When I was in high school I wanted to be an actress. Retrospectively, what I actually wanted was an excuse to act like a total drama queen and get away with it, but of course I didn't know that at the time. What I did know was that I had a great memory for memorizing lines, I wasn't afraid of being in front of a crowd (or making a total idiot of myself in front of said crowd) and, most importantly, I was loud. I never got direction to speak up, but someone once told me they could hear me outside of the auditorium. I was also dramatic and could cry on cue, but to be fair, the same could be said of most seventeen-year-old girls. Other than that, I wasn't very good. I've heard that part of acting is reacting and I could never remember this once on stage. I mostly just spaced out and waited until it was my turn to say something. Needless to say, it didn't take long after high school to scratch "Award-Winning Actress" off of my list of dreams.
The reason I decided I wanted to be an actress in the first place was because of Saturday Night Live. This is hardly an original statement, especially if you've ever read the biographies of anyone who has ever acted on the show, but it's true. My obsession started in the Tina Fey/Jimmy Fallon/Amy Poehler days and I became convinced that being another hilarious actress on the show was the only job I would ever want.
My second semester of college, I took my first creative writing class and, to make the understatement of the century, it blew my mind. I've always liked to write, but up until that point I thought there had to be a formula for writing (as in: intro, body paragraphs, conclusion and all the other things that are relentlessly crammed down your throat in high school) and the freedom to write whatever I wanted was amazing. Suddenly I saw myself less in the funny girl-AmyPoehler-esque role and saw my dream in a whole new light. Why say funny things when you can write funny things that everyone else says? Frankly, everyone knows the writing is where the real talent is. Have you ever seen a movie that looked really amazing and had Academy Award winning actors in it, but completely sucked? I guarantee you it sucked because the writing was bad. It doesn't matter how good an actor is, that only goes so far when absolute crap is coming out of their mouths. All traces of ever wanting to become an actress were officially gone by that point. I wanted to be a writer. But not just any writer, an SNL writer.
Needless to say, it's been years since this realization and, unfortunately, a bit of a fruitless journey so far. But no matter how much time goes by, I continue to have my SNL daydream, which basically consists of an 80's movie style montage of me, Josh, and the kids frollicking around a really amazing city, doing cool things and hanging out with Andy Samberg, all set to that Jay-Z song about New York (I think it probably goes without saying that I don't have the greatest grasp on reality, but I at least redeem myself by being aware of it...right??). I have had the butterfly-inducing opportunity of meeting a couple of former SNL writers who all say the same thing: It's hard, continuous work where you spend a lot of time writing until 5 AM, the city is very expensive and frolicking intolerant, and it's actually pretty unlikely that I'd hang out with Andy Samberg.
But I don't care. It's still my dream and despite getting older, having kids, having responsibilities that tie me to where I am, or even having opportunities that take me in a different direction, I've never been able to give up on it. I don't want to give up on it. In other words, if I'm the show's first seventy-eight-year-old intern, that will be perfectly fine with me.
And if it never happens...that's okay too. I have a great life and family that I'm unbelievably proud of and even if it means I'll never become the next Tina Fey, I'm still satisfied with it.
But a girl can still dream...
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
The Student Has Become The Master
You don't choose the traits that are passed on to your kids. This wasn't a problem when Layla got Josh's never-ending empathy or when Ben got Josh's easy, light-hearted sense of humor. Unfortunately, since it's pretty much impossible to give birth to two Josh clones, they were genetically destined to aquire a trait or two of mine.
Which is why I'm now I'm the Queen Mother of All That Is Stubborn. Literally.
It all began fairly recently when Ben decided that he hated putting his PJs on. Evidently somewhere along the line he made the connection that PJs equal bedtime, and there's nothing he hates more than having to go to bed. Much like he truly believes that the shower is a porthole to Narnia from which I will never return every time I take a shower, he believes that absolutely nothing cool or fun happens until his head hits the pillow. Of course, anyone with kids knows that this couldn't be farther from the truth because generally the moment the kids go to sleep is the moment that you're finally free to sit on your butt and do absolutely nothing at all. It's glorious, and when your kid's massive stubborn streak turns what should be a short, sweet process into an hour-long battle, it can feel especially frustrating. Especially when that massive stubborn streak is directly inherited from you.
Despite what you've read in this blog, I do actually have a few good qualities. I'm nice. I'm honest. I brake for animals. But my good qualities tend to get pushed into the shadows by my keen ability to have an adult-sized temper tantrum because I flat-out refuse to admit that I accidentally bought a head of cabbage instead of a head of lettuce. I'm a mature adult, just not when it comes to admitting that I'm wrong. Or doing something I don't want to do. Or when I've lost my cell phone for the eighty-seventh time that day. And now, it appears, I've created an adorable little monster.
Layla is stubborn in her own ways, but she's still impressively pliable for a four-year-old. The only thing she really ever fights me to the death on is wanting to wear her tiara to the grocery store. There's no negotiating with Ben. He can't be bribed, bought, coerced, or otherwise distracted from what he wants. If you think you can talk sense into him, you're wasting your time. While I believe that every two-year-old is impervious to logic (especially when it's coming from their parents), Ben doesn't even waste his time pretending to listen. Negotiation attempts are right on par with trying to talk to a kitchen table, but at least the table will sit still while it ignores you. Whether it's bypassing bedtime or getting a cookie after we say no, Ben never forgets and will continue to try and try to get what he wants until you collapse and give in. To be honest, if he was someone else's kid, I'd probably admire his commitment. His pièce de résistance, and subsequent salt in the wound, is that he usually doesn't even want whatever it was that was a seemingly necessary staple in his life mere moments earlier. He just wants to prove that he can get what he wants.
The student has become the master.
Which is why I'm now I'm the Queen Mother of All That Is Stubborn. Literally.
It all began fairly recently when Ben decided that he hated putting his PJs on. Evidently somewhere along the line he made the connection that PJs equal bedtime, and there's nothing he hates more than having to go to bed. Much like he truly believes that the shower is a porthole to Narnia from which I will never return every time I take a shower, he believes that absolutely nothing cool or fun happens until his head hits the pillow. Of course, anyone with kids knows that this couldn't be farther from the truth because generally the moment the kids go to sleep is the moment that you're finally free to sit on your butt and do absolutely nothing at all. It's glorious, and when your kid's massive stubborn streak turns what should be a short, sweet process into an hour-long battle, it can feel especially frustrating. Especially when that massive stubborn streak is directly inherited from you.
Despite what you've read in this blog, I do actually have a few good qualities. I'm nice. I'm honest. I brake for animals. But my good qualities tend to get pushed into the shadows by my keen ability to have an adult-sized temper tantrum because I flat-out refuse to admit that I accidentally bought a head of cabbage instead of a head of lettuce. I'm a mature adult, just not when it comes to admitting that I'm wrong. Or doing something I don't want to do. Or when I've lost my cell phone for the eighty-seventh time that day. And now, it appears, I've created an adorable little monster.
Layla is stubborn in her own ways, but she's still impressively pliable for a four-year-old. The only thing she really ever fights me to the death on is wanting to wear her tiara to the grocery store. There's no negotiating with Ben. He can't be bribed, bought, coerced, or otherwise distracted from what he wants. If you think you can talk sense into him, you're wasting your time. While I believe that every two-year-old is impervious to logic (especially when it's coming from their parents), Ben doesn't even waste his time pretending to listen. Negotiation attempts are right on par with trying to talk to a kitchen table, but at least the table will sit still while it ignores you. Whether it's bypassing bedtime or getting a cookie after we say no, Ben never forgets and will continue to try and try to get what he wants until you collapse and give in. To be honest, if he was someone else's kid, I'd probably admire his commitment. His pièce de résistance, and subsequent salt in the wound, is that he usually doesn't even want whatever it was that was a seemingly necessary staple in his life mere moments earlier. He just wants to prove that he can get what he wants.
The student has become the master.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
In Defense Of Jessica Alba
I have a confession to make. Besides my incredibly talented blogger friends, I almost never read any of the random blogs floating around out there. And yesterday I remembered why.
I stumbled across a blog completely by accident while browsing around one of my new favorite female-empowering websites (though the actual motives of this website, which shall remain nameless, are now seriously being questioned). Rather than put up a link to this garbage and force someone else to read it, I'll paraphrase it.
It was called "Another Person I'm Not Happy For: Jessica Alba" and went on to talk about how awful actress Jessica Alba is because she has two kids and a rockin' body. But what really irritated me was when the "writer" went on to say that she's jealous of the bodies of Victoria's Secret models, but "when they open their mouths to try speaking English it sounds like they’re coming off of a big dose of Anesthesia. None of the vowels work, and the more they talk the better I look next to them".
Okay...really?!
Don't get me wrong. I'm a woman who's had two kids and I'm just as self-conscious about my body as the next woman who has had two kids (or who hasn't had any kids at all, for that matter). But do you know what makes me feel better? Taking my kids outside and chasing them around. You know what doesn't make me feel better? Putting other people down.
As a woman, it's hard. We're trained to be critical of other women practically from birth. It's all one big competition. But the one thing I've learned over the past year is that it doesn't have to be that way. I repeat, It. Doesn't. Have. To. Be. That. Way.
Case in point: Last semester I was in the restroom at school washing my hands when a girl came out of the stall to wash her hands next to me. This girl was a knock-out in that make-up free, glowing skin kind of way that makes those of us who look like the troll that lives under the bridge first thing in the morning practically salivate with envy. To top it off, she was wearing one of those really cool wrap-around dresses in really bright colors that I probably couldn't even figure out how to put on, much less successfully pull off. Under ordinary circumstances, I probably would have done what I have spent the last twenty-seven years of my life doing (assume that because she's pretty, she's a bitch and continue to wash my hands with my head down) but I'd just come up with my book club's mission statement and a theory of my own; All of the "girl hate" with which we become so accustomed, is nothing more than a bad attitude and all in our heads. So instead of ignoring her, I decided to start practicing what I'd just started preaching and I told her I liked her dress (because I did) and I could never pull it off myself (because I couldn't).
She turned around, literally beamed at me and started thanking me profusely. We got to talking and it turns out her boyfriend told her he thought it was an ugly dress right before she walked out the door that morning and she'd been feeling awful all day (Just a side rant: Josh would wear a black polo shirt and jeans seven days a week if he thought he could get away with it. Unless he's gay, never listen to a guy when it comes to what you're wearing. Trust me, it's a waste of time). I refrained from suggesting she should dump her boyfriend and instead reinstated how great the dress was. No, we didn't become best friends (because life isn't a Taylor Swift video) but we talked long enough for me to be ten minutes late to class and whenever I saw her on campus the rest of the semester, we always smiled and waved.
My point is this: We live in an ugly world right now and it sickens me that so many people are not only okay with that, but seem hell-bent on making it uglier. The blog from the site-that-shall-remain-nameless was one of the most unnecessarily hateful things I've ever read. It didn't sound like it was written by an (allegedly) legitimate adult writer, but rather like it was written by a jealous sixth grader on the wall of a middle school bathroom in pink sharpie. I'm not really even a Jessica Alba fan to be honest and if the "writer" had written about how the last few Jessica Alba movies she's seen have been horrible and maybe Jessica Alba should consider a different career, there may have been a small amount of legitimacy to her point. In other words, if you feel the need to criticize, criticize the content, not the package it comes in. We can be better than that...I hope.
I'm far from perfect and I think that changing our attitudes towards each other takes a lot of time and effort. I hope that if you read the blog (which despite my rant, I still wouldn't suggest doing) your first thought isn't "Of course she has a perfect body, she has a nanny and a personal trainer" because a) We really don't know anything about anyone for an absolute fact, and b) Even if I personally had both a nanny and a trainer it wouldn't be enough to make me not want to sit on the couch and eat ice cream while watching The Simpsons every night. That kind of motivation is super-human, no matter who you are or what resources you have. Instead I say, kuddos to Jessica Alba, kuddos to my marathon-running friends, and kuddos to awesome women all over the world, whether you're staying healthy or doing something positive in the world. It's negative blogs like that one that have made me realize that you ladies are few and far between.
Finally, in the words of one of my own personal heroes, the gorgeous Tina Fey, "Calling somebody else fat won't make you any skinnier. Calling someone stupid doesn't make you any smarter. All you can do is solve the problem right in front of you". Amen, sister.
I stumbled across a blog completely by accident while browsing around one of my new favorite female-empowering websites (though the actual motives of this website, which shall remain nameless, are now seriously being questioned). Rather than put up a link to this garbage and force someone else to read it, I'll paraphrase it.
It was called "Another Person I'm Not Happy For: Jessica Alba" and went on to talk about how awful actress Jessica Alba is because she has two kids and a rockin' body. But what really irritated me was when the "writer" went on to say that she's jealous of the bodies of Victoria's Secret models, but "when they open their mouths to try speaking English it sounds like they’re coming off of a big dose of Anesthesia. None of the vowels work, and the more they talk the better I look next to them".
Okay...really?!
Don't get me wrong. I'm a woman who's had two kids and I'm just as self-conscious about my body as the next woman who has had two kids (or who hasn't had any kids at all, for that matter). But do you know what makes me feel better? Taking my kids outside and chasing them around. You know what doesn't make me feel better? Putting other people down.
As a woman, it's hard. We're trained to be critical of other women practically from birth. It's all one big competition. But the one thing I've learned over the past year is that it doesn't have to be that way. I repeat, It. Doesn't. Have. To. Be. That. Way.
Case in point: Last semester I was in the restroom at school washing my hands when a girl came out of the stall to wash her hands next to me. This girl was a knock-out in that make-up free, glowing skin kind of way that makes those of us who look like the troll that lives under the bridge first thing in the morning practically salivate with envy. To top it off, she was wearing one of those really cool wrap-around dresses in really bright colors that I probably couldn't even figure out how to put on, much less successfully pull off. Under ordinary circumstances, I probably would have done what I have spent the last twenty-seven years of my life doing (assume that because she's pretty, she's a bitch and continue to wash my hands with my head down) but I'd just come up with my book club's mission statement and a theory of my own; All of the "girl hate" with which we become so accustomed, is nothing more than a bad attitude and all in our heads. So instead of ignoring her, I decided to start practicing what I'd just started preaching and I told her I liked her dress (because I did) and I could never pull it off myself (because I couldn't).
She turned around, literally beamed at me and started thanking me profusely. We got to talking and it turns out her boyfriend told her he thought it was an ugly dress right before she walked out the door that morning and she'd been feeling awful all day (Just a side rant: Josh would wear a black polo shirt and jeans seven days a week if he thought he could get away with it. Unless he's gay, never listen to a guy when it comes to what you're wearing. Trust me, it's a waste of time). I refrained from suggesting she should dump her boyfriend and instead reinstated how great the dress was. No, we didn't become best friends (because life isn't a Taylor Swift video) but we talked long enough for me to be ten minutes late to class and whenever I saw her on campus the rest of the semester, we always smiled and waved.
My point is this: We live in an ugly world right now and it sickens me that so many people are not only okay with that, but seem hell-bent on making it uglier. The blog from the site-that-shall-remain-nameless was one of the most unnecessarily hateful things I've ever read. It didn't sound like it was written by an (allegedly) legitimate adult writer, but rather like it was written by a jealous sixth grader on the wall of a middle school bathroom in pink sharpie. I'm not really even a Jessica Alba fan to be honest and if the "writer" had written about how the last few Jessica Alba movies she's seen have been horrible and maybe Jessica Alba should consider a different career, there may have been a small amount of legitimacy to her point. In other words, if you feel the need to criticize, criticize the content, not the package it comes in. We can be better than that...I hope.
I'm far from perfect and I think that changing our attitudes towards each other takes a lot of time and effort. I hope that if you read the blog (which despite my rant, I still wouldn't suggest doing) your first thought isn't "Of course she has a perfect body, she has a nanny and a personal trainer" because a) We really don't know anything about anyone for an absolute fact, and b) Even if I personally had both a nanny and a trainer it wouldn't be enough to make me not want to sit on the couch and eat ice cream while watching The Simpsons every night. That kind of motivation is super-human, no matter who you are or what resources you have. Instead I say, kuddos to Jessica Alba, kuddos to my marathon-running friends, and kuddos to awesome women all over the world, whether you're staying healthy or doing something positive in the world. It's negative blogs like that one that have made me realize that you ladies are few and far between.
Finally, in the words of one of my own personal heroes, the gorgeous Tina Fey, "Calling somebody else fat won't make you any skinnier. Calling someone stupid doesn't make you any smarter. All you can do is solve the problem right in front of you". Amen, sister.
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