Funny Skinny

If I’m funny I don’t have to be skinny, right?  Are you still sexy if you are funny, but not skinny?  I feel like yes, but to less people? (Yes that is a question, insert upward inflection on "people").  Is sexy or funny better?  I feel like funny is way better.  I want to have the ability to be sexy and funny and also not be a waif.   How do I get funnier? I need attention and want people to like me so they will hire me for acting jobs.

I’m going to take an improv class at Upright Citizen’s Brigade.  I’m hoping that will make me funnier.  Maybe if I am around other people who are funny people, I will become a funny person too.  Also, I will learn things.   Improv things that will make me funnier.  I just really don’t want to be hungry all the time.

Being skinny would be such a pain in the ass too.  Oh, and I know I’m not overweight, don’t think I’m whining or anything.  I have a healthy and normal weighted body that I am as happy with as a 24 year-old actress living in la la land can be.  So, anyway, so much work, right?  And WORRY!! Worrying about the gym, and what you put in your mouth all the time.  I exercise, I eat healthy, but I don’t want to turn myself into a product.   Or am I supposed to do that?  As an actress, I am a product? (Inflection again.)  Yeah. Yeah, damn, I think I am.

BUT, though, I feel like the more normal human I am, the more relatable? A normal human product?

Yes.

People who are really skinny are scary though, huh?  Decidedly non-sexual as well.  Less human?  I mean, obvs, you’re still a human being if your are totes thin, but I’m talking about the relatability factor.

ANYWAY.

I just want to be a normal Kelly person and not a scary bobble-head on a stick that used to be a body.  And my head is so huge I would look so weird if I had a stick for a body instead of a body for a body.  I don’t want to look funny, I want to be funny. 

Hire me.  I’m so awesome.

Bad Things

If you act crazy in front of, beside, or behind me, I will assume you are on drugs and move away.

If you drive sloppily, swervy, SHITTILY, I will assume you are drunk and change lanes. 

If you are another customer in line at the super market and touch, rearrange, and/or generally handle my purchases and then comment on them I will not like you and will think bad things about you.  Probably, even, REALLY BAD THINGS.

When I am at work and you act crazy I will smile and ask you if you’d like to open a GAP card.  I will make fun of you later with my co-workers.  Really, I should thank you for the entertainment. 

If you bring your dog shopping at my work and then act crazy I will either want to steal the dog for myself, be scared of the dog, or hate the dog.  If it is wearing clothes each of theses potential feelings will be greatly intensified.

If it is 11pm and I am walking to my apartment from my car and you hit on me while hanging out with your drunk friend who is peeing on a wall I will not be attracted to you.  I will walk faster and make sure the gate to my complex is thoroughly locked behind me.

If you hit on me in any way that references the fact that I am rather tall for a woman it is likely that this will cause me to wrinkle my nose at you and talk about something gross to make you go away.  I will be happy when you leave and will whine about you to my friends later.

Secondly, if you hit on me while referencing my height and then proceed to utter the phrase “you must intimidate other men”, as in other than you, I will take it on as my PERSONAL MISSION to intimidate you.  When I see the fear in your eyes I will know I have succeeded and proceed to wrinkling my nose, talking about something gross, and being happy when you leave.  Whining later to my friends still applies.

If you think I’m weird for having cats without even having a conversation about it with me then I will certainly not want to be your friend.  I will think YOU are weird.

If you see me put on my blinker and are far enough behind me to let me in, but in fact speed up to pass me, I will SCREAM and curse you.  If it happens in Seattle, where no one, NO ONE, knows how to drive the reaction will be intensified.  This will frighten my passengers.

If I invite you over and you ask me if you can smoke weed in my house and I say no and you then proceed to smoke it out of my view near a window I will not think you are being considerate.  I will be mad.  It will be an uncomfortable situation.

If you are a famous actress who is my age and skinnier than me then I will not like you. Sorry, I’m just jealous.

If we are scene partners and you touch me inappropriately without discussing it with me first I will not think you are a brave risk taker.  I will think you are gross. GROSS.

If you use say “no homo” or call something “gay” in a derogatory way, I will not take you seriously.  I will question your cognitive power.

There are many, many more bad things.  Many BAD things.  I will start a list and update it periodically.  This will be fun.  It is fun to not like things.

Oh! And I don’t like Star Wars.  That is my right as a human being, and if you have a problem with this, then you have a problem.  I will be happy and content not liking Star Wars.

Cats

Both my mother fucking sneaky adorable BASTARD plotting, but let me reiterate ADORABLE, so I let them hang out with me, cats escaped out a crawl space in my bathroom this morning.  You might think this is my fault for not securing the crawl space before bringing the kitties home.  Well.  You’re wrong.  Everyone knows cats are a little bit evil, so it’s their fault.  Anyway.  This really pissed me off.  Actually, it nearly gave me a heart attack and made me do that girl panic cry thing we do.  But basically, I was not a happy camper. OBVS.

So I got down next to the crawl space in my mini bathroom with my head sandwiched between the wall and the toilet and did the “here kitty, kitty” thing.   Louie came right out purring when I called his name cause he’s like that.  Steve just hung out down there for like AN HOUR while I canvassed the neighborhood CERTAIN that he must’ve gotten out somehow since I couldn’t see or hear him.  I eventually realized that unless Steve had some awesome super powers I was unaware of (which I wouldn’t have totally been surprised by) there was literally no way for him to get out from under the building short of digging a tunnel.  So, I got this broken toy of his that used to be one of those fishing pole toys with a feather boa and bell on one end, but he totally destroyed it.  It is now half a plastic stick with a bell on a knotted string.  I dangled this contraption outside the crawl space for about 10 seconds and he hopped right out. I shoulda thought of it earlier.  Its his favorite toy. Sigh. 

Air In My Tires, Not In My Head

Do I really look like someone who doesn’t know how to put air in my tires?  The most basic of car ownership skills?  I don’t know whether to be offended or use this to my advantage.  The worst part is, it wasn’t even a man who offered to fill them up.  I would’ve gotten that.  I’ve had men offer to fill up my tires before (there is a double entendre in there somewhere...) and then proceed to stare directly at my chest or tell me I’m tall and that must intimidate other men.  They want to impress me and try out the double entendre later on, I get it.  I always thank and decline, I really should just let them do it.  I hate how dirty my hands get twisting off the little air caps. 

This, however, was a cracked out woman on a motorcycle, who had trouble turning off her bike, stumbled over her feet, parked too far from the air hose, and suggested I buy mace cause it is dark outside.  Like, in general, the outside is dark.  Oh, I hadn’t noticed.  Despite her cracked-outedness she was very nice and helpful.  Or like, theoretically would’ve been helpful had I actually needed help.  Maybe just nice because she was clearly high...? Duhno, can’t say.

Hey, guess what?  I also know how to change the oil in my car and change a tire.  Impressed?  Know any euphemisms?