Oh, George

Tootsie Woo and her dad are watching Seinfeld together. Dad points at the screen.

Dad: He’s married to Britney Spears now!

Tootsie: Who? Jason Alexander?

Dad: Yeah! I read it in People Magazine.

Tootsie: No, dad.

Wrong Jason Alexander.

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I’m a Dancer

Sitting in Tootsie Woo’ s apartment. 

Friend of Tootsie: What’s that marking on the wall? Did you touch it with dirty hands?

Tootsie: No. That’s a footprint. I was trying to twerk.

 

Rewind Girl

I’ve always had an obsessive relationship with certain films. At the age of 9 my parents gave me The First Wives Club on VHS as a present. First of all, lets talk about what a weird gift that is for a 9 year old. It’s weird. Though, thank you, Mom and Dad, for empowering me early on with beautiful, 90s era feminism.

I loved the movie so much and felt so overwhelmingly pleased with it all that I would watch it every single night before bed for roughly… two years. EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. For…TWO FREAKING YEARS. I shit you not, that is a thing that happened. For god’s sake, I even wrote my college essay about that movie. Anyway, twenty-four months after I received my gift, I was FINALLY starting to get bored with it. I then switched to Superstar, staring Molly Shannon.

“Sometimes when I get nervous, I stick my hands under my armpits and I smell them like this!”

For those of you not blessed enough to know this movie, it’s about Mary Catherine Gallagher, a Catholic school girl who wants nothing more than to be famous and to be kissed like someone in the movies. These movie choices should really give you some insight into my personality. I may not be a Catholic school girl who nearly wears her underwear outside of her skirt or a middle-aged (sorry, hate the word) divorcee with an extreme sense of justice, but…there are some major clues here.

I suppose I just felt comforted by these films and wanted to lull myself to sleep every night with my favorite snapshots from film. Mary Catherine Gallagher would watch classic movies in reverse over and over again for her job as the “Rewind Girl” at her local movie rental store so that they would rub off on her. So maybe that’s what I do. I just want my favorite shows to be a part of my life as much as possible.

Perhaps my most perplexing obsession was Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, the Broadway musical written by Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler.

Though most people might know the story through the film starring Johnny Depp, I have been a Sweeney Todd fan long before that. When my high school announced that they would be putting the show up during my senior year, I became OBSESSED. I purchased the recorded Broadway show, that starred Angela Lansbury, and the in concert version starring Patti LuPone. I would watch each version (EACH VERSION) every day. That means I watched the 2.5 hour musical TWICE A DAY. That is 5 hours of Sweeney Todd a day. Do I need to be any more clear on how much of a loser I am?! I don’t think so!! And this lasted a whole summer break. My family was perplexed, but probably a little pleased. I was going into my senior year of high school, and instead of going to parties and getting into black tar heroin, like most of the kids at my school, I was fully leaning into the whole drama nerd thing.

While I may have left my hardcore theatrical/film obsessions behind after Sweeney, I still cannot resist the urge to re-watch my favorites once in a while. I’ve watched both Bridget Jone’s movies more times than I can count and certainly more than I’d wish to share. I also routinely make my way through every episode of 30 Rock. I’d say I’ve made it though…at least five times. But there is no favorite more FAVORITE than my first wives, Annie, Brenda, and Elise. In what I’m sure is an exact, word-for-word excerpt from my personal statement: you ladies have shaped who I am and I am forever grateful. This movie told my 9-year old brain that women are awesome, plain and simple, and someone fucks with you, it is totally within your power to spy on them and blackmail them until they pay you back in full.  I may not have learned that if I just watched the movie once like a normal.

 

NYC Living 101

Friend: Why do you keep your Nutella in the fridge?

Tootsie Woo: It’s the only place the bugs can’t get to it…

My New Do

I was having a dream that I was getting my hair done at a luxurious salon. The stylist was running their hands through my hair and beginning to braid it.

I woke up, only to the sensation that someone was still braiding my hair and thought maybe my husband was being cute and trying to gently wake my up. I turn around to see my kitten spooning me (yes, he was the big spoon) and eating my hair. He was being surprisingly gentle about it.

Life and Times of a Cat Lady

I am a cat lady. Even before I had any cats I was a cat lady.

I would like to say that this was something I had to “come to terms with,” or rather I should say that. The term “cat lady” is usually used in a disparaging manner. However, this is a label I have gladly welcomed, invited even.

You see, I recently invited a new cat into my home. My second. And by “invited” I mean I was having an innocent day, walking around with a cousin who was visiting me when I was blindsided by an adoption event. By blindsided, I mean that I actively searched for a very well advertised adoption event which I obviously found using a very basic understanding of Google Maps. And while I initially had no intention of taking a cat home with me…of course I did.

I had only recently discovered the joys of cat-motherhood. My entire life I had dreamed of bringing a little, gangly, pink-nosed kitten home, but was never able to. My dad had severe allergies, so growing up, cat’s were entirely out of the question. I spent my toddler-hood, with an a cat tail strapped to me (a Halloween remnant) and would drag around a stuffed animal that I was sure was my kitten. As in, I birthed it. That molded into a more socially acceptable activity in my teen years: roaming the web for funny cat videos. Throughout college, despite my efforts to sneak one into my dorm, I continued on, sad and 100% cat-less. Even after college, when I thought I would surely assert my independence by adopting, I traveled on, sans cat. It wasn’t until my 3rd year out of college when I decided to make a change. I brought home Olive, a gorgeous little Maine Coon from the country, and I knew I had met my destiny. I was and have always been, a cat lady.

My little darling.

It was not until that moment that I realized “cat lady” was not a circumstance, but a state of mind. Cat lady was the whole embodiment of cat-itude: a perfect mixture of laziness, coziness, and constant hunger. It lends itself to long nights at home with the TV flickering in front of you for hours as you beg your partner to massage you and bring you bon bons. We surround ourselves with cats because they make us feel better about ourselves. They make us feel totally justified in our behavior and that we are not alone.

I still have friends ask me, “don’t you feel tied down? You have to go home to feed them and can’t go away for weekends without getting a cat sitter.” First of all, they’re effing cats. COOL IT. And…you want the truth? This is everything I want out of life. Ok, well, my home life. A purring, cooing little fluff ball I can spoon while watching reality TV. I have found my bliss.

As I brought my new little orange bundle of joy home after that adoption event, I relished in imagining the new level of lounging I would reach. After days of debating, my husband and I christened him Turd Ferguson. We’ve never been happier or lazier.

My little booger face.

 

Trash Talking

Sometimes you’re leaving your office after a long day at work and are wondering whether you really look like the scuzzy dirtball you imagine you do, when you pass a blunt and trashed drag queen that removes all doubt.

“You DIRTY.”

What’s my secret?

Sometimes I actively don’t wash my hands when I know I’ll be meeting with someone who is particularly hateful. I watch as they shake my dirty hand and I laugh. OH how I laugh!

Can anybody help?

I was troubled by something I saw while waiting for my train today.

In the NYC subway system there is a lot to be bothered by (look here for more details). I have been taunted, poked, and puked on, and yet I still hear more horrifying stories and am thankful that my experiences haven’t been even more disgusting. However, today, while waiting at a very congested station, I heard someone yell a phrase that has been following me throughout the day: “CAN ANYBODY HELP A PREGNANT MOTHER?!”

The voice, at first sounding very masculine, reverberated through the intersecting tunnels and were hurled back at me. I assumed it was a man shouting, possibly with his pregnant wife or girlfriend. It seemed odd that someone would be shouting on behalf of someone else. Hunger is usually a very personal experience. There is no room for partnerships among the subway residents. I searched for the owner of the voice and found it to be the pregnant woman herself. She was a lot older than was to be expected and look ghost-like. Her voice, so booming, had reached me from another platform, as if she was standing just a few feet away from me. I stared at her for a prolonged period of time, unashamed of my glare, as she was too far to notice. I was trying to make sense of her.

She continued down the platform. Though she was still two tracks away from me, I grew scared as I felt her voice get closer. She repeated the same phrase, “CAN ANYBODY HELP A PREGNANT MOTHER?!” Adding on to it, “WHO IS PREGNANT. AND HUNGRY.” As she continued on her march, everybody turned to look at her, and no one was giving her money. This led to my continued stare. Eventually everyone’s eyes were on her and we were all frozen. Something about her yell made us all embarrassed. Embarrassed for her and embarrassed for ourselves.

But why were we embarrassed? Why weren’t we throwing money in her cup? I believe it was due to a variety of factors. For one, it was the sheer spectacle of the thing. She was being disproportionately loud. Her large, husky voice was ringing throughout the space, making it all seem like a show and not like an experience we were supposed to take part in by donating. I think it also had something to do with her appearance, unfortunately. She did not LOOK pregnant. And as we all know, seeing is believing in this day and age. Show us the belly and the sonogram and we will show you the money. It sucks. But that is the reality. She also looked a lot older than you would expect and I feel like a lot of the other viewers were trying to figure her out. I know I was. It did not matter that she was actually very hungry, it was the lie that she was possibly perpetuating. Was she actually pregnant? People did not want to participate in the lie.

In the grand scheme of subway occurrences, it was a non-event. Nothing extraordinary had happened. A woman was hungry and she was asking for food/money/anything. She was possibly pregnant and was letting us know. Begging us to help her in her condition. This happens all the time. What was haunting about it was the volume. She was loud because she was desperate and her situation was dire. Wouldn’t we all yell if we were that helpless? If we were totally dependent upon the kindness of total and utter strangers? Wouldn’t we not rest until we had food if that was all that was standing between us and complete starvation? I would.

Well anyway…sometimes you post about farts and sometimes shit gets real.

If a genie were to grant me three wishes…

1. To look good in a jumpsuit and not like a pubescent 7 year old.
2. To be able to eat unlimited amounts of Oreos without shame or weight gain.
3. To be able to have silent farts that smell like freshly baked cookies.