the oreo experience

On Being Short Sighted

For those who were there, this might sound familiar. For those who weren’t, this is a story I shared at The Moth a few weeks back. The theme of the night was “Small World” 

I hate to admit it, but there was a time when I totally let a guy’s height influence whether or not I would date him.

I date online. As you do these days. And the vast majority of the messages that turn up in my inbox consistent entirely of a: “Hey” or a “You’re sexy.” or a “Do you date Mexican guys?”

Is it weird that I get that same question at job interviews?
(source)

So when I get an actual email with actual words in it, I get very excited. And this one guy’s email had actual words and actual phrases, so I was very excited.

I clicked on over to his profile for a quick “any signs of crazy” check. And for the most part, things looked good.

I looked at his main picture–a headshot. He was no Ryan Reynolds, but I am also not Ryan Reynolds, so that was okay. He had a job and was pretty articulate and a little funny, so hooray. I wrote him back.

He wrote me back that same night and his email actually made me laugh out loud, so I was extra excited! But before I was going to invest the next 7 minutes writing him an email, I decided I should spend another hour or so over-analyzing his profile and potentially talking myself out of a perfectly nice thing, as you do.

Back on his profile, there were some flags. He was a smoker. Not a deal breaker per se, but not ideal for me. He had a job, but he didn’t seem to have many big aspirations. I’m a very ambitious person, so I kinda want to date someone who gets that part of me. He was a little cynical, which is fine, but I’m prone to feeling needlessly upset about things, so I’m kinda looking for someone a little naturally more positive.

The epitome of positivity.
(source)

But then one sentence caught my eye.

“The box is correct. I am that short.”

The “box” is a list of personal bullet points–sign, religion, pets, kids, height. For his height, it said “4 feet.”

I clicked on the picture tab to see all of his shots. He was correct. Dude was a dwarf. He wasn’t just a “smaller guy” or “someone with a slight frame.” He probably had paperwork somewhere about his height. And as I looked at his pictures, one thought kept running through my head. I realized…I don’t know any dwarves. Ohmygod, I DON’T KNOW ANY DWARVES!!!

(remember the part about me feeling needlessly bad about things)

And I started to panic about why I didn’t know any dwarves. Was I accidentally racist…or whatever…about dwarves? All of my friends are totally regular-bodied. I don’t have any friends in wheelchairs or who are deaf. I’ve got a couple of Crohn’s sufferers, but only one of them is missing any of her intestines, and I think she’s only missing like an inch or so. I had no idea I was so close-minded!

I also started so see this guy’s profile in a whole new light.

Of COURSE he’s a smoker, OreoExperience. It’s probably been very stressful being a dwarf, I’d probably be a smoker, too! And so he’s a little unambitious. So what? You know what’s probably insanely difficult, OreoExperience? Getting the leverage necessary to do brain surgery on a rocket ship when you’re only 48 inches tall! Oh, and he’s a little cynical. Give the guy a break, OreoExperience, how do you think you’d feel about the world if every day someone probably asked you if you knew Peter g-damn Dinklage! As much as you hate to admit it, you’re a minority, too! You know what it’s like to be judged on how you look. Why don’t you give the guy a break and go out with him?!?!?

For the record, I loved the Dinklage long before Winter ever came.
(source)

So I happily wrote him back and I started to fantasize about the beautiful, progressive relationship we’d have. How we’d become UN Ambassadors for love and change the world through our tiny, cafe au lait colored children.

But then I got his response. And it was a little much. Like three pages a little much. And rambly. And spent maybe too many words describing how often he gets distracted at work because he’s too busy constructing fantasy lives for all his clients instead of just listening to them.

So I didn’t write him back.

But not because he was short. But because he was crazy.

Which might make me a jerk. But at least I’m not racist…or whatever.

Advertisements

5 Reasons Being a Straight White Male is NOT the Easiest Game Play Setting

The long skinny ones always look so simple, but they’ll getcha. They always do.
(source)

There’s an article floating around the Intertubes at moment explaining how being a straight, white male (SWM) is essentially playing a video game on the easiest setting. The only video game I ever play is Katamari, so I’ll let the author of the post explain himself, because I’ll just screw up the lexicon.

He starts the article thusly:

I’ve been thinking of a way to explain to straight white men how life works for them, without invoking the dreaded word “privilege,” to which they react like vampires being fed a garlic tart at high noon….So, the challenge: how to get across the ideas bound up in the word “privilege,” in a way that your average straight white man will get, without freaking out about it?

First of all…WOAH! Taking on complicated, nuanced societal topics. Ummm, the Internets are for funny cat videos and re-purposed pictures of Keanu Reeves, thank you very much. The ego of some people using a free, worldwide distribution system to be all blahblahmyopinions! Ugh.

He continues:

Dudes. Imagine life here in the US — or indeed, pretty much anywhere in the Western world — is a massive role playing game, like World of Warcraft except appallingly mundane, where most quests involve the acquisition of money, cell phones and donuts, although not always at the same time. Let’s call it The Real World. You have installed The Real World on your computer and are about to start playing, but first you go to the settings tab to bind your keys, fiddle with your defaults, and choose the difficulty setting for the game. Got it?

Okay: In the role playing game known as The Real World, “Straight White Male” is the lowest difficulty setting there is.

This means that the default behaviors for almost all the non-player characters in the game are easier on you than they would be otherwise. The default barriers for completions of quests are lower. Your leveling-up thresholds come more quickly. You automatically gain entry to some parts of the map that others have to work for. The game is easier to play, automatically, and when you need help, by default it’s easier to get.

Second of all…WOAH! This sounds insane. Why are video games so complicated?! That’s why I like my Katamari. You just push a ball around and pick stuff up with it.

Now, once you’ve selected the “Straight White Male” difficulty setting, you still have to create a character, and how many points you get to start — and how they are apportioned — will make a difference. Initially the computer will tell you how many points you get and how they are divided up. If you start with 25 points, and your dump stat is wealth, well, then you may be kind of screwed. If you start with 250 points and your dump stat is charisma, well, then you’re probably fine. Be aware the computer makes it difficult to start with more than 30 points; people on higher difficulty settings generally start with even fewer than that.

As the game progresses, your goal is to gain points, apportion them wisely, and level up. If you start with fewer points and fewer of them in critical stat categories, or choose poorly regarding the skills you decide to level up on, then the game will still be difficult for you.

Third of all…WOAH!! “dump stat”? Haha! That’s a hilarious sounding thing.*

Fourth of all..WOAH!! This is just wrong! Look, I do everything in my power to escape the cruel joke the universe played on my by injecting me with melanin and making me look like an RBP. But being white is totes tough!! I mean, just look at the very well-reasoned comments at the bottom of that article and you’ll see! Not being a minority comes with some serious baggage.

1. Sunscreen. You have to put that shit on like every time you go out in the sun. Every. Time.

I’ve had one sunburn in my life and yes, I was thrilled that I got to stick my toe in the waters of white life, but that thing stung like crazy! And so much aloe! I had to drop like $4 just to feel better.

I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that you can put this plant’s juice both on your skin and also in your mouth. Seems like it should be one or the other.
(source)

2. Boring interactions with authorities. Imagine this: You get pulled over by a police officer and s/he just asks for your license and registration. Or this: You walk into a high-end store and NO ONE follows you around making sure you don’t steal things (this happened to me at Ralph’s the other week..No offense Ralph’s, but if my RBP takes over and I decide to rip off a store, it’s not gonna be for some fennel and sourdough).

Or this: You’re a kid in school and when you act up, the teacher wonders if you have ADD, talks to your parents and comes up with an action plan and DOESN’T call you a thug.

Where’s the excitement in any of that? While yes, profiling is insulting, annoying and inaccurate, it does make your average minority’s life a touch more exciting. People do expensive things to chase adrenaline rushes all the time. Who needs skydiving when you can get a random gun in your face?

Of course, there’s always extreme ironing.
Yup. that’s a thing.
(source)

3. Dull, predictable hair care and beauty products. Sure, some white people have difficult hair, but you can generally go into any place that sells hair stuff and just buy it. You don’t get the action adventure of traveling to three separate places to find the right combination of products that allows you to actually reposition the hair on your head. And that sucks! We evolved from hunters and gatherers, we crave adventure and scarcity, we want to fight for what’s ours. And being brown forces you into hours-long pursuits to find stuff that works on your scalp and makeup that actually matches your skin.

Sigh. Oh, nude slash flesh-colored Band Aid…one day your name will be true for me. One day.
(source)

4. Not being able to get into college. One of the big comment trends in the above article is about how it’s harder to be white because thanks to Affirmative Action, poor, dumb brown kids are taking the place of deserving white kids at schools.

And that’s totally true. Because when I think of a college campus, I basically picture South Central. Nothing describes the look of a college campus more than “basically a still from The Wire” or “kind of like the set of a Spike Lee joint” or “wait, this is Harvard, I thought  it was Madea goes to Cambridge.”

I mean, goodness, look what Affirmative Action did to the White House.

Once the Ivy League. Now the Izivy Lizzeague.
(source)

5. The boring ol’ benefit of the doubt. When life is too predictable, with no bizarre threats to keep you on your toes,  complacency follows. Then depression and soon you’re writing passive aggressive blog posts and not living up to your potential. Just think how much more exciting it would be if you had odd systemic threats lurking around corners.

Like, you could be Florida’s George Zimmerman who tracked and killed an unarmed kid who was leaving you alone and then ONLY get arrested after everyone in the nation threatened to disappear your state. ORRRR you could be Florida’s Marissa Alexander who DIDN’T kill her terribly abusive ex-husband after he ran after her threatening her life and you could get 20 years in prison!!

C’mon!! Which makes a better facebook update: “still livin’ life, yo” or “holyfuckingfuck!! i’m going to be removed from my children’s life because I tried to protect them against a known abuser, thus making it more likely that since they’ll grown up without parents, they’re more likely to continue the cycle of violence that I was hoping to shield them from!!! hashtag HungerGames.”

#noonelikesaboringhashtag

Even with these burdens, I’m still committed to my Oreo lifestyle. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy not having to worry about the angry angry sun and getting jobs that I’m not qualified for, but if one more person at Zumba says something to me like “You sisters are so lucky–you can do all those moves ‘cuz you’ve got natural booty,” I might go all Marissa Alexander on them.

And Bonus: Slavery totally had TONS of benes that only a certain segment of the population got to take part in. And to think, RBP have the nerve to white about the peculiar institution like it wasn’t kind of baller.

I’m starting with a quick review of the Oreo basics. Won’t you join me?

Not sure you’re using the term “Oreo” correctly? If you’re still reading, you probably are. But click here to double check.

Why go white? Lots of reasons!

Stuck talking to an RBP or someone who thinks you’re one? Remove yourself in 3 easy steps!

What do you think? Is there an easier gameplay setting? Wanna hang out and play some Katamari together? Let us know in the comments!

*Seriously, though, what’s a dump stat?

***************************
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!

Then and Now – Renn Fests, RENT and Sad Ass Rats and Puberty

I’m pretty sure that the first time my parents took me to a Renaissance Festival, they thought I would, like other (read: normal tweens) would find it to be a ridiculous exercise, and demand that we go do something  that other (read: capable of being popular) tweens would like to do like…anything else.

They were wrong.

So so wrong.

What happened instead was that I immediately fell in love and vowed never to leave my corsetted haven again. I had come home and ‘twould be an impossible task to render me from the hearth that had been kept from me so long. And by “impossible…to render” I mean that 12 hours later my folks were super annoyed and it was bloody well time to go.

Every year I think to myself (read: speak aloud to myself much to the chagrin of other [read: normal] people sitting in my office around me): “Okay, we’re gonna go to Renn Fest this year…but the magic’s probably gonna be gone. It might be kinda boring. I’m sure it won’t be as fun as OHMYGODWEGETTOGOTORENNFEST!!!”

Every year I go back to Renn Fest and fall in love all over again.

I have changed…somewhat. Here’s saucy college Oreo Experience and my period-tastic blanchetourage:

What happens in the Queen’s Court stays in the Queen’s Court.

And here’s 2012 Oreo Experience. Still dorky, more understated.

Girls just wanna have fun…and personalized garlands sold to us by a man wearing pointy felt shoes.

And so it was that I spent a lovely day eating huge pieces of meat, lusting after perfectly boned bodices and watching men ram each other with their long poles.

That’s exactly what jousting is. Men. Ramming. Poles
(source)

And I realized that while I loved Renn Fests as much as I did the first time, not everything from childhood holds up so well. Here are some things I loved loved loved as a kids and had very different reactions to later:

RENT (Life is hard for artists)

What I thought when I first saw it: Yes, yes yes!!! Art is important, AIDS is terrible, homophobia is bullshit!!! We all need to WAKE UP and stop letting THE MAN dictate  how we’re supposed to live our lives!!

What I thought when I saw it as an adult: Yes, art is important, AIDS is terrible, homophobia is bullshit. Buuuuuut, how hard is it to just get a part-time job, you know. I know it’s not “ideal” but neither is meatloaf. Doesn’t mean we don’t eat it sometimes….Though I’d still pay $1,500 to sing a duet–any duet–with Adam Pascal. (Seriously, I would pay that. Does anyone know him? Have him email me! Not bad for like a hour of his time, yeah?).

Hell, I’ll even claim my blackness and do Aida if it means I get to do… that.
(source)

Willow (I loved them both, the bushel and the peck)

What I thought when I first saw it: I don’t know what sex is yet, but when I do know what it is, I will want to have it with Madmartigan.


Elora Danan’s real baby daddy?

What I thought when I saw it as an adult: Good on you, Warwick Davis! Way to keep your career going, that’s actually really impressive. Am I racist for wondering if he and Peter Dinklage know each other?

The Neverending Story (Open book, insert boy)

What I thought when I first saw it: Yes, yes yes!!! I want to dedicate my life to reading books in the attic so that I can have awesome adventures. Those eyeball lasers are the scariest! I am in love with Valcor.

What I thought when I saw it as an adult: “You’re letting the sadness of the swamp get to you??!” Who wrote this shit? Also, what the fuck are they standing on if “this is all that’s left of the world”?? How are they breathing? If “that” is all that’s left, then there’s no air, princess. And how exactly does shouting an unintelligible name save anything? Dammit, did we go through this whole bottle??

Crying because she doesn’t know how physics work.
(source)

The Secret of NIMH_(Really tough real estate market for rats)

What I thought when I first saw it: This movie is nothing but beautiful. Also, I’m don’t know what sex is yet, but when I do know what it is, I will want to have it with Justin.

You can call me Ms. Brisby if you’re nasty.
(source)

What I thought when I saw it as an adult: *sobbing* Her poor son..that poor woman. She’s… Her husband never… Their house is just… They come from a lab… *sniffling* Why did I have so many crushes on animals as a kid??

Who Am I Now? (Horrible video my parents thought would explain some of life’s tougher questions)

What I thought when I first saw it: …the fu–??!? Okay, I’m just gonna watch it one more time. Maybe it’ll make sense then.

What I thought when I saw it as an adult: …the fu–??! Ha!! If only I had made this a drinking game back then!!

And if you’re wondering if The Core holds up.. Yes. It does.

What did you watch as a kid that doesn’t make sense now? What stands the test of time? Let us know in the comments!

***************************
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!

How to Sit For a Portrait

My friend made this! Go to his website, marvel at his other awesome paintings and then hire him to make beautiful paintings for you too!
(source: Leighton Hickman Art)

Sometimes, yours truly gets to do cool things. In case you want to do cool things, too, here’s a step-by-step guide for making said things happen.

Today’s lesson: How to Sit For a Portrait. We’ll cover everything from finding an artist to getting through the session.

Pencils up? Let’s go!

1. Through an amazing stroke of luck, find yourself employed by a top-tier animation studio.

2. Spend 4 or 5 months marveling at your luck, keeping your eyes down and speaking to no one lest you do something to wake up from this wonderful lucid dream.

3. Finally work up the nerve to start talking to people. Start with the dude you always seem to end up riding up 5 floors with in the elevator.

4. Chide self for thinking that the Bo Burnham lyric “…and f*cked her in an elevator…It was wrong on so many levels…” Is the funniest ish in the world.

5. Initiate sarcastic conversation about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich your elevator-mate is holding.

6. Wonder if maybe you shouldn’t be such a fucking bitch and maybe try starting conversations with “Hey, I’m TOE, I’ve seen you around…what’s your name” instead.

7. Take Artist’s lack of response as confirmation that you are a fucking bitch, ignoring any possibility that maybe Artist is shy or distracted or thinking about something, I don’t know, related to his life and not sitting around waiting for you to make some lame joke about sandwich crusts.

8. Wonder why so many kids want the crusts cut off sandwiches. The crusts really don’t taste any different from the rest of the bread.

9. Put the desire to rationalize with beings whose frontal lobes haven’t fully developed on to your list of reasons to not have kids.

10. Repeat awkward elevator rides for a few more months.

11. Finally determine you have a legitimate reason to talk to Artist because Artist is friends with the guy who dresses entirely in Victorian Era clothing and you need to be introduced.

12. Enjoy this new, albeit sometimes quiet collection of friends.

13. Go to a meeting of the Whisky Society at work.

14. Feel awkward there. Probably because you made the same lame jokes instead of just relating to people as human beings.

I’m not saying that I would have been into the impenetrable class structure and popular notion that slavery maybe wasn’t terrible, but man, sometimes, it’d be easier to live in a place and time where every conversation was already tacitly scripted in order to ensure the most pleasant effect.

15. Miss going to Artist’s goodbye party because you have a show that night.

16. Be surprised as f when six months later, you see Artist back at the studio.

17. Assume that when Artist says “Good to see you, we should hang out!” that he’s lying.

18. Have lunch with Artist anyway.

19. Learn that Artist has joined the Whisky Society at work.

20. Wonder if this might be a way back in to getting to sample some amazing amazing bottles.

21. Discover that yes, it is.

22. Attend artist’s birthday party.

23. Sample from too many amazing amazing bottles.

24. When discussing the other portraits in Artist’s home, mention that you did figure modeling in college.

25. Enjoy the fact that because this isn’t super conservative Texas, the creatives in the room understand that yes you were naked, but no, it wasn’t all creepy and/or sexual and that you weren’t causing your brothers to stumble. You were just helping people make art to the tune of a very good hourly rate.

26. The next day, wonder if you remember correctly that you said you’d pose for Artist.

27. See Artist at work. Confirm suspicions.

28. Send an awkward email asking if the third pour of cask strength Laphroaig caused you to say that you’d pose nude.

29. Learn that it didn’t.

30. Exhale.

31. Wonder if Artist is just following up on said portrait session to be polite.

32. Decide to go along with it anyway.

33. Gain 3 pounds. Of course.

34. When asked, say that yes, white truffle oil pizza and duck confit salad sound just fine even though you’ve never had either.

35. Haul your costume choices upstairs.

36. Discover that you don’t like truffle oil or duck. Try to hide this fact from Artist who loves the shit out of both and got this food as a nice gesture, you cultureless ingrate.

37. Marvel at the amount of preparation Artist goes through before painting. Realize you never knew that many different kinds of brushes existed and that you’ve never seen oil paint except on already-mounted pieces in museums. Wonder if you’re this diligent about your art. Think that it’s neat that this rough and tumble dude can make really pretty things with his hands. Wish there was a way to cut through small talk bullshit and get right to this part of a friendship from the first time you meet in an elevator.

38. Watch Downton Abbey while Artists paints.

I don’t care how put upon she is or how much of the entail she won’t get, that artless, doghearted dewberry doesn’t deserve Cousin Matthew!
(source)

39. Wonder why the effing eff you’ve never seen this miracle of television programming before. Seriously, it’s like the producers took all the things you love about life–including Laura Linney–and put them into one fantastic show handcrafted just for you.

40. In between episodes enjoy the sounds of brush on linen and cars on street.

41. Decide that this would make a great one-act play where the audience is forced to watch two actors be very still and to create all the movement and action in dialogue and acting alone.

42. Hope you’re not being vain by wanting to see the final thing.

43. See the final thing.

44. Gasp.

45. Hope that it’s possible that you sometimes look that lovely.

46. Finally feel confident in a friendship.

47. Ruin that bit of maturity by checking Aritst’s post of the picture to make sure that people are saying that not only is the painting gorgeous, but so is the model.

48. No really, truffle oil tastes like poop. How can anyone disagree??

Forget the fancy food, Cousin Matthew! We can have all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you want. I’ll even cut the crusts off for you.

How do you feel about truffle oil? Painting? Downton Abbey? Let us know in the comments!

***************************
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!

Why I’m Bad at Being Brown – Reason #1248

…Because I wasn’t offended by this piece of performance art:

In case it’s not clear what going on there, here’s the sitch. Swedish artist Makode Linde wanted to make a statement about female circumcision. So he made a body out of red velvet cake, situated himself as the head and screamed when people cut into it.

Lots of people were upset at the caricaturish cake lady and called the piece racist.

But honestly, I was too bothered by the concept of eating a screaming cake to be offended. Also a little bummed that I have to think about bloody, tattered labia whenever I cut into some Heaven-sent red velvet.

(And now you will, too!)

Mmmmm, oppression.
(source)

And it did give me another reason to believe that I’m definitely not an RBP  because I couldn’t possibly be descended from people who would go through this. Not because having your twat cut off or sewn up would make it difficult to procreate and thus decrease the likelihood that The Oreo Experience would ever spring forth from your horribly abused loins. Rather because I am way too much of a pussy to be the owner of genes that could endure the rights of passage that brown people the world over seem to be able to handle.

I’ve talked about my shameful love of reality TV on the blog before. Currently, I’ve moved on from Housewives and Models though and am dealing with darker shows… Intervention, Taboo, Chopped.

For those who haven’t seen Taboo, here’s the sitch. It’s a show that looks at other societies doing things that we in the West would typically find objectionable. Things like building your house on top of a grave, drinking piss for fun and hurting yourself in the name of becoming a man or woman. Just look at some of this stuff!!

Here’s a kid willfully sticking his hands into gloves filled with thousands of poisonous, angry ants. He’ll have to do this 18 more times to win at being a man.

Here’s a kid spending a coupla hours get cut all over with razors.

Here’s a dude who’s not Jesus willingly letting himself get crucified.

Fuck!
(source)

And here’s a lady breastfeeding a pig.

Not as painful, but still....no thank you.

I’m such a wimp about pain that I passed out when my friend broke their toe. If anyone ever tried to do any of the above things to me, I would die instantly. Seriously, if I were a tribal dude and someone was like “okay, well, time to cut all your skin off so you can prove you’re a man.” I’d be like “Wait, what? Ohhhh, no, I’m not a boy, this is just a long clit.” Then they’d be like “okay, let’s cut it off then, so you can stay the pure woman you are and let this pig suckle from your bosom.” And then I’d just kill myself.

I know the Romans and Gaels and Saxons did effed up shiz to human bodies, too…but at least they had the good sense not to do it to themselves! Not saying my first choice for a Tuesday night would be to watch a torture party in the Coliseum, but at least I’d be able to keep my privates.

A friend did mention to me recently that the West’s lack of truly challenging rights of passage might be contributing to certain social ills (basically the super indulgent “why me ennui” that so many folks seem to be afflicted with when the only thing wrong with their lives is that they don’t have their dream job at 23). What do you think? Do we need to bring back more intense ways of letting people belong to the tribe? Let us know in the comments!

Oh, and if your answer to the above question is “yes,” do me a favor and give me a running start, m’kay?

***************************
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!

*Shameless Oreo Plug. 1) SmartyPig is a totally cool $-savings tool! I highly recommend it. b) So I have the opportunity to meet with an actor who I love love love in the UK this summer. Trying to make it a successful working holiday and take some other Brit talent out for a pint with the hope of writing for them one day. Should anyone feel inclined to help an Oreo purchase one of those pints, it would be totes appreciated. You can learn more about my trip, and SmartyPig at this link.

Saying Goodbye…and Hello Again

Remember when we used to write numbers down...and remember them?? I barely know my own number anymore!
(source)

Okay, I promise that the following post was motivated by the arrival of Spring, the effect of doing my taxes and by this post at GOOD.is about clearing out useless cellphone contacts and not at all by the fact that I got dumped this week.

Here’s how everything led to the post below.

Spring – As soon as it’s time to switch out the winter wardrobe for fun dresses and shirts that require an architectural model to figure how to make a bra work with them, I also feel like I should clean out things besides my closet. I toss months of useless paperwork because it’s just taking up space and even though it only pings my brain in tiny, tiny ways, it might be best to not have that distraction at all.

Taxes – Going through old receipts is like creating a horrible timeline of the stupid decisions I made in the past year. Here’s the few hundred I spent flying across the country to see someone I *just* met. Here’s the ridiculous number of drinks I consumed at that work event. Here’s the extra tank of gas I spent trying to find a Downtown LA address because I refuse to just buy a GPS. Seeing them all enumerated and put into my accountant’s spreadsheet makes me think I should also see about adiosing the people who I let drive me to such decisions.

The post at GOOD.is – The writer did exactly what I’ve been thinking of and purged cell phone contacts that were no longer serving their purpose.

Getting dumped – Why would we even bring this up? Sure, I’ll delete that contact, but whatever! I was gonna delete a bunch of others anyway. So…yeah. No big deal. At all. Just coincidental timing.

So here we go!

Folks In My Phone I’m Deleting

I can do this...I can do this...
(source)

  • This whisky bar I sometimes go to. I never call it ever. No idea why I put this number in.
  • This graphic designer I never worked with.
  • This actor I directed in a play and haven’t spoken to since 2008.
  • This guy I used to work with and I’m not even sure if he still lives in LA. Either way, neither of us work at the place where we met and haven’t spoken since 2009.
  • This guy I used to improvise with and haven’t talked to since 2010. I think he has kids now.
  • This girl I used to improvise with and haven’t talked to since 2009 when she stopped dating my friend.
  • A director who let me play Cecily in The Importance of Being Earnest, but who I haven’t talked to since and I can’t even remember the name of the theater.
  • This actress who’s got way too many TV credits for me to justify calling. Also, I’m pretty sure she has no idea who I am.
  • This guy I used to work for in 2008 who invited me to a fancy party in Laguna Beach that was maybe the 2nd most intimidating party I’ve ever been to. We didn’t actually speak at that party and we haven’t spoken since.
  • This girl who’s really good friends with the XH. Nothing against her, but not someone I wanna call on accident. Also she’s a kickass attorney, so I don’t wanna piss her off….though if you need a recommendation…
  • This older guy at a church I used to go to… He got married at like 80 years old, which I thought was awesome. Honestly have no idea if he’s still with us.
  • This guy who runs a bootcamp I used to take until I realized that I don’t do well at bootcamps.
  • Some guy whose name I don’t recognize and doesn’t turn up in my Facebook friends. The name does match that of a famous athlete. But I don’t know any famous athletes.
  • This woman who used to do my hair. Until she turned into a bitch and would make fun of my greys and secretly do things in the sink that she’d charge me for.
  • My friend’s kid who I used to tutor, but is now in college. I don’t need to have an 18-year-old dude’s name in my phone.
  • This older guy who used to hit on me, then issued the worst apology I’ve ever heard. This is how it went:

Him: Hey, I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable the other night.
Me: Thanks. I appreciate that.
Him: I mean, I know I’m too old for you, but you can’t blame me for trying, right?
Me: (uncomfortable) Hahaha, well….
Him: I mean, I get it and you’re totally right. We wouldn’t work as a couple.
Me: Right
Him: Not that I haven’t thought about how beautiful you are.
Me: What time is the last film starting?
Him: Not sure. I mean, you’re gorgeous. So it’s not like I’ve never imagined what it would be like, you know.
Me: I’m gonna go to the bathroom.
Him: I mean, if I had the chance, I would definitely show you a good time. A really good time…

  • This kid who interned at a place I worked like three years ago.
  • This place I worked like three years ago. The only job I’ve ever quit without another gig to go to.
  • This couple who was friends of the XH and who I never really clicked with anyway.
  • This girl I used to box with. I do have a few Philip K. Dick books of hers that I should return. But she lent them to me back in ’06 and I haven’t seen her since.
  • Someone who appears to be an actor with whom I have a handful of mutual friends, but I don’t recognize.
  • This guy who took me on a date to Denny’s then tried to get me to take him to my apartment.

Sorry Moon Over My Hammy. I'm just not that into you.
(source)

  • This actor who wouldn’t look me in the eye when we worked together.
  • This actor who always smelled like cloves and leather and who was terribly toxic.
  • This gymnast I used to date.
  • This guy who I was in a play with and later he texted me a picture of his penis.
  • This mechanic I loved but who I haven’t been to in years.
  • This guy I knew from that job I quit.
  • Some other guy who has the same name of an athlete and I don’t recognize either.
  • Some girl from some play I was in.
  • This church I don’t go to anymore.
  • Some guy with one of the most generic names imaginable that it does no good to Google.
  • Some guy who sounds like he’s a character in a play about the clash of cultures in 1912 New York tenement housing. No idea who he is.
  • No idea who this girl is, though her name sounds like a character that might show up as one of the Sharks in West Side Story 2
  • Same for this girl
  • The XMIL. I did accidentally call her once and she got pissed.
  • No idea who this woman is.

Holy shit, how am I only on the G’s!!!

  • Some restaurant I like, but certainly never need to call.
  • The XH’s old work number.
  • This girl who invited me to hang with her on New Year’s Eve once and then was a total fucking bitch to me and literally pushed me out of the way any time a guy was talking to me and not to her.
  • The number marked “home” that isn’t anymore.
  • This couple I used to babysit for but haven’t talked to since 2007.
  • Another actor from that play I was in back in the day.
  • This guy who was friend with the XH. He introduced me to Nick Swardson and Nick Swardson kissed my hand that night. I probably owe him my first-born or something, but he can get in touch with me if he wants to cash in that debt.
  • Janelle?? Janet??
  • The guy who trained me at the worst job I’ve ever had.
  • This woman who helped convince me to quit that job back in the day. She was my manager for a while. Then she disappeared. I think she’s in Africa somewhere.
  • The pastor at this church I used to go to. He did my pre-marital counseling.

It's complicated
(source)

  • This guy who after hiring me to write for him, tried to convince me to have an affair.
  • This girl from this stupid play I was in.
  • This woman I used to work for.
  • This guy I didn’t hire to DP one of my shorts.
  • This writer who pretended he was interested in helping me get published in a big time magazine that I would stab myself to get published in. He loved, praised and talked about my work until I turned down his 2 a.m. text to hang out. The next time I saw him, he told me my writing was crap and that I didn’t know what I was doing.
  • This kid I used to tutor.
  • The dude whose emails, texts and calls I haven’t responded to since an ill-fated trip we took together
  • The director of this theater I’ve never performed at.
  • This guy I had a huge crush on when I worked at that job I quit. He barely spoke to me then. Pretty sure he’s got no interest in speaking to me now. Also he likes rap, so that would have been a problem anyway.
  • This guy who took me on the most amazing day of date I’ve ever been on…then didn’t speak to me for like a year. Then he turned up at a reading I was in, looked dreamily into my eyes and told me I was beautiful… Then never spoke to me again. He’s married now.
  • My old boss at the worst job I’ve ever had.
  • Jose??
  • Juan?? Oh crap! Juan from work… Well, I just deleted your # bc I didn’t remember ever getting it from you. If you’re reading…if you could text me, that’d be dope.
  • My old manager’s cell phone #
  • My old boss from that job I quit.
  • This woman I used to work with who now apparently lives in China
  • Keshaun? I’m shocked that someone named Keshaun ended up in my phone in the first place.
  • This restaurant I used to order from when I lived in the Valley.
  • Someone else from that job I quit (nothing against these folks, btw, I just can’t imagine needing to call them)
  • The crazy rich lady I used to work for who told me that “Final Draft writes the script for you!”
  • Some actress
  • My old nutritionist
  • This guy I met outside of a club (when do I ever go to clubs??) who said “Let’s trade numbers. You can never have too many numbers!”
  • Some comedian’s reps
  • An old therapist
  • This guy I dated who after a week and a half of knowing each other, every time we made out, would say “should I get a condom?” Then once he said it before we were even back in his apartment,  he said the same thing. So the next day I said, “hey, just wanted to touch base about the sex thing. I don’t really want to go there unless I’m in a thing that’s a THING, you know. If that doesn’t work for you, that’s totally cool, no hard feelings, just let me know.” He said that was cool. Then immediately started flaking on all our plans. I called it off the next week. Not 24 hours after I did, he texted me and said: “Hey, is it cool if we do a booty call every once in a while?”
  • This other woman who used to do my hair…and show up 2+ hours late to every appointment.
  • A number marked “No.”
  • A number marked “nope”
  • This football player turned sound editor who was friends with the XH.
  • A stalker
  • The program coordinator for a Christian College in Texas
  • Another therapist.
  • A former student – again…don’t need teenagers’ #s in my cellie
  • Another DP I didn’t hire to shoot my short
  • The first woman who did my hair when I moved to LA.
  • Some writer I went on two dates with and who has a big movie coming out next year

I can’t believe this is about to have taken two hours.

  • This woman I used to work with. We gave it a good ol’ college try at being friends, but there were no sparks.
  • My friend’s ex-boyfriend. We were all friends. They broke up. Had to pick a side.
  • A third guy I didn’t hire to DP my short.
  • Some vet I used to go to
  • Some guy I met at a networking event and know nothing about

Folks In My Phone I Likely Should be Deleting But Just Can’t Yet

  • The XFIL, XBIL and XSIL. Just in case something ever happens to the XH and one of them calls to let me know. I want to recognize the number.
  • This agent I used to know. He was the first big-time Hollywood type to give me his phone number. Then he proceeded to break my heart.
  • This kid I was totally into in college. He called me out of the blue in like 2004 and it was just like old times. He told me then that he hated that he didn’t kiss me that one time when we were back in school. I told him I agreed. That was the last we spoke.
  • This guy I dated with whom I had pretty uninteresting sex. He’s hot though.
  • The guy who just dumped me… What? It’s not like his number wasn’t in my phone. I was gonna have to come across it, so yeah, it was gonna come up. But this isn’t about that.
  • This actress who’s currently on a TV show who unfriended me on facebook even though SHE was the one who asked me for my # and found me on fb in the first place.
  • This director I didn’t like working with, but he’s famous now.
  • The British guy I went on one date with. At the end of it he said “I’ll call you… I know it sounds like I’m not going to, but I mean it. I will.” Then we never spoke again. He does know people in London, though, so I might hit him up for a referral for my trip.*

At least, I think that's what he said. It was hard to hear over the charming accent...except when he said "uRInal" instead of "URinal." I'll give you "lift" and "loll" and even "c*nt," but "uRInal" is just gross.
(source)

  • An executive who I’d love to work for again, but who stopped working with me after confessing that he thought about going on a date with me.
  • The girl I’m pretty sure the XH was in love with. And if he was, I truly hope they work it out.

Folks In My Phone I’m Gonna Stop Being a Pussy About and Just Call Already Send a Non-Invasive Facebook Message To

  • This awesome woman I made friends with right before she and her perfect husband took their perfect relationship and their perfect baby to a perfect new job in a different state weeks before me and the X-H split up. Never had the guts to talk to her since my split since she clearly had everything worked out so well and I had only managed to work out making a pretty colossal mistake.
  • The folks who run a preservation society dedicated to protecting what I think is one of the coolest pieces of Los Angeles architecture, The Dunbar Hotel. I want to write a film about this place. Not sure why I won’t start on it.
  • This guy I went on two dates with and he was truly a nice guy, but I just wasn’t feeling it. But if anyone’s looking for a recommendation…
  • The guy I was in love with all of high school. He had a rough few years. Not sure how he’s doing now.

Whose numbers are you hanging on to? Whycome? Let us know in the comments!

***************************
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!

*Shameless Oreo Plug. 1) SmartyPig is a totally cool $-savings tool! I highly recommend it. b) So I have the opportunity to meet with an actor who I love love love in the UK this summer. Trying to make it a successful working holiday and take some other Brit talent out for a pint with the hope of writing for them one day. Should anyone feel inclined to help an Oreo purchase one of those pints, it would be totes appreciated. You can learn more about my trip, and SmartyPig at this link.

How to Write About Current Events

Remember these?
(source)

So it’s been almost two weeks since my last post. This is due in part to the fact that a pile of freelance (yay!) has fallen into my lap and is happily nibbling away at my writing time.

It’s also due in part to the fact that this has been the conversation between myself and my inner writer self over the last coupla weeks:

TheOreoExperience: Wow! This Kony video is nuts! It’s got White People to the Rescue written all over it! It would totally make a good Trailer Trashing post.

InnerWriterSelf: You’re right. Way to be on top of things. I can’t wait to see what we come up with!

TOE: Just let me finish this work. I’m sure I’ll get that post out by the end of the week

IWS: You’re amazing. I’m so glad we’re working together.

A FEW DAYS LATER

TOE: Holy crap, that dude just had a nervous breakdown!

IWS: Wellllll…. true. But you make fun of people all the time. And the Kony 2012 video is still weird.

TOE: Yeah, but dude is messed up. Even if I did have a post up, I’d probably want to take it down. Poor thing.

IWS: Actually…yeah…

TOE: I mean, child soldiers are pretty much 100% a bad thing…even if the guy bringing them to our attention is oddly narcissistic…he meant well.

IWS: Don’t worry, we’ll find something else to write about!

TOE: Is it weird that I talk to myself this way?

IWS: Of course not!

TOE: Woah! I can’t believe that woman said that to me after class. Ugh! I just want to come in here, Zumba a bit and leave without someone saying something like “So jealous of you sisters! You’ve got such great hips!”

IWS: Doesn’t she know how long it took us to be okay with those hips?!?

Whether they're on the mantle or your body, you come to appreciate hourglasses much more after high school.
(source)

TOE: Ugh. She has no idea. I’m exhausted tonight, though, and have like 3 scripts to get through. I’ll bang that post out in a few days.

IWS: Haha. You said “bang.”

TOE: Haha! Oh, get this…I totally made my coworker blush. He asked me if I had any food at my desk…

IWS: And you said “no, but I do have something you can eat!”

TOE: You know me so well!

A FEW DAYS LATER

IWS: Did you see this Trayvon Martin story?!?!

TOE: I can’t even think about it!!

IWS: C’mon, you HAVE to write about this. I mean, this is like your whole thing.

TOE: I can’t even read a story about it without bursting into tears. And I’m pretty sure there’s nothing funny about it.

IWS: The Daily Show managed to make it funny.

And sexy!
(source)

TOE: The Daily Show also has a staff of like two-dozen writers who out-earn me by a factor of probably 20!

IWS: Are we fighting right now?

TOE: No, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.

IWS: I don’t believe you. You seem upset.

TOE: I just feel like sometimes you aren’t hearing what I’m saying. I DO want to write about this story, but it’s fucking sad as balls.

IWS: Haha, you said–

TOE: Not the time.

IWS: You’re right.

TOE: Let’s just move on. What are you doing this weekend?

IWS: I dunno. Wanna check out Hunger games?

Kinda worried that there are going to be way too many Mockingjay tattoos showing up in the next few years.
(source)

TOE: You know what, I still have a ton of work to get  through, maybe next week?

IWS: I liked the book!

TOE: Me, too! Kinda bummed that even with so much going on in the book and such a great story, they still felt the need to inject some semblance of a love story into the end.

IWS: Yeah, I hear that. So…we’re cool?

TOE: Yeah, totally. Talk tomorrow.

IWS: Wake up! Wake up! Did you see this?? Racist Hunger Games tweets, we HAVE to get on that!

TOE: Holy god, it’s so early! Don’t you sleep.

IWS: I’m a disembodied manifestation of your sense of self, of course I don’t sleep.

TOE: Fair enough. Oh geez! These tweets are nuts! And what the eff? Rue is totally described as being black in the book. Did they just miss that?

IWS: Dude! Why are you not writing like crazy right now?

TOE: I don’t even know what to say!

IWS: C’mooooooon! Do it!!

TOE: Wait, let me get this straight… You want me to make an hilarious observation about how teens can’t read and how they don’t seem to know how the Internet works and that we’ve lost the basic sense of etiquette that we’re taught when we’re kids to not say horrible mean things out loud…and maybe draw an equally knee-slapping parallel between the fact that people didn’t like Rue because she was black and the fact that a good chunk of the country is totally unsympathetic to the needless death of an unarmed kid? That’s what you want me to pull out of my ass right now?? I’m a writer, not a magician!

IWS: It was just a suggestion.

TOE: Oooh, there might be something in this Geraldo non-pology, though. Yeah, between that and the Belvedere ad and Lee Arohnson… I think I might have something.

IWS: I knew you could do it.

TOE: Also, I’m kinda getting tired of the “let me tell annoying politicians about my vagina” meme. Does that make me a bad feminist?

IWS: That’s a whole other part of your subconscious you’ve got to deal with for that one.

TOE’sInnerFeminist: Did someone call?

TOE: Coffee first, then self-analysis.

TOEIF: That’s fair. Btw… I have a story that would make a GREAT screenplay! Can I tell you about it??

IWS: Yikes!… Um… coffee first.

******

Talking to yourself doesn’t make you crazy, right? Right?? I blame the habit on the fact that I was an only child.

Fingers crossed, I’ll get to this Geraldo/Belvedere/2.5 Men thing this week

What internal struggles do you find yourself chatting with you about on the regular? Let us know in the comments.

***************************
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!