Make it so...

My dream is finally coming true, if only I lived near Burbank! A casting call was issued for people to play cadets in the new Star Trek movie. Here's the catch, the potential cadets need either be "ultra plain-looking" or "ultra perfect-looking." I can't decide in which category I'd fit, because some days I look in the mirror and go, "Ugh, I'm strange looking," but too weird for either "plain" or "perfect." Besides, what defines "ultra plain-" or "ultra perfect-looking?" What if somebody's "sorta' plain-ish?" What tips the scales and makes them less ultra-plain than a really ultra-plain person? A limp? What if they had a limp? Or does that just throw them over the edge to "super-coo coo-looking?" Am I over-thinking this?

Since I can't decide in which category I fit, and since that categorization seems to change for me from day to day, maybe I fit one of these other criteria:

• Long neck
  
• Extremely large head (Compared to what?)
  
• Wide-set eyes or close-set eyes
  
• Large forehead (Paging Tyra Banks, Miss Banks to your transporter, please.) 
  
• Short upper lip (Just what is a short upper lip?)
  
• Over- or under-sized ears and/or nose
  
• Facial deformities
  
• Pure, wholesome looks (I think I'm in!)
  
• Emaciated
  
• Regally poised and postured
  

So if you're interested in auditioning, take your freaky-assed, skinny, stick-up-the-keester, short-lipped self to Deep Space Nine! And while you're in Burbank, wave a big hello to the SoCal writers on strike for dealing with many of the real freaks in the industry.

NaBloPoMo... going to commit

Since I have neither the time nor the patience to commit to NaNoWriMo this month, I won't be writing a novel. However, I need to commit to something creative right now since we have fewer Rocky Horror performances. Hence, a full straight month of blog posts for all to read.

And by "all," I mean "less than ten" readers of this blog. Still, my posts have been semi-regular, at best, and I'd like to see if I can maintain some consistency.

I figure it will all go to hell by Thanksgiving anyway.

There's always next November to start the "Great American Novel."

Hopelessly obsessed

I'm having an attack of various obsessions right now...

Right now, I'm loving the new Apple Leopard. It took awhile to install, but then it's been fantastic. It should be, the world waited long enough for it.

I'm almost ashamed to admit I am as hooked on Gossip Girl as I am Grey's Anatomy, and I'm slowly steering away from reality TV-- until Project Runway starts again next month.

So what if I regularly crave Apple Cinnamon Chex Mix? I have enough willpower to not down the entire bag in one sitting.

I'm like that little kid who confided in Dead Bruce Willis; I see cute guys everywhere, it's like my Sixth Sense for horny women: the Albertson's meat counters at now two different stores, the guy who plays Dan on Gossip Girl, McDreamy, and various men from my past.

Don't dream it... be it.

So, here's my costume for Rocky Horror in a couple of weeks. I've tried to make this picture look like me to really entice people to come and see the show.

Except I won't wear my glasses.

And the alto sax in this picture isn't to scale, it's smaller.

And the boobs in this picture aren't to scale, they're smaller too.

I see you shiver...

It's time to get your tickets and now you can do that online by clicking here or pasting this url into your browser: http://www.rockyhorrorinconcert.com/index.html

Where else will you see this much skin in one place? I mean, besides the ward picnic!

One last thing...

I got new glasses.
Methinks the day-long vertigo is worth it. Apparently you're not supposed to go five years in between eye exams and now I feel like I have X-ray vision.

The Mother Lode.

Tonight, just now, I discovered that Pepsi Jazz Carmel and Creme flavor tastes exactly like diet creme soda. Diet creme soda is extremely difficult to find, for whatever reason, and so right now I'm giddy with excitement. Zero calories of yummy.

I've also had over a bottle of Argentenian red wine prior to discovering said caramel creme soda.

I am blogging on red wine. Alone. In my thoughts.

For those of you who don't know me, or even for those who do, I'm a dancer. I have been a dancer for my entire life, starting at the age of two-and-a-half because my mom lied and said I was three to get me into classes. I danced through high school and when I attended the University of Utah was a modern dance major who defected and became a competitive ballroom dancer. I won't lie, it was the glitter and feathers that got me. (Unfortunately meeting men was tough, it was the glitter and feathers that got them too.)

Why is this relevant, you ask? I am currently in a hip hop, jazz, contemporary dance company here in good ol' SLC, and as a "senior member," am going to teach a new audition piece this Saturday. Which is why I found Pepsi Jazz caramel and creme. I've had creative block tonight, and rather than going to the gym, rather than making up the dance, I went to the store to wander. Creative block is a bitch.

I'm pleased to announce that after over a half a bottle of red wine, I have come up with not only a song I like, but also the first sixteen counts of choreography with which I'm pleased. This isn't particularly relevant to the world around us; this isn't going to cure cancer or save the rainforests or find the trapped Utah miners, but it brought a smile to my face.

Dancing is a story, and mine lately is a pretty twisted one. If finding a pretty song and making some gorgeous movement to it can bring a few minutes of thought this weekend to strangers, then I guess tonight wasn't a total loss.

In the morning, we'll see if my head actually agrees with my typing fingers...

and my tastebuds.

Bliss.

After feeling extremely stressed out and not sleeping for the past week, I had an early work-morning and then am taking the rest of the day off. Sure, I have to work tomorrow, but for today, it's bad reality television and Boo Berry Cereal.

I have had a love/hate relationship with Boo Berry. I used to love it, obsess over it, eat it whenever I could find it, but it was tricky to find from time to time in the late-90s. Until one heavenly Halloween (my favorite holiday of the year) when my mom and dad showed up at my apartment with a case of Boo Berry-- 24 boxes all to myself. I lined my pantry shelf with rows of boxes, and would sometimes just open the cabinet and stare lovingly.

Every morning I ate Boo Berry for breakfast. Every night I ate Boo Berry for dinner. Snacks? Boo Berry. And it was good.

My boyfriend at the time was very into making cheesecake, and had unbeknownst to me swiped a box to create a Boo Berry cheesecake for my birthday a month later. He showed up with this oddly blue-purple mush encased in a graham cracker crust, sprinkled with half-squishy Boo Berry. Apparently when you try to mix Boo Berry into a cheesecake recipe, it turns to shit.

It turned me off, and he and I are no longer dating. He left the country. I like to think it was cheesecake shame rather than my issues.

Now, nearly a decade later, I have found Boo Berry again. I even bought milk for it so I wouldn't have to eat it dry, though I will probably do that too. The box illustration has gotten a bit of an update, ol' Boo Berry is hipper, happer, less freakishly Casper-ish, but still a familiar friend. He still has that familiar stoned look/lazy eye. Sure the look has slightly changed, but the sugary crunch has remained the same.

Old habits die hard.

Aaaarrrghh...

Despite being exhausted when I came home from work today and falling asleep on the couch until about 8 tonight, I still went to the gym. I'm proud of this.

But I digress.

Being a Mac geek I admit I was excited to come home and read all about Steve Jobs' revelations at today's Apple media event, but now I'm not that thrilled. I do love the latest iMac's shiny aluminum casing and pretty glass screen (a' la iPhone... can we expect a touch-screen iMac in the future?) however, I will officially go on the record stating I can not support Apple's decision to remove the "open apple" from the "command" key on their new keyboards. I'm a purist. Still, the new iMacs are really swell and I wouldn't put up a fight if some nice person were to send me one. Beyond that, nothing else from today really flipped my bunny. The new iLife '08 seems nice; the new version of iPhoto is great and the redesigned iMovie looks a bit more professional than iMovie from iLife '06. Ultimately, I think Apple pretty much blew their hype-wad when they released the iPhone earlier this summer.

After spending time at the gym this evening, I came up with some workout iDeas (get it? ideas?) in honor of today's Apple event:

1.) iSpandex- This is for the woman who filled up her water bottle ahead of me. She very much needed the stretch feature in her biker shorts, so much that she had both front and back camel toes that actually made me feel her pain. This camel toe feature is also interchangeable with the iMooseknuckle and the i'Msmugglingayoyo.

2.) iGrunt- This is for the guys who load up their weight on a Nautilus machine far too much. Yes, I know you're manly, but must you broadcast this by slamming down the stack of weights in such a prehistoric way?

3.) iFreshener- The best part of my gym experience tonight. I won't go into detail, but for the man who was next to me on the elliptical... Just because you're wearing headphones doesn't mean we can't hear it when you rip one.

Go forth and conquer, Apple.

Light at the End...

...of the tunnel?

This day started out like shit. I forgot to wash the conditioner out of my hair, and after running around all day like a crazy girl, my whole head is threatening to turn into a giant dread lock.

My very expensive, eight-dollar Clinical Secret deodorant for extremely high-strung, sweaty girls doesn't seem to work. How anything you put on at night and then expect to last through the next morning's shower is supposed to work is beyond me. Eight-dollar deodorant?

The light seems to be the prospect of wearing a dog collar on stage and playing my saxophone in Rocky Horror 2007. Click on my name, see my picture, drool over it-- even with smelly deodorant and a head dread lock.

Lord Balthazar of the Flies

When I was in eighth grade, I had an uncanny love for Balthazar Getty. I remembered seeing the picture above in an issue of Seventeen magazine, and I hated Milla Jovovich with every fiber of my being just because she was touching my Balthazar. Sure I had glasses, headgear and played in the school band, but I was so much better than Milla! How dare she pose with Balthazar, how dare she get her breast buds so close to him!

I saw Young Guns 2 twenty-five times in the theatres, each time spending my hard-earned allowance to feed my Balthazar obsession. It's bad enough to see any movie twenty-five times in the theatres, much less the fact that it was Young Guns 2. I purchased every Teen Beat, Tiger Beat, and Bop I could find if it contained Balthazar (and Jonathan Knight from the New Kids was an added bonus and another obsession. His birthday is the same day as mine almost!) My bedroom wall was literally wrapped floor to ceiling with glossy Balthazar pictures I had ripped out of my various mags, and every time his Young Guns 2 character died, a little part of me died as well.

Here's the icky thing: I actually came home from work this afternoon to find Lord of the Flies on the 24/7 Chiller channel. I actually thought, "OOOOOh! Balthazar! I love him!" Then they showed him, and he's like twelve-years-old and then I felt really creeped out. Sure, Balthazar has aged just like I've aged, he's even aged on TV, but for the first time in a very long time, I felt really old.

Here's the other thing: Kids have it so easy these days! Not only did I spend thousands of dollars on teen tabloids, but now all kids have to do is jump online, click their keyboards and print out free pictures of their crushes! It's so unfair. Kids these days will never fully appreciate the act of riding one's bike to the 7-11 to grab a Slurpee while pouring over the magazine rack.

While I appreciate all my childhood activities, I also realize my old habits die hard. My Balthazar is married and I'm still wearing glasses and playing in the band.

Quite the day today

Today, Michelangelo Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky. He was an amazing director who made Blow Up, one of my favorite films. I was first turned onto this movie by someone for whom I will have an eternal soft-spot, so I'm wondering if I love the movie because it reminds me of him, or if it's really a brilliant film. Chances are, it's a little bit of both-- it's set in the 60s, when I should've lived so I could've gone to Beatles concerts and Carnaby Street in whirl of mod-ness.

As I said, Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky today. Why do we have to sugar-coat the phrase, "he died" or "he's dead" or "he's taking a dirt nap?" Something I've learned all too quickly is when someone's gone, they're gone, and they're not coming back no matter how you spin it. Reality can be quite a bitch.

Before this post becomes too morbid, let's switch gears...

Karma wants me to be a crazy cat lady. For the last week, Random Kitty has been living on my doorstep. I have told Random Kitty to go home, I have called the number on Random Kitty's tag to try and get them to take Random Kitty back. I have offered to take Random Kitty back to its owner. To no avail, Random Kitty was sitting in the passenger side of my Jeep this morning. Random Kitty has even started coming to me when I call out, "Raaaandooom Kittyyy?"

What's a girl to do when they're single and a cat shows up at the doorstep? Accept the possibility of becoming a crazy cat lady, and embrace it? Start shopping for my old-lady red hat? Or do I resist taking in Random Kitty no matter how much it lets me scratch its chin?

Once a Geek, Always a Geek

Darn you glasses! I started wearing you in first grade when I could no longer read the blackboard, even from the front row. I remember a classmate of mine, Jason Kelly, who dressed up like a robot for Halloween and I developed a crush on him until we went to different Jr. High schools, said, "You need glasses!" And my fate was sealed.

Wearing glasses wasn't ever a big deal in elementary school, then I got braces in fifth grade. Then I was forced to wear headgear to school in seventh grade and started playing in the band. Enough said.

Now, I embrace my geeky past, and was thrilled today when I saw that Comic-Con was happening in San Diego this week. Sigh, to one day be around fellow blog geeks, gazing into the eyes of Batman or Superman or Kevin Smith. So I present reasons why I want to go to Comic-Con next year:

5. My white pleather dress is wasting away on a hanger.
4. I am a pop culture whore who would clean up on Jeopardy!
3. Stan Lee, Kevin Smith and Yoda, oh my!
2. Spandex really is a right.
1. The force would be with me.

Until I try to go next time, I'm submitting to my glasses-and-headgear-ness and throwing myself head-first into my geeky past-- band practice. I've agreed to play the saxophone in a live-concert version of The Rocky Horror Show this Halloween. Not only does it satisfy my geek-ness, but also my previous Gothic-ness, complete with a dog collar, corset and fishnets. Hell, maybe I'll even wear lingerie one night.

Nowadays, who knew glasses could be so hot?

Geek Chic Radio is ON!

It's been a long time in the making, but it's finally here!!

Geek Chic Radio

Love it. Live it.