I'm going to need some new pajamas.

As I sit in my parents living room this Thursday evening eating my half a cup of ice cream, the cat tormenting the dogs, my mother reading her kindle desperately trying to tune everyone out, my father snoring on the couch with my grandma beside him wearing her wig titled too far back showing a bit too much forehead, I stop and ask myself...how did I get here?

I live in pajamas. Any excuse I have to actually put make up on is a big day. My days usually involve the same routine: I get up, check email/apply for new job postings (which my cover letters are becoming increasingly more desperate), go upstairs and grab some food, avoid grandma, go back downstairs and transfer from pajamas to gym clothes, go to gym, come back, shower, put pajamas back on, pretend to be a life coach, and continue to avoid grandma. Have I mentioned I'm 27?

I used to think I loved downtime. I loved nothing more than curling up on my sofa and watching Oprah. And sleeping in? Quite possibly the best feeling ever. I'm learning there truly can be too much of a good thing. Who knew I'd reach a point in my life when I'd actually miss getting up before the sun. However, I must not be too desperate because I've never even considered walking into a restaurant for work. What about stripping?

I mentioned before that my astrologer said I'd be living in limbo until October. I find this to be a blessing and a curse to receive this information (not to mention, with the way things are going, completely horrifying). On one hand, I keep telling myself this 'drought' will end. However, any opportunity that starts to show itself I think, "According to Astrologer John, nothing will happen until October. So, whatever.". And could this attitude really be affecting the way my life is going. Eh. I dunno. All that energy and universe talk can sometimes just make me even more frustrated.

I just hope something happens. Let's not ring in 2012 in my parents basement.


By the way, my grandma just farted. Help.

a miracle weight loss product

I discovered the weight loss miracle when I was in third grade. You see, the hatred I feel toward my body began at this age. And one day while rummaging through the kitchen after school, I came across something that promised to make me thin very, very quickly.

I began drinking this miracle of miracles every day after school. I would get off the bus and quickly run in the house and chug, chug, chug ...and then sit and wait. Surely, it would take effect at any moment. But how, I wondered? Maybe the fat would simply melt off. I visualized myself beginning to boil like a pot of water and steaming from every hole in my body. Do I have to poop it out? Or would the fat turn to air in my body and I would have horrible, smelly, embarrassing gas until I was thin? While these seemed rather unpleasant, I was willing to make the sacrifice. So, after a week of chugging the gritty, chocolaty drink and keeping it from my mother, I was surprised to see zero difference in my body. Why wasn’t the fat melting away? Certainly, something will happen. I must be patient with this life changing drink; this SlimFast.

Two weeks later and still no thinner, my Mom was making lunch for herself. “What happened to all my Slim Fast??” she asked. My third grade mind began to panic. Do I confess? I found this incredible drink that holds so much power! But, truth be told, I don’t know much about it. Was she going to get mad? How serious is this SlimFast product? Would I have to go to the hospital because of it? Could I die by drinking SlimFast?

I cried. I broke down. I confessed everything. I told her I had been using this mystery product to slim me down fast. I asked her through sobs if I was going to die.

“What? Are you going to die from Slim Fast?” Mom says smiling.
“YES! Waahhh!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Jessica. It’s not going to kill you! But why were you drinking it?”
“I wanted to slim down fast! I wanted my fat to melt away.”

After a lecture from my parents, I learned the hard truth of SlimFast: “Drink with a sensible meal”. It was explained that this drink was simply nutrients packed in powder and nothing was promising to slim me down. And especially not fast. I thought that was a pretty awful and misleading name of a product.

I was lied to by the SlimFast people, whoever they are.

i seem to have misplaced my humor. have you seen it?

About six months before I moved from New York, I visited an astrologer. And I don't mean a lady with a crystal ball. He was actually a professor of astrology and cost a pretty penny and about two hours of my time. Not to mention the whole thing was recorded. I gave him some pretty limited info... my date of birth (month, date, and year), the time I was born and where I was born. To say I was surprised, shocked and slightly disturbed by all he told me from that info is an understatement.

I was very excited before the session started; excited to see how bright and shiny my future was going to be.

First, he tells me I'm too picky. In nearly every area of my life, particularly with dating. (check.)
Then he tells me I would begin the darkest year of my life starting in October of 2010. (check.)

I am twenty-seven years old. Roughly three months ago, I moved out of my adorable, quaint and overpriced one bedroom apartment in New York and relocated to my parents basement in Conyers, Georgia. I am unemployed, single and have gained more weight than I ever thought possible. I have applied for more than fifty jobs, sent out an additional thirty-five resumes and am attending a job fair on Tuesday to work in sales, a career in which I have no interest. This is not where I saw myself at this age.

I lived in New York for four years. When I moved there, I had every intention of living the life of Carrie Bradshaw -- Manolo's, Mr. Big and all. (Sex and the City...for those who don't know. And if you don't, shame on you.) But somehow I ended up spending four years waiting tables, auditioning with six hundred other women packed in one tiny room, and spending three years chasing after a very unavailable man. I can't help but ask myself if I threw away four good years.

Apparently after I go through this "dark" period, I am supposed to reach one of the "brightest" points in my life starting in October of 2011, romance included. I'm also supposed to be very successful with my voice...whether as a singer or in voice overs, he didn't know -- but let's assume it's both. Then again, he also told me not to leave New York yet. Oops.


I suppose in order to appreciate the light, we have to experience the dark first?

in the ATL with G-MA

i've missed you, blogspot.
there's been quite a few changes -- one being i am no longer a times square waitress.
(do i hear angels singing, or is that just me?)

but no need to worry. there's still plenty to discuss. one being i am now living with my parents. and my 86 year old grandmother.
yup.

the first thing i have concluded about my g-ma is.... she is a robot. she will live forever. even after two heart attacks, a triple by pass heart surgery and a stroke, she's still kickin' it. and even continues to smoke a pack a day.

she also wears a wig as is an agoraphobic. (for those who don't know, that basically means she doesn't leave the house. ever. except maybe to get the mail.) occasionally she'll make a trip out to the corner store and quietly ask for her cigarettes and lottery tickets. otherwise, her days are spent with doing the laundry and obsessing over our two dogs.

she also says really funny things. my current favorite:
grandma putters out from her bedroom and reaches the living room and looks awkwardly at my mother. after a minute my mother says: what? grandma says: do you have any mercury fillings in your teeth? ::insert long silence here:: because the reports aren't good.
she then turns around and returns to her bedroom.

i am also unemployed and desperately seeking work. but until then, i plan on entertaining myself and you with my days with g-ma.

former fatty

I started hating my body when I was in third grade. That's the first time I remember being aware of "weight" and "dieting" and suddenly craving a different waist, different arms or legs. My third grade teacher, Mrs. Wilder, was a very open to her third grade students about her battle with weight and even shared how her sister was hospitalized because she threw up so much, she completely ripped out her stomach lining. Soon after those stories were told to the class, the girls decided to play a game every day in the bathroom. It wasn't really a game but more of a test. There were three sinks in the girls bathroom, each with maybe 3 or 4 inches of space between them. Two of the girls stated one day during our bathroom break if you couldn't fit between the sinks, you were fat. Somehow, those two little waifs managed to squeeze themselves between the sinks, however I couldn't; therefore, I was a fatty. Later I learned one of the girls got pregnant right out of high school and the other got a painfully obvious boob job.

For whatever reason, that moment has stuck with me. I remember the first time someone actually called me fat. I was in the sixth grade and it was a Friday. I was going to be checked out of school a half hour early to go shopping with my best friend Lindsay and her mom. When I was called to leave, I grabbed my things and hurried down the hall to get Lindsay and excitedly knocked on her homeroom door. One of the kids let me in and as I walked in the room, a lovely boy by the name of Kiev yelled across the room, "HEY! You were the hippopotamus in my band class today!" Everyone laughed. And a little part of me died. Of course my shopping experience for the day was ruined and that moment started an obsession with my weight and appearance which would last me a lifetime. Kiev of course turned out to be quite a gem -- landing himself in jail multiple times for intelligent crimes such as driving drunk and running into a mailbox. I guess sometimes karma really does bite you in the ass.

I think people who crave to be thin really crave invisibility. Or maybe the crave to be thin is really a craving to disappear. I wanted to disappear in middle school and felt invisible for those three long years. As I got older and into high school, I used to stand in front of the mirror before I got in the shower and stare at the areas I hated most on my body and criticize them. At times I would poke and pinch certain areas so hard I would leave a bruise. I felt if I hated my stomach enough, maybe it would go away. High school is somewhat of a blur and I don't remember a lot. However, I was very involved in things like theatre, chorus, colorguard and had a lot of friends. I hid the hatred for myself very well.

I ended up going to college for musical theatre and quickly learned of the importance of "look" when it came to landing a job in the business. The first show I auditioned for was "Chicago" and the director had us wear nothing but tights and a leotard and stand in front of him while he judged our bodies. I was cut immediately. Soon after this experience, I found myself eating only a bowl of cereal or a tiny can of dry tuna a day. Before I knew it, the weight was coming off and people were starting the notice. I also lost all color in my face, my hair and nails were dry and brittle and I couldn't get through a dance class without becoming horribly dizzy. But the dizzier I became and the more people told me how thin I was getting, the less I ate. I loved feeling hungry -- it was so powerful. If I went to bed starving, I felt as if I had accomplished something and I felt completely in control. I loved it.

This didn't last. I feel people who have a tendancy toward eating disorders go one of two ways -- either they simply get over it or they nearly die. I got over it. And while I started eating again, my way of thinking never changed. I hated myself every time I ate and felt guilty at every meal.

My weight has yo-yo'd a lot over the years. I look back at pictures of myself in college and see how beautiful I was -- and in no way was I fat. It's sad to think of all the time I wasted and all the experiences I lost out on all because I hated my body. I've worked so hard these last six months to change my thinking, and while I've come a long way, I'm not there yet. I suppose it took me 26 years to get this way -- it's going to take a little time to change it.

I feel the media has a HUGE effect on adolescent women and their body images, but that's another blog.

ta-ta twirling

Some people might consider me a bit of a prude. But guess what this prude did this past Saturday?
Twirled tassels with my boobies.
Yup. You read correctly. I stuck some nipple tassels to my ta-ta's and proceeded to learn how to move my body in such ways to make them twirl around.
I'll elaborate.

I have a wonderful friend who is getting married this Sunday; therefore, this past weekend was her lovely bachelorette party. Her fantastic maid of honor had arranged for 11 ladies to take a burlesque dance class. At first I panicked slightly when I heard this because the thought of moving my body in a sexual way kind of makes me want to cry a little, but I was reassured it was going to be fun and silly and definitely no nudity.
Sweet. I'm in.

We get there and we're handed boas and gloves (I score the pink ones -- I was happy). The instructor was a little hardcore, but whatever. We've all had a few glasses of champagne so we were in for a good time. At first the routine starts innocently enough -- a little playing of the boa, walking around, some booty shaking -- nothing too crazy. This goes on for thirty minutes or so and suddenly we get to what the instructor called "the bra section". Okay. She starts showing us and suddenly I realize she's expecting us to remove our bras and dance around topless.
Panic.
However, before she removes her top she explains we are going to be on nipple tassels.
More panic.
She walks over, grabs a pair, takes off the tape and suddenly exposes her boobs to show up how to put them on. No one moves. We're all staring with our jaws on the floor.
I proceed to laugh.
She says to walk over and grab and pair and we do slowly but no one makes a move to put them on. The maid of honor looks at me and laughs and states there's a good chance I could spontaneously combust.
She would be correct.
Suddenly one of the ladies loses all modesty and throws off her shirts and says, "C'mon, ladies!! Put on your tassels!" That encourages others.
Not me, however.
Then I think, well, shit. I can't be the ONLY one who says, 'Later, ladies. I'm sitting this one out. Peace.' So, I put my balls to the wall and stick some tassels to my tits.
Before you know it, we're all standing in front of a mirror bouncing up and down, trying to figure out how to make them twirl every which way imaginable.
I laugh throughout the entire thing.

This may sound a bit "out there", but I learned something quite valuable from this experience.

I've always had issues with my body - mainly "I'm a fatty". I feel it's really caused me to miss out on a lot of things and I use it as an excuse. I've always compared myself to other girls trying to figure out how others might see me. I went to college with the maid of honor and in my opinion, her body rocks. She has boobs for days, a little waist, hips and long, toned legs. Yea, I know...I hate her, too. I've also been one to look at magazines and celebrities and assume that's what most women look like. Cellulite, stretch marks, fat roles and jiggly arms don't exist on anyone who is thought to be "attractive".
LIES.
I stood in a room full of woman, all different shapes and sizes and realized ALL woman have these things. We get so wrapped up in these images we see on TV and in magazines that we've forgotten what REAL women look like. They look like me and everyone else in that class. And we're all hot.
I walked away realizing I'm not so bad. I may have small breasts and some pudge around my middle section, but that's okay. That's sexy, too. You just have to own it.


All in all, nipple tassels turned out to be a rather liberating experience.
Who knew?

that's just rude.

I deal with rude people all day every day. From my home and through out work, it seems rudeness from others is the theme of my life.

Example:
Tonight I had a woman who, for whatever reason, found deciding what to eat to be an INCREDIBLY difficult task. Note to dine-in customers: if you don't know what you want to eat, it's totally fine. Just please, PLEASE don't allow me to stand there like an idiot in an awkward silence while you dissect the menu. Believe it or not, there are other people I am waiting on. You are NOT the only person in the restaurant. Anyway, she was debating between the salmon and the corn beef. "Which is better?", she asks. "Well...they're quite different...what are you in the mood for?"
"Well, if I knew that I probably wouldn't be asking you!" she said loudly and sighed.
Whooooa, lady. It's not MY fault you don't know what you want to eat, nor is it my fault I don't know your taste buds. Keep your panties on.

Clearly after that sassy comment things got awkward. I didn't say anything and said, "Maybe I should give you a few minutes?"
"I'll take the corn beef" she said and slammed the menu.
This woman was rude for the rest of the meal and then proceeded to leave me an 8% tip. I hope she gets hit by one of the biker guys you see riding throughout Times Square. Karma's a bitch.

About a year or two ago during a lunch shift, I had two very creepy men sit in my section. I'd say they were both pushing fifty and dressed to the nines in suits, slicked hair and gold chains; one even had gold rimmed glasses. I walked over, dreading the conversation that could potentially take place and asked them what they would like to drink. To my surprise, they smiled politely and ordered a root beer and an iced tea. Okay, maybe I'm a little too quick to judge. I get them their drinks and come back over to take their order. Suddenly one asked, "What do you do when you're not at the restaurant?"
I hate this question. What do you think I do? I'm an actress, okay? YES, I fit the stereotype. And why is the next question always, "do you audition?" Don't talk to me. Just tell me what you want to eat, if you need ketchup and let's leave it at that.

"I'm at actress", I said forcing a smile. "Oh yea? We're in the acting business, too" they said and chuckled. "You ever do film?" he asked. "Oh, I did like, two independent films in college -- nothing too exciting. I'm more of a stage actress." I made the mistake of asking what they do in the film business and the gold rimmed glasses guy said, "We do pornography. I'm the director and the big guy across from me is the producer and handles the money". What else could I say to that except, "...Oh." Then he says, "Listen, if you're interested, I'd be willing to pay you two grand for some stills. We're looking for some women to be Glamazons in our next film -- you'd be perfect. We work right uptown from here. When do you get off?"
I couldn't help but be extremely offended. Sadly, people seem to think all actresses are desperate to get any work they can. I'd rather ask you how you like your burger cooked instead of getting naked for the camera. Sorry fellas, but you're talking to someone with a little more self respect.
I wanted to say "No, thank you" but instead I said, "Gentlemen...I am not your girl for this job. In college I wrote a very lengthy research paper on the negative effects of pornography. What can I get you for lunch?"
They left me a 25% tip.

Another thing -- telling me what a great server I am doesn't pay the bills. I can smell that a mile away. The moment someone starts telling me how great and perfect everything is, I know I'm in store for no more than a 10% tip. Don't say it. Just show me the money.

I know if you're in a deep conversation it's awkward when someone walks up in the middle of it. Trust me, I don't like it either. But what else do you expect to happen when you go to a sit down restaurant? So, let's make it easier on everyone and simply take a second from your conversation, tell me what you want to drink and I'll leave you alone. Don't continue with the conversation once I've walked up. You know I'm standing here, I know I'm standing here -- don't be an ass hole. Because one of two things will happen -- either I will continue to stand there and stare at you until you finally decide to acknowledge me or I will walk away and take a very, very long time to return. And I'm not talking one or two minutes, okay?

If you order a burger well done and it comes down medium rare, I'm sorry. But guess what? I'M NOT COOKING THE FUCKING FOOD. So don't get all pissy with me saying how disgusting it is and how it's so unbelievable that you can't even get a burger cooked properly and blah blah blah. I know. It sucks. But this isn't life or death.
On the same note, if the food is late I'll tell you if it's my fault. I've been known to ring in orders late once or twice, but when I do I haul ass to the kitchen and tell them to bring it down immediately. Otherwise, I have no control over how quickly or slowly your food comes down. Relax, fatty. You're hot dog will be down when they've finished cooking it.

And a note to the senior citizens out there -- it's not 1950 anymore. A 10% tip is no longer acceptable. Get with it. And YES, it's a decaf coffee. Ask me again and I'll make sure it's loaded with caffeine.


How the hell did I become a waiter?