Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Shawarma Drama: Highlights of Israel

Hello dear readers, old and (probably) new! I am freshly returned from the infamous duty-free 10 day Israeli adventure generously bestowed upon anyone who can convince a few officials that they have ties to Judaism. To give you short answers to the typical questions: Yes, it was amazing. No, we didn't sleep. Yes, we met Israeli soldiers, and they were smokin hot. No, I have not become a fanatic Zionist. And yes, I did indeed ride a camel.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Birthright/Taglit franchise, it is a trip mysteriously funded by old Jews who schemed up a way to force young, energetic members of the tribe into intensely intimate quarters for 10 straight days in the hopes that A: they will experience the homeland, donate to help their military, and perhaps move there one day to B: marry someone else from the trip and make lots of Jewish babies. There are many different companies that plan these trips with more or less emphasis on factors like religion, outdoor activities, education, members from the same city, and so on.
For years, I have heard tall tales of these strange trips, and decided to wait until my little sis was old enough to go with me (age range is 18-26), mostly so I knew I'd have someone to sit with on the bus if everyone else was a spoiled douche nozzle. Since this was my last year to go, I did some serious research and settled on Israel Outdoors, which seemed to have a good mix of sentimental and exploratory activities, and less of a religious but more of a spiritual angle. Erin and I had our interviews, set the dates, packed not nearly enough underwear, and after 4 days in NYC, we took off for the motherland.

First of all, I am EXTREMELY glad that I waited until I was older to do this trip. There is an option where you can go into a group that is 22-26 rather than be lumped in with hyperactive 18 year olds, mostly to reduce the risk of in-group homicide. Our gang definitely brushed past a few younger groups during our adventures, and I think we were all in agreement that a trip like this is best experienced with a few more years of Life 101 under your belt. Not only does it allow you to see the country and the struggles within from a different perspective, but when you've left school and are in the workforce, you realize how hard it can be to make friends in the real world. Friendship is most easily fostered when people spend a lot of time together, and spending 10 days on a bus together is almost like a crash remedial course in going back to dorm life. Also, once you've grown and traveled a bit on your own without Mom and Dad to schedule your trips, it's a nice change to hand over all the planning headaches, and have your biggest responsibility be to show up at a bus on time wearing appropriate clothing.
The best feeling I had on this trip was an immense sense of gratitude, and while I don't think that's outside of the capabilities of someone who is 18, I do think it may not be experienced in a such a full and overwhelming way.

Our trip was abounding with hikes, heat, and history (wonderfully brought to life for us by our brilliant and patient tour guide Veronika Lacktman). The very first day in Israel, we landed, got on the bus, and went directly to a "mild" hike which ended up leading the group down the side of a mountain assisted by metal staples driven into the rockface.

Awesome!

While Erin and I, long familiar with the adrenaline rush of heights thanks to years on Mom's ropes course, loved every minute, there were a few members of our group that had some difficulty with it. BUT, dear readers, this simply provided an opportunity for the first of the notable members of our trip to step up. Doug, AKA Boujie, saw the difficulty some people were having, and took it upon himself to guide them, step by handhold, down the mountain. With his help, and the cheering of the masses below, everyone made it down safely, and for the rest of the day we scampered in and out of long-abandoned caves carved into the mountainside, and lunched next to the noisiest herd of cows I've ever heard in my life.

Our first couple of nights we stayed in a Kibbutz, where we were quickly made to get used to the idea that Israelis have salad for breakfast and don't think twice about it. Erin and I were lucky enough to be roomed with rockstar twerker and dimple-sporting badass Jody, and without further ado our room had the perfect trifecta of bangin Jew booties.

I mean, seriously.

In fact, getting to come 'home' to those girls every night has made me want to room with people again, which I never thought would happen. Don't get me wrong, I love having my own space, and if I don't have my own bedroom I may cut someone, but having people to hash out the day with in such an easy and casual way felt very home-like, and I kind of miss that.

I'm not going to recount every day, but highlights of the trip include:

Rafting down the Jordan River. Besides the fact that I had the Michael Jackson Free Willy song stuck in my head, it was peaceful, beautiful, and I ended up not even minding the 12 year old Israeli boys who totally pwned us in a water fight.

Ascending a huge hill at the end of a long hike, to find that a genius entrepreneur had set up his ice cream truck right at the top. Chocolate truly is the great equalizer.

Drifting into an artist's gallery/porchfront in Haifa on a beautiful day to talk to some of the residents about their life in the town. This may not seem like a standout moment at first, but WAIT THERE'S MORE.
I guess someone spotted a guitar, and asked pretty boy Scott to give us a tune. Although not everyone knew it at the time, he is the head of a band called the Shadowboxers, and what followed was nothing short of a seduction of the entire group. Listening to him sing first The Weight and then a song of his own composition, we sat on a porch surrounded by trees and flowers, with a gently blowing breeze, and one by one, fell under the spell of the strumming of the guitar and a voice reminiscent of Sir Timberlake. As you can imagine, his vocal stylings were in high demand for the rest of the trip, and the Shadowboxers now have 40 more loyal fans. Check them out!

The cover that got them retweeted by JT himself.

Relaxing on blankets behind our hotel rooms on the grass with every forbidden bottle of spirits our group could muster up.

The stinging water of the Dead Sea. Yeah, floating that high in the super salty water was fun for a few minutes, but between the water temperature clocking in higher than the air, the weird oily sensation on my skin, and feeling the need to keep my legs closed tighter than a Victorian corset lest the salt slip into some, er, unsavory places, the novelty wore off rather quickly. I did enjoy the salt scrub and the mudbath, though. I'm still marveling at the softness of my skin.

Playing charades on the roof of our hotel with the entire group. Even better, having the game derailed by Mathias waltzing in to read a Pablo Neruda poem... in the voice of Liam Neeson. Yet another panty-dropping performance from one of our boys.

Getting into a discussion with Sharon, one of our Israeli companions, about his feelings on life in Israel and the military. There are only so many blogs you can read about other people's opinion before it seems rote, but hearing it from a real person made me want to research more about the politics and conflicts there.

Walking back to the hotel, a pound of baklava in hand, singing every Broadway duet I could think up with fellow actor Jordan. It started with Love is an Open Door and sort of just... spun out of control. Thank goodness at least one other person on the trip understood my need to express my emotions through musical theatre.

Having a huge sleepover in the Bedouin tents in the middle of the desert. We got to listen to a Bedouin man talk for a bit about how things have changed for his people because of new technologies, and in his opinion, clearly not for the better. I actually agreed with him on a number of points, but drew the line when he advocated hitting your kids if they step out of line.
The dinner we had that night was, without contest, the best meal of the trip. We huddled on the floor around huge trays of rice, chicken, hummus, tahini, pickles, and mounds of flatbread, and everyone dug in. We used utensils at first, but the group agreed to abandon them within minutes. That was followed by everyone huddling around a fire, skipping outside the fence to go stargazing, and then passing out in sleeping bags on the floor of a huge tent together.

Visiting Yad Vashem (Holocaust History Museum) with our wonderful museum guide who somehow managed to balance amazing energy and hope for life with proper gravitas and quiet anger at the horrible events that transpired. There were not many facts about that time that were new to me, if only because I developed a bit of an obsession with the Holocaust when I was in middle school, but the sense of personalization she brought made the stories strike unusually close to home.

Running around a farm in the middle of the desert getting to pick every tiny tomato variety you could dream of off the vine and feasting upon my spoils. I used to hoover up boxes of grape tomatoes if Mom dared to bring them home, and I literally could have stripped every vine in that massive greenhouse, given half the chance.

Pure happiness.

We also got to pick our own carrots and some herbs, not to mention being informed of the ingenious Waterworld-esque technique the farm used to keep the plants well-hydrated and happy.

And man oh man, climbing Masada. Our group was supposed to leave the hostel at 3:30 am to make the hike in time to catch the sunrise at the top. Well, being distracted by cookies and that heavy molasses feeling you get in your body when you wake up so godforsaken early, we were running almost a half hour late. The sky was beginning to lighten by the time we got to the base of the mountain, and about 10 people in the group started setting a pretty fast pace, much to Veronika's chagrin.
After our first group stop, we came to the first of the stairs. Those. Fucking. Stairs. Erin took it upon herself to count them on the way back down, and (give or take 20, she reports) there were 924. 924 steps between us and seeing the sunrise the way we had heard about, with the clock ticking. Basically, we had about a half hour to do a 45-50 minute hike if we were going to watch the sunrise, so the stupidly determined among us took off at a high clip.
Zach, who all throughout the trip, entertained us with his wonderful, spur-of-the-moment jokes, his insane ability to climb just about anything, and his constant concern that everyone in the group was participating and getting an equal piece of the experience, zoomed ahead. However, Mathias' long legs (along with the spirit of Liam Neeson, which he was clearly channeling) pulled him into first place as he charged up like the ibexes we had seen so many of. I set off after Becca, with Nick behind me, and started climbing those stones slick with thousands of previous footseps one by one.
Most of my close friends know that I have a small personal challenge when it comes to cardiovascular exercise. When my heart rate gets above a certain point, I have a pretty strong emotional reaction, and start crying. I'm not going to go into the details, just suffice to say that my emotional state is very susceptible to influence from the physical world. (If you've ever seen me eat an oyster, you know what I'm talking about.)
So, after maybe step 200, I had a pretty intense inner struggle to deal with.
In my typically overdramatic fashion, this mountain started to represent all the struggles I had been dealing with in the month before I came to Israel. Trying to forge into a completely new career basically from scratch coupled with a heart-wrenching breakup had been taking its toll on me, and while Israel had been a wonderful respite from dealing with all of that, if the Lion King has taught me anything, it's that you can never run from your problems indefinitely. I started to feel that seeing the sunrise from the top would be the sign from God that I needed to find out if I was headed in the right direction, if I would make it.
Eventually, Becca dropped behind me, and as Zach ran ahead, I was faced with nothing but step after step that never seemed to end. My heart was pounding out of my chest, my legs were burning, and my emotions were getting a good frothing. I wanted almost nothing more than to take a break and try it at a more reasonable pace.
Almost nothing.
Every time I felt like stopping, I looked over to the ever-lightening spot in the sky where the sun would peek over the mountains. I thought about all the other times I've stopped myself short of my full capabilities, and simply said to myself "Not again. Not this time."
In a wonderful coincidence, Nick somehow managed to spew out an occasional "Let's do this!" or "You've got this!" whenever I felt my will wavering, and at some point I no longer felt that I was climbing the mountain, but that I was pushing the mountain further below me with every step I took. When I started to feel almost detached from reality, I finally pushed away the last step, found a stone wall, sat myself down on it, and focused on the horizon. Within 5 seconds, the sun's first brilliant rays blasted through the sky.
And yep, you guessed it folks. I cried. I cried the unbridled, hiccuping tears of a small child, overcome with gratitude and the feeling that yes, I was headed in the right direction and yes, I was strong enough to push through.

I BEAT THE SUN, BITCHES!

I could go on and on about the different things we saw on the trip, but I'd like to take a moment and acknowledge how lucky we all were to be a part of the most openhearted and decent group of Jews I've ever met. Erin in particular was worried that we would be stuck together the whole time because of typical JAP-ness (Jewish American Princess, not Japanese, to be clear) or arrogant douchbaggery, but that was not the case. Everyone in our group was always willing to help out someone who needed it, was always cooperative if not always enthusiastic about our outdoor adventures, and clearly was open to learning and respecting the history behind every site we visited.
I believe the trip was enriched for every one of us merely by the presence of the other members of the group. Talia with her outrageous and effortless sense of humor, Brittanie and Meaghan with their abounding radius of sunshine and positivity, Lacey with her resounding laugh (and the only eyebrows and smile I've seen that could compete with Emilia Clarke), Aviv with his quiet, comforting presence, Lily with her quick sass, impressive knowledge of the topography, as well as being one of the few people who could actually answer Veronika's questions, Ben with his trusty Google glass who, between his budding bromance with our security detail Shak and actual romance with Disney princess-looking Israeli soldier Haran, somehow managed to land a place in both Cutest Real Couple and Cutest Couple That Wasn't A Couple, Jared with his ridiculous propensity for public speaking, Samuel constantly donating his thoughts to our reflective group talks, Arielle's amazing earrings and willingness to guide some of us through a couple of yoga poses... I could go on and on about these smart, sweet, fun, and talented people.
Who knew that people with grown-up jobs could be fun too? I'm so used to spending my time with freelancing artists at this point, but I clearly need to expand my social circles.

And of course, my personal experience was enriched by choosing to go with my sister. Yet another reason why I'm glad we waited this long to go together, having Erin there both as someone to rely on and someone to look out for helped bring me into the moment and appreciate the trip not only through my experience, but through watching her experience it too. We were one of 6 sibling sets on the trip, and I believe Israel brought new dimension to all of our relationships. If I had come here with Erin 3 or 4 years ago, I probably would have tried my best to spend time away from her, lest we get bogged down in a embarrassing and petty fight. But in light of our developing closeness over the last few years, we were able to back away from pettiness and pay due homage to our surroundings. Having her to hold after my visit to the Western Wall was such a relief, and I was truly touched when she told me she put a prayer in the stones for me.

#sistersister

Once again, gratitude emerges as a major theme of this trip.

I'm not really sure how to sum up an experience like this, and I don't think there's any real way to do it. I feel like I've been lucky because, as part of my upbringing and living in Miami, NYC, and LA, I've been around Jewish people my whole life. Not many people in our group had that luxury. Many came from places where they were the 'token' Jew and had become disconnected from their roots. Me being the holiday-hungry lady that I am, I never felt detached from my backround, but I also never had much reason to believe that it was that special. After hearing about our history as we were visiting the actual sites where the events took place, I can honestly say I feel differently now.

And yes, I will return to Israel someday... If only for the hummus. I don't know how I'm going to go back to Sabra after this.

So thanks, mysterious old Jews trying to breed us. This was indeed a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Almost continually I felt like a kid again, between the delight in new sights, flavors, and people, the luxury of not having to plan a damn thing, and forming fast friendships amidst sleepovers and bus buddies.

Not doves, but close enough.

10/10, would birthright again.


Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Corsethood and the Missing Pants

Over a year since my last entry?? FOR SHAME, ME. FOR SHAME.

I could use the excuse that I've been writing on other blogs besides mine... Or that over the last 3 months I've been keeping very close notes on a new job that I'm sure will one day make a fascinating book/TV series... But then again, rule #76 says no excuses, play like a champion.

Onward and upward.

What has brought me back to my beloved blog is an experience that I simply have to share, if only because of how ridiculous/insane/embarrassing/disappointing it turned out to be. But, like anything else that goes a little wonky in my life, I'm reminded that "At least it will make a good story!" So, here I am. Storytime!

As a "slash" professional in LA, I find myself perusing craigslist on an almost constant basis. For those unfamiliar with the "slash" concept, just ask any good looking girl in a city like NYC or LA what she does.
"Well, I'm an actress/nanny/waitress/model/singer/etc/etc/etc."
See those slashes? Slash professional shoutout. Woot woot.

Since I made the promise to myself to never EVER go back to serving (and if you really need to know why, check out http://thebitchywaiter.com/ sometime) I am always on the hunt for side jobs and part-time gigs to help make ends meet. So, one fine Saturday morning, I make my morning avocado toast, sit down, and scroll down the 'talent' gig section. After a few minutes of browsing, I find an ad looking for a last-minute replacement for a body paint model to entertain at a party.
Before you ask, NO, this was not a gogo dancing job, NO, this was not a stripping gig, and NO, this was not for Fantasy Fest or a string of beads.
The ad simply said I and a couple other girls would walk around for 3 hours in paint, to add to the ambiance of the room. Simple as that. $150 cash, get painted, walk around, and leave. Not only that, but it was super close to my apartment, so I could even hop on my bike and be there in a jiff. Perfect, right??

Hah.

So, I send a few pictures, I get a phone call, shower and shave everything, hop on my bike, and go get painted.

Now the first part of this story is great. Pashur, the artist, was wonderful and friendly, did not make me feel at all uncomfortable, and painted an extremely realistic-looking corset on my torso, complete with gluing a feather boa to the top to really give it that extra edge.


Pretty amazing huh? Check out his work at http://www.canvasalive.com/

I did my own face makeup, not too intricately (dim lights at a party, so who cared, right?) put on my faithful knee-high boots, and waited.

That's where the fun really started.

I found out soon after I was all painted up that this party was a book release for a woman who is famous because of being on some reality show for VH1. I won't say what it is, because in the release forms that I signed I'm sure there is some sort of privacy clause, and I don't have enough money to survive a lawsuit, but suffice to say it is a spinoff of a reality franchise that I had never heard of before that day, and I could not have cared less.
The only thing I did care about was that I did not know it was for a reality show before I got there. Oh well, so what if I'm in the backround of a few shots? I've already made a 3 second appearance on Millionaire Matchmaker, so let those chippies fall.
Release form signed.

Before long, the 3 main women of the show came into the room we were in to get ready for the party. Accompanied by the cameras. Ok, a little awkward for those of use not involved in the made-up drama, but whatever. I wait patiently for the other model to finish being painted (at least I got a full corset, poor thing just had a small design painted on her chesticles) and when we're ready, the producer grabs us to take us upstairs and (presumably) mingle with the guests.

The fact that I still thought this would go well is laughable. Oh, naivety.

It turned out that there was a mini red carpet for this 'event'. People coming into the party were photographed in front of that red carpet sponsor screen, and interviewed on their way in.
And it turned out that for some preposterous reason, the producer wanted the other model and me to stand at either side of the screen while everyone was coming in. Not take pictures with the *snortcelebritiessnort*, but just stand there staring. Also known as THE MOST AWKWARD THING I'VE EVER DONE HALF NAKED.
And if you know me, that's really saying something.

So, right outside of the restaurant, on Sunset Boulevard, I stood to the side of a red carpet event in boots, panties, and paint. My hair and makeup were clearly sub-par. And I'm pretty sure in the backround of a few of those on-camera interviews, you can see my face that is not very amused at this whole situation.
Every time someone made eye contact with me, AKA treated me like a person instead of a prop, they would comment on how awkward it was. I would agree. And then go back to concentrating on sucking in my abs as much as humanely possible.

After an eternity or so, we were finally led back into the party. Where it was so crowded that there was no room to mingle, walk, or even really turn around. It was like Friday night at Soho House at the end of your senior year, right before everyone gives up and goes to drunk feast at Dennys.
Don't worry, Miami people will get that reference.

So, after a couple of hours of awkward forced conversation with people standing WAY to close to me, and after the ladies of the show came out to do a burlesque-style striptease for their various rich husbands, it was finally time to end this nightmare. I head back downstairs to get dressed. I look around for my pants.

And look.

And look.

I ask the crew if they've seen my pants. They look.

And look.

And look.

My pants are gone.

Apparently, the couch I left my pants on was near the couches the show ladies left their shit on. At some point after I went upstairs, everything was swept off of the couches because people would be allowed in during the party, and packed up together.
Since I was not told that anyone would be going into that room, I had assumed it was safe to leave them there.

Clearly, I assumed wrong.

Two of the girls had left the set already, and through talking to almost every member of the crew, it was determined that my pants were thrown in with the rest of their clothing and were long, long gone.

Now, besides the fact that these were a great pair of yoga pants that made my ass look fantastic, I would not have thought this was such a big deal. BUT, dear readers, if you remember correctly... I biked there. There was no car to hide in. There was only my bike.

You know where this is heading. One of the crew members took pity and gave me their sweater to wrap around my waist. I put on my shirt with the feather boa still glued to my skin underneath, dragged my bike up the basement stairs, flipped the bird at this shamble of an event, and rode on home with my pantied ass bouncing on the bike seat.

I think at this point, I've earned the right to take a bow.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Critical Thinking

Well, I've made it. I'm on the West Coast. It still feels like a vacation, and every time the thought "I actually live here now" occurs to me, I have a mini anxiety attack, but I made it.
If anyone is wondering how the road trip went, it was great, but I'm not going to write about it here. I was pretty good about keeping an actual, physical journal through the whole shebang, and I think for once I'm going to keep my thoughts on all that to myself. If you are seriously dying for details, ask me in person, look at pictures on facebook, or watch the vlogs that we made on the road. They're pretty entertaining.
Suffice to say, MJ is strongly considering (in fact pretty much has already decided on) moving here. 10 days from scoffing at my choice to wanting to follow? Take from that what you will :-)

I have been noticing quite a lot lately that everyone here seems to move... well, much much slower. In NYC, when you order a sandwich, that sandwich will be made, wrapped up, and labeled in a matter of seconds. I've seen some deli guys wrap a sandwich tight enough for space travel in under 5 seconds, it's really quite remarkable.
Here, it's a different story. The only people who seem to be in any sort of rush are LA drivers (and to those of you who feel the overwhelming need to drive erratically from lane to lane, or even off the road itself to get a car or two ahead, you are a disgusting lump of overinflated moose snot with the patience of a 4 year old with ADHD, and you need a simultaneous lobotomy/enema). Moseying is too strong a word, but I will say people here just sort of... amble along. It's really weird, and when my deli lady wants to have a conversation with me rather than make my sandwich and move on to the next, I feel like something is out of kilter with the universe.
In fact, the happiest people I've seen here are always the people who work in sandwich shops. What is it about this job that makes your day so sunny?? TELL ME YOUR SECRETS, SANDWICH GODS!!

Anyway... This prompted me to think about some other immediate differences I've found between the coasts.
Keep in mind these are simply my first impressions, I'm no expert on LA. In fact I'm not really an expert on anything, so woe befall the fool who takes anything I say seriously.

Believe it or not, the people here (exempting sandwich slaves) are meaner than in NYC. There is a weird, unspoken rule in NYC that, because there is so little space, you respect and properly ignore how close people get to you in crowded situations like subways and elevators and free concerts. We mostly do this odd personal space shrinkage, where even as you're standing right up against someone else, you don't make eye contact and respect that space.
Here, you need to give people a WIDE berth, or they will call you out on it. I saw this happen just the other day when this dumb bitch snapped on a guy behind her "What are we, cuddling? You're a little close!". Keep in mind, this guy was far away by NY standards, but even if he wasn't, a simple look of uneasiness will usually suffice to send a message. No need to get snappish about it.

No matter what some who live here may say, LA is still, in a big way, playing catch-up with NYC in terms of food. Yes, there are some great restaurants scattered around, and the down and dirty Mexican food is great, but delivery needs to be punched up a notch, and most restaurants, unless you have a personal foodie guide (and I do, thank the flying spaghetti monster), are uninspired and mediocre. Fresh and organic food is more easily available, but there is nowhere I've seen, except for Whole Foods, that has a build-your-own salad bar. WHAT is that about?

Dress code. I have almost stopped myself from going out in flip flops at least 5 times, only to be assured that most places will apparently welcome you in even if you look like you just came off of the set of Blue Lagoon. Everywhere I go, there is a very eclectic mix of levels of formality, but in terms of most people having individual style, point goes to NYC.

I will say that both cities are pretty obsessed with how much better they are than every other city in the world, but people in NYC don't talk about it nearly as much as people do here. NYers simply are better, they don't need to talk about it unless asked directly. LAers are constantly talking about how great LA is, and how beautiful the weather is, and how amazing the bars are, and how stimulating the culture is.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

The thing I miss most about NYC is how assured I was, or eventually became, living there. I always knew pretty much where I was going and how to get there, and even if I got lost, I could find my way back. I know learning this new city will take time, but I didn't realize how much of a luxury it was to really know a city, to feel like, at times, you own it. Here, I'm out of my element, and it's very uncomfortable.

I'd like to say a few words about the few people that I really really miss, but I'm just going to start crying if I do, and then I might make an egregious grammatical error, and I would never forgive myself. For now, I'll just say that to those few people (and you know who you are) I miss you every day. Specifically to Astoria, the Financial District, and Williamsburgh, I send my love from the west.

That's all for now. More on this later. And, if you'd like to see the first road trip vlog from MJ and myself, click on this underlined thing here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSxyL7_SYfo

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

The Method, Part 2

Ok, now that you've all read my incredibly boring curly backround, it's time to get to the real stuff.

I have literally spent years trying to find the magic secret to perfect curls, and I think I'm almost there. I admit, I'm a total "product junkie" and I'm always looking for the next Holy Grail of hair care to set me right. Between deep conditioning, straightening balm, sulfate-free shampoo, moroccan oil, frizz serum, scrunching gel, finishing cream, and up to 5 conditioners in my shower at the same time, it's gotten a tad out of control at times. I actually have 4 different products on their way to me in the mail right now. Hey, every curly has a different hair cocktail. Don't judge me.
But I have since figured out it's not totally about the products you pack on, but it's about how to care for your hair itself.

That's where the Curly Girl Method comes in.
(to be referred to from here on out as "CG")

"What is the CG method?" you may blindly ask. Well, sit down and have a drink, 'cause I'mma tell you.

CG is all about protecting curly hair and keeping it as healthy as possible. The basic idea is that curly hair generally has a weaker hair shaft than straight hair. Because of all the curves and bends, the hair cuticle is naturally more open and porous, and therefore loses moisture much more easily and quickly.
Most shampoos have something called sulfates in them, which is the active ingredient used to clean the hair. However, sulfates are very harsh cleansers and extremely drying on hair. It's the same active ingredient used in dishwashing soap. This strips the hair shaft of moisture, and for curly hair, this ends in disaster. If the curls are thirsty, they will soak up moisture from anywhere they can, and most often, it will be the humidity in the hair that is the most accessible.
And you all know what happens then. POOF.
Beyonce ain't the only one that can see your halo.

Now, to combat this excessive dryness that the sulfates have caused, most curly hair products (most conditioners in general too) use silicones to coat and slick down the hair shaft, thereby smoothing out curls and frizz. This is only a temporary fix, for the 'cones, as they are called in CG world, in addition to merely treating the symptom and not the cause, actually prevent moisture from entering the hair at all, leaving it parched underneath the fake sheen.
Not only that, but most silicones are so heavy that they can only be removed with... you guessed it... SULFATES.

So, we have the continuous catch-22 of hair care. We need silicones to cover up the damage the sulfates have done, but we need the sulfates to get the silicones out and clean the hair.
What is a curly to do???

It's quite simple actually. DON'T USE EITHER ONE OF THEM.

Now, it's true that some shampoos are made without sulfates, but if you want to go true CG, all you really need to wash your hair is... conditioner!
"Ew, that won't get my hair clean! How gross!"
Au contraire, my fair weather readers.
Curly hair needs all the moisture it can get. All you have to do is massage conditioner into your scalp, and the movement of your fingers plus the mild cleansing properties of the conditioner will be enough to loosen the dirt and oil enough to be rinsed out, and viola! Clean hair! Some girls use a lighter conditioner for 'co-washing' and a heavier one for actual conditioning, but you don't have to.
And let me just say, I have not washed my hair with shampoo in almost 6 months. My scalp is perfectly clean and healthy. If I really feel like I need it, I do a rinse with 2 cups of warm water, 2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar, and 1 teaspoon of tea tree oil (for flakes) and it gets any residual product and oil right out. Not to mention the ACV makes my hair crazy shiny. Condition after, and you're ready to go.

Now, I will admit, when you transition to CG, the hardest part is seeing just how many of your current products have sulfates and silicones in them. When I checked, all but 1 of my products were not CG approved.
Let me say it again: Out of over 15 hair products, I could only keep using 1.
It took a lot to just toss all that money out the window, but it's totally been worth it. My hair is moisturized, healthy, bouncy, and pretty consistently forms the ringlets that I love so much.

There are more things you can do to help your hair, but that main no-sulfates-no-silicones philosophy is the core of being a CG. Some other CG tips include:
- Deep conditioning once a week
- Using only wide-toothed combs or finger combing, and only while in the shower
- Scrunching excess water out of your hair with old t-shirts or microfiber towels (NEVER use regular towels, they will pull on your hair and make it frizz)
- Using as little heat as possible, air drying is best if you have time
- Finger curling some pieces on top to make them look more uniform
- Finding out what type of curls you have and therefore what specific products to use
- "Clipping" hair at the root for added volume at the crown
All that is part of it too. But the main plan is to keep as much moisture in your hair as possible. When your hair is moisturized from the inside out, it won't be so desperate for the humidity in the air, and your hair will actually make it through the day.. or 2 or 3 if you're lucky!

I'll put some links that I have found incredibly useful if you feel like you need some more education/inspiration.

First, if you feel like you need more inspiration to go CG, here are only about a million before and after examples:
http://www.naturallycurly.com/curltalk/general-discussion-about-curly-hair/47609-post-your-before-after-cg-pics.html

Here is a more detailed step-by-step guide of CG, in case I didn't explain it well enough, or if I was too snarky for you:
http://www.wikihow.com/Follow-the-Curly-Girl-Method-for-Curly-Hair

Here is some scientific info on hair, in case you want to know more about why it works:
http://livecurlylivefree.com/curly%20hair%20basics.htm

If you're wondering how to identify products that don't have the SS demon duo, here are the ingredients to watch out for:
http://livecurlylivefree.com/product%20ingredients.htm

Here's where you can get a general idea of your curl type:
http://www.naturallycurly.com/texture-typing?utm_source=naturallycurly&utm_medium=bighighlight&utm_campaign=TTV4

This is from the website of the guy who recently cut my hair and convinced me to go CG forever. He rocked the cut, and has so many amazing tips, I'm in love:
http://www.nyccurls.com/knowyourcurl.html

Here is where you can look for products that fit you, read reviews, and easily see if they have evil ingredients:
http://www.naturallycurly.com/curlproducts/search

Deep conditioning is not a requirement, but they help SO MUCH, and you can even make your own! Here are some recipes:
http://www.curlynikki.com/2010/05/homemade-deep-conditioner-recipes.html

If you don't know what conditioner to start with, this crazy bitch systematically tries and reviews dozens of conditioners. I'm thankful, yet I pity her:
http://www.naturallycurly.com/curltalk/general-discussion-about-curly-hair/10605-conditioner-chronicles.html

Just to remind you that curly is beautiful, this tumblr makes me happy and proud to be curly:
http://welovecurls.tumblr.com/

For further research, http://www.naturallycurly.com/, http://www.curlynikki.com/, http://livecurlylivefree.com/, and http://www.curlmart.com/ are havens of information on what to do, what to get, and where to get it.
Go on, educate and treat yo'self. You deserve it.
Well, I do anyway. I'm assuming you do too.

Whew. That was all a mouthful. I hope some part of this helps you in any way. Love your hair, love yourself.

Monday, September 3, 2012

The Method, Part 1

So, assuming you've read the title of this post, I'm sure you think that this will be about acting? Or, maybe how my move is going? Or maybe just how I manage to juggle a job, hobbies, and a social life all while staying fit with a smile on my face and shiny, perfect hair?

HAH. Especially if you thought anything about that last sentence was true. HAH.

Well, you're right about one thing. I'm going to write about my hair.
It doesn't always turn out shiny, and it sure is a far cry from perfect, but I've been making some changes to my routine over the last month or so, and in the last 2 weeks alone I've had more people ask me about my hair than in the last year.

Having curly hair is a blessing and a curse. Lately I've come to see it as more of the former, but growing up, it was a different story.
It seems like before about the year 1995, no one really knew a lot about curly hair. Any information available was supposed to apply to all hair types, whether it be cutting, brushing, cleaning, or setting your hair. Someone had finally turned curlies onto the diffuser, which helped, but for girls who lived in humid climates, trying to get your curls to look good and stay that way was next to impossible.
My own mom, who has full, beautiful hair, kept it in a pixie cut for most of high school in muggy South Florida, just because she didn't know what else to do with it. After she grew it out, she would blow-dry it most of the time, and it wasn't until after she married my dad she finally started to work with her natural texture. I have heard and read about similar stories so many times, and to those curlies who got through the 60's, 70's, and 80's without the products/information we have available today, I salute you.

As for me, I didn't really care much about my hair until middle school rolled around. Mom taught me to diffuse it, but beyond that, I just had no idea. I went from bushy, brushed-out hair, to helmet head ponytails, to crunchy misshapen curls, and all the while, frizz FRIZZ FRIZZ (using text size to demonstrate how it got progressively worse throughout the day). I got really good at the 'messy bun' look. Or, for me, a bun.
Basically, I spent days alternating which I hated more: my acne-prone skin, or my hair.
Through late high school and college, I found a mixture of products that more or less worked, but my hair would only feel healthy right after a cut, and never stayed that way for long. It always felt dry and just on the brink of total rebellion. I was treating the symptoms, not the cause.

Then, a few months ago, I decided to do some real research on my hair. I've been going to the same woman to cut my hair since middle school, and the 2 times I've 'cheated' on her, (and yes, that's what it felt like) I was horrified at the results. So, knowing this time around I would not have time to go home by the time I needed my next cut, I started looking up the real curl geniuses. I found one, but through his site, and about 100 links later, I found a storehouse of information on caring for curly hair; so much so that I found out styling, while important, is incidental. Healthy hair doesn't need or want you to mess with it much, and after hours and hours of research, I think I've stumbled upon a method that has changed the way I see my hair forever. I can now say, with no sarcasm, I LOVE my hair.
Not to mention that while yes, most guys prefer straight hair, the ones who like curly hair are REALLY REALLY into it. And hey, who can blame them?

This may all sound very shallow and narcissistic, but confidence is strongly linked to hair for many women, including me. My mom and sister always make fun of me for how much time I spend on my hair and face, but I feel like they are my best features, not to mention the ones people see first. I feel the most beautiful when I am healthy, and if my hair can project that, I can walk out the house with a little bit of swagger.

So, my fellow curlies, this is for you. In my next blog (Part 2), I'll give you a step-by-step idea of the method I follow, and some helpful links if you feel like educating yourself further on this matter.

And to my dear beloved girls just born with shiny, healthy, straight hair, just to make it clear: we don't hate you.
Well, ok, sometimes we hate you, but on our best hair days, we know you get jealous of us too :-)

Thursday, August 30, 2012

The End of An Era

I don't really know how to say this. I mean, I know what I want to say, but I don't want to hurt... Listen, before I say any of this I just need you to know how much I love you and how much these last 7 years have meant to me. You've given me more than I ever imagined, and I wouldn't be the same person without you...
But I've changed. I'm ready to move on with my life, I need a place where I can grow. Dammit, I need space!

I guess I just have to say it.

NYC: I'm breaking up with you.

Yes, folks. This die-hard NY fan, accustomed and addicted to 4 am last calls, 24 hour delivery, broadway plays, subway musicals, and an unbeatable skyline is moving, of all places, to LA.

Take a moment. Shed a tear. I've shed a more than a few trying to come to terms with this.

The weird thing is that this really feels like a break-up. I have all sorts of emotions going on right now, ranging from sadness to excitement to guilt to nostalgia... It's driving me insane. How have I reached the point where I feel like I'm betraying a fucking city?? I wasn't born here, I haven't even reached the full 10-year New Yorker requirement, and god knows if I was in a relationship with NYC it was bipolar and emotionally abusive AT BEST.
But for some reason, I do.

The journey from 18 to 25 is rocky for everyone. It's when you go from trying to make your life what you THINK you want it to look like, to actually figuring out what YOU want, independent of anyone else. Screw puberty, this is the time I went from childhood to adulthood.
And, barring a couple of months here and there, I did it all in New York.

When I think back about the person I was when I came here, I know that my core beliefs really haven't changed. Be nice to people, don't murder, baby animals are awesome, etc. But I have changed in many big and small ways. Whether giving me the opportunity to meet incredible/awful people, go to incredible/awful performances, or see incredible/awful sights right on the street, I have to say that NYC is certainly a city of abundance. More than anything, an abundance of opportunities to learn.
Since being here, I've learned more than I ever dreamed about acting, friendship, drinking, mental and physical health, love, success, failure, sex, connection, being alone... So many lessons crammed into just 7 years. Not all of it was fun to learn. In fact, most of it wasn't. But I am a better, smarter, and tougher person for all of it.
And, let's be honest, I had a hell of a lot of fun in between.

I could list all the reasons here why I'm moving to LA. The problem is, those reasons change on a day-to-day basis. Sure, I'm looking to get more into film and there are more jobs there. Sure, I like beaches and hiking and camping, along with not having to travel for 3 hours to get to said activities. Sure, there are certain people I can't wait to see. Sure, I need a fresh start to go with this new person I've been becoming over the last year or so.
But honestly, more than anything... WHY NOT?
I'm 25! I'm independent! I'm young, smart, and beautiful! There is literally no better time to pick up my whole life and move it across the country just to see what happens.

So, rather than spend all my time looking back at what I'm going to miss, I've been trying to focus my energy into looking ahead at what could be. What this could mean for my life and my goals. Honestly, I've spent a lot of my time since making this decision in a pretty negative place, but that is all fear talking. Change is not easy. NY taught me that. It also taught me a lot about hope. I'm gonna let hope talk for a while.
And hey, LA may not be the master teacher that NYC has been, but everyone has something to teach, right?

And just to make the transition a little easier, MJ and I will be taking a 10 day roadtrip from NYC to LA, as a last hoorah, and fulfilling the dream of 'that trip' we always talked about taking together. It's going to be crazy fun, as long as we both make it out alive. (Just joking of course. Sort of.)

Yes, I'm scared. And I have the feeling that I will be looking back on these years with a lot of fondness and a little nausea for years to come.
But I'm also excited. And getting more excited every day.

Plus, you know, I can always move back ;-)

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Edging Out Your Competition

I'm thinking of a person. Well, a sort of person. You know this person. In fact, I'll bet you know quite a few of them. You may even have seen them today. Not in person, of course... that would be too risky.
But you did see (coughstalkcough) them on facebook.

"Who is this person??" you may ask. "How do you know about them? How did you know I look at (coughobsessovercough) their facebook photos?"

Oh, my child. I know. I know, because I know this person too. And I make the same mistake you do.

This person is the perfect person. They have a perfect face. They have a perfect body. They have perfectly cool pictures. They have a perfect balance of work and fun. They have a perfect life.

You compare yourself to them. And, without fail, you come up short.

Come on guys, I can't be the only person who does this. At first, it's innocent, just scanning the facebook feed. Then you see something, and go to a profile. You start clicking through pictures.
And the next thing you know, it's 30 minutes later, you have determined without a doubt that this person has the perfect (insert face, body, job, anything really), and that not only do you not have said perfect thing, but you never will, and whereas 30 minutes ago you were a perfectly normal and adequate human being, you are now an unworthy, inferior cockroach.

Ok, maybe it's not that dramatic. But you know what I mean.

Psychologists have a term for this phenomenon. They call it "shitty comparison shopping".
Ok, maybe they don't call it that. But you know what I mean. And it DOES happen. All the time.

To get all personal with this issue, I've recently started a new kind of workout with my trainer called CrossFit. Basically, you do 5 different exercises for 60 seconds each, doing as many reps as you can. You keep counting through all 5 exercises, and at the end you write your number down. You do this 3 times, and then try to up your number from session to session.
Sounds simple enough? Yeah, it sounds simple. To put it mildly, for someone who hates cardio and the gym in general, it's a fucking nightmare.
I know it's a good workout, and I know it will help my endurance and all that, but it's still a rough 15 minutes, and the only thing keeping me from ripping off the scrotum of anyone near me is my awesome trainer, who knows just when to encourage, give tough love, or tell a cheesy joke.

My number shot up since last week, so of course I should be proud of the work I'm doing. And I was even starting to feel sort of good about it... until the dreaded facebook shitty comparison shopping trap.

I've really been trying to improve myself lately, mostly having to do with my physical health. I don't feel good when I go to the gym; in fact it makes me angry and upset. Very often (most recently 2 nights ago) when I push myself hard, I start crying.
Yep. Fucking crying. Like a little girl.
But I go anyway. I don't get the endorphins, but I go anyway. And I've seen major changes in m body. Not to boast, but a lot of other people have too.

Every woman has a different body type. Mine is generally lean with curves, mostly on the lower half. Yes, I'm happy with it. I don't want to look like a stick, I like feeling feminine and my butt-aciousness is usually a big part of that.

But when you fall into the SCS trap, you will always find another person with a smaller waist, or bigger boobs, or nicer hair, or prettier eyes, or better skin, or or or or or...
(this can continue for a while)
And suddenly it doesn't matter that you looked in the mirror 5 minutes ago and were happy with what you saw. You feel like shit.

So, what have we learned here?

Comparing yourself to others is not a path to happiness. Some use it as motivation, I suppose, but it seems quite a lofty and unrealistic goal to become someone else.
Spoiler alert: It's never gonna happen.
If you're trying to get better, compare yourself to... yourself. When I noticed myself getting caught up in SCS, I looked at a picture on my camera taken about a year and a half ago:


This is me at around 160-165 lbs. Yes, I know it's a far cry from obesity, but I was not happy with it.

Now, having that picture in my head of... let's call her Past Rachel, I can now look at myself in the mirror and think "Damn. I kicked that girl's ass! I'm so much better looking than her!"


Better lighting and photo quality nonwithstanding, this is me clocking it at about 140 lbs.

I'd say Present Rachel wins this battle.

I'm making an effort to remind myself that the only person I should be comparing myself to is the me of yesterday. And if the me of today isn't winning, get up and do something about it.

You can only be the best version of YOU. Deep down, don't you want it that way?