Job-hunting and online photography classes…too bad I have no idea what’s going on because I can’t. stop. salivating.  

Job-hunting and online photography classes…too bad I have no idea what’s going on because I can’t. stop. salivating.  

Spoilers: the worse karma that could ever be bestowed on someone.Source: Thought Catalog

Spoilers: the worse karma that could ever be bestowed on someone.

Source: Thought Catalog

Briefest and Least Dramatic Timeline I Can POSSIBLY Give You on My Roadtrip from NYC to Nashville

10:00 pm.  Arrive at Port Authority, NYC as required, per my ticket. 

10:30 pm.  Start chit-chatting with Eulalia, a rockin’ 75-year-old Baptist lady from Birmingham, Alabama.   By the end of the convo, we are best friends and I unexpectedly start using ebonics like it ain’t no thang.

11:00 pm.  No buses.  Line is 100+ people.  

11:15 pm.  Get pulled by a man who says my bags must be checked and will cost me.  Estimated amount: $75 dollars.  Bargain to $19 in coins (leftover laundry quarters).

11:45 pm. Crowd is rowdy, still no buses.  No updates either.  Mom is frantic in CA.  Overhear lady behind me talking about her baby “Niggiana,” for whom they call “Niggy” for short.  She thinks it’s cute, and an unconventional way (to say the least) to embrace their culture.

12:30 am First bus arrives.  People are PISSED OFF, pushing and shoving, yelling.  Finally give the conductor my pass…until I am redacted and returned to the line.  Head count reveals their is one seat left.  It’s me or Eulalia.  (I damn well earned extra Jesus points that night, let me tell you.)

2:00 am. Outside, cold, irritated. No answers.  Can’t stop staring at handsome dark chocolate behind me reading Foucault when I get tapped on the shoulder “Hi, I am John and I am a flaming homosexual.  Wanna share drinking stories to pass time?” 

4:00 am. Bus arrives.  My new BFF John and I are so excited and overeager to get on when I realize….old busdriver took my ticket, anticipating that I would board.  Never got it back.  Had to go back to the front desk, have them verify they had my ticket.  MODERATE/SEVERE    ANXIETY ATTACK.  After boarding (and regaining a decent heart rate), informed a stop in Philly added to switch drivers.

6:30 am.  Stop in Philly.  New driver is late.  Take off at 7:30

9:30 am.  At the rest stop, woman calls the cops on the bus driver claiming he fell asleep at the wheel and nearly drove us off cliff.  Police come, launched full investigation.

11 am.  Bus finally back on the road.  Informed we would be immediately rerouted to Columbus-bound bus at 12:55. 

1 pm. Arrive in Pittsburgh.  Informed bus has departed, but they called emergency staff to take us at 2 pm.  Suspicious-looking hillbilly eyes my bags, holding a single white mesh laundry bag.  “Whereyu headed tu?” he asks.  I tell him, “Nevada.” “Oh, well I juss got out of a ‘year long vaycayshun,’ ifyaknow wudimean….” I can’t stop looking at the gap between his teeth, the Duck Dynasty beard, or the tattoo tear drop on his left cheek to attempt to come up with a decent response, so he takes the liberty of clarifying for me… “JAYL.”  “Nice meeting you sir,” as I take my bags and run away, sacrificing my first person privilege at the front of the line. 

4 pm.  Bus arrives. 

8 pm.  In Columbus.  Earliest bus out is at 9:30.  What’s another 1:30?  I learn rural Pennsylvanians dip cigarettes in horse embalming fluid and then smoke it to pass time from a 21 year old (with a 7 year old son) whom I suspect is speaking from experience.  

11:30 pm.  Two hours later, bus arrives.  Informed that two extra stops have been added to accommodate everyone.

1 am.  Arrive in Cincinnati.

2 am.  Depart for Louisville.  Overweight, overly friendly Ohian can’t stop talking ‘bout meetin’ her online boyfriend in Mobile, Alabama in a few hours.  Also, she’s a practicing Wiccan, which by her own definition means, “I don’t believe in Gawd.”  45 minutes of babbling, she is yelled at to “SHUT UP” by fellow passenger.  “Yeah…shut the HAYL UP” is resonated over the loudspeaker by the bus driver. 

4 am.  Arrive in Louisville.  Must switch buses and add half hour break.

4:30 am.  Bus departs Louisville.  Overzealous middle eastern man is rambling in presumably Arabic with full gestures and belly laughs.  I am terrified for my life.  

6:30 am.  Kiss the ground as we arrive in Nashville, Tennessee. Halle-freaking-lujah.


Moral of the story: Never, ever, EVER ride Greyhound EVER. 

#tbt to the three weeks solid in early August I woke up like Ke$ha because I kicked a bucket of glitter onto my bed and couldn’t find my vacuum to save my life.  

I like looking at my Instagram and being pleased with who I’ve become.

2 Broke Girlz

We bring out the worst in each other.  Or is it the best?  I can’t tell.  We’re both broke as a joke, yet we looooooooove trying new food (especially at 4 am, yeah “new food,” that’s what we call it! ;)).  We’re both late to everything…so when we coordinate plans, you can usually add three or four hours to the expected arrival time.  ”I’m going to stay in tonight”…HA. “I’m calling it in early tonight”…even bigger HA. “Fine, but there’s no way I’m not drinking tonight” …. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.  But we put up with each other’s weird tendencies (Becca’s: adding hot sauce to EVERYTHING; Mine: losing everything) AND we are game for carpe diem…whether it’s waking up at 5 am for a flipping donut (ahem, CRONUT), or waiting in 5 hour lines for a comedy show.  Or occassionally, you know, staying out til the sun rises…multiple nights in a row.

Here’s to drinking too much, dancing too hard, kissing too many boys… to drunchies at Pomme Frite, dossas at Hampton Chutney and befriending Mr. Noodleman.  To rooftop bars and top floor jacuzzis to East Village yoga and Brooklyn bridge at sunset.  To not having low self esteem!!  

Here’s to summer 2013!!  Wouldn’t have been the same without ya!!

Namaste, Bitches

I’ve always envisioned this scene for my future screenplay where a Regina George-like girl (or sassy gay, I haven’t fully decided yet) comes to their first hot yoga class thinking it would be trendy and sexy and fun-and totally Instagrammable, right?!  Fifteen minutes into the hot, humid, sweating-in-places-you-never-knew-could-sweat filled class….she/he rolls up their mat, beelines towards the door, waves off a certain finger and proclaims “Na-maste, bitches!”


I went to a donation-based studio because I’m poor (sunglasses and headscarf a la Kristen Wiig, “Help-me-I’m-poor!” poor).  Let me tell you what you can expect from a donation based studio in Lower Manhattan, in case the thought ever crosses your mind.  The class is on heated carpet in a windowless room on the fifth floor of a VERY rundown, walkup building (during the world’s worst heatwave, at that.).  Needless to say, a nauseating smell wafts toward you waaaaaaaay before you arrive at the studio.

When you finally get past the nauseating smell (and get “used” to the terribly uncomfortable feeling of laying your sweaty body against the velvety carpet…)(Eh actually, nevermind…the carpet never becomes more comfortable), a 4’5” Indian yoga master enters.   The only way I can describe what he wore is “high-waisted booty shorts”, which, though he had a small frame, barely covered his severe abundance of body hair (I mean everywhere).  He spoke like his fingers were plugging his nose and/or he inhaled helium prior to coming to practice.  

Normally, I wouldn’t care about appearance and would argue that yoga is supposed to help you overlook physical attributes and focus on inner souls…but for lack of better words, this Yogi was a f$%^in ASS.  

I must have missed the memo when yoga is a pardoning of your personal sins and an opportunity “to work through your karmas and bad energies you’ve inflicted on the world through the suffering we meet on our mat.” (Cant make this s&^t up!)  Said-yogi yelled at me for drinking water because it “poisons other people’s practice” and made another girl lay on her mat when she tried to leave, like a master would command their dog when he misbehaves.  As she panted and nearly passed out on her mat from what I assume was dehydration, he tells her “it is disrespectful to my culture, to others and to your body to leave for selfish reasons.”  

If I was a braver person who wasn’t terrified of whatever dark magic this yogi was involved with (my own allegations), this would have been the perfect opportunity to steal some thunder…look him in the eye and fiercely say “with all due respect…NAMASTE, BITCH!”  Buuuuuut, like I said, I was terrified of him and as a new New Yorker, I didn’t want to take aaaany chances with black magic.  I watch waaay too much Law & Order for that…. 

EDITORS NOTE: While I have not had another opportunity to make my diva-scene yet, I did find a FABULOUS donation-based studio in the East Village and my faith in the practice has been restored. 

Here’s to hopping on jets after work, drinking airport cocktails…and then airplane cocktails.  Here’s to drinking too much, staying out too late, midnight diners and not returning boys’ phone calls.  To new adventures in a big city, from getting ballsy in the Tenderloin to smelling fish in Chinatown to taking on new identities (because we could) to falling asleep in Golden Gate Park.  To hopping hotels, to skyline views and to sloppy piano bars. 

But most of all…here’s to the milkman, the paperboy, and yes, the evening TV….

Tonight I raise my glass to 1 year since our life changing trip to San Francisco! 

6 Reasons Why You Should Hire Me


Until Aaron Sorkin comes along (and until I get my official script together) this girl gotz ta pay the bills. If you are, or know anyone who is, hiring, I am willing to sacrifice my dignity for gigs, part-time/full-time anything!

1. I graduated THIS CLOSE to having Latin Honors from UCLA, have a degree in English, worked as a copy-editor, interned in the writers office of Greys and have an essay/paper/website editing business (ok, maybe business is a stretch but hey! Rhetoric at its best…an asset, no;)?).

2. I babysit…cook, clean, paint nails, braid hair, talk about boy bands with the best of them. Experience with all ages, big families, multiples (2 year old triplets and a 5 year old…nothing scares me!). One critic hailed me the “best babysitter on Tavella Place.”

3. Bilingual, well-travelled and plenty of life experience. Read: I had a lot of fun back in my youth! Also, superb communication skills. Had to communicate in 5 unfamiliar languages and somehow made it work (hand movements, pointing, altering English to sound like target language.)

4. Responsible, efficient, creative, fairly intelligent. PRO at social media. Specializes in Facebook stalking but also master of Google (Gmail, Plus, Analytics), Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest and ahem, tumblr ;) particularly useful for advertising, marketing, party-planning, private investigations and psychoanalyzation.

5. I’m a good girl! And a Christian! I love to read, I am patient and kind! Unless, of course, you are looking for…”fiercely competitive, goal-oriented and has a grab-the-world-by-the-balls attitude”…then I am exactly that. ;)

6. I know Anthony Kiedis, and that fact alone got us into a cool discoteque in Barcelona.

TBT to when the weather was a f&^%!n NIGHTMARE and my hair did this.  

TBT to when the weather was a f&^%!n NIGHTMARE and my hair did this.  

"When I first started acting, you would not BE-LIEVE the budget we had! Practically nothing!  It was LAUGHABLE what we were given, and what we made of it.  But look at me now."

*Sobbing* "For the first time in television history, I would like to thank the Netflix School of the Arts.  Without your provision of access to an extraordinary amount of TV series’ on demand, I would never have the opportunity to lock myself in a room and *study the craft* of over 50 different shows within a single month’s span.  From the bottom of my heart, I love you…”


"Oh, don’t you dare play that violin because you are
NOT getting me off this stage until I finish thanking my cat and all 22 followers I have on Tumblr! Ahaw ha ha! *hand over heart, exaggeratedly pulls shoulder towards chin*

-Soundbites from when I win my first Oscar for Best Dramatic Actress (Oh? You didn’t know that’s one of my lifelong dreams from two weeks ago?).

**In actuality, we had a film project for the summer program at NYU where we had to film, direct and produce a teensy short in three days.   My friend Alex did not have to twist my arm to be the star.  ”Without her, I would be nothing.  NOTHING!” *insert dramatic hand-over-heart, head-tossing action* 

***Fun fact!  This movie was shot in reverse order, and also was the day before I had a nervous breakdown.  Enjoy the bloodshot eyes and messy hair that somehow fade and groom themselves, respectively, by the end of the short!  

This is what happens when your roommate’s laundry day coincides with yours in a 10’ x 10’ apt… #nyclife!

This is what happens when your roommate’s laundry day coincides with yours in a 10’ x 10’ apt… #nyclife!

I would like everyone to know New York officially got to the best of me. On August 7th, 2013, at approximately 3:55 pm EST, I uttered the phrase (out loud!): ‘Oh! It’s only a 1.2 miles away! …Might as well walk!’