Memory Lane Monday: (What I hope will be) The Final Installment of My Shit Hole Apartment

I haven't posted one of these stories in a while, even though many of you (all 3 of you) have told me how much you like them. The reason for this is mostly because I haven't had any really blog-worthy apartment stories lately. On one hand I'm thankful, but on the other hand it means I actually have to come up with my own topics and that's just exhausting after spending most of the day looking for actual paying work, while trying to keep my inner demons at bay. But I digress...

 So far I don't have any crazy apartment stories from our new digs here in Cali mostly because even though we're certainly not living in a giant Hollywood McMansion or anything, our current residence is such a vast improvement over almost anywhere I ever lived in NYC, that I just don't have the capacity to complain about it yet. Other than our extremely pot-enthusiastic neighbors downstairs who like to hold band practice everyday all day (and boy oh boy they turn it up to 11) our place isn't awful. So without further ado, I give you the absolute last story possible from our Queens Shit-Hole Apartment:

The Final (NYC) Installment of My Shit-Hole Apartment:

Fucking Seriously?!

It was no secret that Boyfriend and I were moving out of our shitty Queens apartment, and out of NYC. All of our neighbors who bothered to peek their heads out of their windows knew it. Neighbors we'd never even spoke to in the 2.5 years we lived there knew we were moving and asked us about it. Even Crazy Mary across the hall wished us luck a couple of days before we left. Crazy. This same woman who a month prior had gotten really high/drunk and fallen asleep while she had something on the stove which made the smoke alarm go off, which made the fire department and the building super have to clamber through our apartment to get to the fire escape to break into her apartment and take care of the situation.  Given Crazy Mary's history, what happened the night before Boyfriend, Leeloo and I were to hit the road for the west coast should not have come as such a shock, but it came as the final boot in the ass from NYC.

The day before moving day, we were set to load up the car, and it was hectic to say the least. I don't remember much except that it was just one long anxiety attack for me, and poor Leeloo wasn't doing much better. It was a flurry of activity and troubled breathing and crying fits as Boyfriend and I tried to get rid of the last of our furniture and pack the last of our belongings hoping against all hope that everything would fit in our car. 

This is not far from the truth

Our dear friends, Krista, and Jen even came over late that night to help us pack, clean, shove the last of our things into the van, and say our final farewells.  Around midnight, Boyfriend, Leeloo and I tried to settle on to our air mattress in the middle of our living room for one last short night's sleep.  Little did we know how short it would be...

At around 3am, there came a banging on our door, followed by the unmistakeable shrill skull-splitting sound of our neighbor, Crazy Mary yelling, "Neighbor?!  Neighbor?!?!  Is your cable out?"  Boyfriend and I both groggily said, "What the fuck?!" as Leeloo sprinted around the living room barking furiously.  Boyfriend and I tried to ignore the banging on our door for a moment, yet it continued.  It continued for an unnecessarily long time especially since it was 3am and no one was dying.  All the while Crazy Mary kept yelling "Neighbor?! Neighbor?!"

Finally, Boyfriend climbed off the mattress and opened the door violently.  Again, Crazy Mary asked if our cable was out.  Boyfriend growled, "I. Don't. Know.  It's 3 o'clock in the morning.  We are moving across the country in 3 hours.  We have no cable, we don't even have a TV anymore."

And in classic Crazy Mary fashion, she replied, "Oh. Sorry,"  nonplussed as ever.

Fucking Crazy Mary.

Of all the nights that we needed some sleep, this was the one.  Did we get it?  Of course not.  Not on our last night as New Yorkers.  It was like the bow on the gift that is living in NYC.

I'm sure I will have some more shit-hole apartment stories in the future at least until Boyfriend and I can be real-live adults and buy a house, but until then, life is not horrible, and our current place is not so bad...yet.

Post Halloween Post

So magically, last year on Halloween (our first day in California) it was cloudy and overcast and rained a little.  This year it was cloudy and overcast and rained A LOT.  I don't know what that means, but I'm too tired from the 3 parties we graced with our presence (presences?) and also I think I've come down with death virus.  Not as bad as that one time, but I feel a nasty cold has fallen upon mine house. Yay.

Anywho,  I hope everyone had a fun and safe Halloween.  I went as a creepy doll on Friday and a mysterious doctor (wink wink) on Saturday.  Boyfriend went as...well see if you can guess:

Me, and my friend Ryan as Classic Lego Spaceman

Creepy Doll

Creepy Doll & Boyfriend (photo courtesy of Joey Nicole Thomas)

Get it? GET IT?!?!

Doctor Who and the Digiorno Pizza Delivery kid

You know, this kid (who is actually our friend Stephen)

This year beat last year when we were so exhausted from being on the road that we barely got to enjoy anything, or the year a hurricane kind of spoiled our fun.  So thanks to my friends old and new who made this last year what it was.  And boy was it something...

Memory Lane Monday: Scarred For Life Edition or What Were Our Parents Thinking?

Do you remember?  You do, don't you?  You remember that random scene in that one movie that had little consequence to the rest of the film, but it scared you.  Terrified you to your very core.  It gave you nightmares and scarred your wee child soul.  For life.
Or maybe it was a TV show.  Or a commercial.  Or a picture in a book.  Never intended to ruin your mind, but just create drama within the medium.  Oh but it did.  It created drama and fear in your brain.  It ruined you didn't it?

OK, I'm being overly dramatic, but you know what I'm talking about: we all had images we were exposed to in our childhood that were upsetting or terrified us.  And most of these came from children's books/movies/TV!  What were the grown-ups thinking?

So here are some things from children's movies/TV/books that scarred me for life:

-The Rite of Spring sequence in Disney's Fantasia 

 OK, I don't know how much Disney actually intended this movie for children per se, but this entire sequence of the movie crushed my soul and haunted my dreams. We start off with an awesome scene of dinosaurs. Hell yes.  Then a storm rolls in and holy shit it's a T-Rex and all the other dinos and critters are scared shitless, but the bad ass stego decided to take him on.  And then dies a horrible and dramatic death. Now I'm sad and scared.  But it doersn't stop there.  Then we get to watch as every dinosaur on the planet suffers a slow and agonizing death as we see the great extinction.  Yay.  I'm serious when I say this gave me bad dreams for a week.
 

-The "Giant Mouse of Minsk" scene from An American Tail

If I have one person in all of entertainment to thank for single-handedly scarring me for life more than anyone else, it would be one Mr. Don Bluth.  Most of the "kids" movies that ruined me, Don Bluth had a hand in (I'm looking at you Land Before Time and All Dogs Go to Heaven!) Really anything directed by Don Bluth belongs on this list, but I chose this scene from An American Tail because look at it!
 


Thanks for the nightmares, Don Bluth.

 
-In a Dark Dark Room and Other Scary Stories

 Yup, that's the same Alvin Schwartz who penned the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark series which was just a treasure trove of haunting imagery.  Seriously, pick up any Scary Stories book and flip to a random page. Boom. Nightmare fuel. 

You didn't need to sleep tonight, right?

But In a Dark Dark Room was intended for very young readers and it haunted six-year-old me with images like this:

That cat could not give less of a shit.

 Yup.  Nothing like reading a small child a story that ends with an old lady's head falling off. (Spoilers)

 -Pretty much any episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark?

90's kids, this show was our jam, amiright?!  Every Saturday night, my butt was firmly planted in my favorite arm chair and I was glued to this show.  But let's be real, this show was scary as shit. The opening credits alone were pulled directly from your nightmares.  They were like the creepy VHS tape in The Ring but less...horse-murdery.  Pick any AYAotD? episode and there was probably a terrifying image that made hundreds of kids pee themselves.

Exhibit A

Fear of children? Check.

Exhibit B

Nosferatu haunted my dreams for literally weeks. 

Exhibit C

Thanks for that fear of indoor swimming pools, Nickelodeon.

Also, this:

This.  This was a goddamn kids show!!!


Beh.  I need to go back to therapy now.  
Sweet dreams, kids!

Insert Heavy Sigh Here

Source

I've done my best to make my blog a positive funny place for people to come read my ridiculous thoughts and ramblings, and then go about their lives.  The only time I get really serious is talking about mental illness because it's something we need to keep having conversations about.  The more we talk about it, hopefully the less stigma will surround it.  

Normally, I don't weigh in on big news here simply because I don't want to add to the noise that's already out there.  But there is something troubling me that I want to discuss.  

What in the ever-loving fuck is up with Gamer Gate?!  It's become a wildfire with a life of it's own and I've tried to just sort of keep it in my peripheral just in case things got ugly, but mostly just tried to stay away.  Well you know what?!  Things just got ugly.  Doxxing Felicia Day simply because she wrote that the threats on women in the name of Gamer Gate gave her cause for concern for her own privacy/safety is some low-class horseshit.

I've stayed quiet until now simply because I didn't want any part of the ever-growing shit-storm that seems to be hitting women in this industry.  That's right, I'm afraid.  I'm not a public figure.  I'm not a developer.  I'm not even really a journalist.  I just write a blog and make some videos in my own little corner of the internet.  It's not a perfect internet existence, but it's mine. It's mine and I will defend it tooth and nail.  If I curl up and hide and go away, they win.  They. The collective (or who knows, maybe it's just one person) threatening harm to women in the industry, posting their personal details online so that someone more unhinged than they may decide to actually do harm.  All in the name of stopping corruption in gaming journalism?!?

I know I'm not the only one who sees how fundamentally fucked up this is right?

I'm going to be completely honest, this is what those ass-hats threatening women in the name of Gamer Gate at the core looks like to me:

"I'm a male gamer. Video games have always been made for and marketed to me.  Hey, look over there, it's a vagina.  That vagina says it likes games too.  Whatever. It just says that for attention.  Wait, it's a (developer/journalist/nerd) and has an opinion I don't like?!  Kill  it.  It's evil and it's ruining gaming and corrupting gaming journalism. It gives real gamers like me a bad name."

(Obviously I'm being hyperbolic...a little. But every time a woman is threatened or doxxed in the name of Gamer Gate simply because she expressed an opinion, my discontent with the movement grows.)  

I understand that these few assholes don't speak for the movement at large, but the root of the problem appears to be straight up sexism and misogyny.  No matter what it really is all about at its core, Gamer Gate has certainly shed a light on how deep sexism still runs in the gaming industry. So, yay?   

Half of me wants to lash out in defense of my fellow female gamers. You know, dish out some good old fashioned vigilante justice and shit.  Haunt some dreams or cut on some people who threaten my ladies (you know, stoop to that level.)  But the other half of me wants to curl up and hide in my bed and hope it all goes away soon.  But, we have to face the notion that it's not going away.  But then neither am I.  Felicia reminded us to keep gaming because it's beautiful.  So that's what I'm gonna do.

Source

 They fucked with Felicia Day, you guys.  Someone hand me my hat.

Memory Lane Monday: This is Halloween, This is Halloween (Halloween, Halloween, Halloween...)

October has always been one of my favorite months of the year.  It's the time when the leaves start to turn a lovely orange or red, the morning air has a delightful crispness to it that reminds me of biting into an apple.  It's not too cold but not too hot....no wait that's how it used to be before we moved to Southern California.  It was 106 degrees on October 2nd.  OCTOBER.  W. T. F?   I was really looking forward to getting to wear jeans and t-shirts, and switching to SPF 45 (instead of 75), and maybe actually getting to wear a sweater at some point.  

On the bright side, I can pretty much wear whatever I want for Halloween (my 2nd favorite holiday) without being concerned that I'll get rained on or frozen to death.  Unfortunately, I haven't yet decided on a costume this year.  So, I've been perusing my old Halloween photos to see if something sparks my interest.  I don't have a ton of time to make something from scratch, nor do I have a lot of money to buy supplies or an entire costume.  Plus most of my costumes/supplies for costumes got donated or thrown away when we moved last year.  Well, let's see if anything sparks my imagination...

Internal screaming

  Hmmmm...am I a bear?  A mouse?  No one seems to know. Also, what is up with that haircut?  Mom?

Happy witch. Sad clown.

Why am I smiling like I just farted on my sister?  
I probably did.

Kneel before me!!! Mwahaha!

Ok, clearly I wanted to be Batman this year but settled for belly dancer.

Hollywood starlet, yo.

Based on the awesome side ponytail I'm rocking and my too-cool-for-school smirk, I'm guessing this picture was taken around 1994. Also, my sister's costume looks oddly familiar....

Alright neither this stroll down the street of ghosts of Halloween past, nor wasting 4 hours studying Pinterest has helped me narrow down my Halloween costume decision.  If anything, I'm even more indecisive now...

I'm open to suggestions in the comments. 

Memory Lane Monday: A Mixed Bag or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Tumor (UPDATED)

This month has been a mixed bag of emotions. So much of a mixed bag, I might need to divide this post up into 2 parts.  First off, if you read my tweets at all, you may have seen a few describing my feelings for the manager at my job.  If not, here's a taste:

 Or this gem:

Or what might have been my absolute favorite day at work thus far...

 So in dealing with an honest-to-Freud Sociopath for 40 hours a week for the past 3 months why the hell wasn't I having just the best time ever?  Well, up until recently, I'd gotten pretty good at just tuning her out and rolling my eyes at her behind her back, determined not to let her drag me down to her level or to make me feel bad about myself.  But then something changed.

The first weekend in August I developed an ingrown thumb nail.  Sounds very uneventful right?  That's what I thought too.  If you've ever have an ingrown nail, you know that the pain that comes with it can be excruciating, especially if it becomes infected.  Lucky me, that's what happened.  Not only did the ingrown nail become infected, but it grew into something...else.

I noticed the ingrown nail on a Saturday.  By the following Friday, it had exploded into a bleedy disgusting mound of pain and terrible.  I dare not describe it further because it's gross.  Just know that it was awful.  And hurty.  You guys, this thing is so painful, if spinal surgery is the worst pain I've ever experienced in my life (and it is), this thumb shit is a very near second.  It got to the point where I was so freaked out and fed up, I needed to seek medical attention.  

After hours of trying to locate an urgent care facility within 50 miles of me that was covered by my HMO, I said "fuck it" and decided to go to the community clinic where we went when we thought Boyfreind's jaw was falling off. After the usual joy that comes with waiting for a doc at the clinic, I finally got to go into an exam room.  I had Boyfriend come in with me because I assumed that the entire nail was just going to need to be cut out to relieve the swelling and pain and I wanted someone to hold my hand. (My good hand.)

While we waited for an eternity in the freezing room for the doctor, I tried to decide on what would be the worse scenario: the doc looks at my thumb and tells me I'm over-reacting and to go home, meaning we wasted time and money going to the clinic OR the doctor looks at my thumb and freaks out because I'm dying of some horrific rare disease and my thumb is about to fall off. Boyfriend snorted at me in bemusement, and told me I was being silly.  I will say this: I hate being right.

Someone buy me this shirt

The doctor finally came in and I told her about the ingrown nail.  She asked me to remove my bandages.  After I did, she gasped and stared at my thumb in stunned silence.  Great.  Eventually she was able to mutter a couple of "Oh My"s while she poked at the horrible-awful that was my thumb. I glanced terrified at Boyfriend who just stared back at me wide-eyed.

So, short-story-long, the doctor put in an urgent referral to a hand surgeon who might need to drain it or cut it off or whatever it is that hand surgeons do in this case.  I don't know what that thing is because even the clinic doctor didn't have any clue what the fuck was wrong with my thumb.  She said she'd never seen anything like it.  Awesome.

It's never good when your doctor makes this face...

She left the room to submit the referral, but I'm pretty sure she just when to her office and Googled my thumb symptoms because when she came back, she had written what she thought it was on a post-it and told me to go home and clean it with iodine every day.  Then she gave me a band-aid and sent me on my way.  Thanks HMO.  Best $15 band-aid and used post-it note combo ever.

According to the doctor's post-it, I have a Pyogenic Granuloma (for the love of all that is good and holy, do not Google images of this, save your eyes.)

So what is it exactly?  Well, the clinic doctor couldn't tell me, so I turned to my old frenemy: WebMD.  According to the internet, I basically have a benign lesion or tumor growing out of my thumb.  Supposedly, it's not uncommon in teen and young-adult women.  It's caused by injury, trauma, or hormone fluctuation, like during pregnancy.  Well, I'm most definitely not preggo, but I figure the combination of all the stress hormones from me suppressing my rage for 8 hours a day at work and my ingrown nail manifested into this terrible awful.  

You know, like this:

 

So, I as sit here at home, still waiting for my "urgent referral" to come in the mail (our healthcare system at work, ladies and gentlemen,) I'm actually starting to wonder: if I concentrate hard enough, maybe the damn thing will fall off on it's own. 

So, here is what I need from you, dear reader(s) if you're still with me:
What should I name my tumor?  I figure if we all hate it by name together, maybe it'll just up and leave.  
Hey, it can't be dumber than waiting for an "urgent" referral for surgery to arrive via the United States Postal Service, right?  What is this, 1850?  

UPDATE:

Ok here we are 2.5 weeks later, and good news: Seymour the Tumor is shrinking! (I decided on Seymour because I thought it was funny.)  It looks like a tiny wrinkled skin prune rather than the swollen red death of pain and suffering that it once was. Also, this is all with absolutely NO thanks to the clinic I went to.  That magical "urgent surgeon request" never showed up. I'm glad it wasn't something that was actually going to kill me.

More good-ish news: I found a better job and when I put in my 3 week notice at my office job with Lucifer, she basically said, "Fine. Don't come back then." And so my 3 week notice turned into a 3 week vacation. Yay?  On the one hand, I was counting on at least 2 more paychecks after giving notice, so the money situation has been unpleasant, (but what else is new?)  On the other hand, I've had time to record Voice Overs for my new demo and I even started working out again. So far, no complaints from the drug-dealer crazy chick downstairs.

Fingers crossed.
 

Words

I've been away from the writing desk for a time and I've missed it.  I've had some ups and some downs as of late, but right now I need to write.  Writing seems to be the only thing that can calm the swirling tornado of words in my brain.  Writing helps quiet the demons.  

You know the demons.  The demons that whisper quietly at you from the dark recesses of your brain.  They start small and soft, hissing at you that you're not good enough, that you'll never be good enough...whatever "good enough" means.  Slowly, (so slowly you almost don't notice) the voices grow louder and louder.  There comes a point where the voices grow so loud you can't distinguish your own thoughts from their incessant taunting. The taunting that constantly rings in your ears until desperation sets in and you can think of nothing but making them stop.

We lost a dear someone to those demons this week.  

I've deliberately avoided a lot of social media this week.  I can't take it.  It's too triggering.  But in stepping away from the screen, I've had a chance to reflect on my own feelings instead of the "hive mind" that can develop when a high profile tragedy occurs and everyone and their fucking goldfish puts in their two cents.

So, right now, I won't be a 2-cent goldfish.  I will say that I'm very sad.  I'm also amazed that a person could have such a "spark of madness," such a gloriously infectious personality that he can make people who never met him feel like they just lost their best friend when he leaves this world.  
If you're battling those demons or if the media shit-sation this week has let slip the dogs of war inside your brain like it has mine, I want you to know you are not alone.  Today I am winning my battle because I'm sitting here writing this.  You are winning your battle today too because you're reading this.  There is hope for us. There is help.  I know sometimes the scariest part is asking for it.  
Please use these resources if you need them.  You are worth it.  You are important.


National Suicide Prevention

Didi Hirsch Suicide Prevention

HopeLine

Thank you, Robin for making the world a better place by being a part of it.  

Sunday Sunday Sunday!!!

So, remember that time I made a video blog?  And how I said my goal was to upload a video once a week?  Guess how long that lasted....yup, you guessed it, one week.  The funny thing is when you have a video that has 30+ minutes of footage and fuck-ups and do-overs, it takes a long ass time to edit.  Especially if you're trying to do all the editing yourself on top of trying to write creatively, take care of your dog, take care of your relationships, take care of yourself, and work full time at a miserable job in the 2nd circle of hell, all while attempting to build your dream career on the side so you don't have to work full time at said horror show.  Also, there comes a point where I'm tired of listening to the sound of my own voice, and I just need to walk away from editing myself for a day or two.

So, short-story-long, I finally finished editing my second vlog.  I have enough footage in the can for at least 3 other coherent short videos, and all the footage in the world for a whole mess of incoherent videos. It's just the editing process that is crap.  So, I did not abandon the video venture, I just may have bit off a teensy bit more than I could chew.  News flash.

Without further ado, my second video:




Link here if you can't see this video.

New Blog Stuff (UPDATED)

So I've been a bit absent from my blog recently, but I made a video to sort of explain why.  

That's right, I said video. You're welcome.  

Go watch it here: bad link


UPDATE:

Sorry, I had to delete and re-upload my first vlog video.  The new link is here and the video is below.

I'm Still Here

The words are there, I know they're there.  I know because I hear them swirling around in my brain constantly, trying to escape.  But, when I finally sit down to let them out and try to type or write them down, they all try to leave at once and then it forms a creativity traffic jam and my brain gets all clogged up and my head gets heavy and I just want to lay down on the floor and never move again.

I'm filled with inspiration when I'm driving in the car or reading an article, but when I have a moment to actually sit down and try to produce something, my brain lies to me and tells me that it's not good enough, so why even bother.

So, that's why this post is so discombobulated, I'm just trying to create.  To put something down on paper...so to speak.

May is Mental Health Awareness month.  If you struggle like I do, then you understand the importance of this.  On my good days, I want to hug everyone who is having a bad day and tell them it will get better.  On my bad days, I forget that good days ever existed or will ever exist again.  But, this is me having a not-so-good day reaching out trying to make the day better than it was when I woke up.  if not for me, then for someone.  I got my inspiration from the What I Be Project. It's haunting and beautiful and almost brought me to tears. So, I took my own photo.

If you or someone you care about it struggling, please ask for help.  It's scary, I know. 
Here are some resources I find useful:

-Walk in Our Shoes

My shoes

-Dr. Deb

-Erasing the Distance

-MentalHealth.gov

-Suicide Prevention Lifeline

And if you won't listen to me, will you listen to The Doctor?

Zulu Dawn: A Bittersweet Ending to the A-Z Challenge

Zulu Dawn was a 1979 film dramatization of the Battle of Isandlwana.  What was the Battle of Isandlwana?  No idea.  Wiki it.  My British history is rusty.  I've actually never heard of this movie, yet alone seen it.  I only bring it up because this movie features a wonderful actor who the world was forced to bid farewell to yesterday.  Bob Hoskins died from pneumonia yesterday.  He was 71.

To the Brits, he was a delightful and talented gentleman who rose to international acclaim from an accidental start in show business.  American audiences of a certain age probably know him best for his roles in Steven Spielberg's Hook, Robert Zemeckis' Who Framed Roger Rabbit, or maybe the shit-show less than popular Super Mario Bros. live-action film.

Regardless, Mr. Hoskins was beloved by many and I was so sad when I learned of his passing.  I was at work when I overheard my manager say "That guy from Roger Rabbit died" and I almost cried.  That sadness quickly turned to irritation and rage when I screamed "Bob Hoskins died?!?!" and my manager looked at me like I had grown an extra head because 1) I knew his name, and 2) I was so upset I almost cried. 

Rest in Peace, Bob Hoskins, I loved your career.  
Thank you for helping make my childhood magical.

YENSID

Source

Yensid is the name of the sorcerer in The Sorcerer's Apprentice cartoon from Disney's Fantasia. (But you knew that already, right?)  It is also D-I-S-N-E-Y spelled backwards. And Disneyland is where I spent my birthday evening on Friday.  It's official, I'm 30.  I don't really feel 30.  I don't really feel any age, I just am. I'm a real live adult now right? It doesn't matter, Disneyland is the best place to have a birthday, hands down. I went and got my official Disneyland birthday button, they wrote my name on it and I wore that bad boy proudly, basking in the showering of birthday wishes from cast members and other guests as I skipped down Main Street like an 8-year-old. I win.

Turning 30...you're doing it right.

BIRTHDAAAAAAAAAY!!!

Talkin' Toons

This post can also be titled "Stupid tired." Boyfriend took me to see Talkin' Toons Live last night and it was a blast. We got there super early and were going to meet up with an old NY friend of ours who was in town.  While we were waiting out front for our friend, Rob Paulsen just sauntered on by us. We said hi and shook his hand and he gave me a wink and went to go have a pre-show snack. That man knows how to work a room, lemme tell ya.


Rob's guests last night were April Winchell and Pam Adlon. And he wasn't kidding when he said that those two make the parental advisory flags fly. I won't spoil anything for anyone who wants to listen to the podcast (I think it drops on iTunes on Friday) but it was hella funny. April talked about the beloved Regretsy (R.I.P) and they all told some hilarious stories about working on Disney shows.

I plan on listening to the podcast not only to relive the fun, but also to see if my obnoxious semi-boozed up laugh (that's a 2-drink-minimum for you) can be heard on the recording.  Not only was the show fun, funny, and inspiring (to an aspiring VO actor such as myself) I also got to be in the same room as some voice over royalty last night! Billy West, Kevin Michael Richardson, and Fred Tatasciore were all sitting in the audience among others.

After the show, Boyfriend and I both got a big hug from Rob and then he schmoozed with the rest of his adoring public and we went home. Nothing can live up to the first time I met Rob, but Talkin' Toons Live was great fun. If I were made of money, I'd go every week. Sadly, I am not.

On my actual birthday, Boyfriend and I are going to conclude the week of birthday awesome by going to Disneyland. Because we can.

Super Excited!

Boyfriend is taking me out for an early birthday present tonight. We're going to see Rob Paulsen's Talkin' Toons Podcast live at the Hollywood Improv tonight!!! And you guys know how I feel about Rob Paulsen...

So this is a stupidly short, not-real post because I'm SUPER EXCITED!!!

Remembering

It's Monday and the letter of the day is R, so I'm going to do a two-fer: A-Z Challenge meets Memory Lane Monday. That's called multi-tasking. You're welcome.

Thirty years ago, Romancing the Stone was in theaters, Footloose dethroned Thriller from its 37-week reign as the #1 album, Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now) by Phil Collins was the #1 single, Atari announced the Atari 7800, and my very pregnant mommy awaited the birth of her first child. (Hint:  It was me.)

Ha ha look at the raisin...oh wait, it's me

I wanted to write something really profound about turning 30, but I've been staring at my screen for an hour and profundity just ain't happening tonight folks. Instead, I leave you with this:

 

Leeloo the Magnificent or How I Met My Dog

I've written a little bit about my dog, Leeloo on my "about me" page, but I don't think I've gone into detail about how much I love her. She's amazing, and part of me hates that we waited so long to get a dog, but the other part knows that if we hadn't been looking for a dog at the exact time we started looking for a dog, then she would not be ours. So here is the story (as we know it) of Leeloo the Magnificent.

In college, I went through a lot of mental health stuff. I wasn't being properly treated etc etc etc. Long story short, I couldn't have a dog so I bought a ferret, and another one...and another one.  They became my life. I loved them and having pets was very emotionally healing for me. Unfortunately, ferrets have rather short life spans (only an average of 7 years) and sadly, none of mine lasted even that long. Boomer got cancer and had to be put to sleep at age 3. Gigit started having some spleen/pancreas problems after age 6 and died peacefully at home. Dusty also developed some internal problems and I think his pancreas or spleen may have ruptured one night and he too died in my arms...
on my birthday. 

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

My furbabies

Since my ferrets died, I wanted a dog so so badly. Boyfriend wanted one too, but I'm pretty sure I drove him crazy with how badly I wanted one. Every time I saw a picture of a dog on the internet, or a dog on TV or on the street, I would mention (and by "mention I mean, whine) that I wanted a puppy.  This went on for 2 years.

Then, last spring, a friend of ours who works with the NYC ASPCA posted a video on Facebook of a really sweet pitbull who needed a home. He didn't look that big in the video, so we contacted the organization about putting in an application to meet their dogs.  We eventually set up an appointment to meet him.  We were not prepared for what greeted us. He was a super sweet super affectionate huge dog. Huge. And he was going to get bigger once he got on a more steady diet. Also, we saw how big his poop was when we took him out for a walk and we were...surprised, to say the least.  We decided he was just too big and unruly for us and our apartment.

Weeks passed and we kept in touch with our contact, Barbara about meeting other dogs. Finally, we went to meet a yorkie mix named "Una" who had the saddest intake picture ever.

SADDEST. DOG. EVER.

But, when we finally went to go meet "Una" she looked a little bit more like this:

First trip to the park

She was very shy when left alone in the meeting room with us. She just sort of sat politely in between me and Boyfriend and just sort of looked at us and then whined and whimpered when she heard Barbara's voice in the hallway. We liked "Una" and decided we would foster her with intent to adopt. Normally with the foster-with-intent process, if you keep a dog for less than 2 weeks, you can return them to the shelter if it just doesn't work out. Sort of like a trial run.  But after 3 days, Leeloo ("Una") was our dog. 

The morning she was scheduled to be dropped off at our apartment, I was complete wreck.  I was excited but anxious as hell. What if we'd made a huge mistake? What if we weren't ready for a dog? What if our lives are chaos forever? What if she hates us? What if we have to give her back? Etc...etc...etc.  Welcome to my crazy brain. 

Leeloo had been picked up by Animal Control in a parking lot in the Bronx in late April. She was dirty, matted, underweight, without any identification, and extremely skittish but gentle.  By the time she came to live with us in June, she'd been groomed, better fed, and gone through some simple obedience training.

 When Barbara finally dropped off our new doggy, I almost passed out when we walked outside to meet her. I was dizzy and almost started to cry because of all the emotions.  But as soon as Barbara handed a squirming Leeloo to me, I knew everything was going to be better.  We signed the papers right there on the curb and took Leeloo into her new home.  She came with a travel bag for riding on the subway/in the car, a collar, a leash, and a rawhide stick.  I still had a couple of bowls, clean beds, blankies, and toys left over from the ferrets that Leeloo inherited to start off in her new home.  

Today, Leeloo is a happy, active, less skittish California girl. She sits outside on a towel every day to soak up the sun.  She loves the dog park, playing tug-o-war, and staring out the window. She is magnificent and we love her.  I'm looking into possibly training her as a therapy dog for children since she loves little kids, or possibly training her to be an actor dog in commercials and stuff.  Even if we never succeed in any of these doggy dreams, I still love her more each and every day. 

How can you not love this dog?