Tuesday, September 22, 2009


Woke up to a waning cold this morning, thank God. Energy was up phlegm was down, so I dove into cleaning the cave. Bathroom, floors, carpet. Then the energy took a nosedive. I easily let myself off the hook, checked FB, ‘liked’ some things, and started my research on fetal monitoring. No, I’m not pregnant. I’m playing an OB resident on a mini-series and we shoot tomorrow. I have to attach a fetal monitor to the lead actress and deliver my 4 lines. I’m pretty happy about the whole thing- not just ‘cuz acting is fun- but it’s my first official speaking role! Official, because anything else I’ve done in film/TV where I’m speaking, I’ve written myself (which we all know doesn’t count). THEY have hired me so therefore I am now legit. For real. Bonafide. Yes, that’s me.

After some interweb surfing and BBM-ing with Pinky, who’s in NY right now, I start to feel a little guilty. I should really rehearse. So I do. But in the midst of my fabulous line readings, I glance down at my feet and notice the sorry state of my toes. Hmm. Looks like its time to give myself a pedicure. But wait! Why not go and get someone ELSE to give me a pedicure?? Yes and yes. I’ve got this acting thing down, its ok, I can take a break. Now, the whole time I lived in Brooklyn, pedicures were a part of my basic upkeep. I mean, I HATE my feet. Well, my toes specifically. They are long and the knuckles are so…knuckly? I chalk it up to years of doing pointe but, damn, you’d think by now they would’ve just gotten better. But no, some things are scarred for life (sniffle). Since coming back to TO I’ve been breaking my back doing my own pedicures- oh the horror!! So today I decide to ‘treat’ myself.

There’s a pedi/mani/wax spot at the plaza near moms, so off I go. On the way I see a piece of someone’s weave mushed into the sidewalk. Completely mushed. So much so that, at first glance, it looked more like a poop smear. And I think, ‘Ayesh, are you sure you’re not in BK?’ Then, as I’m walking through the plaza parking lot, I notice this awesome tan colored Mustang pulling into a spot. The best part is that the woman driving was so old she looked like she was folded in half. What a cool old chick. I hope I’m that cool when I’m old. Minus the folded in half part. Oh, and add the having a license part.

I excitedly enter the pedicure spot and inquire as to their prices. In BK you can get a decent pedi for approximately $12-15, so I figure Toronto? Around $20. You can imagine my shock when the lady tells me $29. That’s NOT including the tip folks. Are you out of your fucking mind??? $29 dollars???? HEEEELLL to the no is what I say. And that is the end of that my friends. I jet out of there in shock and awe. Looks like me and my toes have a date for some self-love tonight.

Instead of heading straight home, I make a wee stop at the grocery store. Not sure what I’m getting but I know I need something. Walking the aisles I successfully combat my immense sugar attraction. I do NOT pick up the freshly baked brownies, oatmeal chocolate chunk cookies or gooey apple Danishes. I walk right by them, saying ‘you are not the boss of me, you scrumptious little morsels of sweetness’. I can almost hear them crying. But my head is more concerned with dinner at this point, so my thoughts turn to savory options. I pick up some Louisiana hot sauce, a jar of pickled hot peppers, cream cheese (Philly, of course), a couple of tomatoes and a bag of frozen corn. At the checkout I overhear the cashier calling for help quietly into her phone. Apparently there is a woman in line who has been banned from the grocery store! Ohhhhh, exciting! I glance casually behind me and all I see are old ladies. Hmm, maybe not so exciting? I wonder at what one of these grandmas must have done. Just as I’m pondering whether to linger by the exit in case something juicy happens, a dashing, middle-aged Black man saunters past me. And boy did he smell goooood. I get so completely distracted in the reverie of his essence that I follow him out the door. As soon as the muggy air hits me I realize I’ve missed my chance. I will never find out what the old bat did! And the gentleman wasn’t that handsome, he just smelled good. Bah!

Yes, I’m still PMS-ing.

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