Do You Want to Read My Diary?

I'm taking a writing workshop class this semester, and it honestly is one of my favorite classes. The professor is the sweetest old man: he brings cookies to class every day, he gives you a real dollar if you answer a question, and the writing he has us do is actually a lot of fun. But one of the assignments was that we had to keep a journal, writing at least three times a week.

My first mental image of this wonderful man reading my journal. 

We're having a portfolio review with the professor this week, and guess how many I actually have done? That's right, people. Absolutely zero.

Then I realized I needed to write 36 journal entries for tomorrow.

I figured the best way to give myself a crash course on the past 3 months of my life would be to stalk my own social media. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, the whole bit. Sorting through everything that has happened this semester was quite an experience! Basically, I'm a hot mess. I can't really go into the details right now, but once the dust has settled on everything, you can prepare to be amused.

However, I still have to show my professor a journal for tomorrow. But if I told him the real things I get myself in to, he honestly might have a heart attack. I would never be able to look at this man again. At the very least, I would be risking expulsion. Probably on several counts.

Such is life.

Bad Publicity

Ever since I moved to Philadelphia, I made no secret about the fact that I wanted to become the face of Temple University. I took advantage of any opportunity I saw, and it actually started paying off!

My face showed up on a building on Broad Street (bottom left-hand corner):

The Temple Honors website (twice!):

An ad for the new residence hall (0:33-0:39):

They even put me on the application packets!

Things seemed to be going pretty well for me. Yeah, these pictures were a constant reminder of what I looked like 20 pounds ago, but I counted it as motivation to keep being healthy. My picture was popping up everywhere, and that's what mattered.

Until Media Meltdown Productions launched their new website last week ...

Not great, that's for damn sure. I guess you can't win 'em all. Oh well, bad publicity is better than no publicity!


P.S. Make sure you check out MMP's site. Other than my less-than-flattering cameo, it is poppin'!

My First Time ... and I Laughed

My family took a weekend getaway to New York City this weekend. After doing some typical NYC stuff last night, we explored SoHo and some of the other neighborhoods today. While walking through Chinatown, we saw a bunch of places for massages and foot reflexology.

My brother and I had never done any kind of reflexology, so my mom said we should try it. We approached the first place and saw a sign on the door that said "Please Knock Before Entering." It seemed a little shady, and it was. We knocked and nothing happened, so, naturally, we walked in. It was this hallway with lot of closed curtains and no real lobby or register or anything. I got the feeling this was one of those "special" massage parlors, so we decided to try somewhere else.

The next place was much more legit, but it wasn't until I took off my shoes and the guy sat down that I remembered how ticklish I am.

He started the massage, and it wasn't even two minutes in when I started laughing. I managed to stifle it a little bit, but I had to cover my mouth, trying to make it seem like I was just scratching my lip or something. I obviously wasn't scratching my lip. 

About halfway through the first foot, I remembered that biting your tongue is supposed to help with feeling ticklish, so I bit. I bit hard. It actually kind of worked, but as soon as I looked over and saw that my brother knew what I was doing, I couldn't help but start laughing again. I felt this weird mixture of embarrassment, laughter, and the want to just kick this man in the face so he would stop touching my feet. 

By the time he got to the other foot, I could taste the blood starting to come from my tongue, but I somehow managed to survive. The whole thing felt very good, but I don't know how other celebrities can get massages so often without laughing. I guess I'll just have to practice.

My Dad Loves My Dogs More Than He Loves Me

We've had our dogs Leroy and Stitch, for about 8 months now, and I think it's safe to say that my dad loves them more than he loves me. No, but really though.

Don't get me wrong, these dogs are adorable. They can be a real pain in the ass, they've basically destroyed our kitchen with their constant chewing, and they don't always understand that naps require quiet, but they're really cute when they want to be, and it's easy to waste hours playing with them. But my father has taken it to the next level.

Leroy and Stitch in the sweaters I bought them.
It is my firm belief that they love being dressed up.

He LOVES these dogs. He plays with them, curls them up in his arms and whispers to them, gives them treats like its nobody's business, and gets offended if you yell at them. If you don't know my dad, this might seem only strikingly strange, but if you know him, then you'd understand that I'm living in a parallel universe. My dad doesn't usually like, well, anything.

Let's take our last pet, for example. We got Brutus when I was five years old, and my dad hated this dog. Brutus had spent the first year and a half of his life locked in a single crate with both of his parents, so he was pretty quiet and loved attention, but he was never really playful. Still, my dad didn't like him. Now, this could have been because of the way he was introduced to the family. My dad was away on business when he got a phone call:

Mom: Hi, Honey. Are you with people right now?

Dad: Yeah, we're about to sit down to dinner. What's up?

Mom: Oh, good! Then you won't be able to yell at me when I tell you I bought a dog today!

Dad: ...

Brutus and I in our early years. Nope, I'm not sure which of us is cuter.

Dad and Brutus got off to a "ruff" start, to say the least, and it basically went downhill from there. But he has turned over quite the new leaf with Leroy and Stitch. After years of having a dog in the house that he hated, he insisted, the weekend after Brutus past, that we get not only one, but two dogs. And then we started buying things for them. 

Now, I've dreamed of having a dog I could dress up for as long as I can remember, probably stemming from my middle school obsession with Paris Hilton and The Simple Life. Naturally, I bought them matching sweaters. But I come home for break to find that their bin is overflowing with toys. They have 4 beds throughout the house ... each! And here's the real kicker: my dad bought them matching houses for Christmas. Now these are not outdoor houses like Snoopy has in the Charlie Brown specials. These are two fabric doghouses that he has set up nicely in the middle of the living room.

He cuddles with them every night.

I remember being huffed at when I would ask for Cheerios in the morning.

Leroy and Stitch are the favorite children. I might as well just go back to school.

I'm a Star(r)!

Being a small-town celebrity isn't always easy. There are always people watching you - looking to you to be a good role model and someone they can emulate, but also secretly hoping you'll fall flat on your face. And guess what? It happens. More than I'd like to admit.


I don't like Miley that much - her only contribution to humanity has
been "Party in the USA" (my jam!) - but this really applies.


However, in my time as an STC, I've learned that no opportunity can be missed. Any possibility of success needs to be taken into full consideration. And, unfortunately, a cash flow is essential. Having moved back to Philadelphia for the fall, I knew I wanted to find a job, but not just any job would do. I needed something with potential. Something with networking possibilities. Something that could possibly help me on my way to becoming a star.

So when I heard that an event-planning and catering company in the city was hiring, I was set! The name alone says it all: Starr Events. Yeah, there's one extra "R", but who's counting? We'll say it stands for "Really Fun." Because it is.

I had my first event this weekend - a wedding - and it was a blast! I'm a server, but there are all of these rules to follow, and everything has to be perfect. Intensely perfect. Remember that movie The Devil Wears Prada? Let's just say my bosses (the wedding planners) took a few lessons from Meryl Streep. You have to look and be perfect, and there is no time for screw-ups.

Case in point: I basically slaughtered my finger while trying to cut lime wedges, and no one could be bothered to find the first aid kit for me. After asking four different people, I had to go to the bathroom, gushing blood, to clean myself up and wrap my finger in a paper towel. And then keep it there for the next hour as I tried to keep doing my job, with one finger out of commission. (I left the fruit to someone else.)

It makes sense though. These events are really important to the client. If you look like a mess or we can all smell that you haven't showered today, you're not exactly the kind of person the bride wants to hand her wine glass to her. And god forbid you fall and spill anything on her. Can you imagine? That's all I could think about the night before. I'd be mortified.

After I stopped my mind from going through everything that could possibly go wrong, I really did have a good time with it. It was really fast-paced, I was on my feet, running around the whole time, and I got to learn a lot about what goes in to pulling off an event like that.

For now, I'm just a server, but who knows where this could lead? Starr does events in both Philly and New York, and is working to expand even more. Kendra Wilkinson got her start at the Playboy Mansion by serving drinks. And look at her now! ... Alright, maybe she's not the best example.

Oh, and one of my coworkers gave me a ride home. She doubles as a Juvenile Probation Officer. No big deal.

Virtual Class

I decided to take online classes this summer. I figured I'd get some credits out of the way, keep myself in the groove, and continue my track of a major and double minor. It was such a good idea ... until they started.

It honestly hasn't been too bad; it's just kind of annoying to still have homework on top of my two jobs. Anyway, my first class was my Race & Diversity GenEd - The History & Significance of Race in America. Sounds great, right? That was an online class, so it was basicly just "do this reading" and then "write these papers". Not too bad and actually kind of easy. My second class, Macroeconomics (somehow a business minor was another good idea?), is a virtual class, which means that aside from the regular readings and homework, we also have to watch recorded lectures, and ... wait for it ... go to class over webcam!

I didn't even know that was a thing that Temple did! And I definitely didn't know that's what I was signing up for, but I think it's great! I'm taking this class, getting the credit, and with the face-to-face time, I'm actually getting some personal learning out of it. That's great news!

Disclaimer for all you cyber-school junkies out there: Shut up. This is not your time to gloat. I still wouldn't have given up my high school experience for anything, the highs and the lows. And if you'd rather just sit behind a computer all day, then that just means smaller class sizes for the rest of us. This class an accesory to my regular education. BAM.

But my favorite part about this development is that every Thursday night, I'm in a "class" full of people that are on their computers in their living rooms, in their pjs, doing other stuff, sometimes paying attention and sometimes not, and it's all there for me to watch!

I love people watching, so this is a double-win for me! A screen-full of people forgetting that they're being watched! The big one is the proffesor (duh), and he's sitting there loving his life, talking about the economy. The second girl looks bored out of her mind. The third one probably just fell asleep. The guy is definitely on his phone texting. This girl on the end is the only one really paying attention. And I was there, camera-ready, as always. And no matter what, the professor knows he really can't do anything from his home office, so he just acts like he doesn't know!

As you scroll over, there's two more pages full of people! You may think this makes me a creep, and you may be right. But I really don't care. If I have to sit there and listen about macro, I'm going to have to entertain myself somehow.

...

Another testament to my amusement with technology. Someone actually Googled "memoirs of a small town celebrity" this week! I think that means I'm famous.

There's Gum In My Book

I'd like to open this blog post with a song that has just been released on iTunes. It's the extended version of the "Kathy" show theme song. Take a look:

Alright, so I'm going to take a gander here and say you didn't make it all the way through. I get that, but I still love it, in all of it's auto-tuned glory. First of all, I love Kathy Griffin, and I feel like the song kind of sums up my life's philosophy:

"I know what's on your mind, and if you're inclined not to say it, well don't you worry, 'cause I'll say it for you."

Yeah, that's me.

Anyway, on to the gum story. I knew that I wanted to get my dad the last 4 Harry Potter movies for Father's Day. I cannot count the number of times he's told me "I haven't seen them all yet, so once they're out on DVD, I expect the full collector's set as a present!" Well, I'm kind of cheap, so I wasn't about to re-buy the first 4 that we already have, so an Amazon order and a rubber band seemed like my best bet. (This was after I tried Wal-Mart and Target the Wednesday before Father's Day, so yes, the order came in late, and no, I still haven't given them to him.)

Well, I figured if I was paying for the shipping, I might as well buy The Hunger Games books too, because, like every other wishes-he-was-a-reader-but-would-rather-just-watch-a-movie person, I loved the movies and promised I would read the books this summer.

My shipment came in, and this is what I was graced with:

Not cool, man. Not cool.

Have you ever had to exchange something on Amazon? It's really not that difficult, but it's tedious enough to be a real pain in the ass.

Speaking of a pain in the ass, Justin Bieber was on the Late Show this week. Please note his face after he refers to The Sistine Chapel as "The Sixteenth Chapel":

He has no idea what he's just said. He "believes" the audience thinks he's just hilarious.

In other news, my dogs just got their first hair cuts. They're adorable, but now it's easier for them to find each others' junk. Awesome.