Walking to work…

Kicked a rock that turned out to be a small piece of dog poo. Nailed it.

Bilingual Love

Let me introduce you to my fiancé:

“Do cats poop and pee out of one butt?” he asked earnestly.

That’s right, not only am I engaged, but it’s to a man who is blissfully ignorant of basic feline anatomy. To be fair, I’ve never seen my cat’s Lady Saint James either, so I guess it’s an easy mistake. BUT STILL. And to be even more fair, English is his 5th language, so I think he’s doing pretty well.

If you were to meet him, you wouldn’t even be able to begin to guess where he’s from. He manages to look vaguely Latino, Middle Eastern, and Asian all in one glance, with an accent that is part Russian and part Borat. I’ve seen the guessing game go on and on and people still have no clue, but are very much intrigued none-the-less.

In reality, he is Persian and from a -stan country that was a part of the former USSR, which accounts for the accent and the dark, mysterious, countenance. Yes, I said a -stan country. I’m not PC.

In our daily life, we come in contact with many extreme cultural differences that range from the adorable to the bizarre. There is the cute habit of wearing a hat to bed when he has a headache. And then there is the eating with your hands thing. I cannot get onboard.

But best of all, are the hilarious misuses of the English language that I try it catalogue to the best of my ability. So please keep your eyes peeled for some more gems.

For now, I will leave it at that because we have to “make a laundry” and that might take a while.

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I rushed to help a woman lift her stroller up the subway stairs before realizing it was a homeless man carrying a stolen stroller full of garbage. One of the many harsh realities of urban living.

WC

Traveling for me is like taking a tour of another city’s Starbucks toilets.

I spent all of yesterday in Washington D.C. (taking care of some top secret government stuff) and measured the day in bathrooms. Let me be clear, I am not confessing some dark digestive woes. I am just a girl with a small to average sized bladder, who has to pee a normal amount of times. Yet, whenever I travel I find my sole concern being where I’m going to relieve myself in each new, barren, toilet-less jungle. Except at least in a jungle you can just go in a pile leaves. Every time I was headed to a new spot, I was derailed by an immediate need (ok, I have the bladder of an elderly Pomeranian) to find a bathroom. And this went on and on, until I realized I might as well have stayed home, where I already have acquired a GPS like accuracy when it comes to finding hidden public restrooms. I mean, where the public toilets at? What are tourists supposed to do when they have to…do?

Maybe I’m a little too focused on this and maybe most people have it all figured out. All I know is that I skipped the Washington Monument to wait in a long bathroom line at Pret a Manger in Capitol Hill. Three times. And that ain’t right.

 

 

Thirst

I just drank out of a cup of water my cat washed her paws in. I am the Everest of laziness.

And here we are.

It’s been a while since my last true post. I really couldn’t tell you why. I have this disorder where I purposefully avoid doing things that would be the most beneficial. Paying bills, applying to jobs, combing my hair, etc. I had reached a personal sweet spot, where I just craved writing. Throughout the day I would jot down little notes to myself, keeping track of every little gem that came across my mind so I would be able to
blog about it later. I would write until 4 am, with three or so posts to show for it and would only publish one so I would have something for a rainy day.

And here I am, literal years later, and I am really sad it’s been so long. It’s hard even to find where to begin because with so much space between then and now my life is truly on a who different plane, and where would I even begin?

Well, I found something I wrote 2 years ago (2 years!!) on a forgotten bog that I want to share. Though things have really changed for me since then, after I read this I realized I’m still the same doofy, little, turd muffin I was then and I should celebrate that by continuing “Adventures of…” So here’s my post, and here’s hoping some of you are still out there:

“I love to blog. And I hate to blog.

I love to blog because it gives me an opportunity to spew my asinine thoughts, musings and idea. It is an outlet for all the crap that is floating around in my head and posting something gives off the impression that it is going somewhere. That someone, even maybe one person, is reading it. And that give it validity.

I hate to blog for the same reason. It gives everyone a false sense of importance, as if these words were published in The New York Times Magazine or even as if having a blog was the equivalent of having a book or two on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. For most of us (me included) this is not the case. In the course of our day we find a few minutes to ruminate over what happens to apple seeds when you swallow them, we put these thoughts in a clever, little (hopefully) well-written post accompanied, perhaps, by a cute little picture of an apple…

…and clicke “Publish,” as our words fly into the mysterious world of the internet (WHAT IS THE INTERNET, AFTER ALL? DOESN’T THAT FREAK ANYONE ELSE OUT?), while we contentedly sit back, thinking of all the hearty chuckles that our post might create and we grab an actual apple from our respective fridges.

Look at me for instance. Metaphorically, of course. If you’re actually looking at me either you’ve cut a whole in my wall or I’ve had a senior moment and have wandered into your room…But look at me. I’m in my bed at 4pm on a Monday, in pajamas, and I’m writing a post about posting. What is it all for? Who is it for? And not only is it a post but it is my first post EVER on Tumblr.

Well this is what it’s for…

I’m Tootsie Woo. That’s not my birth name, if you haven’t guessed, but for all intents and purposes it is my name here. I’m 22 years old, I’m of the female persuasion, I’ve recently graduated from college, and I’m a wannabe actress. Now if the rambling, “I hate to blog,” portion of this post didn’t scare you away, then the “wannabe actress” part certainly did. And if you’re still reading after that, I don’t think I want you as a follower anymore…I kid, I kid, all followers are welcome: cat stranglers and drag queens and bears, oh my. Ok, bears aren’t welcom because of an irrational fear I have of them, but cat stranglers and drag queens certainly are, especially drag queens, as I have an irrational love for them.

Back to why I’m writing this. As an actress and a writer (yes, I’m one of those), I believe the best way to get better is by practicing, so that is what I’m doing. I’m practicing how to write and I’m acting as if someone out there gives a damn. Here I will share my hopes, dreams, plans, goals, anecdotes, and lunch menu, just for the hell of it. I’ve heard that a blog needs a defined theme or purpose to actually succeed but I am pretty purpose-less at the moment and that is why I’m writing this to begin with. So hopefully my blog (aptly entitled “Adventures of Tootsie Woo”) and my life will both take a more defined shape as time goes on and as the writing continues. Here’s hoping. For now, enjoy my sporadic posting, my filthy language, and my odd, rambling stories and I’ll enjoy pretending I have an audience.

 

( Y ) Tootsie Woo”

 

Stay tuned to learn which aspects of the post have changed and which remain the same.

And thus we begin…

Adventures of Tootsie Woo: Part II