I’ve been wanting to cut my hair short now for years. However, I feared I wasn’t able to make such a drastic change due to my mediocre acting career. Sure, famous people dye and cut their hair all the time, but could I? What will my agents think? Do I need to ask them for permission? I don’t want to confuse the casting directors. They get flustered so easily. Actors are a dime a dozen. Don’t make it difficult. Also, I didn’t feel skinny enough, pretty enough or young enough to pull it off. Even a couple of days before my hair appointment, a male acquaintance said, “No, don’t! Women aren’t attractive with short hair.” Thanks for your unrequested input, asshole. I did it, anyway.Read More
I stood there. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, as I was watched my father, slouched over in handcuffs, being taken away by two police officers above from my bedroom window. The cops were both a head shorter than my dad, even with his incriminating posture. My dad was quite militant about our postures. Shoulders up. Chest out. But I guess, at this moment, it wasn’t important to stand up straight. They escorted him down our hardened gravel driveway into one of the seven police cars along our house. An older, overweight officer was readily standing there. He opened up the back seat door, and guided him inside. My dad did not glance up to my window to look for me, to tell me that everything was going to be okay with a nod or a reassuring squint. Rather his head was down. His face seemed tight with anger. The fat officer closed the car door. Then they drove off. And just like that my dad was gone…Read More
I’m taking a break this week from writing about my childhood woes because I want to get current. I know I’m choosing to do so, but hot damn it’s hard to face your past head on in a public platform.Read More
I inadvertently felt protected by going home with this stranger. My hand clasped in his, my safety too. We walked less than a minute to his funky place, but cool/funky since it was in the Marigny Section of the French Quarter where all the artists lived. The Bone pulled out a key to unlock his white wooden gate. And then I remembered, I made out with a boy who lived upstairs. We went to high school together.Read More
6th grade didn’t started off that well. On the first day of school my best friend, Amy, wanted to try out the brand new zip line that our school had built over the summer, and I most certainly did not. It was a metal zip line that was probably only 15 feet long and 7 feet high. In order to “zip,” you had to grab the handle and jump off a platform that then would propel you swiftly to the other side. I was afraid of heights, even little ones. I hated anything fast that I couldn’t control. But most discernibly, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold my own weight. My upper body strength was pretty grim. What can I say? I wasn’t the energetic sporty type. In fact, during free time, I was more of the hide out in the shrubs while daydreaming of a different life type. Amy, on the other hand, was athletic and exceedingly social with boys. I would describe Amy as a slutty tomboy if that makes any sense. She wore jean shorts, never dresses, and she must have gotten her period over the summer because she had a rack-attack going on. She confidently was aware of it too. I on the other hand, while I had received my period over the summer as well, was still wearing a white training bra. I had definitely gotten hairier and smellier though. I, too, was aware of my bodily changes but they had made me quite insecure. I wished I had Amy’s confidence or cup size.