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My agent called. I had an audition for Dionne Warwick's PSYCHIC HOTLINE.  I left early because I had to drive through Beverly Hills to get there. Traffic is always a nightmare in Beverly Hills.
My boyfriend told me to stop by his bar on my way to the audition. He wanted to buy me lunch. He ordered me a Goat Cheese Salad. "I don't eat Goat Cheese," I said. I ate it anyway. I got up to leave and a wave of nausea came over me. Then I felt sharp pains in my abdomen. I started sweating and feeling dizzy. 
I didn't want to miss the audition. It was a big opportunity to get in the door with Dionne Warwick. (just kidding) I stifled the nausea and jumped in my car. By the time I arrived at the studio my skin color was pea-green.  I'd never turned colors before. This wasn't good for the camera.
The casting director asked me if I was feeling okay. I didn't respond because I felt like I was going to puke and that definitely wouldn't look good on tape.  
Instead, I sprinted out the door, knowing my agent would dump me for missing such a great opportunity. (kidding again) I didn't care. The pain was that bad. I pulled into a 7-11 parking lot and found a pay phone. (pre-cell phone days) I called my boyfriend. He said it was the goat cheese. It was bad. He was sorry. OH MY GOD I HAD EATEN THE ENTIRE SALAD. He said I should go to an emergency room. I had food poisoning.  The pain was getting worse by the SECOND. I crawled (literally) into the store and begged anyone to help me.
"Is there a doctor in here? A nurse? Anyone who can help me? I have food poisoning,"  By now, I was ROLLING on the filthy, disgusting floor of a 7-11, moaning and crying from the excruciating pains in my stomach. I was begging strangers to help me.
Two men responded. They said they were doctors and I should go with them to their place so they could give me some medicine. 
Sounds shady, right? It was. I didn't give a FLYING FUCK. I thought I was DYING. The two men drove me to their apartment. One of them pulled out a giant book of MEDICINE. If I hadn't been so sick I would've laughed out loud. This was getting SHADIER by the MINUTE. The guy with the medicine book said he found a drug that would induce vomiting. He went to the pharmacy and returned with a bottle of liquid. I guzzled it. HOLY SHIT it was potent. We all waited for something to happen. I couldn't believe the fucked up situation I was in. What the HELL? Typical of my life, I thought to myself. The three of us were sitting there, waiting. It was awkward. A second later I was running to the bathroom. I puked. Whew!
Much better! (not really, but at this point I just wanted to go home) The "medicine man" told me I shouldn't leave yet. He said I had a long way to go before it was over. I insisted on leaving. Medicine Man went back to the 7-11 to get my car. I thanked both of them profusely. I felt like such aLOSER. I ran to my car and drove away. Damn.
It was rush hour. I was in gridlock on RODEO DRIVE when the medicine took full effect. It hit me like a TRAIN. I rolled down my window just in time as I began PROJECTILE VOMITING into the street. I felt like Linda Blair in THE EXORCIST. The vomit was SHOOTING OUT OF MY MOUTH LIKE A JET STREAM. I remember looking into the eyes of a horrified woman in a RANGE ROVER- she had 3 kids in the backseat. There was nothing I could do as my vomit hit her passenger side window... there were cars all around me- everyone was watching... IT WAS SO HUMILIATING and the traffic WASN'T MOVING so I had to sit there while people were getting sick all around me from watching the scene. I tried to hide my face. The mother was still gaping at me. Her kids were trying to roll down the back window so they could see the puke on the side of the car. She was yelling at them. Then, it hit me again. HOLY SHIT- there's no stopping it!  This time, I tried to open my door in attempt to avoid hitting her car again. My hand got stuck in the door handle and the projectile vomit was spraying all over me and my steering wheel and my door- I had no options. I leaned out the window again. For the second time I made eye contact with the horrified mother as my vomit sprayed across her windows and doors. 
The traffic started to move. I rolled up my window and tried not to gag when I gripped the steering wheel. 
It was over, right? I couldn't possibly have anything left in my stomach. Now if I could just get the FUCK home. The worst part was being in traffic with the same people who watched me projectile vomit. I wanted to disappear.
It happened 3 more times before I got home. The third time was on Hollywood Boulevard. A group of tourists captured some great photos.
I didn't book the Dionne Warwick spot. My agent dumped me the next day. 




I hate going to the pharmacy. When I pull into the parking lot, I scan the number of cars, hoping for a low count. If it's high, I'm convinced everyone is at the pharmacy window. Sometimes, if a car pulls up next to me and I see an old person in it, I rush to get to the door first. If the old person is already getting out of their car, I have no choice but to hold the door open for them. But once I'm inside I know I can beat them to the pharmacy window. Old people can't run. I pick up speed,pushing other customers out of my way. I make a fast left and head down the card aisle. Damn! Road-blocked by an employee taking down the Valentine Day cards.  I revert and run down the far left side of the store... From a distance I can see the pharmacy- and a long line all the way back to the Sinus and Allergy section. DAMN! I try to find the last person in line. For some reason, this is never an easy task.
"Hi, are you in line?" No answer. I try another person. "I'm sorry, are you the last person in line?" It's so odd when nobody will answer my fucking question. It's so crowded in front of the counter that I have no choice but to go back and come down another aisle.  Of COURSE, by then another person is already in front of me. ARRRRGH! 
After like, a MONTH, there's only one person left. Dear GOD it's an OLD PERSON.
I throw my hands up in the air. 
Shit. Did I say that out loud?

I look behind me to see how long the line is now. There's no one behind me. This entire time nobody came in after me? That shouldn't bother me but for some reason it does.

The old bag says she can't read the medicine label. 
"What kind of medicine is this?" She asks. "I can't read it."
The pharmacy assistant replies, "I'll write it down for you in large print, so you'll know what you're taking. Let me find a pad of paper."
She finds a pad of paper.
"How are the grand-kids Mrs. H? I bet they're growing fast."
"What? I can't hear you. What about my arthritis?"
The assistant gets a giggle out of this. 
After they talk about the little shit grandkids for twenty minutes the pharmacy assistant rings her up. Old Bag looks at her. "How much is it? My insurance should pay for all of it."
"You only have to pay $6.00."
"That's outrageous!" The Old Bag says.
I'm ready to PUNCH HER IN THE FACE, but since she's 110 years old, I refrain. 
"Well, I'll pay for it but I'm not happy about this."
"Okay, that will be $6.00 then."
"Let me get my wallet."
Oh boy, here we go. She finally pulls out her wallet and fishes around for her debit card. She mumbles under her breath.
"Where is it? I thought it was right here."
I'm fidgeting, rocking back and forth, no longer hiding my impatience. She finds her card. I prepare myself for the next step.
"Where do I put this?"
"Swipe it here." The pharmacy assistant points to the machine.
"Uh oh. I hit the wrong button, how do I get it back to the beginning?"
I want stab myself in the eye with a screwdriver.
A DECADE goes by before she is done. When she walks by me, I shove her into the magazine rack.
(No I don't.)
My transaction takes 2 minutes. I leave the store and drive away, smashing my bumper into the pavement from a giant pot-hole.




It was Christmas Eve. I got a call from a resident about dog shit in the front lobby. Apparently, someone had let their dog shit in the front doorway, and left it there. The shit had been stepped in and smeared all over the place; the floor, elevators, and carpet. Someone even rolled a carriage through it.
I was with my family at the time, and asked the resident if they would mind picking it up as best as they could until I returned.
It was 2 am by the time I got home.  I was exhausted. I walked through the front lobby and almost puked from the smell of SHIT.
It was now Christmas Day. I thought about all of the visitors that would be coming to the mill in a few hours to enjoy the holiday with their families. I had spent WEEKS decorating because I wanted to make it look wonderful and festive for the Christmas season.
I went upstairs to my condo so I could change. 
I took off my dress and stepped into my "SHITPANTS." (The sweatpants I wear when I have to clean up dog feces.) I threw on a hoodie and headed back to the shit-show. When the elevator door opened, I looked at the Christmas tree and smiled. It looked beautiful. The mill was quiet and peaceful as all of the little children slept, dreaming about Santa Claus and reindeer and presents... 
Then I inhaled, and nearly puked again. The smell of shit seemed to be floating in the air. Where was it? How far had it been tracked in? Which carriage rolled through it? I felt so dumb, walking down the hallway, bending over and sniffing the carpet. What a sucky way to start Christmas. I wanted to find the dog’s owner and fill their Christmas stocking with all kinds of shit- human shit, monkey shit, horse shit, pig shit- you name it.
Snapping out of my daydream, I concluded that the shit could be ANYWHERE. So, I went to the utility closet and grabbed a mop. Then I went to the trash room and filled a bucket with hot water and FABULOSO. I set my keys on the shelf next to the sink so I could use both hands to carry the mop and bucket.
I headed back, trudging along, feeling sorry for myself. I didn't even have Gypsy (my dog) to keep me company anymore. I was close to tears when I opened the front door and stepped into the exterior lobby area. I set the mop and bucket on the floor. At the exact moment I remembered I left my keys in the trash room, the door slammed shut behind me.
(Slow-motion scream, like in a movie.) "NOOOOOOO!"
It was too late. I was locked out of the mill on Christmas day. 
I started mopping the floor.
It was freezing in the exterior lobby. (It's not heated.) The draft blowing under the door was AWESOME. My hoodie and shitpants were keeping me warm. (JOKE) I could see my own breath. I didn't have my cell phone. WICKED AWESOME. I finished mopping the floor and then peered inside to see the clock on the wall. It was 3am. Who would be coming in or out of the mill at 3am on Christmas morning? I looked at the intercom system, trying to think of who might be awake that I could buzz to let me in. I laughed out loud. NOBODY IS AWAKE AT 3am on Christmas morning!
Of course, I tried pulling on the door a million times, as if it would magically open for me. I tried using my fingernail. DUMB. Broke it. DAMN!
I considered my options. Could the trash room window be unlocked? Or the door? Or maybe the garage doors in the back of the mill were unlocked? I went for it. The 9 degree temperature made it lots of fun.(another JOKE) The trash room was locked. FUCK. My last hope were the doors by the garage- on the other side of the mill. Oh my God. Could I really make it to the back of the mill without a coat or gloves or hat? And what if I couldn't get in? I'd have to run all the way back! (Equal to a half mile.) I went for it. DUMB. I fell halfway around the building and ripped a hole in my shitpants. When I got to the doors, they were locked. By then, I couldn't feel my face. Or my fingers. Or my ears. I thought to myself, "I could die out here!" So I fantasized about being Rambo again and ran as fast as I could back around the building. I got to the front door but my hands were useless. I had to loop my arm through the handle and pull with my neck and shoulder to open it. When I got inside, I had to defrost. I looked around at my resources. I needed something to keep me warm. Under the intercom system, I had set up a table with a Candy Cane House and Santa, on top of a red table cloth. I put the house and Santa on the floor and wrapped myself in the tablecloth. I was so exhausted all I wanted to do was sleep. I curled up in a ball on the floor but that didn't last long because the floor was like an ice-berg. There was a grocery cart by the far wall. I climbed into it and covered myself with the tablecloth. It's amazing how small I could make myself to fit in. I think I had shrunk from being frozen.
I don't remember falling asleep. I just remember the humiliation upon waking up to a resident staring at me. I had to explain about the person who left dog shit in the lobby. At least the resident was kind enough to say the lobby smelled good.



I head into WALMART. I grab a carriage. As soon as I walk through the door I realize it's a broken carriage and the wheels squeak and when I push it, the damn thing veers to the left so I have to keep lifting it up to make it go straight. I only need a few things so I decide to keep it and head toward the produce section to buy some fruit. The place is PACKED. I'm claustrophobic. I try not to make eye-contact with anyone but it's difficult because people are EVERYWHERE. A family of like, TEN (exaggeration- more like, five) decide to stop in the middle of an aisle and play with the stuffed animals and the skateboards and bicycles. I wait for them to notice me, and hopefully move aside. No such luck. I decide to take a different route. I lift up my carriage and turn around. There's an old lady right up my ASS with a carriage full of toilet paper and tissues and DEPENDS and all sorts of old-people shit and she looks at me with DEATH in her eyes so I turn back around to the family and say, "I'm sorry, I'm going to squeeze by, if that's okay..."
This, apparently, pisses off the mother. She gets in my face, (like we did in High School) and she says, "You gotta problem with my kids?"
I'm speechless because her question MADE NO SENSE WHATSOEVER. 
"You ain't got no right talkin' to my kids like that!"
Without thinking I say, "I love your kids! They're adorable!" Which makes even less sense than what she said but I didn't feel like getting into a brawl so, I turn back around again and say to the old bag, "Please take your carriage out of my ASS so I can back up." (I didn't really say that, but I wanted to.) Instead I say, "Please let me back up because APE-WOMAN won't move and my Bi-Polar side is emerging. I might have to start killing people."
I didn't say that, either. But I wanted to.
Instead, I say, "MOVE IT."
She moves right away.
I finally make it to the produce section. It's a traffic jam. I pick up a pint of strawberries and turn them over. At least three or four of the strawberries are moldy. I pick up another one. Same thing. I go through EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PINT OF STRAWBERRIES and they all have three of four with mold on them. I don't get that? Are the employees told to put a few moldy ones in every pint? Can't they pack at least one or two pints with all good strawberries? 
I move over to the blueberries.There's one pint left. I reach for it. A giant hand shoots in front of me and grabs the last one. 
"I was here first!" An angry voice shouts at me.
I turn around to see a half-human, half PRIMATE hovering over me.
"Sure- no problem." 
(Long pause) I move on. Cucumbers are next. I pick up every single cucumber, but they're all soft. I hate that.
I look at the lettuce selection. Most of the lettuce is already turning brown. Grrrr...
I head over to the candy aisle. There are 500 people in it. Screw the candy.
I head over to the bagel section. There's a guy frantically grabbing bags of bagels and throwing them in his cart. How weird. Is he on speed? All I want is one bag of blueberry bagels. I reach over to grab one.
"DON'T TOUCH IT! I'M TAKING ALL OF THE BLUEBERRY BAGELS!" He tosses me a bag of Onion bagels. I hate Onion bagels. 
"I don't want the Onion bagels. I just want one package of Blueberry. You have... " I counted. "Twelve bags of blueberry bagels in your cart. Could I have just one?"
"No! They're all mine!"
Fuck this shit. I don't feel like dealing with Crack-Head, so I move on. Damn. WALMART can be a dangerous place to shop.
My carriage is still empty, so I decide to leave. What a waste of time.
On my way out, I remember I need cat litter. Shit. I'm all out. Mafia needs something to poop in, or she'll take a shit in my closet again.
I reluctantly push my retarded carriage, (sorry, politically incorrect) my defectivecarriage, in the direction of the pet aisle. 
"Come here you little shit! Put that down!" A woman with purple hair and a giant hoop through her nose is screaming at her little brat, who is running around the store with a size Double-D bra on his head. I'm feeling nauseous. The claustrophobia is reaching a near-panic level.
Finally, I find the cat litter. The aisle is so crowded my head starts spinning and I feel like I'm going to puke.
"GET ME OUT OF HERE!" I scream at the top of my lungs. I start shoving people out of my way. I see the old lady who tried to push her carriage up my ass.  "She must have cats," I think to myself.  I punch her and she falls into a candy display. Bags of candy fall on the floor. A truckload of little brats dive in and grab pieces of candy. I run them over with my carriage. Mothers come running, screaming for help. The kids are bleeding and the old lady is gasping for air. I think she's having a heart attack.
"Can you tell me where the vacuums are located?" A normal-looking girl snaps me out of my daydream.
"Aisle seventeen, halfway down on the left." I don't bother to tell her I'm not an employee. I don't care. I grab the cat litter and head to the checkout lines.
MOTHER OF GOD. It's like being at Gillette Stadium to see a Patriots game. I find a short line with only two people in front of me. SCORE! I can't believe it. I'll be out of here in five minutes! The cashier is scanning each item in slow motion. I feel like I'm in Walmart HELL.
I decide to ditch the cat litter and get the F out of there. I'd rather my cat take a shit in my closet than be in Walmart anymore.



I hate bugs in New England. After living in LA for twenty years, I'm still not used to the ONSLAUGHT of insects that come out during the summer months.  It's a BUG INVASION. We are outnumbered. There's no stopping it.
It was a warm, sunny day- perfect for a hike with my dog, Gypsy. We started out behind the mill, down the dirt road that leads to the fields. The dirt road was boring, so we veered off the path and entered the woods. BIG MISTAKE. Immediately, I noticed the volcanic-like ant hills sprouting up all over the place. I remember them from last year. The holes at the top were HUGE. I pictured giant, red, angry ants spewing out of the hole like lava. Gypsy and I picked up our pace. I walked through a string of cobwebs and started flailing my arms all over the place. We kept going. I walked through another web. Then another one. I was getting pissed off. I tripped over a rock. Then a tree root.  "FUCKING SON OF A WHORE!" I was using some serious vulgarity.
I was sweating so much the bugs were sticking to my face and neck. I felt like I was being eaten alive. I told Gypsy we were going back. When I opened my mouth to say, "Come on, Girl!" an army of gnats flew in. I started spitting them out, tripping over the fucking tree roots again and again while trying to avoid stepping on the ant volcanoes. I felt like we were in Vietnam. We kept running. The flies were buzzing in my ears and trying to get up my nose. I used my hand like a windshield wiper, waving it in front of my face in a continuous motion, to ward off the insects as we ran for our lives.
At last, we emerged from the woods exhausted, wounded, and defeated. I still had bugs in my mouth. Gypsy did, too. I was grossed out for a long time. 
No more hikes in the woods with Gypsy. 




I was vacuuming the carpet when I felt something move on my head. I turned off the vacuum. I stood up. I lifted my hand and put it on my head. It moved again. I dropped the vacuum and started flipping my head all over the place. Whatever it was, it was tangled in my hair. It had probably been there for a while. The thought freaked me out more. I almost broke my neck trying to shake it out. Finally, a coin-size object whipped across the room and hit the wall. It dropped to the floor. It was a giant BEETLE. I was grossed out. It was HUGE and UGLY. What if it laid eggs on my head? Then my scalp would be crawling with baby beetles and I would have to shave my head. I don't think I would look good bald. I looked at the beetle on the floor. He was still alive, trying to recover from the hit against the wall. I felt bad for him. What if he didn't mean to land on my head? Maybe he was flying by and I stood up and he got caught in my hairspray? I got a paper plate from my cabinet and scooped him up, carefully.I brought him outside and slid him off the plate to the ground. He seemed grateful. It looked like he was about to fly away when a giant BOOT appeared above us and stepped on him. I looked up. It was the UPS guy. 
"Hi Amy! I have a package for you!"



When I was young, I was hairy and muscular. The excessive hair (yuck) comes from being Armenian and Greek. The giant BICEPS come from GOD KNOWS WHERE. I have bigger biceps than most men. (yuck)

Thank GOD for electrolysis, otherwise I would have hung myself in grade school. Kids can be BRUTAL. Thank GOD I was muscular, because I used to beat up the kids who made fun of me. Then I'd go home and cry. I remember one time a classmate named "Matt" announced to everyone that I had a bigger moustache than his dad. Another time, in Spanish class, the teacher asked if anyone knew the Spanish word for moustache. The boy sitting next to me said, "Why don't you ask Amy? She has one." 

When I used to ride the bus to school, there was a kid who called me "GORILLA GIRL." I hated riding the bus.

In the school cafeteria, when I was waiting in line to get a chocolate milk, a girl told me that my eyebrows looked like giant caterpillars on my forehead.

Summers were hard for me. I didn't like wearing short-sleeve shirts. I'd wear a jacket even when it was 90 degrees out. "Why are you wearing a jacket, Amy?" The kids would ask me. I would say, "I'm cold." And they would say, "Then how come you're sweating?"

At age 7, I was hairy, muscular, sweaty, and depressed. My future wasn't looking too bright. 

Today, I'm not hairy anymore. I'm still muscular, though. I often wonder if I was supposed to be a man. I think God put me in the wrong line when he made me. I forgive him, though. Being hairy and muscular made me a better person.

Or maybe I just say that to make myself feel better.



I hate when you're wearing an article of clothing and there's a zipper on the side, which makes you think there's a pocket, but when you go to put something in it, it's not really a pocket. Why the zipper then?

I hate that.



I hate people who SUE. That's why I call them SEWER PEOPLE. They belong in the SEWER, where all the shit is. 
What is up with these people? Some of them brag about it. They brag about how they don't have to work because they sued their boss for pain and suffering from a HANGNAIL they got trying to open a window. "The window was dangerous. It was a hazard to all of the employees. I'll never be able to work again because I have PTS." (Post-traumatic stress syndrome.) 
Or how about when someone slips on a patch of ice in front of your neighbor's house and SUES them for negligence because they didn't shovel the entire neighborhood sidewalk? Or when someone walks into a BRICK WALL and sues the brick-makers for failing to put a "DANGER: BRICK WALL" sign on it? 

I hate people who SUE.



Oh dear. I'm pathetic. Another dating website? It's like shopping for a psychiatrist. You keep hoping the next one will be normal. 

I received a "wink" from a guy. I clicked on his profile. He looked happy and goofy-like. It was appealing to me. I clicked on another photo of him. He was tall and handsome. Okay, this is good... I read about his lifestyle, interests, stats, etc. He's adventurous, (whatever- they all say that) loves beaches, hiking, nature, and animals. SCORE! I didn't need to go on. (I should have.) 
I "winked" back.
He responded right away. (Oh my god he was on-line! Shit!)
"Do you want to have dinner with me?"
Wow. He didn't waste time. I thought about it for a second.
We planned to meet at his favorite Italian restaurant the following night.  He gave me directions. I arrived on time. (Miraculous!) When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw him standing by the entrance. He looked HOT. My hands started sweating. I hoped he had a nice personality. 
I got out of my car. I knew he was watching me. Weird feeling. He waved and smiled as I walked over to him. (GREAT smile.)
"Hi, I'm Dan." He said.
Was he giving me his real name on the first date? 
"Hi, I'm Am-Amanda," I didn't want to give him my real name yet.
"Is it really Amanda or do you have a stutter?"
Long pause.
"Excuse me?"
He laughed. "I'm joking with you! My real name is Dave."
"Oh." I laughed. Now I was confused. Should I tell him mine? Or was he still giving me a fake name? I said, "This on-line dating thing is really awkward."
"Yes, it is." He said.
Then he gave me a big, warm hug (it was an awesome hug) and said, "Let's go inside. It's cold and your teeth are chattering."
They were? I hadn't noticed.
He opened the door for me and the hostess led us to a little table by a window.  
"Can I take your coat?" He asked me.
I was melting.
I gave him my coat and he said, "Wow."
I didn't know what to say.
"You look stunning." He said.
"I do?" What a dumb reply.
He laughed. He had a deep, sexy laugh. "Yes, you do."
This date was going well! He pulled out my chair. I sat down. We ordered drinks. He had a Sam Adams. I ordered a glass of wine. I don't like wine.
"So, you're a boxer?" He asked me. "I read it in your profile."
I was flattered he read my profile. "I like to box, but I'm not really a boxer."
"I've never dated a woman who boxed."
"Me neither," I said.
We both laughed.
I loved his teeth. He had beautiful teeth. And his lips were sweet too. 
"Do you hunt?" I asked him.
He laughed again. "No, I don't kill animals and I don't eat them, either." 
I almost jumped across the table and made out with him.
We talked some more. The waitress came by and we ordered pasta and salad. I couldn't believe how well things were going. This guy was too perfect. RED FLAGS. 
He starting eating his pasta. So did I. I realized it had a cream sauce instead of marina. It was supposed to be marina sauce.  I didn't care. Apparently, he did. 
"This is wrong. We ordered marinara sauce."
"That's okay, this is delicious." I said. 
"But it's WRONG. She wasn't paying attention." He said it in a loud voice.
"The waitress. She probably didn't graduate from High School." As he said this, he started waving his hand in the air, trying to get her attention. I was HORRIFIED.
The waitress came over. He pointed at his pasta and said, "Does that look like marina sauce to you?"
OH MY GOD! He was patronizing her! What a DOUCHEBAG!
She apologized sincerely and picked up our plates.
Then he said, "Are you going to comp our meal? We shouldn't have to pay for it." 
I think my jaw dislocated when it hit the floor. 
"What an ASSHOLE." Did I say that out loud? I have a habit of doing that. 
"Excuse me?" He looked shocked. I guess I did say it out loud.
I suddenly became witty. "Do I stutter?"
"That's it!" He shoved himself away from the table and threw his napkin down.
It was the most RIDICULOUS thing I'd ever seen.
"You pay the bill. I have another date lined up anyway." Then he walked out of the restaurant.
The waitress and I looked at each other.
"Dating website?" She asked me.

I hate MEN.



"I'm built like a house. My body is chiseled. I can do any sport- I ran a mile yesterday in 5 minutes. I'll cut my time to 4:50 by next week. The ladies call me The Black Stallion." 

I was on the phone with an arrogant ASSHOLE from CUPID.COM. 

"Wow. That's amazing. Especially at your age." I was being sarcastic but he was so full of himself he didn't notice. I decided to amuse myself and let him talk some more.

"I'm good looking, and very successful but I won't discuss my salary. I'm blessed by the good Lord. He is my salvation. I go to church regularly. I noticed you didn't check a preference for religion. Are you a Christian? I don't date non-Christians but your profile was half-decent so I thought I'd check you out. Aren't you going to ask me why they call me a Stallion?" He said.

"I'll pass." 

He proceeded to tell me anyway.

"I'm great in bed." 

This on-line dating crap was getting old.

"And I'm Cindy Crawford."

I hung up. 

Wow. Nothing more to say about that one.



I hear about it all of the time. "Success" stories from MATCH.COM. Whoopee! Hurray for you! (sarcasm)  I must have been taking out the trash when it was my turn for success. I get all the losers. My last date was with a guy who had halitosis. I almost GAGGED when he walked into the bar. It hit me from across the room. All I could think was, "Oh my God. That's my date. Where do I hide?" I looked down as fast as I could. It was too late. He saw me.
"BE-TRUE! OVER HERE!" Oh my God. He was yelling my code name across the bar. I wanted to DIE.
"Hi! I'm Henry!"
It figured he had a name that began with an "H".
I couldn't believe how bad his breath smelled. It was like standing next to a pile of dead animals.
I turned my head as he gave me a hug. The next few minutes were challenging. I tried not to inhale. It sounded like I was out of breath when I introduced myself. (I was.)
"I'm Lisa," I said. (I never tell them my real name on a first date.)  
The bar was crowded, which made things worse because he had to lean into my ear when he spoke. I thought my ear was going to melt from the bacteria coming out of his mouth.
I noticed other bar patrons moving away from us. I'm sure they smelled it, too.
"Doesn't he know he has halitosis?" I thought to myself. All he had to do was breathe into the wind.
I pulled out a pack of gum. THANK GOD I had stopped at 7-11.
"I'm always worried I have bad breath," I said casually, as I put a piece in my mouth.  "Do you want one?" I practically shoved it in his face.
"No, I'm good, thank you." He said.
(long pause)
"Are you sure? It's REALLY good gum! The flavor lasts forever." I was giving it my best shot.
It didn't work. He refused the gum. I tried to be polite and endure the small talk, but I started getting dizzy from holding my breath. I stood up.
"I apologize, Henry. I'm not feeling well. I'm going home."
"Really?" He said. "You're not having a good time? Don't you want a beer or something?"
"I'm sorry. I really don't feel well. Thank you anyway." I grabbed my purse and hurried to the door.  
"LISA! Wait a minute!"
Oh my GOD. He was right behind me.
"Could you drop me off? I live close by."
Was he kidding? I couldn't believe this shit. "Where's your car?"
He paused before he answered.
"My brother has it."
Bullshit. What a loser.
I did not want this guy getting in my car. It would smell like DEATH for a year.
"How close do you live?" I asked.
"Just down the street."
It wasn't. 
I fumigated my car the next day and deleted my account from MATCH.COM. 



I was living in LA, pursuing my acting dream. I had an audition for a TV movie about aliens. It was for the lead role. They called me back and I ended up booking the job. I was ecstatic! I memorized the script in two days and showed up on the set feeling like a star...

The make-up artist started to apply a thick, green liquid to my face and neck and head... he told me it would harden and it might be difficult to eat or drink. I was confused because my role in the script was not the alien. I was supposed to be human. I inquired about this and the make-up artist looked at me oddly. I started getting nervous and asked to speak with the director right away.

Director: Who are you? What do you want?

I was taken aback.

Me: I'm Amy. Amy Wade, the lead character.
Director: (he laughs out loud) We have a 'name actress' for the lead role. Who are you?

I wanted to die. What an embarrassing moment.

Me: I'm Am-
Director: (interrupting me) I don't have time for this shit. JANICE! Where the fuck is Janice? Someone get my assistant!

The alien make-up was solidifying. I could barely move my lips.

"Janice" came running into the make-up room.

Janice: I'm here, what happened?

Director: Who is this girl?

Janice: I don't know- who are you? What's your name? (looking at her clipboard) You're the alien stunt double.

Me: I'm what?

Janice: An alien, who does stunts. Did I stutter?

The comment made me want to BITCH-SLAP her.

Me: I was cast as the lead character, not the alien.

They laughed.

Director: You're joking, right? You're a no-name. A nobody whose costing me time and money. Janice, you handle this. She needs to be on set in 10 minutes.

He walked away.

Me: But I memorized the whole script! I was cast as "Simtra." That's the-

Janice: (interrupting) Emily, we're past that. MOVING ON... Miguel- do you have the body paint ready?

Me: My name is Amy, not Emily.

Janice: Okay Amy, get rid of your attitude. Now take off your fucking clothes so Miguel can finish with the body make-up. 

Me: Excuse me?

Janice: Jesus Christ, you actors are a pain in my ass. Your character is naked, but you'll be covered in green paint so you won't be able to see anything.

Me: Wait a second, HOLD ON! You want me to do stunt work- NAKED????

Janice: Are you DEAF? Holy shit I just told you- the green paint will cover your body, we'll hardly see anything once Miguel has finished.

I was barely listening. The green shit on my face was hardening- I'm clausterphobic.

Me: Oh my God I can't feel my lips!

Janice: That's okay- you don't have any lines.

I wanted to shove a STICK UP HER ASS.

Me: How much are you paying me for this?

Janice: Two hundred bucks- that's fifty more than what we originally agreed upon.

Me: You want me to be a NAKED ALIEN STUNT DOUBLE FOR $200 BUCKS?!!!

I started to cry but my nostrils were sealed shut and I couldn't breathe.

Me: Someone get this make-up off of me! I'm outta here!

I didn't care if I ever worked with these people again. This SLUT-WHORE was pushing me over the edge.

I couldn't peel the make-up off my face. I started hyperventilating.

Director: (returning) What the fuck is going on? She's supposed to be done by now! The crew is waiting for her to get on the lift for the first stunt!

The director looked at me.

Director: What the fuck are you doing? You're ruining the mask!

I was punching myself in the face, trying to crack the hardened make-up.

Director: You are costing us money! (to Janice) What is her name?

Janice: Emily.

I cracked the mask around my mouth and started pulling off chunks of it.

Me: I'm Amy! My name is Amy! Someone help me get this stuff OFF MY FACE!

Director: (yelling at me) Stop breaking it! (to Janice) Where did you get this girl? 

I punched myself again and the mask broke into a million pieces. I was FREE!


Me: Is that a threat or do you mean I have to pay for the alien mask?

Director: Listen you little BRAT- I will RUIN your name in this town! You can't walk off the set! The crew is waiting for you and we don't have time to hire another stunt double so GET UNDRESSED and GET YOUR ASS ON SET! Janice! Find Mitchell to help Miguel. He can work on another mask while Miguel does the body paint.

At this point, I wasn't embarrassed anymore. My BI-POLAR side was emerging. When that happens, there's no turning back.

Janice walked over to me and tried to tug at the arms of my shirt. This was NOT A SMART MOVE.

"Bi-Polar Amy" took over.


Mitchell and Miguel froze. Janice backed off.

I grabbed my bags and walked out of the make-up room. I wasn't done. I found the director on set with the crew. I was so furious I was shaking. My thoughts were racing and my mind was seeking VENGEANCE.

Me: HEY!! 

The director turned around.


Director: You can't talk to me like that! You work for ME! You will NOT walk off this set!


I started walking toward my car. The director followed me.

Director: Your career is OVER young lady!

I stopped and turned around.

Me: I HAVE NO CAREER, I'm a no-name, remember? Now get away from me!

I was FUMING. He was still following me to my car. The veins in my neck and forehead were BURSTING THROUGH MY SKIN. I grabbed a metal baton out of my car and held it in front of me.

Me: I said, BACK OFF!

Director: Someone call the cops!

I'd gone over the edge. The entire cast and crew had assembled in the background. Some of them were giving me a "thumbs up" sign. Most of them were laughing and enjoying the entertainment.

As I got into my car it dawned on me that I could be arrested for pulling out an illegal weapon. WOW. I sort of fucked myself with that move. I'd have to ditch the baton as soon as possible. I peeled out of the parking lot.

Me: (to myself) A NAKED ALIEN STUNT DOUBLE??? 

I cried the whole way home.

NAKED ALIEN STUNT DOUBLE was one of MANY strange and unfortunate experiences I would have during my twenty years in the pursuit.



It was 1993. I was a waitress at "THE DIVE", a restaurant owned by Steven Spielberg and 3 other Hollywood bigwigs. I'd met Spielberg when I initially got hired. He was my hero. I'd just seen Schindler's List and I thought he was the greatest director on the PLANET. After working at 'The Dive' for a year and a half, Mr. Spielberg actually knew my name. One day he called the manager to inform us he was coming in to celebrate his nephew's birthday. He wanted to reserve a private section of the restaurant to avoid being disturbed.  I was assigned to be his waitress. 

I was nervous. I'd waited on him before, but not for a special occasion like this. I dropped a tray of wine glasses 5 minutes before they arrived. The crew helped me vacuum up the glass and re-set the tables just before they showed up. Fifteen people (mostly kids) entered the restaurant and were taken immediately to my station, which was empty other than the large table I had set up for them. 
I was serving Cokes and Sprites and Lemonades to the kids when Spielberg took me aside. I was shitting my pants but tried to remain calm. He told me there was a birthday cake for his nephew in the back of the kitchen. He wanted me to bring out the cake when they were done eating, and sing Happy Birthday with all of the servers in the restaurant. 
"No problem, Steve! You can count on me!" (I'm totally kidding. I didn't say "Steve".) In fact, I was so nervous I didn't reply at all. I just nodded my head and wiped the sweat from my eyebrows before it dripped into my eyes.

Everything was going GREAT. The food was perfect, the kids were laughing and having a great time. Mr. Spielberg looked relaxed and pleased. 
I cleared the tables and re-set them with dessert plates and forks. Spielberg looked at me and winked. That was the "sign" to bring out the birthday cake. I ran to the back of the kitchen. All of the other servers were waiting to come out with me and sing "Happy Birthday." (Just an F.Y.I.- this is the WORST part of being a waitress. NOBODY likes to sing Happy Birthday, it's totally ANNOYING and we HATE IT) 
I lit the birthday candles on the cake.
"Is everyone ready?" I asked.
I held the cake with two hands as we all started singing and marched toward Spielberg's table. Something wasn't right. Spielberg was waving his arms at me, standing behind his nephew. He mouthed the words, "That's not our cake!"
I couldn't believe it. OH MY GOD I had to think FAST.
"HOLD ON EVERYONE!" I interrupted.
The room got quiet.
"That was FABULOUS! Great dress rehearsal! We're ready for the real deal now! Hold that note- we'll be right back!"
I detoured everyone back into the kitchen. They were all talking at once. 
"You brought out the wrong cake?"
"Amy- you didn't notice it was a POCAHONTAS cake? His nephew is a BOY!" said "Tricia", a snooty blond waitress, who relished this moment. I wanted to bitch-slap her. 
Jose', my busboy, said, "I saw a BATMAN cake earlier- maybe that was it?"
"Where is it? Who took the BATMAN cake?! OH MY GOD THEY'RE WAITING FOR US!" I was close to tears. This was the WORST thing that could possibly happen. How could I tell Spielberg his nephew's cake was missing?
At that moment, "Felicia", a new waitress, came running into the kitchen with a flaming BATMAN cake. The candles were almost out, and the wax had smeared BATMAN into a blue pulp. Felicia was supposed to have the POCAHONTAS cake. I was supposed to have BATMAN. 
We switched up. Both of the cakes looked like shit. I tried to re-light the candles. It didn't matter that my hands kept dropping matches into the cake because the wax covered them up.  

I was going to FAINT. 

"Let's go everyone!"

We marched back out of the kitchen and started singing "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" again. My fellow servers were belting it out, (on my behalf, I'm sure) to try to save my sorry ass from this nightmare. 
The kids were oblivious. They didn't care. They were running around and blowing whistles and singing and none of them looked at the cake until the song was over. The room got quiet so the birthday boy could make his wish before blowing out the candles.
I felt like I was stuck in a really bad movie. We all looked at the melted pile of wax and blue gunk that used to be BATMAN. SPIELBERG was FUMING. His nephew didn't seem to notice. He made a wish but all the candles had burned out before he could blow on them so I tried to save this moment as well...
"Whoopsie! The candles were so excited, they blew themselves out!" (DUMBEST THING I'VE EVER SAID)
I whipped out a giant lighter. The flame was too high. The candy decorations caught fire and flamed up like a firecracker. I had no choice but to slam my hand on top of the cake to put it out. Now the kid wasn't happy. He started WAILING.
I was frozen in my place. All of the other servers ran back to their stations. 
I tried to console the little boy... 
"I'll bake you another one, honey! You can come back tomorrow and we'll do this again!" I didn't even know what I was saying.
My manager appeared and grabbed my arm.
"Just leave the floor, Amy. I'll talk to Spielberg."

Spielberg didn't fire me. (I couldn't believe it.) I quit. I was traumatized for a long time. I had nightmares about flaming blue cakes and BATMAN BURNING and Schindler's List and Spielberg lighting my hair on fire while crowds of people watched and applauded. 

I used to love BATMAN, and Pocahontas too. Now I HATE THEM. Almost as much as I hate singing Happy Birthday.



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