Feelin' Low, Feelin' Blue

Somebody famous once said to do something every day that scares you. So. Today I took the V train.

It wasn't so bad.

The End.

Also, since I was feeling powerful, I went with Ashley to the MoMA. Apparently, it is free on Fridays from 4-8, sponsored by good ol' Target. The line to get in was pretty long but flew by quickly and there I went with Ashley, in search of the Pixar exhibit. I'm not a huge fan of modern art, but I'm a HUGE FAN OF PIXAR!!!!!!!

After running in a few circles and going to the wrong floor, we found the first part of the Pixar exhibit which included an AMAZING display of Toy Story toys that all moved when they turned on a strobelight and also, a 10 minute video. There was a heavyset man in charge of the video who had many important things to say before it started. He said them all in a booming voice, one after the other, with hardly a breath in between. As Ashley and I were watching the strobelight toys and waiting for the video to begin, we were blessed with his commentary:

ATTENTION LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
No food or drink is allowed in this room. No cellular phones either. If you want to call someone, you can't. No e-mails! No text messages! I will see you. No taking pictures, you may not take pictures. You may not have a camera either. The Pixar video is 10 minutes long. This runs approximately 10 minutes. You may not take a picture of it. You may not eat, not even bottled water. The exhibit runs until February 6th. If you want to come see Pixar, and you show up on February 7th, I'm gonna tell you that you missed it, because it was over on the 6th. The movie will start momentarily. You may not drink, you may not take pictures, you must shut off all cellular phones, it will go on for ten minutes and you may not send email...

And ON. And ON.

Finally, he shut up and the video began. I expected a mini-documentary about Pixar and the making of the cartoons but it was really a wordless video that more or less zoomed in on the different movies Pixar has made. Pretty sketches of Toy Story, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, etc. all flashed over the screen. I'd tell you more about it but I'm not sure if I'm ALLOWED to blog about it.

It was quiet during the film until an Asian woman behind us busted out her camera phone and began videotaping the film.

The Security Man did not enjoy this and put a stop to it at once.

NO CAMERAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he boomed and stared down the lady until she put it away and almost cried. He kind of interrupted the part of the video containing Monster's Inc. and for that, I was annoyed and tempted to bust out my water bottle and chug it down. But I didn't. Because it is AGAINST PIXAR RULES TO DRINK WATER IN THE PRESENCE OF CARTOON SKETCHES.

After the 10-minute video, we wandered down to the bottom two floors to look at original sketches of the cartoons and sculptures and all sorts of fun things. Afterwards, I got to see a bit of the rest of the museum. I don't really understand modern art and therefore, don't like it very much. I loved the Matisse and some of the other things but...when you paint a canvas all one color or draw a few stripes on it, you lose me, and my respect.

I particularly love the description next to such artwork. Like the plaque next to this piece, entitled "Blue Monochrome".

It said something along the lines of blue representing heaven and sanctity and spirituality and...

CAN I POINT OUT THAT YOU JUST PAINTED A CANVAS BLUE?!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Holy crap I think I did that when I was five.

Even worse are the videos of performance artists. Seriously? I'm TRYING to take you seriously. But I can't. When you lay on the floor over a splotch of white paint and roll from one wall to the next like a caterpillar, it does not make me respect your talent or hear your message. It makes me PEE my pants.
I have to say that some of it? I really enjoyed. There was a room set up with speakers all around it and this beautiful choral music playing and the sounds would switch on and play from different angles and places and it was just amazing. I also enjoyed some of the architectural things and the furniture. The blue canvas, however? Not so much.

I suggest you people run out on a Friday night to catch the Pixar exhibit though. Just make sure you get there by Feburary 6th. Because if you get there the 7th, it'll be gone. And don't bring water or food or a cellular phone or your life. Because, really, it is just not allowed. EVER.

That is all. PEACE.

PS: You just realized I learned how to upload pictures into my blog entry, right!??!? RIGHT?!!!!!!! Thanks, Regina!

Insecurity or Why Meeting Your Ex-Boyfriend's Ex-Girlfriend Is Not As Bad As You Might Think

My new roommate had two friends visiting for the weekend and asked if it was okay that they stay in the apartment. Of course, it's a resounding "yes". There's always a "yes". This apartment has served many many visitors and many subletters and I think there's many more to come but ANYWAY. One of the two visitors happened to be, and let's get this clear, my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend.

So. To clarify, my roommate went to high school with both of them. And they dated in high school so technically, it's not a big deal because I dated him after SHE did but can I just say...

AWKWARD!??????

I've never before met in the flesh any of my ex-boyfriend's ex's. That is just territory that is best left untapped. In my head, they are all 5'11 and 120 pounds with size DD boobs and they threaten me, people, they threaten me. I was firm in my belief that should a crossing ever happen, it would consist of evil death stares, perhaps a few snide remarks and possibly a girl clawing me to death in broad daylight. I, of course, would lose, being the weakest, the dullest and the one with the smallest breasts.

I planned out my weekend, attempting to sidestep the unfortunate collision as best I could. I figured I would spend the entire day on Friday working or running errands and then work more Saturday and then go home on Sunday for my mother's birthday. There were very few chances that we would meet and it would be okay, right? I'd seen some pictures of her. She wasn't THAT PRETTY, was she?! Holy, yes she has to be. If I had to meet her, she wouldn't kill me right off the bat, right? They were broken up LONG BEFORE I came along and holy crap IS SHE REALLY GOING TO SLEEP ON MY PULL OUT SOFA WITH MY OLD NAVY FLEECE BLANKETS!?!?!? I AM GOING TO FREAK OUT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Friday came and she was due to arrive in the afternoon. I putzed around in the city for as long as I could before I got tired and hot and realized the sweater I put on earlier was not cutting it in the 60 degree JANUARY heat. I tried to kill time shopping but I had no money and my feet were hurting and I needed a nap and I had no choice but to haul it back to the apartment before work. I opened the door with dread.

No sign of her.

I breathed a sigh of relief and took a quick nap, cleaned up a little, showered and dressed for work, knowing I would run into her on my return. I went off to babysit looking like a rockstar. I picked out my prettiest shirt, my hottest jeans, my newest lipgloss and my best mascara, proving the theory that women do not dress up for men but for each other.

Well, the babies spit up on my jeans but I was still lookin' fine when I strolled back to Queens a few hours later. In the apartment, Lindsay and Ted greeted me with takeout and "Erin Brokovich" but no dreaded "ex". I even stayed up to watch the beginning of David Letterman with Ted even though I was REALLY REALLY tired. I'd hoped that maybe she'd come in while I was on the couch and I would half-heartedly wave a hand in the air and drawl out a "Heyyyy" in a really lazy cool way, avoiding the awkward Do I Shake Her Hand? moment.

Nothing happened. I went to bed.

I woke in the morning at 9 to take Ted to the airport and HOLY CRAP SHE IS SLEEPING ON MY PULL OUT SOFA !!!!!! I cannot see a face but I see long brown hair and it is SHINIER THAN MINE AND DAMN I BET SHE'S ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO LOOKS GOOD WHEN SHE WAKES UP IN THE MORNING...

I tip-toed out, dropped Ted at LaGuardia, changed into sweats and headed outside to the park. I walked to the track, ran a few miles, stretched, did some abs, a regular Saturday morning routine and damnit I WAS NOT GIVING IT UP FOR THE PRETTY GIRL ON MY SOFA BED.

I quietly came back in to make breakfast around 11 am and while I was pouring a bowl of Cheerios, the sofa stirred. And someone sat up. And I am wearing cut off sweats, a t-shirt, my hair is greasy and I'm sweating profusely. She does not only sit up. She is walking towards me. HOLY.CRAP.SHE.IS.COMING.AT.ME.

"HI!!!!!!!!!!!!" says the ex, a bit too cheery for this cloudy Saturday. "I just wanted to THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME STAY HERE."

I realize she is trying hard. Way too hard. But...it doesn't bother me because I feel like that is the way I would be acting if the roles were reversed. Hm.

She plows on, "And I didn't mean to be snoopy but I saw your headshots out on the table and that one you highlighted is SO PRETTY and oh my gosh do you need help with that? I can help you take that trash downstairs, it's not a big deal..."

"No, no," I say and then proceed to make a lame attempt at apologizing for waking her up and truly, I am SORRY because her stomach? is WAY flatter than mine. Her boobs? WAY bigger than mine. I am sweating into my Cheerios and she is glamorous in her pajamas and I want to sink down through the tile floor, all the way to the basement and the concrete and disappear forrrrrrrever...

I cut up a banana into my cereal and wake up my roommate because I cannot handle this insecurity and knowledge that she is prettier than me on my own. The apartment begins to wake up completely and I shower and speak when I am spoken to and she's talking about one thing or the other and eventually I overhear her utter the phrase "And that's why I want to be a boy for just, like, one day just to see what a blowjob FEELS like..."

I realize that maybe, just maybe I gave her too much credit.

The question is, why did I even CARE? Why do I care what she looks like, how many things she has that I don't? Why do I size myself up that way and always pin myself as the loser? Against other women, I can never win. Not in my head. I do not like that about myself. Surely, there are great qualities in me. Somewhere, some place, there has to be an INCH of confidence about something.

The weekend ended with Troy, The Ex, The Other Friend and myself on the couch, watching Grey's Anatomy. It was pleasant, it was fun and I knew in my heart that in any other situation, she and I might have been good buddies. The next morning, I found a crayon-colored thank you note from her, complete with her cell # and a "Call me if you're ever in..." tag line. It was a bit much. It was overcompensating. It was...something I would do.

I think we're all a lot more alike than we care to admit.

Peace.

Today I Forgot To Swipe My Metrocard and Walked Forcefully Into The Metal Turnstile Expecting It To Move. It Didn't.

I overheard this girl on the subway analyzing her dreams with her friend and she was talking really loudly about her nightmares. "And then there were polar bears and then seals but then I took, like, the seals and put them like on my feet and I was like SKATING AROUND with like SEALS ON MY FEET OH MY GOD."And I realized...

That I don't have it THAT bad.

Tom, Tristan and I on the subway tonight:

Tom: See, this is why I hate going back to Buffalo. I can't see any cool movies there. They're gonna be playing stupid shit like "The Family Stone".

Tristan: I actually saw "The Family Stone".

Laura: Did you?

Tristan: Yeah.

Tom: Well, I did too actually. It was pretty good...

*MUFFLED ANNOUNCEMENT COMES ON OVER THE LOUDSPEAKER OF THE 'N' TRAIN*

Tristan: Was that even English?

Laura: I swear to God you can never tell.

Tom: Maybe the conductors just make up things to say over the intercom because they know that none of us can hear what they're saying. You know, like blahblahblahnextstopblahblahblah.

Laura: Yeah. Well. I don't know. They're all crazy. There's this one guy that announces specific sites and attractions at every stop.

Tristan: Really?

Laura: Yeah. He has this deep booming voice and instead of saying "59th and Lex" he'll say things like, "The next stop is 59th Street and Lexington Avenue, 59th Street Bridge, Bloomingdales..." It's just really amusing to me.

Tom: Yeah. I can see that.

Laura: Well, yeah, I feel like I'm on a damn monorail.

Tristan: Wow. That could get intense. "The next stop is 59th and Lex, you can find a DUANE READE on the corner..."

*Random Man laughs outloud behind his paper*

Random Woman Next To Us: Wow. You guys ever hear that guy who changes his accent for each stop?

All Of Us: No!?!?!?

RWNTU: Well. It's hilarious. He was doing like a British accent and then like, a Robotic accent.

Laura: There's a robotic accent?

RWNTU: You know what I mean.

Laura: Yeah.

RWNTU: You guys are FUNNY.

Us: Um. Thanks.

In other news, I need a haircut.

I'm in the middle of flickring all my Greece pictures. This will take approximately 8 years because halfway through I stop and stare at the screen and get nostalgic and wish I was back in Greece wandering around mountains instead of here, freezing cold, with girls tucking their pants into their boots. And then I head to the fridge for some feta cheese, realize I don't have any, realize I don't have money to buy more, throw something at the wall, sit back at computer, upload more pictures from Greece.

Rinse. Repeat.

I am very tired and need sleep in order to stop writing these blog entries that do not make any sense. One second I'm blabbering about throwing myself off a bridge and the next sentence I'm giddy about feta cheese and this girl on the subway and how clever I am.

I'm not that clever.

But I'm probably going to bed to dream of seals. Or feta. Or seals eating feta.

Or me, training the seals to eat the feta.

Peace.

There's gotta be something more, gotta be more than this. I need a little less hard time, I need a little more bliss...

My car slid through an intersection this morning on a sheet of ice.

Realizing that my brakes were useless, I leaned into the horn to alert people that I was (unwillingly) coming through. Lucky for me, no one was hurtling toward me on the driver's side. However, a white pick up truck slammed on his brakes too late and slammed into the passenger side of my car. I wasn't hurt. My car is badly scraped but barely dented and the headlight is still intact.

Later in the day after sobbing uncontrollably into a Greek salad, I discovered a pen had been left in my pocket and had destroyed nearly half a load of laundry, particularly my favorite cream-colored blouse and white sweatshirt. I quickly sent them through again in SUPERWASH mode with burning hot water. Some of the stains came out, some did not.

After smashing my bowl of Self-Esteem on the counter earlier this week, it all seems to fall nicely into place.

Tomorrow is my first audition of 2006.

Car scrapes, ink stains, broken bowls and tired heart.

They don't matter.

Why?

Because I'm going to go in there and KICK TOTAL ASS.

That's why. The End.

Peace.

I got miles of trouble spreadin' far and wide. Bills on the table gettin' higher and higher...

While putting away clean dishes this morning, my yellow Self-Esteem Bowl slipped out of my hand, crashed onto the countertop and shattered into at least five pieces.

How's that for prophetic?

Geez. Peace.

Sometimes The Only Way Is Jumping

I was all set to have a happy New Year. I mean I did. My party was AWESOME and we took many pictures (WEE!) but I'm talking in terms of a new YEAR. A new attitude! New weight loss! New things to explore and discover, possibly new revelations of life, love and happiness.

Of course during these discoveries, I imagine myself to be dressed very prettily and gazing out on some bridge or waterfront while the Dawson's Creek soundtrack plays in the distance. And I fall deeeeeeeply in love and write a television sitcom and have a baby by the age of 26 with no epidural, all of this being documented on TLC's "A Baby Story".

This, my friends, is what this year is SUPPOSED to be. BRAND NEW. ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

Well. I'll tell you what's been possible so far.

It's possible that my roommate borrowed my car and left the headlights on, thereby killing the battery because we didn't notice for 4 days. It is also possible that when they tried to fix the car, they noticed the starter was also broken. It is also possible that this venture cost me $448.

It's possible I had to take the subway to the ghetto to retrieve my car and face a girl working at the mechanic office with huge Queens nails and hair. When I slid my credit card over, trying not to cry, it is also possible she mentioned something like, "We only take cash."

It's possible that during my run today, I literally RAN into two, count 'em TWO, Christmas trees that were out on the sidewalk waiting to be picked up by the garbage men. One, okay fine Laura, you didn't see the huge ass Christmas tree LAYING ON THE CONCRETE. But two? TWO? I just spent the past 10 minutes plucking pine needles from my gray yoga pants. I don't know if I am really blind or perhaps was just really into the new Ashlee Simpson song on my ipod.

It's possible that my roommate is leaving on tour next week and that we had a subletter set up, someone I knew and someone that is fabulous. It is possible that this fabulous person just got a show in Kansas and will not be moving in, leaving us approximately 7 days to find someone new. It is possible, I am stressed.

I should've known the year would start this way, given how the New Year's Eve bash went down.

It is possible that I remained sober at my New Year's party despite ridiculous amounts of available alcohol! It's possible that my sister and her boyfriend showed up and we had a GRAND OLD TIME! It's possible that around 12:30, Tom busted out the ever-popular early 90's board game "Mall Madness" and played it for well over 45 minutes.

It's possible that after the ball dropped, Lindsay started shouting that we needed to grab a bag and walk around the block. We were, naturally, getting rid of our 2005 baggage. We walked 'round the streets of Astoria yelling and carrying on and possibly doing some pas de bourrées.

It's possible that when the ball dropped, I had no one to kiss.

Except my sister and my best friends in the whole world. But not in a romantic way. Because that? Would be gross.

It's possible that the next day we went to the diner like EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER and it took them an HOUR to bring the food and when they did, it was all wrong and awful. It's possible that everyone was hungover but me because I did not drink! It's possible that we spent Sunday lounging around watching Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion when Lindsay decided to make Jell-o shots around 2 pm.

I gave her a puzzled look and asked her if she was indeed a member of a fraternity.

Around 5 pm she busted them out of the freezer and PEER PRESSURED me into having some since I was the epitome of pure the evening before. Now, I don't normally do Jell-o shots on a Sunday afternoon around five with work the next day but hey, Lindsay means a lot to me. I also decide to throw in a glass of wine for good measure.

Before you know it, I am way tipsy and dancing around the living room to "It's Raining Men" with Erica and Hallie.

And possibly then, everyone decided it was getting late and they had to be getting home.

Leaving me COMPLETELY ALONE, slightly sloshed, to watch the end of "Angels in America" and eat an entire box of macaroni and cheese.

Doesn't that just set up this entire year for me?!?!?!?

I mean, why am I even surprised that within the first week of 2006, I spent nearly $500 in car repairs and ran headfirst into Christmas trees? Geeez.

In actuality, I'm okay. I'm really thrilled to let all this slide off my back and get on track. I've done three seminars at Actor's Connection so far already. I can't tell you how it went because then? I'd have to kill you.

One of my New Year's resolutions is to take a vacation. Probably not anytime soon but maybe spring. And if I have to go alone, I will.

Troy moved in on Thursday night and we have been having an absolute blast.

Another New Year's resolution is to make Adam clean that sketchy jar of pickles out of the fridge before he goes on tour.

It's been there since May.

But hey that's what boys are for, right?

I'm certainly not touching it.

Have a better week than me, kids.

Mounting the trail, but you've got it in sight
Sometimes the only way is jumping--
I hope you're not afraid of heights
Reach in my pocket for a bill that isn't there
And to face all of the undoings
Still isn't more than I can bear..."

Peace.