The Worst (and Best) Wing-woman

My bestie Kat came into town from Vegas this past week and in accompanying her to the Roosevelt Hotel's Beacher's Madhouse show I realize that I am the worst (and best) wingwoman. Here's why:

1. I am not smooth. I lost the straw to my drink three times. Once it was in my hair, once I smacked it out of the drink and across the bar in an awkward dance move and I have no idea where the third straw went. We were still asked to join a VIP table area by a group of dudes (because Kat is incredibly smooth and has crazy flirtation skills.)

2. I, on the other hand, got rejected when I wasn't even flirting. I was trying to be funny and sarcastic with the waiter because he had a small flashlight in his mouth while he pouring drinks from the bottle at the table. I said, "Wow, you're really good with a flashlight." He didn't even turn back to look at me while he said, "Yeah, so's that guy over there. Maybe you should talk to HIM." Yeesh.

3. You want a picture of you, a dude dressed like a giant penis, Spiderman and Paris Hilton? You got it:

4. Or a picture with an Oompa Loompa?

5. OR the world's tallest stripper?!

I'm your wing-woman.

6. But the drawback is that you have to deal with me wanting to get up on a platform to dance with a human chicken:

The man to the right looks absolutely terrified/disgusted.

7. I can dance the night away with the best of them but don't ask me to have a seductive conversation at the same time because it will go like it did that night:
Cute Guy: "Hey, nice moves."
Me: "Thanks! It's my 'I got a big penis' dance!"
Cute Guy: <blank stare>
Me: "I mean, my 'I'm nine months pregnant' dance?"
Cue cute guy's swift departure. Whatever, I thought it was funny.

8. I will only have one drink so that I can drive, and pass the glasses of champagne that the random guys at the table pass me to you. GREAT wing-woman!!

That is the end of my list. It was definitely one of the most fun night's out in Hollywood I've ever had (I very rarely do it.) I'm so glad I got to spend an impromptu evening with Kat though! One more picture of Paris and Nikki Hilton:

Loving the expression on the Oompa Loompa.

This happened too:

But most importantly, we had fun:

Daddy's Girl

This is a repost from my Road to Singapore blog. I haven't recycled any blogs yet but I wanted to in honor of Father's Day. I hope you are having a great day with your Daddy! I won't be with my Dad until August but I'll be serving many dads free burgers today at work! I hope you enjoy!

My dad is celebrating a milestone birthday this year (he's turning 65,) along with my mother who is turning 60 and myself (I'm turning 30). In a recent conversation with my mother, she told me that my dad doesn't want to celebrate his birthday (which is in June) until November when I get back to the United States and we can all celebrate our birthdays together. I got teary-eyed, of course. My dad is certainly not much of a sap, but in the past few years, there have been times when he does or says something that is surprisingly mushy. My dad never really likes to celebrate birthdays anyway, but that fact that he wants to wait until I'm home was sweet. It's probably because my dad and I share a special bond that no other father and daughter share. You see, my dad had me.

Yes, I mean that my dad gave birth to me.

My brother and I each have a photo album that my mom put together from our first year on the planet. The first page in both of our albums is a picture of each of us in the hospital, bright pink, only moments old. The only difference in my album is that the first picture you see is of my father, in a hospital gown sitting in a hospital chair holding me with pink and white balloons floating behind him with a big smile on his face. He looks exhausted but elated, I mean, he's just given birth for crying out loud; give the man a break! My mother, who hates to have her picture taken, was no where to be found in any of the hospital pictures. She must have been working that day and left my father to have me, all by himself.

I somehow got it into my head one day, very early on, when I looked through the photo album, that I had found out a huge secret that my parents were trying to keep from me. I confronted my mother.

"Dad had me, didn't he?" I asked her, through tears. "Why on earth would you think Dad had you?" my mother replied. Oh, okay, she was going to try and play hardball (with a 6 year old). I had THE EVIDENCE! I opened the front page of the photo album and presented it to her. "You aren't in any of these pictures and Dad is in a hospital gown holding me! Why didn't you ever tell me that dad had me?!"

"Oh, you're a silly goose," my mother replied and didn't elaborate, because, well, proving my theory wrong would be quite a conversation for a 6-year-old. I'm assuming that's why my belief went on for so long. I eventually got over the sting of betrayal that I had never been told this secret, and defended it with great honor. This was a constant source of amusement to my family, along with the fact that I am the ONLY person in my generation (and the generations before me) in my family to be born outside of New York. (The icing on the cake being that I was born in New Jersey, but more on that another day.)

I remember several family gatherings vividly where someone would say offhand, "Well, that's because Rich gave birth to Erin." I could sense sarcasm from a very young age and I would fly into a tantrum! "He DID have me! I have PROOF!" I would shout as I would stomp off to get the photo album. My father, of course, didn't help me accept the truth. He would laugh through a big smile and say, "That's right honey, show them!" I liked feeling that my dad and I were a team that no one could quite understand because WE had a special bond. None of my other friend's dads had had THEM! Obviously, those dads were too lazy!

Years went by, and I remember realizing that it might not be true, even before I knew the scientific reasons behind it, but I still insisted that my dad had me. Part of me didn't want to lose that special link to my dad. My mom and I got closer and closer as I became a woman, but the father-daughter bond is harder to keep strong.

One day I will have to re-post this with the picture (THE PROOF!) of my father and I, because it is in storage somewhere in North Hollywood until next year. I've just been thinking about this story and wanting to share it so I couldn't wait that long! I hope you enjoyed it! (UPDATE: I STILL can't find the picture! I spent an hour this morning looking! rrrggghhh!) This is a beautiful moment caught at my brother's wedding in December. My dad and I are both workin' double chins but I love it. 

Say Cheese!

A friend of mine showed me a picture of her adorable two-year old daughter tonight. In the photo, her cutie-pie was sitting at this horrible angle and doing the smushed face, double-chin action that no adult would ever do (or we would force whoever took the picture to delete it, immediately). It made me giggle and feel wistful for the days that I didn't have that awareness of the camera.

I absolutely hated seeing pictures of myself, probably until I started getting headshots done and realized how to angle myself in a way that looked attractive. Oh, and not let the complete and total spazz within my soul shimmy it's way out of my face. For example:

I like how my childhood friend Brianna couldn't be less interested in my present-opening. BRIANNA: it's a California Beach Taxi! Wake up! She seems pretty fascinated with that party horn, so all is forgiven.

Or what I believe was next years birthday:

I'm the one on the end in the glasses with the arm that resembles a stork or seagull leg. Not my best angle. (And no matter what I did, apparently my birthday parties were not enthralling enough to squeeze a smile out of Brianna.)

But the picture that really captures the full awkwardness of my childhood, the one that used to send me whining and crying to my mother to PLEASE take it out of the frame and destroy it as a teenager was this gem:

I'm definitely not worrying about my double chin here! Not to mention my WAY before the times Kate Gosslyn haircut with confetti style headband. Boy, oh boy was I a looker. This was around the time that I asked my mother if she thought I would grow up to be beautiful. She responded with, "You will always be unique-looking and that's even better!" 

I ran to my room crying.

The funny thing is that of all the "glamorous" or "sexy" pictures I have now taken, THAT horrifying 4th grade school picture is my absolute favorite picture of myself of all time. I have no awareness of what I look like and frankly, I think I look fairly pleased with myself. 

The Inspiration

The inspiration for this blog comes from studying improv at UCB. In many of our exercises we have to tell a story that comes to mind based off of a one word suggestion. My stories always end up revolving around some horribly embarrassing situation I got myself into. The story I'm going to tell you now is what inspired me to start a blog retelling the cringe-worthy episodes of my past. I hope my unfailing dorkiness brings a smile to your face.

Fashionista Middle School Erin

It was a sunny humid August day in Altamonte Springs, Florida. This day was a big day. It was the Erin and Erin 14th birthday party celebration. My good friend Erin O'Brien and I both had birthdays within a few days of each other and both had the name Erin. If that doesn't scream LET'S HAVE A JOINT BIRTHDAY PARTY, I don't know what does. This was also going to be one of my first co-ed birthday celebrations and I don't want to brag but the guest list was pretty impressive; the creme de la creme of Teague Middle School and Lake Brantely High School were going to be in attendance. (This had much more to do with Erin O'Brien's popularity than mine, I assure you.)

I was looking fly in my fantastic birthday outfit. I showed up to Erin's house in my sunflower print, rolled up Bongo shorts, matching sunflower sneakers and bright yellow shirt feeling HOT. (I scoured my pictures looking for a shot in those shorts. I came up empty handed, a true tragedy.) Our friends started to arrive and I breathed a secret sigh of relief that the gossip at school the next day would not be how no one showed up to the Erinx2 party.

Now I don't know if it was a puberty thing, a nervous thing, or what but for a short window of time in the transition from child to teenager, I had a secret shame. When someone would make me really laugh, I'd nearly pee my pants. I assure you, it's not an issue today, or else I would most likely not tell this story. I still possess an uncomfortable laugh when I don't know what to say but the uncontrollable bladder is a thing of the past. (Don't be jealous.)

The party was just getting good when I was having a conversation with Brad Gomez (remember, I had BOYS at this party: boys, I tell you!) Brad Gomez is a funny guy. Who knows what he said, but it must have been funnier than a Judd Apatow movie marathon (or it could have been just mildly amusing . . . my bladder was weak, people) but it started happening, I was going to pee my pants. At my own birthday party. In front of boys.

I couldn't think of anything that made more sense then to rip open the sliding glass door that separated the large living room where the party was taking place from the swimming pool and jump in, fully clothed. So, that's what I did. I also threw in a, "Woooooooo! Pool party! Come on everyone! Jump in!" as I sloshed around the empty pool in the dark by myself waving my arms in the air to the faint sound of the music from the real party taking place inside, my poor brand new sunflower shorts already suffering the chlorine damage.

Needless to say everyone just stared from the living room, dumbstruck, until I gave up on trying to make the pool seem like the most obvious fun place to be. Erin O'Brien (bless her heart) walked me into the bathroom with a towel around my humiliated shoulders and let me borrow dry clothes. She asked me, "Why on earth did you just jump into the pool?!" I can't remember whether I told her the truth or not.

When you are faced with two choices: peeing your pants or looking like a totally cool party animal . . . . well, I think you know the answer to this one, guys. WOOOOOOO! Come on in! The water's fine!!!

Me, waiter at Planet Hollywood that's a little to creepy, Erin O'Brien and Lisa Heckerman