Oh, Hey 29! Good to See Ya!

I’m breaking my long radio silence on the occasion of my 29th birthday.

The last time I found myself jotting notes on these pages, the world was crumbling after the election of–ugh, I’m not going to even go there. It’s my birthday AND HE WON’T BRING ME DOWN.

Lots has changed for me since then. Namely, I’ve relocated to another country, albeit temporarily, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in, quite possibly, my entire life. That’s not hyperbole or exaggeration. I am so sublimely happy working as a personal/writer’s assistant to a really cool actor that thinks I’m the bees knees (sucker!). The feeling is entirely mutual. It’s a literal love fest every day of this job. I’m sure it’s sickening to hear about, but just be glad you’re not witnessing it in person. You’d probably barf in three different colors.

Naturally, as a result of this euphoria, my anxiety and panic disorder has me catastrophizing anything and everything. You name it, I see the danger in it.

Eating gummy bears? I’m going to choke and die.

Boss does a really simple stunt. Boss will be injured and it’s all my fault for not swooping in and magically being the savior.

Showering? My, but these floors are slippery.

But I’m trying my best to put my irrational fears to bed and just live a little. Working on a movie set has been an education, to say the least. There are a million different acronyms, a million faces to put with a million names, and a million snacks to eat at Craft Services.

I considered writing more in depth about this life-changing experience, but going into detail may violate the well written, iron-clad Non Disclosure Agreement I’ve signed. If I do anything to fuck this job up, I WILL NEVER RECOVER.

Yep, 2017 has already been good to me, there is absolutely no denying it.

But I must say, 2016 was a roundhouse kick to the face so I am in no doubt that I deserve the positive changes that have been heaped into my lap. That may sound conceited/vain/entitled, but if you could’ve seen me last year…


I was a steaming pile of Hot Mess, littered with Epic Fail, and sprinkled with Deep-seated Regrets: relationships (ugh), career prospects–both survival and aspirational–(dismal), basic hygiene (putrid).

It wasn’t looking, or smelling, at all good for Short and Feisty.

And then the actor that I’d been doing PT writing work with for over a year decided to kick things into hyperdrive, offered me a chance to come on board full-time,  and put me on a plane to London with 3 weeks’ notice.

Business Class.

Not. Playing. Around.

And now I’m sitting in my hotel room, about to wander over to set, wondering how I got so lucky. Forgetting the years and years of blood, sweat, and baby poop that got me to this point in time. Forgetting the vastly large amounts of rejection I’ve gotten as a writer and as an actor. Purposefully ignoring the miles and miles of road left to trudge before I get to where I ultimately want to be.

Because now I have that elusive mistress HOPE in my grasp and I’m not letting her go.

Here’s to 29.



Best. Birthday. Present. EVER.

I wasn’t expecting big presents for my birthday tomorrow (although, they’re completely welcome and I also take Visa, Master Card, and traveler’s checks).

My mom was nice enough to come visit for the half marathon I ran last Sunday (details to come on that one) and she upgraded me from a busted iPhone 4 to a lovely iPhone 5. An expensive piece of technology is an awesome present according to anyone’s standards.

My roommate asked me what I thought an ideal birthday celebration would consist of and I told her ‘nothing’.

Her diplomatic response? “I don’t really care that you don’t want to do anything. It’s your birthday and I’m going to plan something with or without your input.”

Whatever she’s got up her sleeve, I’m sure it’ll be awesome.


This morning, my boss gave me the best birthday present imaginable. It fits me like a haute couture glove. There is no better present for this girl anywhere on the planet.

I’m gonna keep you in suspense for a few more minutes while I give you some back story (unless you scroll to the bottom before reading the rest of this…which would constitute as cheating!).

My boss told me that she was going to get me a bag for my birthday. I currently carry around a tote bag that eats my belongings and makes it really hard to keep track of everything I try to shove into its little canvas body.

I wasn’t over the moon about receiving a replacement, but I would have definitely been greatful as PRESENTS ARE THE BEST.

It would have also been a very useful gift and I’m all about utility.

So when she told me that she had gotten me the best present—the present to end all presents— I was naturally a little skeptical.

Because a bag can only be so exciting.

I walked into her house this morning (I’m substitute-nannying for her family for a couple of weeks) and her eager 2.5 year old daughter ceremoniously presented me with a gift bag.

The cute little terrible two-year-old darling baby girl made me a card, complete with scribbles that translated to my name, and I made sure to put on a huge show [read: Oscar worthy] of excitement over her thoughtful card.

I sifted through the tissue paper and pulled out a small box, that had also been decorated by the sweet darling.

I figured out then that I probably wasn’t going to be given the present I was expecting as that box was much too small to fit any bag at all (other than a Ziploc bag, maybe).

I opened it, pulled out a folded piece of paper and immediately heard the sweet notes of a glorious choir of cherubim and seraphim from the heavens above.

I blinked in astonishment and had to wait for my eyes to adjust because, surely I must have been dreaming.

This is what I saw:

I cried tears of joy.

I cried tears of joy.


That show is my absolute Reason for Life as I previously mentioned. It’s so important to me that I even mention it in the “about me” section of this blog. 

It just so happens that my boss knows someone that is intimately involved with the production of America’s greatest comedy primetime show. She used her connections because Hollywood is REALLY all about who you know, and now I get to meet Amy Poehler.