m going to start living life more fully. But I should wait to do that until I put some clothes on because I do not live in a nudist colony. 
    • Where is the nearest nudist colony, anyway? What if I want to tour one–do I have to strip down to do it? Do they ever get tired of being naked? I get tired of wearing clothes–is the opposite possible?
  2. I’m going to look back on this horrible moment, years from now when I am filthy stinkin’ rich, and think “Man. I really did start from the bottom. Rock bottom.”
  3. My hair has been really shiny lately and it’s getting far too long. I’ve only let one person cut my hair, ever, and she lives on the East Coast. Who is going to cut my hair now?
    • I wonder what it feels like if I wear my hair like a mustache (the answer to that is: kinda slimy since it’s wet, but surprisingly satisfying.)
      • That’s what she said.
        • When did I start setting myself up for jokes?
    • Would a beard feel the same way?
      • Answer: Yes.
  4.  I wish I had an agent. Woe is freakin’ me.
  5. I am such a lightweight now that I don’t drink every weekend like I did in my Glory Days. One beer and I’m sick as a dog. Well, I don’t honestly think it was the beer that sent me to Death’s Doorstep. Rather, it was probably all of those drippy little noses I’ve been wiping these past couple of weeks.
  6. When is the next new episode of Parks and Rec coming on and will I live to see it?
  7. Is this real life?! :

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April Fools is the Worst

The title of this post says it all–today is the worst! No, foolin’.

I’ve never been a fan of April Fools Day.

As a child, I was disgusted by friends who took the mock-holiday and ran with it: telling horrible lies all day long, pointing their index finger so close to your face that you can smell the applesauce they spilled all over their grubby little hands at snack time, before yelling “APRIL FOOLS!” at the top of their lungs.


I wouldn’t say that I’m gullible, but on April Fool’s Day, I feel as gullible as…


…I can’t think of an appropriate simile besides an Asperger’s child that can’t read social cues, but that just seems offensive.

Today, I’m finding myself irrationally offended at some of the posts that I’ve read on social media sites.

Y’all, I’ve got so many ultrasounds on my newsfeed announcing unexpected pregnancies that I feel like I’m an OB/GYN that just forgot about all that med school I suffered through.

And for an LA spin on the day, I have numerous friends announcing that they’ve given up on acting and are hitting the trails to brighter futures elsewhere. My initial response: GREAT–that leaves more auditions for me, Me, ME! Then, I remember the date and feel guilty for thinking such evil thoughts.

The most awkward? Seeing engagement announcements from friends that have been in committed relationships for a while only to find out they’re joking. Why, oh, WHY would you joke about that? Isn’t it depressing that you’ve been together for so long and he hasn’t actually put a ring on it?

I feel tricked! I feel lied to! I feel like I need to get off of the internet for the rest of the day.