What is Yoga?

derp yoga

Like, really… what is it?

Should I do it?

What’s it going to do to me?

Will I die?

Will anybody see me when I’m doing it?

Why do you do it?

Can you teach me?

Can I watch you do yoga?

Can I not, actually, that’s weird?

Is that weird?

Is it hard to do?

Is it scary?

Do you die?

What do I wear?

Can I do it without one of those purple things?

What purple things?

Can I do it anywhere?

Is it expensive?

Can I do it for free?

Can you teach me for free?


I really want to try it. But I need these questions answered first.


Ctrl+Z in Real Life


I may be an idiot, but I know some of you idiots will be able to relate to me on this one: Making a little mistake, such as erasing the wrong word on a whiteboard or spilling your drink, and experiencing that sudden twitch of your pinky and middle finger. The twitch that, normally so powerful when working within your computer, tragically does nothing for you in the real world.

The world is cold. And cannot be undone by hotkeys.

I rely on Ctrl+Z heavily as I work. So much so that my pinky has become really whiney about reaching up to the backspace key. It says it’s “not as flexible” as it was in its younger years, but my pinky has always been a little bit of a naysayer in general.

The hardest part about my life right now is that I have to work on a PC at work, then a Mac at home. The Undo hand position is ever-so-slightly different between the two. I spend the work day getting used to the more spread out Ctrl+Z on my PC, then go home and accidentally blow up my Macbook. Then of course, the cramped Command+Z position becomes habit and the cycle starts over again at work.

This morning, I was struggling through both a spreadsheet and my coffee. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet, and my general impression of the work I was doing contained words like: “What is… Why… Go HERE. Okay. No. That’s not. What?”

Then I made a mistake. My brain thought “Command+Z… wait… Ctrl…. JUST DO IT.” But my hands weren’t on the keys. Where were they supposed to go, again?

I reached across to the left side of the keyboard with my right hand. The coffee cup was in the way.


The porcelain mug slammed down on my desk. Coffee everywhere. All over me. All over the keys.

No twitch of my fingers could ever undo what I had just done. My dense sweater was soaked, and the caffeine buzz never came.

Maybe it’s time for me to Command+Q my job.

What’s the Creepiest Possible Word to Whisper?

creepy word

My snarky little coworker said something out of nowhere the other day:

“You know what’s a super creepy word? Fantasy.”

“Blugh. You’re right,” I said. “You know what’s even creepier?”


Fantasies. Plural.”


Since we’re both writers at work, we use this company time to have these kinds of discussions. It’s like we’re young Mavericks rediscovering the little intricacies of the English language that would have normally remained forgotten and unappreciated if it weren’t for our efforts.

“You know what’s even creepier?”


She whispers: Fantasies.”

From there, we spent the rest of the day coming up with words. Normally innocent words, yet trying to find the one word in the English language that is made creepiest when whispered.







The method she used to test the creepiness of each word was to sneak behind my chair and whisper it into the back of my neck to see how high my goosebumps rose. Or, when our boss decided that this activity “wasn’t work,” my coworker would IM the words to me with little asterix’s around them.


Not quite as effective.

If you think of any creepier words, would you tell me?


6 Reasons I Have Coffee Breath

coffee breath

1. Life is not fair.

2. Life is not fair.

3. Life is not fair.

4. Life is not fair.

5. I drank some coffee.

6. I don’t have gum.

When I was in high school, it was considered slightly “rebellious” and “cool” to drink coffee. In case you forgot that people are dumbasses in high school, this is just a friendly reminder. I hated coffee. It never tasted like anything but acidic dirt to me. As a little kid I would take sips of my dad’s coffee just so I could sneer and make a scene. “Ewwwww, Dad,  why would you drink this?”

In case you forgot that little kids are jackasses.

But when I entered into my senior year, suddenly I found myself with a new crowd. The Hippies. They listened to Damien Rice, sang Damien Rice at any coffeehouse open-mic night they could find, and watched incense smoke flutter out a window in their spare time. I suddenly realized that I was transcending into the realm of being a real, transcendental adult.

Not liking coffee was no longer an option.

I forced down a latte a day. I battled with the inexplicable rushes of caffeine and terrible crashes afterwards, and could only blame it on my life being too exciting and meaningful. I loaded extra sugar into every drink, and still struggled to look cool as I cringed through the bitterness. Suffering in silence.

It wasn’t until my third year of college, after all those blurred years of studying, all-night film shoots, and too many dates with hipsters (all of these times I was forced to stay awake), that I realized I was no longer forcing them down. I was actually enjoying coffee. A lot.

Enter the coffee addict I am today.

So, the moral of the story is, dreams do come true. I plan to become a wine-o next. Follow my blog to witness my descent into alcoholism first-hand.

Sunset, Schmunset


My coworker is a rapper. This means that when I go to his shows I get to have that awkward water cooler experience with a sprinkling of coworkers that show up to the show as well, only this time under deafening circumstances. On a Friday night.

As awful as that sounds, the show last night was boatloads of fun. (I said “boatloads” to refrain from saying “tons,” my more obvious choice, but now I’m not sure that was a wise decision.)

It was FUN. All caps.

Concerts are great for people watching. Too bad I hate people, and these people are kind of the worst. I swear to God, as soon as I’d get into a beat, this lanky son-of-a-bitch would flail his elbow out and into my ribs in a strange bird dance, and then immediately stop. Not only stop, but resort to an upright position, limbs under control and stroking his chin in a pensive, “Ah, so this is music” gesture. An admirer of art with sudden bursts of bird. This happened at least three times. It was perhaps the strangest behavior pet peeve I’ve ever developed, but it’s nevertheless on my list now.

This show was definitely a collection of “artists.” The kind of town we’re in, that’s the only kind of crowd you can hope to draw to a hip-hop show. One performer was introducing his song up on the stage. “This song is called ‘Natalie.’ Natalie was a girl I knew in high school…”

“I don’t know her anymore.”

Thick silence. A sad little blink.

Then he began to play.

Here’s my beef with that sad little blink. My black heart thumped ever so slightly at “I don’t know her anymore.” As soon as he laboringly reminded us that now was the correct moment to realize “ah, that meant something,” I was over it. The worst part about writing and poetry is that it’s so easy to take it one step too far in the attempt to clarify. Clarity so often is the downfall of a piece of writing. It’s those pieces that appeal to you, perhaps on a subconscious level but at least without the necessity for reminders, that are the most powerful.

Speaking of poetry. Earlier that day, when this rapping coworker of mine was reminding a few others about the show, this guy said something to the effect of “I’m so jealous of you. I’ve always wanted to be musical or artistic like that.” Then he said, “When I see a sunset, all I see is a sunset.”

All I see is a sunset?

That sentence stuck with me all day. I thought about it over and over. Beyond my initial reaction to it, I did a real number to that sentence in my mind, tearing it apart to see what it meant to me. And I’m still not really sure. He had said something extremely simple, with what I assumed was the intention to represent his world view simply, but it was so simple that it somehow commands a more meaningful presence in my head.

That guy seriously said the most thought-provoking and poetic thing I’d heard in months.


I Tried to Write at Starbucks Today


Here I am. A self-proclaimed writer. At Starbucks.

Waiting for the magic. Waiting, waiting. Waiting for my spirit animal to show itself. Or, waiting to die.

At present, I think there are two other self-proclaimed writers in here. They have Apple laptops, just like me. They have their coffee. They have a generally bitchy demeanor, as do I. Are they seeing success in their writing today? What am I missing?

The service is so slow here. It took me twenty minutes to place my order. I couldn’t tell if the guy at the counter was calling everyone “ma’am,” or calling everyone “mom.” At least one of those people probably was his mom. Either way, everyone in this place seems to know each other but me.

I came here to write some blog posts. If I had come here to write a screenplay or a novel, I wonder what kind of stories a place like Starbucks would have inspired. Probably a good kind of story. One that we’ve seen a million billion times before.

I think I just stared at a wall for five full minutes. A little shelf with trendy little coffee bags. Not one of those bags inspired a single thought other than, “Could anybody here point out Guatemala on a map?”

I’m still a little worried that guy really was calling everybody “mom.” Maybe I should leave.

(Then I left.)

4 Questions to Ask About Every Disappointment


Today was a rough one for me. I didn’t get the promotion, I cried in the bathroom, blah blah blah whine whine.

We all have our moments of weakness, and we all know what disappointment feels like. And for the most part, when you’re ready for it, disappointment is bearable. And for me, personally, my whole life is centered around the possibility of disappointment, what with trying to “make it” in the film industry.

This disappointment was different. I wasn’t expecting it, and it hit me hard.

Disappointments come more often than you “deserve” them, and they come for a variety of reasons. Disappointment comes with developing high expectations, trusting people too willingly, and caring too much; how do we keep from doing these things?

We can’t, and we shouldn’t.

When you’re feeling disappointed, you should ask yourself four questions. The answers to these questions may not make the disappointment go away, but they should clarify your feelings a bit. And, if you’re like me, with clarity comes a feeling of strength and control.

(Cuz I’m done feeling like a little dumb weaky.)

1. Is this a “competition” thing?

I hadn’t really wanted the job before. I mean, it would have been nice, but it was nothing to write home about. Literally, if I had gotten the job and then been asked to write home about it, I would have had nothing to write but:

“Hi Mom. I got a promotion. Kind of. I don’t know. Love, me.”

But when I didn’t get it, I felt angry. When I tried to figure out where the source of the anger was coming from, it was stemming from who they had chosen instead of me. She’s a perfectly nice girl, but I could not see how she was more qualified than me for the position. And when she got the position, I felt like I had lost a competition.

I’m a competitive person. And while I’m okay with being that way, I’m not okay with allowing that side of me to ruin my day. Sure, I can use my competitiveness to help me win, but when I lose it becomes a petty trait. When it comes to a job that I didn’t really want, why shouldn’t she have it? Just because I am a competitive person, doesn’t mean I should feel threatened by the successes of others.

Even if it was a job that I did really want… there is no market that has completely dried up. Whether it be a job or a boy, there are always plenty of fish in the sea. Fish that can be conquered by the likes of me.

ANSWER: If your competitiveness is leading to your disappointment, stop it. You’re wasting time.

2. Does this hinder me from getting where I want to be in life?

While I said I’m always prepared for disappointments in my film career, this job promotion had nothing to do with my real passion in life. This job is for an SEO company, a path I am only taking for the temporary money it lends me to help pay off my student loans. (‘Merican dream.)

This is a story of two girls. One is called Past Me, and the other is called Present Me. Past Me got home from work today, curled up in her bed, and waited to die.

Present Me, who is in ghost format, floated over the bed, and slapped Past Me with a relatively-thick screenplay and screamed “WHY the HELL. WHY.”

(This really happened.)

Why was I spending so much energy feeling down about a job position that would have gotten me no closer to kissing Daniel Radcliffe on the mouth than I was before? My love for screenwriting is a love that can transcend all boundaries, and here I was moping about the fact that a bunch of SEO nerds don’t think I use Google well enough.

“Movies” is my love. “Movies” is what makes me happy. And this stupid disappointment has no effect on my ideal future whatsoever.

ANSWER: If this turn of events does not hinder you from getting where you want to be in life, stop worrying about it. It doesn’t matter one bit.

3. Is there anything I can do about it?

There are those times when a disappointment does have a direct effect on your ideal future. And while wallowing is a great initial response, at some point you have to ask yourself if there’s anything you can do to reverse the situation.

If the answer is “yes,” then you better start doing that thing.

If the answer is “no,” then that’s tough.

Diligence is something that usually pays off in time, so it’s great to take any action that might lead to a reversal of the situation (or at least adds a new branch in the web). But in times that you are helpless and you no longer have any influence, then you need to go with the flow.

I’ve been pestering and pestering the head of this department for weeks, reaffirming my interest and asking for updates. I didn’t get it. It’s done. I can choose to continue to feel bitter, or I can accept the new path.

For me, it’s easier to let fate take over once in a while. Maybe there’s a reason I’ll end up where I end up. Having dashed expectations can be exciting.

ANSWER: If there’s nothing you can do about it, start doing something else. That chapter is over, and you will be okay.

4. How would I rather be spending my precious time?

Instead of curling up in my bed, I could have spent that time rewriting and perfecting that screenplay I was being hit over the head with. Instead of keeping my thoughts around what I could have done wrong in that interview, I could have spent time thinking about the way I feel when others enjoy my writing.

Instead of crying, I could have been sitting in front of a heater.

(Heaters are my favorite things in the world.)

There is too little time in the world to not spend it enjoying yourself.

ANSWER: If you’d rather be somewhere else, go there. Find your heater.