A game, is, the foot.

I spent the first hour of my shift at work on Tuesday, daydreaming about quitting my job, packing up my cat and roommate, and driving across the country to start a new life.

While, yes, this is a thought I have on a weekly basis, it was also really slow that day.

Two of my friends/co-workers and I then decided to play a game of hypotheticals to distract ourselves from the negative thoughts in our heads.  For 4 hours.  It passed the time really well, and let us all get to know each other a little better.  It was a lot of fun.  So, I have decided to share with the world, what exactly it is that I, and most service workers, do with our lives.  None of this is exaggerated, I took very detailed notes.  Oh and by service workers, I mean we work in a restaurant.  We aren't prostitutes.  Well, kind of.

Feel free to try this out the next time you are bored.  Or don't, I couldn't care less.

Names have been changed to protect identities.
Ps, they chose their own code names.
Me = Me, obviously
Lestadt (L)= Man
Bloo (B) = Woman

Question 1:  If you could live the rest of your life as any celebrity, past or present, who would you choose?
Me: Uhhhhh, Tina Fey, I think.  Yeah, she's amazing. Her.
Lestadt:  Brad Pitt. No, Tupac.  I know he got shot at 26, but still.
Me: Oooooo, "Fight Club" era Brad Pitt? Yes please.
Bloo:  I would definitely be Beyoncé. Forever. No question.

Question 2: What celebrity would you sleep with?  You have to pick a man and a woman.
B: Man, Chris Brown.  The answer is always Chris Brown.  Woman, Megan Fox, she's so hot.
Me:  Leo, OBVIOUSLY, and Rihanna.
L: Rihanna.  Only Rihanna.  I am not picking a dude.
Me:  You gotta, that's how the game works!
*He didn't, we moved on.

Question 3:  Growing up, and don't act like we all didn't have one, what cartoon were you the most attracted to? 
Me:  Oh this is embarrassing! Teenage Simba, Robin Hood, like the fox version, and Peter Pan.
B:  Hmmm, grown up Simba was hot, and so manly.  Aladdin, definitely.  I was convinced I would grow up and marry him.  Hercules, too, he was gorgeous.
L:  I had a huge crush on the lady fox from Robin Hood, and Princess Jasmine.
Me: Maid Marian, good choice, but why are we so attracted to literal foxes? Also, slave Jasmine? Or all of the time Jasmine?
L: Oh God, any Jasmine.
Me:  Is it hot in here? I'm getting very warm.
B:  Girl!
L:  Hahaha, you guys are getting more excited about cartoons than you did the real people.

Question 4:  Who gave you your first sexual feelings?
Me: Raphael from the Ninja Turtles.  I legit thought he was my soul mate for a few years.
L:  I remember being in a thrift store when I was a kid and seeing an old issue of Sports Illustrated with Elle Macpherson on the cover.  She was wearing this fishnet bathing suit thing and all I could think of was, "Oh my god, tehe that's her nipple."
B: Uhhhh, let me get back to you.  (She never did, she got distracted with actual work.  I KNOW.  So, we just moved on to the next question.)

Question 5:  Pick a professional athlete to bone.
B:  Fuck, I can't choose.  There are so many I am attracted to.  I don't wanna play anymore.  My head hurts. Come back to me!
L:  Mia Hamm in her prime was hot.  There was also this Russian Track runner I saw on tv once who had a big butt, but I never learned her name.
Me:  Hmmmm, Odell Beckham, Jr. Or Doug McDermott.  Or, Andre Drummond.
L:  NO! I know mine.  Anna Kournikova.
Me//B:  We knew you'd pick her.

Question 6: If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
L:  Tahiti.  In one of those houses that are on stilts in the water with the glass floors so you can just watch the water.
B:  The Canary Islands wearing Canary yellow diamonds.
Me:  There is this tiny village in Switzerland, at the base of the Matterhorn, I can't remember the name of it but it starts with a 'Z,' I think.  It's perfect and snowy and cozy and I just want to sit in my cottage, reading next to a fire.
B:  No, that's too cold.  Never.

Question 7:  If you were free from all punishment, what crime would you commit?
B: MURDER.  No, don't put that.  I would rob the richest bank in the world.
L: I would rob Fort Knox.
Me:  Honestly?  I would punch Donald Trump square in the fucking face.  Just beat the shit out of him.  Not kill him, though.  I want him to live the rest of his life knowing that a "lowly woman" beat the ever living piss out of him.
B:  I wouldn't want to waste mine on Trump.  I need money.  It makes my world go round baby!
L:  Becca, I know what you should do.  Break into Leo's house and install cameras so you can see him forever.
Me:  I'm no stalker.  Punch Trump.
B: I changed mine! I would murder every owner of every Major League Soccer team, take control of FIFA, and then have money forever.
Me: ....well I know never to cross you.

Question 8: If you could live in any decade, which would you choose?
Me:  Am I a man or a woman in this scenario?
L:  You're you.
Me:  So, a woman.  This one.  Definitely this one.
L:  I don't know, the "Roaring Twenties?"  That sounds nice, ladies drinking and smoking?
Me:  Don't forget the rampant sexism and inequality.  Is that what you would choose?  The twenties?
L: No, the '70s, I think.
B:  I would be a teen in the late '80s early '90s.  The hip hop era.  Where they danced like this,  ***she then proceeds to violently hump the air***  That's where I need to be.
L:  I would be at Woodstock and at Studio 54.
Me:  I honestly think I would pick the early '40s.  Wartime was eerily beautiful, don't get me wrong it was tragic and sad, but beautiful.  There's this romanticism surrounding it for me.
B:  That's only fun if you're white, and a man.
Me:  I look white, I'd be okay.  Maybe.
B: No, you have that curly, curly hair and look Puerto Rican.  I think you'd be shit out of luck.
L:  And you're Native American.
B:  Yeah you've got Indian in you.  No Bueno.  This question is not great for you and me.
Me:  CRAP DAMNIT!

Question 9:  If you were an animal, what would you be?
Me:  I hate this question, because no matter what I pick, everyone says, "No, you'd definitely be a panda."  This has been an ongoing theme in my life.
B:  No.  I wouldn't say panda, I would say like a panther or a snow leopard or something like that.  You have an attitude, but you aren't mean.
Me:  I would say an Ostrich.  A big ass bird that can't even bird.  That's me.
B:  I'd be a lion, but a male lion.  Not a girl lion.  I want the mane.  I don't want to be a girl lion!
L:  I'd be an otter.  They sure do look like they have a lot of fun those otters.

Question 10: If you had to pick between flight or invisibility, which would you pick?
Me:  Fuck! This is hard.
B:  I need time.  I need to think.  Come back to me.
L:  Flight, because if I ever wanted to be alone, I could just fly off and be like "BYE."  Plus, I have always wanted to fly.
Me:  Invisibility.  I don't know if you know this, but I do a lot of awkward things.  So, if I ever got embarrassed, I could literally disappear before your eyes.  Which, let's be honest, I have needed to do before but couldn't.  Plus, I would be the UNDENIABLE WORLD CHAMPION of Hide-and-Seek.  That's pretty fucking awesome.
L:  It would be pretty sweet to get on an elevator and fart as loud as you wanted to.  Plus, you could see everyone you wanted to naked.  Everyone on this list.
B:  I pick invisibility.  You could commit so many crimes.
Me:  What is wrong with us that we pick things solely for the acts of depravity we can commit? 


That is everything.  We only got through 10 questions because we all still had to be adults and do our work.  It isn't all bad though, we got paid to dick around all night, which is pretty awesome.  I should also probably say, that I am the one in charge every shift.  I don't know why my boss thought THAT was a good idea.

Writer's Block

I honestly have no inspiration today. 

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO TALK ABOUT!

Normally I just sit down on my living room floor, grab my laptop, and get to writing about whatever is in my head.  No plans, just writing.  Today, there is nothing.

AB. SO. LUTE. LY. NO. THING.

I sat in front of this goddamn screen for over an hour.  Just staring. I think that I definitely caused some damage to my retinas waiting for an inspiring thought that never came.

Maybe I am tired.  I mean I did take a 2 hour angry nap today because I got extremely pissed off this afternoon.   What is an angry nap, you ask?  It is kind of like a normal nap, but you get so mad that you ended up tiring yourself out, like a toddler, so you nap away the anger.  Which didn't really help, because when my roommate woke me up so we could go to the movies, I was still angry.  I wasn't even happy about the snacks I bought at concessions.  I got nachos, and I didn't even enjoy them.  I only get excited about a few things in this life: dinosaurs, books, movies, and food.  That's it.  Am I dying?

I mean, I turned off my phone today and left it at home because I was so angry.  It was actually kind of freeing.

Maybe I'm depressed, like in a dramatic sense, not the literal sense because that is a very real and horrible mental illness and it is not something to be taken lightly. 

Maybe I have just exhausted every thought in my head and peaked the minute I started this blog.  I feel that that is impossible because I usually can't even sleep at night because I'm thinking about so many different things.  Like, the fact that when you touch anything with your tongue, you're not touching, but tasting.  HOW CRAZY IS THAT?!

Maybe my bad mood from earlier has just made me spiral out of control.  Ugh, and if I have to hear one more person say, "be happy, it isn't so bad. Someone out there has it worse than you," I will lose my fucking mind.  I get it, there are homeless people living under bridges, and there are starving children that have no idea when they will have their next meal.  SHUT UP! I get it, but that doesn't diminish the fact that I had a bad day.  No one gets to tell me how I feel about something, because it's HOW I FEEL YOU ASSHAT!

If you are reading this, please, PLEASE don't ever be that person.  No one likes that person.  It's worse than the person who is always fucking chipper at 8 am and has to tell everyone about their weekend.  Stop it, Linda.  No one cares.

I honestly am just over being an adult today.
I'll try again tomorrow.

Rebecca's Adulthood Survival Tip #9: Sometimes, you just gotta go off the grid.  Be like Ron Swanson, no phone, just you in your cabin in the woods with some whiskey.  Or, be like me and scream until you pass out and wake up in a puddle of your own drool.  Or whatever works for you.

Independence Shmindependence

I have decided to take a break from talking about my most embarrassing moments.  Not because I don't enjoy sharing them, but because it's my blog and I can do what I want. 

Don't you all worry, I still have plenty of embarrassment to share, they will just be scattered throughout the blog whenever I feel like talking about them.

Now that that is covered, let us move on.




When I finally moved out of my mom's house after I graduated college, I felt so free.

I lived alone. 

I could come home whenever I wanted to and not have to worry about waking up my roommates.  I never wore pants.  I watched Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings on repeat, quoting every line perfectly, and I didn't have to listen to my sisters yelling at me to shut up.  I could listen to and choreograph dances to Broadway showtunes without judgement.  My books found a safe home without fear of being creased.  It was honestly one of the most amazing times in my life.

I had never lived alone before, so I really didn't know what to expect.  Having 5 siblings meant that I always had to share a room with someone.  In college, I had multiple roommates.  This was the first time in my life in which I was completely alone, and there was no turning back for me.

This was my first taste of independence.  A lot of people think that college is your first real independent experience, but I never felt that way.  You see, my brother and I went to the same college, so I never really felt like I was on my own. 

Independence came to me when I moved down the road from my mom.  Literally down the road.  Other than the house number, our addresses were exactly the same.

Anyway, things were great in my apartment.  I felt so good about myself.  I always knew that I would do well on my own, and now I had the proof.  Everything was perfect until, one afternoon, I decided to go and get groceries. 

In one of the bags was a delicious snack.  A gloriously large jar of kosher dill pickles.  This jar, very quickly, became my enemy.

I couldn't open it.

I tried every trick in the book.  I used a dry towel to get a good grip on the jar.  Didn't work.  I tapped the edge of the lid on the counter, rotating as needed.  Didn't work.  I used a bottle opener to try and wedge it open.  Didn't work.  I burst into tears, pleading with it about how hungry I was.  Didn't work.

Crying over a jar of unopened pickles.  What had I become?

I had this stubborn fuck of a jar sitting in my fridge for 2 weeks, taunting me.  Multiple times a day I would open the door and just see it staring back at me, with it's dumb face. 

(I drew a face on it at one point because I had clearly gone insane, and saw a jar of pickles as my enemy.  Figured I needed to make it as dramatic as possible because of who I am as a person.)

I couldn't do anything about it,  I felt helpless.  I contemplated asking my best friend, who is 200 pounds of pure beefy muscle, to open it, but I felt that that would mean I wasn't as independent as I thought.  Also, he hates pickles and if I had to listen to him complain about getting covered in pickle juice, I would have thrown the whole jar at him.  It got to the point where I almost put it in my sink and smashed it with a hammer.  I contemplated eating glass shard ridden pickles just so this jar didn't win!  It was in that moment, that I knew it already had.

I caved.

I called my dad crying because I couldn't open it.  No matter what I did, it wouldn't open.  He told me he would come help, so he ended up driving 30 minutes to my apartment solely to open a jar of pickles.  He walked into the apartment to find me curled up on the kitchen floor clutching a gigantic jar of pickles, crying.  He didn't say a word.  He just picked up the jar, opened it WITH ZERO FUCKING EFFORT, put the jar back into my arms, and left.  Angered, I screamed, "I LOOSENED IT FOR YOU!" as he walked out the door.


Rebecca's Adulthood Survival Tip #8:  Being independent does not mean you still don't need help every once in a while.  You are still a strong, independent person, even if you have to call your parents crying about a jar of pickles you can't open.  Just don't call your siblings, they WILL make fun of you and won't be of any help at all.

Apologies, my dudes.

I just wanted to take a minute and apologize to you all.


I am so sorry for not posting for a couple of weeks.  I was experiencing technical difficulties with my blog/ computer, so I was unable to share anything with you.  It was annoying, inconvenient, and nearly made me develop stress eczema.


I have no idea what was going on, but basically any time I logged in, my computer responded like it was going to explode.


I have fixed it, so I shan't be disappearing again.*










Note*  I did not acutally fix anything, I don't know how to fix computers, but I did bypass the problem.  If there is anything I have learned from trying to be an adult, it is how to ignore problems long enough that you convince yourself that nothing was ever wrong in the first place.

#3

The third story that has been nominated for "Most Embarrassing Moment in Becca's Life" happened in the same year as the Bertha barrel roll incident of the '97-'98 school year.


The fourth grade was a rough time for me.


Now, for those of you who don't know me personally, I have extremely curly hair.  I have the type of curls that people pay insane amounts of money to get. ON PURPOSE. Think of that perm your mother forced you to get in middle school right before picture day, thinking that it would look amazing, when in reality it looked like a poodle stuck its paw in an electrical outlet and got shocked, and then died.  On top of your head.  That's the type of hair I have. 


I promise, there was a reason I brought this up.  I also needed to make sure you all have the proper image in your head before I begin.


This story is about the first and only time I succumbed to peer pressure.


My friend decided she wanted to have a slumber party with a few of the girls in my grade.  This was the first real slumber party I had ever been to, and I mean one with more than just two of us.  I was excited, yet nervous.  You see, there was a reason I never did sleepovers.  I am a very violent sleeper and was incredibly concerned with what might happen were I to be left in a room full of sleeping people without my parents present.  I am still very self-conscious about this, because I once almost killed my sister, Rachel.  If my dad didn't hear her gasping for air, I would be writing this on the walls of my prison cell using my own blood for ink. True story.


Anyway, it was the end of school on a Friday, we all gathered at the front of the school so we could walk to my friend's house and get girls night going.  I was told there was going to be pizza when we got there, so I basically ran the entire way, and left everyone else in my dust.  You see, my family is the size of a small army.  I was used/am used to having to fight my siblings for food, and rarely did I come out on top.  Not this time.  This time, I was going to be in a house with 7 girls that didn't know what survival was.  This was it, this was my time to shine.


I, of course, claimed roughly 2 large pizzas for myself and plopped myself in a corner of her bedroom and didn't move for hours.  Mostly because I was just as stuffed as the crust on my pizza, but also because I had really only come for the free food.


The slumber party consisted of your typical "girly" activities: we had a dance party, watched some Disney movies, played "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" to see if any of us had any magical powers, and gave each other make overs.


That last event is the one that haunts my nights.  My friend, who we will call Lucinda, because I can't really remember whose goddamn house it was, brought out all sorts of make up and hair products and accessories.  Everyone squealed with excitement.  I, however, let out more of a muffled groan, because I had just eaten my weight in dough and cheese, but no one could really tell the difference. Or they really didn't care.


Everyone grabbed their favorite pieces of make up and a mirror and started getting glammed up.  I just stared at the baskets of stuff wondering what I was supposed to do with the items in them.  I was 9.  I had zero interest in things that weren't The Goosebumps books, or The Ninja Turtles.  So I grabbed some blue lipstick and just faked my way through it.


So, there were about 7 other girls at this house, and all of them had pin straight hair.  Naturally, one of my loudmouth friends, who wasn't really my friend because she was a loudmouth, decided she wanted to curl everyone's hair.  Including mine.  Seeing as how I already have curly hair, I said her idea was stupid, because it was.  WHY ARE YOU GOING TO CURL HAIR THAT IS ALREADY CURLY YOU DUMB STRAIGHT-HAIRED IDIOT?!  Looking back, I wish I said this and saved myself some embarrassment, but I didn't. 


After she had gotten through about 3 girl's hair, she looked at me and told me it was my turn.  We continued to fight for about 30 minutes until I caved and let her do it.  Which. Was. Stupid.


Within 20 seconds of her wrapping a fairly large strand tightly around the curling iron, I hear the words "uh-oh."  I panicked.  The mother fucking curling iron was now stuck in my hair and still very much on.  As my scalp was literally being burned off of my skull, I started screaming at her, and one of my other genius friends grabbed a comb and hairbrush thinking that they would somehow brush the curling iron of death out of my hair.  This turned out to be an even worse idea, because they too, got stuck.


I now had a curling iron, a comb, and a hairbrush making a new home on the top of my head, as I was running around like a dog on a leash.  Literally.  The curling iron was still plugged in as I ran across the room, and it stayed plugged in as it yanked me to the ground when I ran out of cord.


I ended up having to call my mom to come get me and to untangle these objects from my hair.  To my mom's credit, she didn't get annoyed or make fun of me once for this, and she saved all of my hair.  I didn't have to go walking around with a singed bald spot for months.  So, thanks for that Liz.


Shortly after this, I stopped being friends with Curling Iron Susie  (not her real name, but she doesn't get the satisfaction of me using her real name after what she did.)    I also didn't go to a slumber party for another 6 years because of this.  Turns out, my totally justified concern about possibly murdering my friends in my sleep wasn't the biggest issue that night.  Who knew?




Becca's Adulthood Survival Tip #7:  Never succumb to peer pressure.  Your friends are usually idiots.  Do whatever you want.  Also, don't be a dick and pressure your friends and make them feel like shit for making their own decisions separate from your influence.  It goes both ways.

#2

The second story that has been nominated for "Most Embarrassing Moment in Becca's Life" happened when I was 9 years old.

It was the beginning of the school year; I was in the 4th grade.  I had just recently become an aunt for the first time, I had most of my close friends in my class, and I liked my teacher.  Honestly, it looked like I was headed for a great year.  Oh how wrong I was.

Now, you are thinking to yourself, "What happened?! Did her dog die? Did she accidentally call her teacher 'Mom?'  Did she fall in front of the whole school?"  The answer to those questions are yes, but not that year.

What happened to me, is honestly much worse than that, and it happened, like most embarrassing middle school stories do; on the playground.

Like most middle schools, mine consisted of children in grades 3 through 6.  The school had 2 wings, you had the 3rd and 4th grades down one hallway, and the 5th and 6th grades down the other.  At either end of the school, there were 2 separate playgrounds, one of which has haunted my dreams for 18 years.

It was a fairly normal playground, a couple of swing sets, some monkey bars, and a slide.  Seeing as how there weren't that many options for entertainment, we used to play games outside as well.  There were the usual schoolyard games, Red Rover, tag, kickball, etc.  My favorite game, however, became my undoing. 

Children's imaginations sometimes get the best of them.  My friends and I were constantly trying to think of new ways to have fun on the playground.  For some reason, all our "fun" ideas involved the cornerstone of it: the slide.  Now, this wasn't your typical slide.  She was practically perfect.  It was a million feet tall, realistically it was probably around 6 or 7 feet, but I was 9, and had no real concept of height.  It was a beautiful stainless steel and barely even burned you when it was hot out.  The exposed bolts were so few that you rarely cut yourself.  This was the Beauty Queen of slides.  I named her Bertha.

The day Bertha betrayed me, was a normal day in the life of a 4th grader.  I got up and got dressed, made it to school, said something stupid to my teacher, and then played outside.  Typical.

When recess began, we all swarmed around the slide to start our game.  The point of the game was to see how many people we could actually fit on the slide at one time.  We would send down one person at a time, and they would have to stop themselves from actually exiting the slide.  The strongest person always went first, of course, because he/she would have to hold up the rest of us.  There was a special technique to this game.  You had to slide down sideways, with your legs hanging over the side of the slide, and you would have to have a firm grip but not too firm that it stopped you from actually moving.  This may sound confusing, so I have included an artist's rendering of the scenario below.

I am the artist.

 

I was a very gender neutral child.  I don't like the terms "girly" or "tomboy" because I think that limits children, but I definitely had my own sense of, what I considered, style.  I dressed how I dressed and acted how I acted.  I didn't necessarily like wearing dresses, but I didn't always hate it and occasionally wouldn't fight Liz when she suggested I wear one. This happened to be one of the days that I didn't fight her.  I wore a cute black and white checkered sleeveless jumper which I wore over a short sleeved turtleneck that had two small teddy bears holding hands with a heart in between them.  It was still fairly cold out, so I wore black tights that day, too.

 

Anyway, we had all begun waiting for our turn to climb Bertha's perfectly spaced stairs.  I was 5th in line.

 

The adrenaline was pumping through me.  Only 4 more people to go.  This was my favorite place to be.  Yes, now 3 more people.  I couldn't wait, I was getting so excited.  Now, only 2 more.  I had been practicing my technique for days, I was going to rock this.  Oh my god, one more person.  You can do this.  Yes! MY TURN!  As I climbed up the steps to the summit, my breath caught in my throat, and my hands gripped the railings tightly.  I was nervous.  What if I fell?  No, you can't worry about that now, let's do this.

 

I wish, so much, that I had simply fallen.

 

I sat down, turned my legs to the right as to let them dangle over the side of Bertha and let myself fly.  But I swung my legs too hard and ended up facing the top of the slide as I barrel rolled downward, my legs spread-eagle, making eye contact with the boy who was next in line at the top of the slide.  I flipped backward with such force that I knocked into the person below me so hard that it launched everyone off of the slide and onto the wet ground.

 

Again, here is an artist's rendering.

 

 

We were just a huddled mass of limbs on the ground.  I was on the top of the pile.  I fumbled my way into standing up, grumbling, covered in mulch and mud.  Embarrassed, and on the verge of tears, I ran as fast as my chubby legs could carry me, to the bathroom to clean up.  I locked myself in the stall for the rest of recess, I couldn't face my classmates.  Especially the boy who just saw more of me than he probably had planned to that morning.

 

I wanted to die that day.  You think you're safe, you think that bad things won't happen to you in your favorite place.  You are so happy, and carefree, how could anything go wrong?  You are just going down a slide, what's the worst that could happen?

I didn't go out for recess for about 2 weeks after that, I stayed inside and read.  I figured that reading couldn't hurt you.  They are just words.  It was then that I discovered Charlotte's Web and realized that everything hurts and life is stupid.

 

Becca's Adulthood Survival Tip #6:  Be careful.  It's the most beautiful ones that hurt you the most.

#1

In light of the events of last night's 88th Academy Awards, I feel like this is the perfect time to discuss with you the first story that has been nominated by a panel of my peers for "Most Embarrassing Moment in Becca's Life."  This "panel of peers" consists mostly of my mom and siblings, with a few close friends thrown in.  So, in reality not quite my peers, just a bunch of people that are tired of my shit.

As we all know, Leonardo DiCaprio, until last night, had never won an Oscar.  The internet loved to remind the world of that.  To me and many others, this was absolute bullshit.  He is one of the most amazing actors to ever exist and the Academy has snubbed him numerous times (5, I think).  Over the course of the past 20 years, I have had very strong feelings about this.  Every single time he's lost for Best Actor, I would yell at the television and throw whatever was closest to me at it. 

Not this year, though.  This year, HE FINALLY FUCKING WON!  My reaction was not the least bit shocking, seeing as how I like celebrities and fictional characters more than I do people I actually know/actually exist.  I screamed.  I ugly-cried.  I hyperventilated.  I honestly lost my shit and pissed off my neighbors in the process.  One of my best friends, with whom I was video-chatting the entire Oscars, recorded my reaction.  I cried for about 2 hours; I am so happy for him.  I didn't even know who won Best Picture until I woke up this morning because I was so distracted by Leo finally getting his much deserved award.

This is not the embarrassing story.  Everyone knows my love for Leo is stronger than anything in this world, and if you didn't know that, now you do.  No, the embarrassing part of this post has to do with the letter that I wrote to him when I was 10 years old. 
IN PENCIL. 
I know.

Remember all those teen magazines in the 90s?  There was Teen People, Seventeen, Tiger Beat, and YT or something like that.  These magazines catered to a younger demographic and always had "teenage heartthrobs" and "the Girl Next Door" type actresses/singers on the covers.  Well also in those magazines they published actors' addresses where you could send them fan mail.  Remember, this was before Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.  You couldn't just message them in 140 characters about how much you loved them, it took time and effort.

Well, one day while I was staring at the pictures in one of those magazines, I found Leo's address.  (To all my readers born after 1996, the addresses given were not a celebrity's real home address.  That would be creepy.  It was usually a P.O. Box set up by their Talent Agency in order for fans to reach out to them.  I doubt they even read it.)  Anyway, I decided that day I was going to write him a love letter of sorts.  Now I didn't have the skill with words that I do today, I was 10, and incredibly stupid.

I haven't seen the letter in almost 20 years so I don't quite remember everything that I wrote, but I do remember bits and pieces.  I told him how much I loved him and his movies.  Constantly.  I think I wrote "I love you" about 6 times. (Which is how many times he has been nominated for an Oscar, by the way.  So, fate.) I had seen every single movie of his, up until that point, except for Basketball Diaries because my sister Natasha said I was too young to watch it.  I put that in the letter.  I was mad at her for loving him too and didn't want to share him, so I tried to defame her character.  I obviously planned on marrying him and didn't want competition from my own flesh and blood.  I still plan on marrying him one day, let's be honest here.

This letter never reached him.  I'm not saying that because he never responded and I'm being dramatic, I never actually mailed the letter.  Why? Because I didn't know how to go about buying stamps when I was 10 and didn't really understand the postal system.  I thought you just put a letter in the mailbox, raise the flag, and that was it.  My mailman, Rick, got annoyed with me at least once a week over this.  This letter is currently sitting in my mother's garage.  I know this because Natasha found it a couple years ago and reminded me of how embarrassed I should feel.

Don't worry Natasha, I am slightly.   Not enough to allow you to have him, though.