The Three Necessities

"As I've gotten older," actor Jason Segel said in a speech. "The things I care about have whittled down to three things: my family, my friends, and being nice." He's one of my favorite actors and my admiration only grew. This is a concept I think a lot of us have lost somewhere along the way: being nice.

I think in a place like Los Angeles, where it can be very cutthroat and cruel, it's easy to lose sight of the important things in life. Instead, there are those who are so wrapped up in their own insecurities and are so twisted in trying to be "the best" that they cut others down in the worst possible ways. Now, as a girl from North Carolina, raised properly by a loving (albeit fabulously dysfunctional), I was taught that at the root of human existence is the characteristic of being kind. And lately, I've been questioning my need to "be nice" when it feels like the people who surround me are, in fact, bullies.

I talked to one of my closest friends today and she told me this: "We're nice to those who aren't because they're unhappy. They're hurting in some way, and whether they call you fat or talk about how they're going to exploit a weakness, they're insecure and cowardly, and those are the ones who need us the most."

She's a wise one, my friend.

I believe in this statement: "Always be kinder than you feel." Seriously. It'll bring a smile to your face. And I promise, whether you want to teach someone "a lesson in dumbass-ness," make a comment about how someone appears to be socially awkward, or even go to the point of jeering at the fact that if 2012 were to ever wipe out the human existence, certain individuals would be the first to go, not saying it may actually make you feel better. Being a bully? Not impressive. Not attractive. And not how we as human beings should conduct ourselves.

My three necessities parallel Segel's:

1) My family.

2) My friends.

3) Being kind.

Maybe it's something we should all look into.

The Grooming List: Some Thoughts

This may be TMI, but you're choosing to read this of your own free-will, therefore I will not worry. My eyebrows are like the hair atop my head: they grow quite quickly...like scary-quick. As in, I can go get my eyebrows done and then the next week I am wondering why a very long and dark caterpillar has decided to take residence on my forehead. There have been many days when I bemoan the idea of being a woman. Don't get me wrong, I celebrate the female gender: I love my girly shoes and clothes and the fact that the male species has to hold the door open for me. But then I look at men with their (sometimes) sexy facial hair, fully grown brows, and hairy forearms and legs and get mad that somehow my gender has to be the one to groom. Though I don't take a stance like Norma Rae and grow leg hair long enough to braid, I curse every time I have to make a trip to my version of a grade A torture palace: the waxing facility.

When I was eleven, my mother decided that while I had a penchant for tube socks (see a couple posts below), didn't really know what to do with my "she could either be a member of Lionel Richie's band or the ethnic Orphan Annie" hair, and baby fat along with boobs that could knock a dinosaur over, my eyebrows did not have to suffer and that I should be more girly. Therefore, she took me to a beauty parlor to give my eyebrows a "shape". During the whole car ride I was alarmed at the idea that someone was going to stencil triangles into my brows, making me even more of a "quirk-ster" than I already was. However, what happened was much worse.

My mom loves Middle-Eastern beauty parlors because they do threading. Threading, in my opinion, is what could bring even the most ornery of criminals confess to their crimes. A lady, most likely the height of a smurf, takes two pieces of what looks like floss, creates some sort of Cats Cradle shape within their hands and goes to town on your eyebrows. It can be painful at times, but mostly it just feels awfully uncomfortable. That day, I was already anxious because it was my first time and I got seated next to a woman whose moustache rivaled the late Pavarotti's. So anxious that I started to shake and accidentally kicked the smurf/woman doing my eyebrows. Needless to say she quit. I'd like to think she found a higher calling.

I am a creature of habit. I have been going to this beauty parlor since that fateful kicking day, and each time it doesn't get easier. The results are always fabulous ("Oh my GOD, I don't look like the caveman from that commercial!"), but you'd think I was about to be pushed off of a cliff. In California I haven't found a place I like-the first place I walked into, one woman was dozing in her chair if that's any indication. So I waited until I got home. This morning I looked in the mirror and knew that my sweet caterpillar had to go. Therefore, my latest list compiles the thoughts that went through my head while I was being made presumable for the public:

1) "That damn floss again. Shit, what's that? It looks like there's something on it...is that...oh God, is that food on the floss? What the...? Oh, no, it's not. Wait. Why is it moving?"

2) "If I were a war criminal, this is how you'd get me to confess. No waterboarding necessary. Just put me in this chair and threaten to wax my legs, I'll start talking within seconds."

3) "Still, it'll be nice to have shapely eyes. They are starting to run together."

4) "Oh, God, oh, God, my heart's racing. No, no, no, this is how people have strokes. Just breeeeeathe. You're doing great! You'll look infinitely better than your neighbors back in LA...people were probably starting to think you were related because of eyebrow similarities."

5) "Man, eff this. Why can't guys get waxed? Do they know how much we do to look 'pretty?' I'm going to start carrying around wax paper ready to go and just start chasing the random passerby."

6) "OH, GOD, HERE SHE COMES. Why is she smiling? Biatch."

7) "Different smurf. She just looked at my eyebrows and judged. I know it. I hope she gets in kicking reach."

8) "STOP SHAKING, KIRAN. YOU'RE TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD. GROW UP. Oh, God, I'm twenty three..."

9) "Is this what's going to happen if I become a successful actress? I'll have to get groomed every week? Maybe I can start a new wave of actresses...bring back the Neanderthal look."

10) "OW."

Reckless=Wreck List

The phrase "tryin' times" has always made me laugh for some reason...I don't know why, maybe it's because I picture an old Southern man with a cowboy hat with a blade of grass hanging out of his tobacco-laden mouth saying, "Yep...them's some tryin' times." However, after this past week I think I sympathize more. This week was the epitome of "tryin' times."

People being reckless=creating a new kind of list=The Wreck List.

1) My cell phone disappeared in a bale of hay: This is what I get for going to a fall festival and not reading the labels clearly and drinking quite a lot of cider from the, "Cider With A Little Somethin' Special" pot. Seriously. This past weekend Brian, Terri, and I made our way to Pasadena to see Ashley and celebrate her roommate's birthday. The backyard had been turned into this gorgeous fall landscape, complete with tea lights, fall food (pumpkin ale, brie-and-cranberry tart, mulled wine, pumpkin pies, and er, alcoholic cider...), a beer pong table, a beautifully painted banner, rocking chairs, and yes, bales of hay. Five hours after, on my way home I realized my phone that I am painfully anal about, was missing. And since last week it has not been seen since.

2) My car was totaled: Irony of ironies is more like it. The three of us had been having conversations during the week about how we had never been in a "serious" car accident and what type of car insurance the other had, etc. etc. On Wednesday I was supposed to go with Brian to meet Terri on UCLA's campus...while I was getting ready to go, something stopped it. I don't know what it was. Divine intervention? I don't know. But all of a sudden I didn't feel like going anymore. So, since Brian's car was in the shop, I gave him my car for the afternoon. And since I didn't have a phone at the time, I settled on the couch for an afternoon of writing and an apple and goat cheese salad. Suddenly, Terri Google chatted me, and all she said was, "This is not a joke. There's been an accident." And I cannot tell you how my heart plummeted. I felt my throat constrict and my eyes instantly fill. Brian had been driving through a light and this woman in an SUV sped on through to turn left and, without yielding, slammed right into my car, completely tearing the front. The car is gone. Like, there is no hope of reviving my dear Scoot-Scoot. But thankfully, by the grace of, well, something, Brian is fine. I am fine. When really, after this, it could've been much, much worse:


3) My 'I' key on my computer isn't working unless I punch it.

4) My pajama pants shrank, making me live up to middle school nickname, High Water: Shut up.

5) The fire from the stove almost took off my eyebrow when I was trying to extract a piece of carrot from the middle.

6) I turned 23 and almost had another crisis.

Reading numbers three through six makes me smile and marvel at the fact that these were my biggest concerns this past week. On my birthday, some of the people whom I had counted as my "best and closest friends" didn't call or text or Skype, and when my Netflix stopped working or the day, I almost had a tantrum. And then, after this week, I took a close look at my priorities.

The thing of it is, this 'Wreck List' seems bad. But really, it highlights the good, the great in fact. I'm alive and well (I mean, I could cut down my intake of bread and chocolate covered pretzels, but whatever). I have a job that I like a lot. I get to create. My real friends and hysterically quirky family love and support me. And at least I own pajama pants. So really...in spite of this list, I have a lot to be thankful. And the trifling things, like a so-called "friend" not staying in touch, a broken cell phone, or even a dead car...don't matter in the grand scheme of things. And so, as I sit here with a plate of falafel, wearing a long pair of mismatched argyle socks, I'm oddly content and ready to start anew.

:)

The Best Friend Rules

Those who know me know that I have a borderline obsession with The Office. A seemingly dry work environment that is in fact chock-full of sharp wit, sarcasm, a beautifully sweet man named Jim, and a to die for character named Kelly Kapoor who says things like, "I don't talk trash, I talk smack. They're totally different." And the actress who plays her, Mindy Kaling is definitely at the top of my "Actresses I Want To Be For 24 Hours" list. And she is a part of who inspired this blog post.

Mindy is about to write a book called Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns). I have no doubt in my mind that this will be a hilarious read. However, there was a sweet sentiment to one of her chapters--the chapter about the Best Friend. She recently posted a link that called for people to write down their "Best Friend Rules and Regulations"...i.e. what makes the two of you work and inseparable. I read it and I immediately started to smile because who else should pop into my head but my own best friend?




This is Hilary, the other half who inspired this post. I have known Hilary since middle school...clearly we were meant to be because I was a thirteen year old chubster with oddly-shaped glasses, triangle hair, sarcasm, and a penchant for wearing tube socks to gym class...and she still wanted to be friends with me. Hell, I wouldn't have even wanted to be friends with me!!! Fastforward to high school where she was my number one go-to girl about all things important: the location of my latest boycrush, the code words we invented for people we disliked, the times I cried after a fight with my family, the time my hair was frizzy for my freshman school picture and she helped me put it into a bun...everything. And of course, after high school came college...and incidentally we both ended up at our beloved alma mater, Meredith. We were joined at the hip for the first two years, though a brief falling out left us flying solo for junior year and a bit of senior year. Even though I still felt like we weren't completely separated, I felt a bit empty for awhile. However, when all things were restored, it was like no time had passed at all and we were still a duo-riffic US, finishing each other's sentences, talking at rapid-speed about various celebrities, musing over our futures, giggling over THE MOST RIDICULOUS THINGS (like planning our weddings in tandem via wedding blogs/putting on Southern accents and yelling "YEE-YEE!" at the end of a sentence...madness, I tell you), but things that make me laugh even today.

Hilary is the epitome of what it means to be a best friend: she listens. Whomever wrongs me, she hates (within reason...whatever, she hates). She tells me the truth. She makes me laugh harder than anyone I know and will spend hours upon hours doing so. She supports me. She bakes cupcakes and I eat them. Really, what could go wrong in this friendship? But most importantly, she has seen me at my worst and has never judged me for it. Hilary is an assurance that I am just fine and dandy the way I am, and she will probably never know how much I appreciate that. And so, readers, I want to share with you, the 'Best Friend Rules' that I submitted.


THE BEST FRIEND RULES:

-If I call you at an obscene hour of the night, you must come pick me up, even if it is at the skanky dive bar that you warned me not to go because I could get an STD (don't worry, I'll repay you in coffee).

-If one of us goes through something horrible, like if the pair of hella amazing flats we hid in the men's underwear section at Target is not there anymore (or worse: a death, a break-up, a friend issue, etc.), the other will bring the following: cupcakes, funny movies, wine, trashy magazines, a laptop to Facebook stalk, and a shoulder to cry on.

-If you are sad, I will stay with you for hours until you are happy. Because I know you would do the same for me.

-If you are about to do something shiesty (like wear a multi-colored leopard print dress out in public, talk to your ex, or buy a fur muffler), I can be honest with you because I love you.

-When I move across country we will snail mail once every other week, call/text daily, Skype weekly, and communicate telepathically...because really, if we don't stay in touch, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE LEFT.

-You will be the maid of honor at my wedding. Duh.

-If I am unhappy about the same thing for awhile, you will help me figure out how to change it/take me to get Fro-Yo.

-If I sing the lyric, "I ain't got no car to take you on a date" from the baller song, "The Way I Are" a la Timbaland and Keri Hilson, you will immediately dance and mimic the lyrics because hello, we're a duo.

-I hate who you hate and vice versa. Okay, well, hate is a really strong word, but really. If someone wrongs you, I will dislike them intensely and wish them severe weight gain and bloated feet until they apologize/buy you something really cool.

-We make up code names/phrases for everything. For example: if I am on a bad first date and text you, "THE PAINT IS DRYING!!" you will know to immediately call me fake-crying about how you have a flat tire and are stuck in Bumfuck NowhereLand and I need to come "get you" (which really means sit on a bed with Goodberry's and wine and cry about how there are no good men left and the fact that my ovaries are going to shrink).

-You will be one of the godparents of my future child. If I have a child. Which I might. But still. It's gotta be you, babe.

-You constantly assure me that I would be a good mom and not accidentally break my child if I gave him/her a hug.

-I always tell you that you're pretty and vice versa. And it still makes me smile when you do!

-When I am making an acceptance speech YOU need to be my date so when I get to the, "Aaaaand to all of my haters...." the camera will pan on you smiling widely while you flip through a Rolodex of everyone who was mean to me.

-At your wedding I will cry because I'll feel overwhelmed at the notion of even HALFWAY letting you go.

-When we have homes, we each have a designated "Best Friend" room. Meaning no one but the two of us can go in there and hang out and anyone else who does will be killed.

-If you say you want to live in a city and travel and go camel-riding, I will support you. Because, hi, I'm coming with you.

-If I say I feel fat, you tell me to shut up.

-If my parents are embarrassing you don't mock them, but you just go with it.

-You will let me eat the last piece of pie.

-I will let you eat the last handful of M&M's because I know you love them.

-We can talk about PPB: Periods, Poops, and Burps. But we still get tickled over these notions.

-You will make me laugh like a hyena over everything, and hopefully, vice versa.

-We know that even though we're not from the same DNA pool, we're related.

-This isn't even about getting a signed copy of Mindy's book. Reading over this list makes me more thankful and teary and happy and just plain old LUCKY that I have you for a sisterfriend.

:)

The God List

Paula Vogel told us about the list. Well...I shouldn't type 'list' in all lowercase like it doesn't matter. THE list. The God List.

A God List, she said, was a list in tens. The top ten theaters where you want your work produced. The top ten playwrights you love. The top ten people you'd dream of working with. It's a good concept, no?

However, post-Kennedy Center life has me making other types of God Lists--the top ten male actors I'd like to have a, how do I classily put it?-a dalliance with, the top ten reasons why I shouldn't run over LA pedestrians (they suck, plain and simple...one of them kicked my car two weeks ago), the top ten places where I could possibly be 'casually discovered' like Charlize Theron, the top ten reasons why I shouldn't evade sleep...it goes on.

I told Abbey about the concept of the God List, and she said she probably needed one..."The Top Ten Reasons Why She Shouldn't Kill Herself This Week." I laughed, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't make that same list while in the midst of rehearsal/Corn/exams/college life. However, I realized I hadn't made a not-so-random list in awhile. You know, a list that gives you perspective. Makes me smile. And so, here is my latest:

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Will Be Happy:

1) If I am not happy, I will laze on the couch and not go jogging/power walking in my new turquoise work-out shorts. Which means they will never be seen. Therefore, I will be happy because the world needs to see my baller turquoise workout shorts.

2) I'm where I said I would be. I followed my dreams.

3) My friends, spanning from Alaska to Texas to New York to North Carolina, prove that they are amazing to me everyday. The Skypes, the e-mails, the snail mail, their constant support makes this transition so much more bearable.

4) My family, crazy pants and loving, keep me grounded. Example: I went on my first audition for a television show last week, and later, my dad called and said: "Just because you're auditioning doesn't mean you can forget to call your aunt and tell her you're sorry you missed her in Phoenix. You're not Jennifer Aniston. Only she could do that. And even then she probably wouldn't."

5) We have a police station one block away from my apartment. Therefore, no one is re-enacting what they saw from Law & Order: LA.

6) I am only a hop, skip, and a jump away from the beach.

7) Friday Night Lights. The end.

8) My roommates are so encouraging. Even in the throes of unemployment, my PhD-student roommates always find time to forward me potential jobs they think I'd be good at. Terri tells me everyday that she believes in what I can do. We have dinner every night. Brian plays 'Words with Friends' with me (granted he kicks my ass, but whatever). It's good.

9) I know I can always come home.

10) Everyday, even when I get super frustrated, I make myself remember why I'm here. And that I'm capable. And then things are alright.

:)

Revivial of the Veggies

I wake up every night at a certain time. It's always around 2:05 a.m. that something, a feeling, a thud in my chest, and the fact that somehow, my right foot is poking out of the comforter, making me aware that I am way too tall. I have been in California for almost a month. I realized that I told a friend of mine today that I've only been here for two and a half weeks, but when I got back to the apartment later, I realized that my concept of time clearly needs updating.

I would be lying if I said that everything is perfect. I am not making poignant and subtly-funny movies yet. I am not the new head of SNL, nor am I the head of my own company. My socks are still unmatching, and lately I've been feeling awfully sluggish and cranky due to an unfortunate trip to Phoenix. However, as I was sitting in my bed tonight, contemplating what I wanted to peruse on Netflix, I realized something: I haven't been writing. I haven't been reading as much. I haven't eaten vegetables consistently. I haven't worked out in awhile. I haven't emoted a lot and allowed myself a lot of good cries over the fact that I miss my friends and family so much that sometimes I feel like my stomach has been punched. I haven't given myself enough credit. And I haven't been able to tell my brain to shut up, which results in nights like these.

Re-reading my last paragraph makes me realize: I am happy I am here. I made a big move. I am allowed to feel that 'L.A. Hustle' and apply to six jobs a day...but I am also allowed to feel, period. It's alright if I have a bad day. It's not alright if I take out my frustration in little ways...such as foregoing broccoli (which I love) and drowning my sorrows in Cheez-It's and Diet Coke (Ah, soda, my enemy. We meet again). Frankly, if I'm an asshole to my body, it's not going to make this transition any easier at all. So maybe, just maaaybe, writing again, remembering that edamame is indeed, my friend, and being a human when it comes to emotion, will make this better.

And this anxiety, this, freak-out about not managing to meet an imaginary deadline due to the snide remarks of people who really, in the grand scheme of things, do not matter and are probably unhappy because they are alone and have five chins: it needs to be vanquished. I love what I'm doing. I love that I am an actor and a writer. No one said it was easy. I feel like if it were easy I wouldn't want it. I read The Help during the summer and I cannot help but smile every time I think about this line: "You is kind. You is smart. You is important." I am going to say this to myself every morning and remember that I am a lucky, lucky girl to get to hustle around trying to get where I want to be.


1) I will write more.
2) I will do the one thing that scares me each day: drive around someplace new every day. The fact that someone yelled, "Pick it up, North Carolina!" while they were tailing me will not haunt me anymore. Rather, I will instead wish him adult acne for the rest of his life and move on.
3) Be grateful.
4) Be happy.
5) Go hiking.
6) Create.

P.S. That picture? Totally my first In-N-Out Burger experience. Not pictured: the fabulous chocolate shake that could probably cause miracles to occur.

The girl with the iced mocha is a pretty happy person.

Fun Fact: I'm starting to wear my hair in its natural state: curly. And you know what? I think I like it.

I woke up at 11:51 this morning. I ran errands with Kellie and we stopped at Caribou and I bought myself the Almond Milk Chocolate Iced Mocha I have been craving. I went to the gym and ran on the elliptical while listening to part one of my summer playlist. But...ya wanna know the best thing I did today? Or rather, am starting to do?

Yup. I'm starting to tackle the disaster that is my room. I made a dent today; forty-five minutes, two garbage bags full. Sheesh. At least it's only papers, books, and clothes, and not, you know, rotting food. Technically this isn't just because of my sudden desire to clean. It's actually because of my mom. She surprised me in my apartment yesterday; my roommate let her in because I was napping. She crept into my room and gasped so loud, she woke me up. She didn't gasp because she was excited to see me or because I look like an angel while I sleep (ah, my modesty...), but because of the big blue bin overflowing with (clean) clothes and the fact that you couldn't see the floor because of a lot of soon-to-be-trashed papers. So after she took one of my roommates, MaryCatherine, and I out for dinner and a lovely dessert of chocolate cherry cheesecake, I promised her that I would clean. I mean, come on. I love my mommy.
And I figured she would be shocked with happiness :)

This past weekend has been absolutely divine. Well, divine and a little bit bittersweet. I went to the class of twenty-ten's Class Day and graduation. Saying a "see ya later" to Kellie, Amy, Wise Old SCR, Catie, Lindsay, Sam Cib, Sara, Abbey, Anna, Kasey, Amirah, Bria, Madison...the list of my goes on, but man, it was hard. It made think of what will be happening in about 363 days:

But for now I'm loving that my first week of summer has already begun on a pretty great note: plans of girls' trips to the beach and mountains, a possible trip to Maine, late night movie fests, roaming downtown Raleigh, reunions with best friends that I am so lucky to have but am cursed because they are so far, going to the gym everyday (I will make myself. I will.), Crime Show Wednesday night with Sabrina, thrift shop visits with Sheryl, quality time with my mom and dad, finally decorating my room, making lots of mixed c.d's for the everyday activities, READING things I like, learning to nap properly, experiment with my hair, reading scripts, writing everyday...the list will grow as the days laze on.

It's just a listomania

I have never been one to make a to-do list. Mainly because they never get done and they never get done because I don't like my life to be super tidy; I enjoy the spontaneity of things. However. This is what I found myself finishing yesterday afternoon:

Yeah.

I feel like my whole life has been put into short, succinct lists so I can get a quick snapshot of what's been happening and then move onto the next. Since we're on a listomania of sorts, here's what's been going on since last time I wrote:



1) Juniors found the crook with fifteen minutes to spare: If I had known in kindergarten that I would one day be rocking out some sweet dance moves and pig noses in Corn and digging in the ground looking for an inch of a stick, I would have laughed at myself. Halie Sue, I am forever indebted to you, you champ.

2) My room has added a new component of messiness: pillows.

3) I got a new phone: It's purple, sassy, and when it rings it reminds me of dancing in a club.

4) I'm realizing that I am a grandma: Lately I've been craving intense solitude where I can find a hammock, lay in it with a good book and just disappear from the world for awhile and not go out to downtown Raleigh.

5) I've decided that this summer is going to entail me working, taking trips to the ocean, and enjoying my last summer as a college student: And you know what? I'm okay with that.

6) Glozell's youtube videos legitimately make my life: Look her up and prepare to be lying on the floor gasping for breath. Thank you, Sam Cibs and Sabrina for introducing me to sheer comedic GENIUS.



My crook-huntin'-marathon-runnin'-rap-rockin'-sweet partner in crime, Brittany-she's what my younger cousins would call a "Forever Friend."