I just talked to a psychic on the phone and she told me I am going to get a writing partner named Barbara and that Barbara’s sense of humor is kind of like Margaret Cho.
I did a Google image search for “Barbara,” but I didn’t find anything too promising.
I just hope my Barbara isn’t the half naked girl who appears in a bunch of those pictures because I really don’t need to be making friends with any chicks who are way hotter than me. I’ll take one of the short, sassy haircut Barbaras.
I’d also prefer if she was comfortable with going by “Babs” because “Barbara” is really hard to say if you’re super tired and/or drunk.
I’m a chronic sufferer of FOMO. In case you’re not familiar with FOMO, the Urban Dictionary is here to help you:
FOMO is real and it controls my every day life. I can never decide what to do because I’m afraid that if I choose one thing, something better will come along and I will break into cold sweats for the rest of my life every time I remember the cool thing I missed out on.
This paralyzing FOMO, however, takes on a life of its own on days like today. Today is President’s Day, and while I’m super psyched about George Washington’s birthday and cherry trees and stuff, I’m really psyched about not having to go to work today.
On top of that, my husband is at work and my in-laws pulled a last minute clutch move last night — they invited my stepson to sleep over and then spend the day with them. That means that not only do I not have to go to work today, I DON’T HAVE TO CARE ABOUT ANYONE ELSE. (Except my dog. Hi, Kenny. Mama loves you.)
This scenario is where FOMO turns into major FOWADO, aka Fear of Wasting a Day Off. I have thought of millions of magical things I could do all by myself today, but I can’t make any real decisions because there’s just too much pressure to choose wisely. I don’t have another paid holiday off until Memorial Day, and everyone knows that 3-day weekend just gets dedicated to being available for random BBQs. This day is special and may never come again. Oh my god, I can feel my heart beating faster just thinking about it.
For some reason that makes absolutely no sense, this is making me feel like Dorothy in Return to Oz, the crazy scary Disney movie from the 80s with Fairuza Balk (who later went on to haunt my dreams in the mid-90s film, The Craft). Remember that scene where the Nome King made her and her friends go into his weird ornament gallery one-by-one, each one tasked with finding the Scarecrow, who had been turned into an ornament? If they chose correctly, the Scarecrow would come back to life and everything would be awesome…but if they chose incorrectly, they would turn into ornaments too. What if I choose incorrectly today and turn into an ornament?
I spent a large portion of my morning panicking about the time I was wasting, but I did decide on one thing: I made myself write this blog. I figured that if I didn’t do anything else for the rest of the day, I could at least come back to this post whenever I pleased to reflect back on the time that I did something.
But…what now? I’m putting off wrapping this thing up because then I need to make a for real decision. All I know is I have to go pickup my Peapod order between 3 and 4PM, which also means I have to drag myself outside at some point to clean off my poor car that got raped by snow. Also because right when it started to snow on Saturday night, my husband decided to do this to my car on his way in the house:
Yes, the other thousand inches of snow that fell in the next 24 hours covered his gorgeous artwork. However, I looked outside this morning and while a lot of the snow had slid off my back window, “BOOBS” remained, etched in ice. [Shout out to my neighbor for taking this picture and posting it on Facebook so I could steal it.]
Guys, tell me what I should do today. It doesn’t have to be anything major…just something that when I go to bed tonight, I smile and feel like I didn’t completely waste my day off.
Why do people voluntarily live in New England in the winter?
I understand the other seasons — the beaches are awesome in the summer, there’s this weird excitement in the air during spring when people emerge from their frozen cocoons/women start regularly shaving their legs again, and fall is just…oh my god, I would marry it if I could. I think no one should get married until it’s legal for people to marry seasons. (I call fall, so don’t even try it.)
But WINTER? It is the worst thing ever. It’s not so bad when you’re a kid because you get snow days once in a while, but now technology is ruining lives because some adults are forced to work from home on snow days (me). And the days you actually have to drive to work? Forget about it.
Take this morning, for example: [I’m bitching about this here because I don’t want my Facebook friends to think I’m a complainer. I don’t care if you think I’m a complainer, though.]
After waking up at 4:30AM, I went out to my car at 5:18 to begin the defrosting process. I chipped away at the sheet of ice for a solid 20 minutes. Only one of my doors would open, and no, it wasn’t the driver’s door.
When I was nearing the 20 minute mark, I crawled in to put my keys in the ignition because I didn’t want my automatic starter to turn off. I got back out of the car to finish freeing it from it’s ice coffin and FINALLY it was time to start driving.
Except I couldn’t drive yet because I locked my keys in the car with the car running. My bag was also in the car, with my cell phone in it. I stood outside my front door quietly tapping and whisper yelling “ANDY!” Thank god my dog can hear an ant fart, because within seconds he was downstairs sounding the bark alarm. Andy appeared a minute later and, bless his heart, he unlocked the car for me. He also probably wanted me to die, but I can deal with that.
I got back out there and the door on the driver’s side was still frozen. Cool. I climbed in through the passenger seat and started my 56 mile journey. Because that is obviously what I wanted to be doing at 5:30 in the morning.
I will say one positive thing: traffic wasn’t bad. That was nice. However, my trouble began when I ran out of windshield wiper fluid and every car on the highway felt like kicking up dirt onto it. I tried my wipers, but they were so sad, frozen, and useless and I imagined they were saying “FU-UUU-UUU-CCKK-KKK” as they slowly moved across the glass. My windshield grew darker and darker as I drove, and my only saving grace was that the sun started coming up toward the last part of my commute and gave me a little light. I thought about pulling an Ace Ventura and sticking my head out the window, but dude, it’s WINTER.
[What if I carried a thing of Windex in my car for the next time this happens? Do you think it would work? I’d roll the window down while driving, stick my arm out, spray the Windex on the windshield and then run my wipers. No? Yes?]
I’m pretty sure I have scoliosis now because in order to see, I had to completely hunch over the steering wheel and look out this one tiny patch of glass that was spared from the dirt trolls.
Side note: Remember the scoliosis tests in gym class??? Those were SO TRAUMATIZING for me. I would legitimately make sure I was out “sick” from school on those days because the idea of bending over, lifting the back of my shirt up, and letting the school nurse see the straps of my little middle school training bra was too much to bear.
Okay, so I was legit 3 exits away from my job and patting myself on the back for making it with a blacked out windshield, when GOD HIMSELF/HERSELF intervened. As I switched lanes, TONS of crap got kicked up on my windshield and I could not see ANYTHING anymore. I couldn’t pull over because that part of the highway had just opened the breakdown lane for travel. I yelled “Oh god! HELP ME LORD! HELP ME LORD!” because that’s what I do, OK? And suddenly some angel Jesus car splashed water on my windshield and cleared everything off. It was miraculous. I’m gonna thank my dead grandma MJ for that one because even when she was alive, she had MAJOR street cred with the Lord (not Disick).
I finally made it to work and felt really proud of myself. I went to get out of my car and — surprise! — that bitch was still frozen shut after more than 90 minutes. I thought about climbing over the back seat again, but then I got a second wind and karate chopped my way out of that door instead.
That’s it. I have no idea how to end this story. I’m going to the cafeteria now to get oatmeal for $1.58 because why would I ever bring my own giant container of oatmeal to keep at work and potentially save hundreds of dollars?
I know. I haven’t called. I haven’t taken trollies. And I certainly haven’t written.
I’M SORRY, OK?!
I got a grown up job and I’ve been doing very adult things like getting excited about soup specials in the corporate cafeteria and begging IT for a new computer charger so I can work remotely during snow storms. These things are essential and are why mArY*s ZoNe has kind of taken a back seat.
What brought me back? Because there was big news about my feature film debut! The Woody Allen film I was an extra in this summer finally has a name: “Irrational Man”
The film is going to be distributed by Sony Pictures Classics and while there isn’t a release date yet*, I’m guessing the premiere will be this summer if it follows the release pattern from previous Allen movies. Which leads me to a very important question…
Who do I need to bake cookies for to get a ticket to this premiere? I did some very important work as an extra including walking, pretending to talk about things, drinking fake alcoholic beverages, and not freaking out in the presence of Emma Stone (well, I didn’t freak out on the outside).
Anyone at Sony Pictures Classics want to make the life of one of the most exceptional extras to ever grace the silver screen? I didn’t want to have to play this card, but if it means I can get a seat at this premiere, I’ll do whatever I need to: Emma Stone and I are basically best friends. We closed-mouth smiled at each other. I know, it’s a pretty big deal.
Are you my fairy godmother from Hollywood? E-MAIL ME! firstname.lastname@example.org
*UPDATE: The premiere has a date! “Irrational Man” is officially premiering at the Cannes Film Festival (oh la la!), but the U.S. release is scheduled for July 17, 2015.