30 Days.

I hate running. I have always hated it, and I have always assumed I always will. I am sorry to anyone who’s tried to go on a run with me over the years, thinking that I am a healthy person who does cardio, only to find out that I am extremely slow and that after a mile or so I become inexplicably angry and I start to punch leaves. What can I say, I’m a yoga person.

My favorite thing about running: tank tops that say “I hate running.”

The other day I was doing intervals on a treadmill, which gave me 60 full seconds at a time to analyze why I might hate the feeling of running so much. All I could come up with was that it felt like my body was being tickled all over. It wasn’t necessarily pain, so much as it was discomfort. My lungs don’t hurt, I’m not cramping. My body is just… uncomfortable? Like all my neurons are firing so fast and hard all at once, and the sensation is too much for me. Just a theory, I honestly don’t know. One time a massage therapist thought she was hurting me when actually she was just tickling the fuck out of me, and she sighed and said “well everyone experiences pain differently.”

I told this running theory to my boyfriend, who is someone who has seen me punch a leaf just after the one mile marker, and he said that this has always surprised him, because based on everything he knows about me, I would be an excellent long distance runner. I agree with that, and think that maybe I just haven’t really tried. Maybe, like so many other things in my life, I just didn’t push through the discomfort.

I think I am much more used to being stuck. In my stress dreams, I am always stuck. It feels like I am walking through mud. Or I am running like a cartoon, but someone is holding onto the back of my shirt.

Last night, in my dream, I was dressed like Mary Poppins, eating a popsicle in the rain, and walking down Fulton Street. I was crying, because every tiny step was so exhausting, which often happens in my stress dreams. And then all of a sudden, I was running. In fact, I ran so far that when I finally looked up, I no longer recognized my neighborhood. Yes, in the Mary Poppins costume, which was now stained with popsicle juice. I was in a new neighborhood, but it was more like a ghost town, and suddenly I was scared. Also, I was irritated, because it was so hard for me to get where I was going, and then I went too far, and now I have to turn around and do it all again.

So I got my ass out of bed because I hate those dreams!

I hate being stuck. But right now, in my life, I kind of am. And I am looking for a way to feel the wind in my hair. PS I shaved part of my head. Because: feeling stuck?

For exactly 11 seconds I wondered if maybe I should run everyday for 30 days. Maybe if I did it consistently, it would become a habit, and I would work through my intense hatred of it. But honestly, no. I don’t want to.

Instead, I choose writing. Something thoughtful and complete. That’s what I want to do everyday for 30 days. On this blog. Starting now.

working from home

One very tough thing about working from home is that I have to keep stopping to put my face on the cat.

The problem with this has less to do with my cat allergy and more to do with time management.

Time management is hard for me, because I always think I have NO time, when in fact, I have loads of it, and I spend much of it pacing around convincing myself I’m running late.

So I have come upon a little aphorism: You always have more time than you think you do.

And I say it to myself and I chill the fuck out.

Unless I’m at the post office.

Another thing about working from home is that when I’m here I feel a great need to clean everything.

The irony is that the apartment is almost never clean. I often find myself looking at piles of junk I have strewn about the living room, scratching my head and wondering where my day went because: Didn’t I vacuum and do laundry and organize the books today? Alas! Where did this pile of junk come from?

So another maxim I rely upon: Art before dishes.

I stole this one from a book that I cannot reference because I can’t remember the book. Please know I did not come up with this saying.

Lastly, it is tough to work from home because I believe there are small bugs in my apartment that bite me while I’m trying to sit at my computer, and ONLY when I sit at my computer.

Nobody else believes these bugs exist, but here I am scratching away even though I have not burrowed my face in ANY cat fur recently because I do not fit under the bed.

This leads me to perhaps the most important little mantra I have for myself, being:

Slightly unhinged people also have a best self, and it should be embraced.



Today I put my frog suit on, jumped from one job application to another, and caught no flies.

Unless flies are just a metaphor for frustration and despair. In that case, I’m full.

Days like these always start by checking my bank account and realizing that I missed the Chewy.com shipping reminder and have just spent $90 on cat food I didn’t need.

Last week I decided that I very seriously need to crack down on my finances. Set up an IRA, check my balances every single day, get back on the student loan train, not spend money on tacos and Frose, yadda yadda.

Since the key to having more money is making more money, I got up at 6:30 last Monday morning and applied for bar jobs, tour guide positions and temp work. By Friday, I got through the rounds with a tour guide company which now seems to have blossomed into nothing, decided that my schedule doesn’t really allow me to bartend right now after all, and nearly cried in a temp agency when they told me “12-13 dollars per hour.”

I also decided that setting up an IRA was too confusing, and I told myself that I had enough in my account for now and I’d be fine and didn’t need to check everyday.

I’m not irresponsible. I’m very organized, highly neurotic and concerned for my future. However, when you don’t have money, checking your bank account is like being tied to a chair and forced to watch a horror movie. I guess you have no other choice but to watch.

So I can say I logged into my bank account this afternoon and immediately yelled “run, idiot, run, he’s gonna stab you.”

AKA: $78


Thus triggering my money panic routine which goes like this:

  1. I will get a job in an ad agency or something.
  2. I look through copywriting jobs and think about what my life would be like if I made at least $30,000 / year.
  3. I tell myself I have no experience and/or marketable skills and decide to move on.
  4. What about social media?
  5. I tell myself that I have no followers on Twitter or Instagram and therefore nothing to prove and also I hate social media.
  6. Ah, administrative work! I start with colleges and universities.
  7. I imagine what the job would be like. The beloved children’s book character Amelia Bedelia races into my mind and I imagine myself accidentally breaking machines, fucking up travel itineraries, crying and watching Excel how-to videos on lynda.com, and getting a firm talking to in an office while sweating through an ill-fitting pencil skirt and a thong. For some reason.
  8. I decide I am too scared to work as an administrative assistant.
  9. I curse myself for spending 10 years of my life pursuing acting.
  10. Oh wait, I am an actor with 6+ years of teaching adults with developmental disabilities, at-risk and homeless women and hundreds of kids ages 3-15. I go to Playbill.com.
  11. I find the perfect job and then realize I have to write a cover letter.
  12. Quick! I see if any of the previous cover letters I have written will suffice.
  13. Nope.
  14. I tell myself that most places prefer you to have an MFA, which I think is a waste of time, and that I’m not diverse enough and therefore don’t deserve to teach our youth.
  15. This is a good transition into brand ambassador work.
  16. I go to Craigslist and consider applying for the job with the headline “No nudity required, promise!” for about the 600th time.
  17. I tell myself that I am worthless and stupid and I probably won’t be able to connect to the monologue I am doing in class tomorrow even though I have a high emotional IQ and that is about all I have, which makes me an extraordinarily overdramatic person who has a hard time falling asleep at night.
  18. The dog outside begins to bark so I spent time cruising around for new music on Spotify and I hate everything and wonder what is wrong with our youth, why do they listen to this absolute crap?
  19. I remember that writing makes me happy and sometimes posting a self-deprecating blog post perks me up.
  20. I scold myself for not writing more blog posts.
  21. I realize I could have spent all that time looking for auditions.
  22. I think about emailing my mangers to tell them I’m done acting. But then I realize I have no back-up plan.
  23. Here we are.

Dudes, I could have spent the whole day playing around with setting my sock fuzz on fire instead of all this crap and it would have been way more productive.

And in an ironic twist, I have to stop typing so I won’t be late for work.

I’m babysitting tonight, which means I’ll get to hang out with a child who could probably afford to pay off my student loans- but at least I will get to shut my brain off and use my imagination for a few hours, which is something that I am, in fact, pretty good at.

But first, I have to feed the cats and replace the litter in the box with real paper money.

I’m No Fun

The number one problem in my life right now, I shit thee not, is that I am not having enough fun.

Here is proof:

  1. I can’t stop cleaning my apartment: there’s always something to clean
  2. I keep a food journal
  3. I keep a journal for lists
  4. Today when I walked into a tree I yelled at the tree
  5. When someone tells a joke I cannot hear it and I continue with my serious thoughts
  6. I am actively trying to have more fun
  7. I am writing a blog post about having fun
  8. I only read cookbooks now
  9. I keep listening to the soundtrack from the movie “The Hours” over and over
  10. Everyone keeps telling me to have more fun

Normally this wouldn’t matter, but I am an actor and yeah, much of the time, having fun is part of my job.

I started this blog way back in 2012 as a way of taking care of my depression. It was an outlet. In the nearly 5 years I’ve been maintaining it, it has gone through many phases. Tracking moods, documenting experiences, telling silly stories, writing reviews, and most recently: Updates on my acting career, which has proved to be the most boring thing I’ve written about… what??

My acting teacher, Anthony Abeson, has been trying to infuse us with more fun. “Wild Theatricality,” he calls it, because somehow, it’s been lost.

“Are we nuts? Broke AND not having fun?” He recently Tweeted.

I, like many actors, am worried about doing things “right.” Which is, you guessed it, NO FUN.

However, this isn’t my actor website. This is my personal blog. So it doesn’t have to be organized or professional or have a fucking logo or anything. It just has to be a place where I can dump my brain out for a bit and sort things through.

And sometimes I just find the craziest things in there!!

Podcast, commercial reel, and cheese

Today feels like one of those, well I’ll just go to bed early tonight and start all over tomorrow kind of days.

I think it’s because I had homemade queso last night. That’s the kind of food that hurts even worse when you see what goes into it. Lactose intolerance is real, you guys, and I feel like I ate a slowly deflating beach ball, still covered in sand.

Better news: I have become certified to use BRIC’s brand new podcasting recording studio, so I will start recording this week! I am very excited to collaborate with my hilarious friend and classmate Racheal Kimeau. We’re probably going to talk a lot about having low self esteem. You’re gonna hate it, I just know.

Have I shared my new commercial reel with you yet?



So long, Summer. I hardly knew you.

90 degrees or no, let’s admit that fall is here. Oscar pushes are starting to make their way onto the Internet, Dunkin’ Donut smells like fake pumpkins, and I lost sleep last night about doing my taxes.

With fall, comes a sense of renewal. I may not be in school anymore, but I still plan out my life in terms of semesters. And I looooooove putting a stamp on a clean envelope.

(Haven’t written a blog post all summer so you’ll have to forgive any metaphors that just don’t make it to the finish line).

I’ll admit, this summer was not ideal. I rarely wish I could go back and hit the reset button, but I would love to take back the entire month of July, which was just one giant stress migraine.

But- I’m here now. Just started acting classes with Anthony Abeson, and yes girls, it is changing my life. But I’ll leave that for a separate update. Right now, I gotta run. I got new shoes in the mail and I plan to take advantage of the last hot days of the year. Otherwise, you know- endless puddle of regret and pre-winter depression.

The Astrology Test.

I’m an open-minded person, intellectually. If we want to speak in metaphors, I only like shoes if it means I can borrow them from other people. I’m curious, methodical, teachable. Tell me something, I’ll listen with my whole body and store it away in order to do my own research. I feel like I’m pretty smart, and in general I’m proud of those personality traits. At the same time, I feel like I’m going BAT SHIT CRAZY.

It’s because I’m a Virgo, right?

We’ll get to that.

A few months ago I thought about starting a blog called “No Flack, No.” The impetus for this was the 45 minutes I spent on the corner of Lincoln and Fullerton running back and forth between the bus stop and the train station trying to strategize the best way to get home, frantically checking the CTA app on my phone, missing one bus right after the other. The whole while keeping my eye out for a dime since I happened to be ten cents short for either ride in the first place. Once I realized I could use my credit card to buy a ticket I was home in 15 minutes, beating myself up the entire way. I thought maybe if I started writing about all the dumb, semi hilarious situations I get myself into, I could make people laugh and then I would feel better about all these miscalculated decisions. What can I say, I’m fueled by negative energy, as innocent as it seems.

Like most people, I spend a lot of time trying to answer questions like, “Who am I?” and “What’s my Life’s Purpose?” Questions that, when spoken aloud, would be cloaked by sarcasm’s secondhand camouflage if they weren’t such a universal inquiry. Yesterday I learned that if the right person tells me that I’m “destiny’s child” because I was born exactly at 12:00 noon,* I will definitely take the time to hear my prophecy (via astro.com, naturally).

Did I learn nothing from Oedipus that semester I took Playscript Analysis? Is believing in astrology analogous to joining a sorority to make friends? Scoff all you want** but it actually made me feel good. As if there were reasons for things, even if the evidence was literally only written in the stars. So I was thinking about looking into it. But in the words of the great and powerful Shakespeare, “Be great in act as you have been in thought.” Which means that I’ll allow myself to consider Astrology if I do something a bit more active than Google it, think about what I Googled, and then spend time analyzing why I thought tuna fish and quinoa would make a good combination considering my delicate stomach requires caution in regards to eating exotic cuisine.

This is the product of that. There’s a lot of stuff going on in this head of mine, and I feel like this might be a good way out. Astrology-online suggests to “try expressing the positive traits of your finely tuned analytical reasoning.” So here we are.


*My birth certificate says 12:01. “The doctor’s fault,” claims my father, “he wasn’t looking at the clock at the right time.”
**Especially YOU, Mr. Opinion. You know who you are.