Monday, November 30, 2015

An Asshole Hates on Inspirational Quotes

Some dipshit girl from my high school just posted one of those annoying inspirational quotes on social media.  You know the one - “Dance like no one is watching, Sing like no one is listening, Love as if you’ve never been hurt, live every day as if it were your last.”  And it made me realize how fucking stupid that quote is, and how fucking stupid she is for believing it enough to post it.   

I mean, I get the sentiment.  I comprehend what the quote is trying to say:  forget your insecurities and give it your all without fear of failure or judgement.  But I firmly believe the fear of failure and judgement is what helps make people do and be their best.  Most people are driven to success not through their own volition, but through the reward of praise and the pain of rejection.  

If I’m dancing and singing like no one is watching or listening, then who cares if I look ridiculous or hit a wrong note?  Who cares if I suck?  I can half ass that shit all day because there are no consequences.  As a performer, I choose to dance and sing like the the whole world is my audience and I need to SLAY THAT SHIT.  Look at me, world!  Hear my wail!  Check out what I have to offer!

And why in the fuck would I want to love like I’ve never been hurt before?  If I did that, I’d still be loving on the losers and assholes I fell for in high school.  Fuck that.  I HAVE been hurt before and now I know what to look out for.  Being hurt teaches you lessons on what is an is not acceptable behavior.  I now know to only give my love to those deserving of it.  My love is not unconditional, it is VERY FUCKING CONDITIONAL.  You need to treat me with respect.  You need to come at me with honesty, but also fairness and kindness.  You need to be a good person.  That’s what pain has taught me: to weed out the unworthy.  

And finally, ‘live each day as if it were your last…”  You wanna know what I’d do if it were my last day on earth?  Heroin.  I’d also fuck every tatted up rocker boy in a ten mile radius unprotected because Who Cares?  I’m dying tomorrow anyway.  No.  You need to live each day like there will be a tomorrow, and you want to make it better for yourself.  You need to live life like you create your own reality, because that shit is true.  You need to work your ass of to live the life you have imagined for yourself, or at least come as close as possible.  And yeah, sometimes shit happens, but it’s up to you to deal with that shit and do the best you can because no one else will do it for you.

In the meantime, keep your platitudes off my fucking feed, ya basic ass betches.  

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Confessions of an Asshole Daughter

My dad was never one to give compliments.  It's not his style.  He's a matter of fact dude.  He was, and is, a very good dad.  He raised two pretty bitchin' daughters, so he obviously has his shit together.  Raising badass women is not for pussies.

My mother was a teacher; she was gone for most of the year, off helping to educate and raise other people's kids.  My dad owned his own business.  He opted to build his offices on the same property as our home.  He needed to be there to keep an eye on me and my big sister.  Since my mom left very early in the morning, my dad packed lunch for my sister and me every day.  Sometimes he would leave us clever notes wrapped around a favorite snack.

Once, when I was five, my teacher assigned us to write a paragraph about who our hero was and why.  My dad went to the parent-teacher conference and read a bunch of entries that were posted on the wall.  The majority of what he read said things like: "My hero is my dad; he's a firefighter; he saves lives..."  and "My dad isn't scared of anything.  He's the best.  He's my hero..."  Finally my dad got to mine:  "My hero is my dog, Ginger.  She makes me happy when I'm sad..."   For weeks after I would find dog treats in my lunch with a note wrapped around them that said:  'Arf arf arf, love, Ginger'.  Wicked sense of humor on my good ol' dad.

My dad likes sports.  He likes to watch, and play, and referee.  He probably wanted sons, but he got two daughters; so he named us 'Sam' and 'Rae' and we played sports too. As a kid, my dad coached all of our teams.  My sister was a helluva fast pitch softball pitcher.  I played softball too, but I liked basketball more.  I was a ferocious defensive player.  I stole the ball a lot.  I rebounded a lot.  I also fouled out A LOT.  I was an overly emotional player.  I really wanted to make my dad happy.  One thing I was not very good at was shooting.  I was scared.  I would rather have an assist than a missed shot.  I usually scored two or three baskets, but not much more.

One time, we were playing a very good team.  I think I was about twelve.  My dad told me on the way to the game that he needed double digits from me.  He needed me to score at least ten points that game.  He told me to stop being scared to take a shot, and go for it.  If I miss, I'll follow thru, get my own rebound, and make it on the next try.  I scored twenty-eight points for him that game.  I don't think I'd ever seen him so happy.  On the way home, as I sat in the passenger seat, my dad reached over and slapped my knee and squeezed it really hard.  I hate it when he does this; it hurts.  But that day he said, "You did good."  It was the best thing my father had ever said to me.  (He's not one for compliments.  It's not his style.)

I continued to play basketball.  A year or so later, I was starting a new school.  I knew I had to make the team for my dad.  I practiced every day.  The hoop he set up for me was right outside his office.  I would shoot around for hours, practicing drills.  But when I wanted company, I would lob the ball against the wall of his office until he came down to play with me.  Sometimes he would pop his head out to say he was busy.  I'd keep shooting.  But then I'd keep lobbing the ball at his wall.  He always came out eventually.  Even if it was just to play a quick game of HORSE or Around The World.  He never didn't come out.

I made the team.  I was always a go getter.  I was a smart kid; a straight A student; a bit of an overachiever.  But I mostly sat on the bench.  My tenacity and my genetics were not in agreement over how good a baller I could be.  And the teenage years can be very rough for young ladies.  At one very rough point, my dad made me quit the team I had worked so hard to join because my grades were suffering.  I had gotten a C in Honors Algebra.  That was not acceptable.  Little did he know I had already discovered drugs and boys.  My grades never fully recovered.  He admits making me quit the team was probably the worst parenting decision he ever made.  I admit he's probably right about that.       

But I'm not writing this to talk about the things he did wrong, but the things he did right.  We were so close throughout my childhood, but we battled so much throughout my teen years.  He didn't like that I swore so much.  He wanted me to act like a lady.  He didn't like that I wore so much make up.  He said, "Pretty girls don't need make up.  And ugly girls it doesn't help anyway, so either way it's pointless.  Don't go out looking painted."  He didn't like the way I dressed.  He'd say, "Don't dress to sell it.  If you need to sell it, it's cheap."  And he really really really didn't like my taste in boys.

Since I had discovered drugs and boys at the same time, one of the main criteria for being my boyfriend (besides playing in a band) was easy access to drugs.  When I was 16, my delinquent boyfriend was 19.  My father especially hated him.  He set curfews that I broke constantly.  And finally he said, "If I see that kid on my property again, I will have him arrested for statutory rape."  I screamed and cried and fought.  And of course I later realized my dad probably saved my life.

When I was 17, I decided I didn't want to go to college.  My grades were shit anyway.  I wanted to move to LA to make movies.  When I discussed it with my parents they didn't tell me that I was naive or stupid or crazy.   They told me I was brave.   And they supported me, mentally, emotionally, and alllllllllll too often financially, as well. But I've been making movies.  When the first movie I had a big acting role in came out, of course my parents went to go see it.  My dad joked that he had to watch half the movie with his eyes closed.  He wasn't a big fan of all my sexy scenes with both boys and girls.  Sorry, Dad.

When we talked about it over the phone, I apologized for making a movie that he didn't like.  He said that it's not that he didn't like it; it just wasn't his thing.  And then he said this:  "You know, what struck me about that movie, more than anything else?  I don't know if I had forgotten, or I just never really realized how incredibly beautiful you are."  Oy.  That I couldn't take.  My father was never one to give compliments.  It's not his style.  This compliment was too overwhelming, so I deflected it.  I said, "Well the cinematographer did a really good job of making me pretty."    

"No", he said.  "I made you pretty.  Those are my pretty blue eyes you have and that's your mother's flawless skin.  We made you pretty.  He just did a good job of photographing you."  Thanks, Dad.  Thank you for making me pretty.  And thank you for making me feel beautiful.

My dad hasn't seen all my movies.  My mother watched the arthouse short where I play a prostitute who is brutally raped and then kills herself.  She thought it best that we didn't show that one to my father.  They did watch the first feature film that I wrote when it came out.  It was very autobiographical; I had done years of research.  It was about raging alcoholism and dysfunctional relationships.  It's a dark comedy.  Neither one of my parents liked it very much.  So it goes.  Someday I'd love to play a newscaster, or a professor.  I really want to make my dad happy.   But for now I'll continue to play the slutty drunk girls, drug addicts, and lesbians that I usually play because those are the roles I'm best suited for.

And I'll continue to write dark comedies because I think life is a dark comedy.  And I'll continue to make movies, even tho it is not financially stable because I love it and it's what I came here to do.  Even when I don't get the role, or my film bombs, or another production company passes on my project, I keep my head in the game.  I miss sometimes, but I always follow my shot.  Even if I don't get my own rebound, I eventually get the ball back.  I'll keep shooting.  I'll make it eventually.

I'll continue to swear way too goddamned much.  But at least I no longer dress "like a tart", as my father would say.  And I rarely wear make up.  Ain't nobody got time fo dat.  My taste in men has vastly improved.  My dad even liked a couple of my boyfriends.  But for now, I'm still single.  It's tough out in LA to find a decent man.  And I don't want a decent man.  I don't even want a good man.  I want a great man.  I want a man who is just like my dad.  I want a man who is wicked smart and really funny.  I want a man who is athletic and musically inclined and has a good sense of style.  But most importantly, I want a man who is faithful and fair and honest and kind.  I want a man who loves me for who I am but who is always pushing me to be better.  

Damn, you really set the bar high, old man.  I appreciate it.  Thank you so so much.  I love you.  

Happy Father's Day   

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Sweater Lover

So, I'm getting ready to go out and I pull my favorite sweater down from the shelf in my closet and as I do I say, "Favorite Sweater!"  Then I looked at the sweater that had been my favorite up until I bought this one in a thrift shop in New York this past spring.  I legitimately felt bad for my previous favorite sweater.  I thought maybe it heard me and got its feelings hurt.  I am an accidental asshole, but apparently I have unusual empathy for sweaters.  Or I'm just bat shit crazy.  There's always that.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Upon Finding Some Things I Wrote Whilst Wasted...

So, I just accidentally hit the 'notes' button on my laptop and up popped my notes.  Since I almost never use this feature, I was unaware that I had notes on there that had been written recently.  I was also unaware that these notes even existed because I was apparently blacked out drunk when I wrote them.  I am sharing them now because the first one I wrote struck me as brutally honest, and brutal honesty is what I'm all about.  And the second one I just find hilarious.  I have corrected any typos or misspellings so they are easier to read, but kept the sentence structure and punctuation in its original form.  Please enjoy....

Written on May 8th at 4:10 am...

"It feels good to be in New York.  Or, more honesty, it feels good to be away from LA.  LA is full of fakers and you get sucked into faking it, constantly.  There’s a dweeby little guy I fucked a couple times that I'd see frequently around my neighborhood and every time I saw him he’d ask: are you killin it?  Annihilating it, I’d reply, my response even more bullshit than his forced casual joviality.  And I hated myself for it.  But everyone does that in LA.  In LA you start believing your own bullshit because you are forced to bullshit all day every day.  At least in New York you’re allowed to admit that you’re broken."

And this one was written in June - the only date that makes sense is the 14th -but I'm not sure of the time because I forgot to check before I started fixing all the typos...  and there were a whole shit ton of those...

"All I want is another beverage…  because I’m fucking lame.  this fucking airplane sucks; this fucking airline sucks;  this fucking whole thing is one of the most magical amazing thing that humanity has created and I’m sitting here bored and angry because of how much this shit sucks.  its crazy… if you think about it..  its insane.  we are hurtling through the sky at hundreds and hundreds of miles per hour on a tiny tin can and i’m sitting here bitching about how shitty it is that were delayed and were are stuck in an airport and i cant get drunk fast enough..  holy shit. my hair feels gorgeous  I’m waiting for my friend to meet me on the opposite side of the county and I am bitching in my brain about how shitty this traveling experience was.  I cant even imagine what my ancestors went thru  my best friend delivered a baby yesterday..  and I’m cranky because my back hurts and I want to be near my new friend again…  I don’t know what I'm trying to say other than I just love everything and everyone.  And I love this shitty journey.  And I can’t wait to see my friends… "

What a drunk fucking asshole I am...  I hope someone found these as amusing as I did...

Sunday, June 1, 2014

An Asshole Swears At Her Mother

Boozing it up on a beautiful Sunday evening at my folk's place in Connecticut.  My mother is cleaning out the kitchen in preparation for a town wide tag sale happening next weekend because that's how tiny this tiny town is.  She finds some sort of red bag thingy and asks if I want it.  She explains that it is a carry bag for hot dishes, 'like if you're going to a pot luck or something'.  

I stared at her.  "Who in the fuck do you think you're talking to?", I asked.  She laughed and said:  "You're right.  I'll ask your sister."  Now, I may be an asshole, but she thought I'm the type of person that cooks things and/or the type of person who attends potlucks.  My own mother doesn't even know me at all...

Thursday, May 29, 2014

An Asshole's Adventure in Adventure Education

I'm so tired.  Today I spent the day with my mother and a bunch of third graders as I was a group leader for SWINGS.  (Swings stands for 'smaller wings' and WINGS is an acronym for Winning Innovations for Nurturing Growth in Students- it is an award winning program my mother created.)  I am sunburned and exhausted.  But I had a lot of fun.  I also gained an incredible amount of respect for people like my mother and sister who have dedicated themselves to the education of children.  That is because, quite frankly, some of the kids suck.  Like, really fucking suck.  Total assholes, even worse than me.  One kid was driving me crazy all day; not paying attention, fidgeting, being selfish, etc.  But later in the afternoon a different kid joined our group which made me realize the first kid wasn't so bad at all.

And then there were the kids that made me fall in love with them.  There were sweet little girls who love to give hugs.  There were adorable little boys who already know how to flirt.  And then there was the chubby booger faced mo-hawked ginger who stole my heart and became my absolute favorite of the day.  'Awkward' does not even begin to describe this kid's appearance and demeanor.  But he was smart; he was matter-of-fact.  He was always always listening and eager to help and the best team player out of all the kids I worked with today.  He was a good egg.

My mother and sister are both teachers.  They are not allowed to call kids assholes, even when they are.  They can't say that some of the kids suck, even though they do.  And they sure as fuck would never call a child a chubby booger faced ginger, even though he totally is one.  They love all the kids and try to give them all the attention they need.  They try to teach them and mold them and make them better people even when it is exhausting, disheartening, and utterly impossible.  They are better people than I am.  I'm just an accidental asshole.  I can barely try to teach myself how to be better, let alone someone else's snot nosed kid.  The world, especially the children, are very lucky to have people like my mother and my sister.

My mom is retiring next month.  Since it would be the last time she ran the program that we did today- the one she created- some former students got up and spoke about her and the impact she has had on their life.  It took a long time.  A lot of people had a lot of things to say.  My mother cried.  She cried a lot.  People even came up to tell me their stories about how wonderful my mother is.  But I already knew that.  She's my mom.  It was beautiful to see her weep in appreciation of the people appreciating her.   I hope every kid someday has a teacher like my mom.  And I hope those kids tell that person what they mean to them.  Because I'm sure it is even more wonderful to experience than to it was to witness.

I would love to write more about what a wonderful program and fantastic day today was, but I'm tired.  Those little shits wore me the fuck out.  Much respect to all the educators out there that have to get up and do it all again tomorrow.  
Thank you.
My mommy, the wonder woman.