JAW WIRED SHUT HAS MOVED TO TUMBLR!!!

Hello. I've stopped blogging here at jaw wired shut because I'm lazy and tumblr is easy and wonderful. You will find a different sort of jaw wired shut over there. It's a lot like it used to be here. It's pretty much the same, actually. 

  I'm here, at http://stamos.tumblr.com


love,
stamos 



 

Things I Published Elsewhere: The Story of How I Forgot My Pants

THIS IS SOMETHING I PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE

Hey everyone! I’m starting this new thing called No Pants Fridays! It’s also called Pantsless Fridays! Essentially, it’s when you don’t wear pants on a Friday. 

I know - genius, right? And now you’re dying to know how I came to invent such a monumentally brilliant idea, and you should be excited because the story of my brilliance is a lot like how that guy invented sticky notes by making a mistake or how that other guy invented the hula hoop because of the coffee ring his mug left on the newspaper — this story is just that good and will probably be just as famous. Mark my words. You’ll be thanking me for Pantsless Fridays for years to come!

It begins at nighttime, last night to be precise, when I was getting out of my car and made the executive decision to leave my gym bag in my car. “Why bother lugging that satchel all the way upstairs when I’ve already got everything I need for tomorrow’s gym trip right here. Including pants!” (OR SO I THOUGHT).

Then it was this morning and I was getting dressed after my workout, really excited about the nice, preppy outfit I was going to cap off my week with. (There’s nothing that makes me feel better about myself than really pulling off a good outfit on a Friday. I like to go out with a bang). I had prepared brown riding boots, a blue striped oxford button-down, a navy blue crewneck pullover, a brown belt to match the boots, and pants. (OR SO I THOUGHT).

There weren’t any pants. THERE WEREN’T ANY PANTS. So first I had a panic attack which resulted in some extreme sweating and then I formulated a plan to ransack my car for a back-up. I just knew there would be something in that mobile closet for me to wear.

Like any good LA-living young professional fashion-concious girl I keep piles of clothes (and other things) in my car at all times. I have a really nice Barbour coat that has lived in the backseat of my car since last March. You NEVER know when you might need to go horseback riding in the British countryside. Some of the other things I keep in my car are as follows:

• a sleeping bag
• three scarves
• a white blazer with shoulderpads
• LL Bean duckboots
• two umbrellas
• a sleeping pad
• a pipe
• a television wall mount
• Aquaphor
• 23 reusable grocery bags
• one TOMS shoe (the right one)
• two cardigans, both blue
• denim cut-off shorts
• a tennis ball
• a tennis raquet
• SillyBandz
• khaki shorts with neon orange stripes down the side
• a Barbour coat
• Febreeze
• a flashlight
• four pairs of sunglasses
• one fleece pullover

So while I could play tennis in full rain gear smoking a pipe in the dark and then comfortably sleep on a mattress made from grocery bags, I could not wear pants. 

Faced with my destiny, I made the logical choice — of all the items in the car, only two were “bottoms” and of those two, the khaki shorts were slightly more work-appropriate than the denim ones, and thus I donned my brown riding boots, my blue striped oxford button down, my navy blue crew neck pullover, my brown belt to match the boots and khaki colored shorts with a neon orange stripe on either side. In other words, I dressed like a German boy hunting for his Oktoberfest supper.

I am lucky enough to have amazing co-workers who declared they too would take off their pants in solidarity - and thus, Pantsless Fridays was born.

(I’m going to the mall to buy some pants now).

"Gotta love California in this day and age."

I got pulled over just after I got off the 405 freeway onto Santa Monica Blvd this morning. 

I knew, instantly, it was because my registration sticker was for last year (ironically just a few weeks ago our building manager asked me to put my current registration on it, but I couldn't find my 2011 sticker, only my 2010, so that's the one I had on the car. Because I'm an idiot and figured being one year behind was better than two).

Now before I continue, you should know two things:

(1) My car smells like pot

(2) My strategy for dealing with police officers has always been to play dumb

We pull over to the side of Sepulveda and I roll down the window and it goes a little something like this:

Cop: "Did you know your registration is expired ma'am?"

Me: "Oh yeah, actually it's not I just don't have the sticker on it."

Cop: "Oh okay that's fine just let me see your license and registration then."

So I start to rifle around my glove compartment and I'm taking forever.

Cop: "Okay where's the marijuana."

Me: "Huh?"

Cop: "The marijuana. I'm going to need to see it."

Me: "Oh yeah sure. Oh I have a card."

Cop: "Okay I'm going to need the marijuana and the card."

So I hand those over - meanwhile I have taken out ALL the papers in my glove box and am going through them one by one to try to find my registration.

Cop: "Do you have your doctor's note?"

Me: "Huh?"

Cop: "Your doctor's note - the certificate. You need to carry that with you."

Me: "Oh really? Oh I didn't realize that I need both. Okay I keep that safe at my house."

Cop: "Well start carrying it with you from now on."

He hands me back the weed and the card. He then looks at my license. I'm still looking for my registration.

Cop: "How long have you lived in California?"

Me: "A little while now."

Cop: "Why don't you have a California license?"

Me: "Oh I spend a lot of my time in Maine for work. I still have a home there."

Cop: "Where do you spend most of your time?"

Me: "California."

Cop: "I'll be right back. You keep looking."

So he walks back to his car holding my license - and I throw my pot on the passenger seat while I'm still rifling through those papers. Finally I find it - sure enough I am registered for 2011 and have my sticker stapled to the form. I poke my head out the window and wave at him.

Me: "Heeeey! I found it!"

Cop: "Okay I'll be right there."

Me: "Can we put the sticker on it now?"

Cop: "What's that?"

Me: "Let's put the sticker on now!"

Cop: "Just a moment ma'am."

So after a few minutes he comes back to my window and grabs the registration and then he walks away again.

I send a few emails - first to my boss just to give him the heads up I got pulled over and am going to be late. I look in the mirror at one point and see that the cop is making his way back.

Cop: "I put your sticker on your car but this is a verbal warning that you need to keep your doctor's note on you for your marijuana at all times and you need to get a California license."

Me: "Okay do I just like call the DMV?"

Cop: "Yes you call them up and take a test?"

Me: "Is it hard?"

Cop: "It's just a standard written test ma'am."

Me: "Okay cool I'll do that."

Cop: "It's really important you do. The California laws are different from the Maine laws."

Me: "Okay I guess I can have two licenses?"

Cop: "Yes you can. But if you're in California you need to get that California license."

Me: "Okay well thank you."

Cop: "Do you need me to help get you back to the freeway?"

Me: "Oh ah, huh, no I'm going to work. I got it. Thanks man."

Cop: "You have a good day now."

And off he went and I drove away and started laughing like a crazy person. 

Because, well, REALLY? 

First of all the dude told me I could have two licenses - is that even real? I'm pretty sure it's not. Secondly, I am so thankful I have a marijuana card because it was truly an insane experience where this drug, that for so long has been associated as WRONG and BAD and ILLEGAL  that I had in my car was LEGAL and he couldn't do anything about that. Like this dude actually had to hand me back my little canister of medical-grade marijuana. That was surreal.

I also think it helped that I was playing dumb and that I was pretty calm about the whole thing - I mean of course I was calm, because I knew that outright, I had done nothing illegal (sure you could find some legal grey areas in there, but that worked out to my benefit I guess).  Don't get me wrong - I mean deep down I was freaking out that I was going to be fined a SHIT TON of money between the license, the registration and not having my doctor's certificate on me but I really did keep my shit together.

Speaking of keeping my shit together, I mean I wonder what was going through this cop's head when I rolled down my window and he sees this chick he has to deal with - like this dumbass girl who is driving a car that smells like weed - and like OF COURSE she has a registered car but with the wrong sticker on it and OF COURSE she thinks she needs to keep her doctor's note for her pot at home. Like what a dumb fucking white girl stoner. I mean I probably pose the least danger to society ever. But at the same time? That cop could have just FUCKED me over. Not only did he let me go with a verbal warning but he changed my registration sticker for me. I didn't have to lift a finger.

Moral of this story is if you live in a state where pot is legal/decriminalized and you think you're ever going to have it on you in a public place you ABSOLUTELY should do what you can to get a card.  I was so thankful that at that moment, everything I was doing was within the parameters of the law. (Ignoring the legal grey areas like - shouldn't the cop have known that you technically need a CA license to even get a pot card? I mean when I got my card I proved my residency by showing my lease, but he could have nailed me on that - whatever I am getting my CA license ASAP, that's for sure).  

The other thing I learned here, is that despite the generally bad rep, there actually appear to be cops in LA who recognize when someone's just a dumbass who can't get her shit together. I mean let's be honest, I spend most of my life at work. And when I am not at work I am trying to capitalize on that fact by either writing, or sleeping or working out or watching TV so you're probably not going to find me at the DMV taking care of shit.  Or maybe what they say is true and he let me off so easily because I'm a girl and I was calm and polite and kinda dumb. Who knows. I'm incredibly lucky, that's for sure. And incredibly stupid, if we're being honest about the whole thing (and clearly, we are).

When I told my boss the story this morning he was like, "trust me when I was your age and I had a story that included - 'and then the police officer could smell my weed' - it would have gone a very different way. Gotta love California in this day and age."

Tchotchkes and Toys!

I love tchotchkes. 

First of all. It's a great word. Like, it's really weird. A really weird word that perfectly exemplifies what it means, you know? And I love it!

I love tchotchkes!

Well, not at home. At home I like everything crisp, clean and tchotchke-free. That's because, in my opinion, the ideal place for tchotchkes is at the office. I keep a whole bunch of tchtochkes at my office. And toys! I love toys. If I could get a Happy Meal every day just for the toy, I would. (I mean, I could, in theory, but that's disgusting, so it's only on rare occasions that I do. Like when the toy is REALLY good). So here's a glimpse at just a few of the tchotchkes that surround me (click to enlarge):

Mulder + Scully 4eva

Sometimes I huff my Pine Pillow! Just kidding! Not really!

I have to say, one of my favorite parts about working at a TV studio is that it's totally legit and not perceived as nerdy at all to have action figures on your desk.  Okay, maybe it's a liiiiiiittle nerdy if it's a show you never worked on... so for, me The X-Files. But still... it's probably a lot more acceptable to have toys everywhere here than, say, if I worked in investment banking or something. HAHAHA. CAN YOU IMAGINE? ME? WORKING IN INVESTMENT BANKING???

What about you guys? What are some of your most cherished tchotchkes?

The Reverse Moonlighting Curse

Yesterday I referred to the television show Bones as maybe suffering from the "Reverse Moonlighting Curse." As I explained  - The Reverse Moonlighting Curse is simple really: wherein a TV show goes to shit when the main couple DON'T hook up. See: X-Files S9, etc.

You picking up what I'm putting down? (Also - a Twitter follower called it the Reverse Lobster, referencing that bit on Friends when Phoebe tells Ross and Rachel they're each others' lobsters - who mate for life. But the Reverse Lobster sounds like an awkward sexual position so I'm sticking with the Reverse Moonlighting Curse or RMC, and I think they'd be like, two different things in this lame pop culture TV speak anyway).

Okay to bring this back to me (because that's how we roll here) and not to like, get all annoying "young woman in her late-20s starts to freak out about approaching 30 as a SINGLETON" on you guys, but you know what I realized? If my life were a TV show, it would be awesome. Let me try that over: If my life were a TV show, and I were the main character (duh), then I'd like to think I'm currently suffering from the Reverse Moonlighting Curse. Ya feel me???

Like, I just wanna say: Mr. Showrunner (God?), just put me together with my Future Husband already before this all goes downhill! You know what I'm talking about - my One True Love, who you are just keeping apart from me, for nonsensical reason after nonsensical reason - can't we just do it already? Before this plotline gets so drawn out that no one cares anymore?"

Well thank God my life isn't a TV show, RIGHT? Because there will be no curses or vexes or lobsters (ironically, I dislike shellfish)! There's only great times ahead! RIGHT? RIGHT!!!??

(This is why I'm single?)

Editorial Note: I first sent this over an IM to my roommate - the oft blogged about DiTonto - who's immediate response was: "but you want a lobster!" Which made me realize, that I need to not make this about me (SO HARD TO DO SOMETIMES), because really, the notion of the Reverse Moonlighting Curse is that a story suffers when two characters, so obviously in love, are prevented from consummating that love at all costs, and to no end, and so much so, that the quality of the storytelling has degraded so much that people lose interest - and as we're all narcissists, myself especially so, I'll never lose interest in my own love life! So I guess, what I should be thinking here is, thank GOD my life isn't a TV show!

The Biggest Aquarium in the World aka The Site of My Future Marriage Proposal

Dear Future Husband,

When you propose to me, this would be an acceptable location for you to do so. Actually, more than acceptable.

the world's largest aquarium // ATL.GA from stillmotion on Vimeo.

See, I love aquariums. I LOVE them. They are mystical, magical places of beautiful space-like creatures (also known as fish) that fill me with awe and joy and happiness.

So, to my future husband, where ever you may be: just remember I love aquariums. Okay? Great.

I love you?

Stamos

Because who doesn't love a never-ending sax solo?

Thanks to my friend Jack for sharing this:

Never-ending sax solo. Seriously. What's weird is that it doesn't ever seem to reach the point of annoying where you will feel inclined to turn it off. Additionally, those hip thrusts are epic.

*True fact: I played the Alto Saxophone from 5th grade through 9th grade.

I immediately regret that decision

Lentils: 1
Stamos: 0

Where was this school when I was applying to college?

Duchovny is on here twice. I would take both his classes. And I would crush him so hard. Let's just say I'm one of those girls who always had a thing for professors...

Look! My Easter egg matches my sweatshirt!

My brother had an egg-dyeing party last Friday.

I went for the matchy-matchy color explosion:



Now, I've been told you aren't supposed to eat the eggs you've dyed but I've been doing it all week. Is that bad?

In case you were wondering...

Walgreens does not sell underwear.

Say Hello to the New & (Slightly) Improved...

If, like my dad, you cringed every time you clicked on my blog to see that massive photo of an open mouth and ugly braces (which, I must repeat, WERE NOT MINE!!!!) than you should be oh-so thrilled to see my NEW AND (SLIGHTLY) IMPROVED blog design!

Why the update? Well... I proclaim to be some sort of TV know-it-all and social media whiz kid (which, on a side note, is also a bold claim, I'll be the first to admit). Not something that really came across in the previous layout (and I emphasize the slightly, because not so sure it's coming across here either). Furthermore, what better way to honor both my experience having my own jaw wired shut and my love for television than using an image of Homer Simpson, from the infamous Simpsons episode "Jaws Wired Shut?"

Additionally, I've added some page features at the top, where you can find links to everything I write on the Huffington Post, my Twitter page, and a ridiculous over-the-top bio. And you can heckle me on email! No Nigerian money propositions please! (But penis enhancers or links for cialis I may consider).

So, please sound off with your thoughts on this redesign in the comments below. And if you're curious about how this blog got started in the first place, I'd suggest taking a walk back through time with the posts I've linked to below. I definitely was still getting a grasp on this whole blogging thing then, and the post-surgery blog was likely written under the influence of massive painkillers, so that's fun. Ah, look how I've grown!

• The first 4 pre/post-surgery posts, where I talk about how I'll have Season5 of 24 to keep me company in recovery.
• The blog as it is today, really started with this post, entitled "Another LOTR rip-off? No thanks" which is further evidence of my nerd factor, and is hilariously endearing and naive and sincere and man am I jaded now or was I just way too heavy then (SPOILER: it's heavy).
• But let's be honest, the real reason I started blogging? To write about this shit. And this crap about myself. And annoy people with this junk. And that weird thing I did that one time.
  

Enjoy!

"frequently confused with ringworm, but antifungal creams won't help, because it is not a fungus" OR "that time I got f-ed over by the rain"

So. It's raining a lot in LA right now. A lot a lot. So much rain that highways are being closed, houses are being evacuated and oh, also? I have a rash. Because of the rain.

This morning I had a pre-scheduled doctor's appointment for a regular monthly check-up on my various medications (that's right folks, I've go the drug regimen of a divorcee circa 1997). I love my doctor. Been seeing her since when I first moved out to LA. We're tight.

Right after she tells me all my vitals are looking great as usual yada yada yada I say to her:

"Yo I have some sort of crazy rash all over my upper body." Which is true. A few days ago I noticed a weird mark on my back (two of my friends said it almost looked like a spider bite, however the general consensus was ringworm. Spoiler alert: it's not ringworm).

Dr. G takes one look at me, says "I need to see your back" turns me around, takes a quick look and goes:

"Yep, you have Pityriasis Rosacea,"

"Say what?"

"Pityriasis Rosacea. That mark on your back there is the herald mark. It's a rash you get once in your lifetime, usually lasts 4-6 weeks, and that mark precedes it."

"So you're saying it's going to get worse."

"Yes. It will be everywhere except your face, your hands, and the soles of your feet. And it will itch a lot. But don't scratch it."

"Okay. Why did I get it?"

"It's usually caused by periods of extreme stress or massive changes in the weather. Are you under high stress?"

"No."

"Then it's weather."

"Okay so my room is sort of not insulated..." (This is true. I live in the studio room, which lacks insulation, and as of yesterday had a leak).

"Yep that's not helping. It's the rain. As soon as it's sunny again you'll start feeling better. The UV will help."

"So can I go tanning?"

"No."

"Oh, why? Will that make it worse?"

"No. You'll get cancer."

"Oh."

"I'll prescribe you some medicine to help the itchiness. But it's going to last for about a month. It's like the Chicken Pox but not contagious."

Awesome. Just awesome.

On a side note, I did some research. Apparently UV light can help. Don't tell Dr. G but I'm going tanning. I mean, this shit is freaky. And my herald mark is in the exact spot equivalent of a tramp stamp. I could probably get some good cash busking on the streets of the Jersey Shore.

Now I'm going to douse myself in calamine lotion and alternate between crying and laughing at the sweet sweet irony of it all.

Eau du Cafe

Hello. My name is Annie Stamell and I smell like coffee.

I'm not one of those people who sweats coffee because they drink it so much. No, I smell like coffee because I spill coffee on myself 3 out of 5 workdays, every week. My car also smells like coffee. A this point, I've practically given up on perfume, and am going to hope that people like the scent of a freshly brewed cup because that's what you're gonna get if you're sitting near me.

Trying to make my "interests" interesting... (or that time I wrote a lot about myself)

I was just looking at my Facebook profile, and realized I updated my "interests" somewhat recently. Some of them are a little odd. Some are heavily connected to the TV pilot I'm working on, actually a surprising amount (and the last batch of interests also had a large influence on the script, now that I think of it). Some are really obvious and require no further explanation, but I figure why not share a little bit more about these interests... not that you care, because you probably don't, but I'm indulging my narcissistic side a little more than usual today. Pretend you find it endearing or something. Now, in no particular order...

sweet'n'sour sauce
The greatest thing McDonald's ever created. Especially good with Chicken McNuggets or French Fries. These are the only things I will ever order at McDonald's. And I always ask for extra sweet'n'sour sauce because you never know when you might be craving it, and surprisingly, it also tastes good with Morningstar Farms fake chicken nuggets.

my animal spirit god
I'm convinced I have one and maybe I've even seen it before. Maybe not. They're tricky that way.

tv on dvd
This doesn't need explanation beyond my opinion that this might be the greatest thing since sliced bread. Although I am not sure sliced bread is all that great. Sure, it's convenient... but what's the origin of this saying? Anyone? But yeah, TV shows on DVD are just really fantastic.

astronaut ice cream
This shit is crazy. Crazy delicious. (Also crazy). I love it so much it's become a major plot point in the TV pilot I am writing.

the silver lining
There's one of these in everything and I like finding it. Cheesy? Probably. But I mean it. Finding the silver lining in things has been pretty helpful in getting me through the bad stuff in life.

fig newtons
I fucking love fig newtons. Always have.

gender neutral first names
My mom's name was Palmer, it's also my middle name, and I have to say that in the years after she passed away I really considered going by Palmer. But I'm much more of an Annie. Actually I am much more of a Stamos. In general, I love gender neutral first names because they are often old-fashioned and different - and I don't know... fun. Although names like Pat suck. Perhaps I should revise this to unique gender neutral first names...

aquariums
Sometimes an aquarium can make me so happy my heart hearts. Truly. The Boston Aquarium is my favorite aquarium. There's a nostalgic component here, sure, but also... I love fishies. I think that if I had either been better at science, or more willing to work harder at it, then I would have ended up a marine biologist. And yes, I love aquariums so much that they are another major plot point in my TV pilot work-in-progress.

Maine
duh.

freedom
I love freedom. Both in the ironic and non-ironic sense. If you don't understand what I mean, you clearly love freedom as well, but only in the non-ironic sense, which is unfortunate for you.

insensitivity
This is something I excel in, at least by Hollywood standards. Thus, it is of great interest to me.

theme songs
I love theme songs - from movie themes to TV themes, to personal theme songs. Everyone should have a theme song. Mine changes on the regular.

manu chao
Probably my favorite band. In the history of music. Bold claim? Yes. But I feel strongly about this.

local ads
who doesn't love a budget local ad? Oh man, there used to be some GREAT ones growing up in Maine, many with excellent jingles about local geography.

dudes
This interest is twofold: (1) I, like most heterosexual women, like guys - so that's sort of a no-brainer and (2) I love guys who are dudes in the total dudetastic sense of being a dude - and I love hanging with dudes. Dudes are awesome. Chicks who are dudelike are also awesome.

the toaster oven
A great invention. You can accomplish so much with a toaster oven. My roommate Becca is a culinary genius with ours.

good hair days
Never underestimate the value of a good hair day. My hair, in my opinion, is one of my best features, however I am so incredibly lazy when it comes to my hair that when I've got a good hair day happening it does a whole lot for my ego. Also, my hair is so terrifying when I wake up in the morning (and this has also inspired a moment in that TV pilot), that when I actually get it calmed down, it feels like a real accomplishment. It's the little things.

Where I spend most of my time...

If you're curious, I spend an anywhere from 9 to 12 hours a day sitting in between these two computers:



Why share this? Well, it started because I got my new mouse sent over from our IT department and it's rad. Like, really rad. And it's for my iMac so it's just remarkably prettier. Then I upgraded my TweetDeck which I had been reluctant to do because I don't know how I feel about the new RT policy on Twitter (if you're a non-Twitterer you probably don't care right now) and then I made sure the three Twitter accounts I have (don't worry, two are for work, only one is personal) were loaded and then I made that TweetDeck screen nice and big and now I just have a constant stream of bitesize information. (And that was one hell of a run-on sentence, huh?) At least, that's what the iMac is used for when I'm not doing any of the digital or graphic stuff... tracking the news.

My main computer is the PC, and it is here where I read, I write; I do it all. Actually, a surprising amount of writing takes place on this computer - from this here blog to the HuffPo pieces, and as FinalDraft is soon to be installed, hopefully I'll start doing some of the screenwriting here as well (mostly I do that at home). Granted, it's mostly email that happens at this lovely desk, but when I have a spare moment, you better believe I am writing. Or on Twitter. Or both.

It's worth pointing out my AstroBoy HappyMeal toy, as well as the sweet coffee mug I've had for ever (on the inside, when you drink everything up, it says "The End").

Now for the flare:



Here I've got the personal touches, and I'll give you a rundown of some of the stuff you can see here... yes, another DVD/CD burner to complete my space station, but you can see I've got about three different programming schedules up as well. Actually one is a production schedule and one is my personal Fall TV schedule so I can keep track of all the shows I watch. Oh and one is the dog's exercise schedule. So never mind.

Here we also have my obligatory John Stamos photo, my Obama HOPE postcard, stickers for TOMS and Aviator Nation - two of my favorite California apparel companies, a postcard of a Dali painting, a postcard of the Eiffel Tower, a picture of me and my brother (awwww) and some X-Ray Spex (don't ask). And a friend who works at FBC (that's the FOX network - and trust me, it's hard to keep track) gave me the postcards for Bones and Fringe, which I have up as motivation - you know, when you work in TV, it's a good reminder to remember what else is out there. Now I just need someone at NBC to get me a Friday Night Lights poster and I'm all set!

Most important would be the Pop Rocks bag I've got stuck up on the bulletin board. I LOVE POP ROCKS. And that bag is unopened and currently being saved for a day when I absolutely need them. No idea what could warrant that absolute need for Pop Rocks, but I'll let you know when it happens.

That's pretty much it. Bored yet? Yeah, this is my life. My fabulous glamorous life, where I stare at two computers all day.

But to be honest, I do love it... At the end of the day, I'm making TV. So you'll see no complaints from me!

One complaint: My TV, (not seen here, on the other side of the desk) needs cable. And DVR. But then I might as well request a bed and stuff... and then I'd never leave. So scratch that - no complaints!

I Would Like to Have Sex with Seth Meyers

(Preemptive apologies to my family, for the occasional blog post with TMI just in the title. AKA, this one).

I love Seth Meyers. Seriously. There's something about that dude that just pulls me to him like a G-D magnet in overdrive. Maybe the dimples? Nah, it's his comic genius and perfect delivery. Who knew that a great sense of humor would be my ultimate undoing? Everytime I watch SNL Weekend Update I always think the same thing. And I don't need to verbalize that for you, because it's up in that title up there and now I'm embarrassed to say it twice.

Okay, I'll say it again: I would like to have sex with Seth Meyers.

Seriously, how great is he?



What's that? Oh, he was talking about Sarah Palin? Yeah I'm not even going to go there. I blocked her out.

I am a mole person

Here's how my day goes:

wake up late
no time to shower
frantically find outfit to wear to work
change outfit
change outfit again
remember to put in mascara
forget to brush hair
pack gym bag
fill up water bottle
run down to parking garage
drive to work
park
take elevator
work all day
no time for lunch
(blog/write during lunch?)
work all afternoon
time to leave
take elevator
fumble for keys in parking garage
drive to gym
talk on phone in parking garage
workout
watch bad tv while working out
overdue shower
leave gym for parking garage
drive home, traffic free
arrive at apartment building
parking garage
home

I HAVE NOT SEEN SUNLIGHT IN OVER 48 HOURS. I AM GOING INSANE.

my irrational fear of making coffee

So, I don't know how to make coffee. I realize this is ridiculous, considering I waitressed for about 4 summers in high school/college, and that I have worked as an assistant in Hollywood for two years now, and that is practically a prerequisite for any low-level job. But it's true. I don't know how to make coffee and I have an irrational fear of making coffee. What if I burn it? What if I put in too much water? Where is the switch that I flip to make it go... or something?

Rather than face this fear head-on I have decided I am going to attempt to go my entire life without knowing how to make coffee. MARK MY WORDS, I shall NEVER learn how to make coffee!

Statistics

I'm bad at math, but I'm good with numbers:

Number of things I am wearing today that I purchased at a flea market: 2
Number of things I am wearing today that are broken yet I wear them anyways: 1
Number of times I washed my hair this week, with shampoo AND conditioner: 1
Number of times I washed my hair this week with Pert Plus: 3
Number of times I stood in the shower and contemplated washing my hair, and then didn't: 1
Number of times I hit snooze on my alarm clock this morning: 5
Number of martinis I drank last night: 3
Number of dollars I paid for 3 martinis last night: 3

And perhaps the most shameful...
Number of times I went to McDonald's this week: 3*
*Twice for iced coffee and yes, admittedly, once for a Happy Meal (what? I wanted the toy!)