Gal Pal

Talking to my mother the other day she interrupts our conversation to mention that she saw something that made her think of me. Now usually this is the part where a mother tells her first child that she saw something beautiful or sweet that makes you want to respond with, “Awww.” However, my mother, well let me put it this way, you never know what you’re going to get when she segues into another conversation like that. Let me take this opportunity to explain that she sent me a card for fun of an old man wearing booty bearing jean shorts and long hair because she said and I quote, “I knew you’d understand and get a kick out of it.” What would I understand? What, because I have the same DNA as you that I’m just as strange? Of course this is true so I have no reason to argue but it’s still worth bringing up before I delve further into this topic of conversation.

She tells me that she saw this contraption called the GoGirl. She continues to explain that it’s pink and you can use it to relieve yourself wherever and whenever like a catheter. Really, a pink catheter? Of course my mind starts wandering as I’m emailing someone while talking to her and contemplating what this pink thing looks like and how it works. Pause. My mother continues to try to explain that it would be so useful for me with my small bladder. “Tilted, mother, it’s tilted! Remember I came to this realization with some help from my girlfriends in college while drinking during what was likely another ‘Thirsty Thursday.’” Now, my mother isn’t one to take this serious because otherwise we’d be having major issues but we both enjoy a good laugh over this one. I continue to exclaim how great a gag gift this would be but of course her retort, “An expensive gag gift.”

Now expensive could mean so many things coming from my sale whoring mother. So what do I do? I google it and the first link is to the GoGirl pink themed site for the active woman; “Don’t take life sitting down.” Well frankly I prefer not to take life standing up or squatting for that matter but obviously that’s beside the point. This pink funnel like disposable or reusable instrument has it’s own stylish tube for storage, you can purchase a travel pack if you choose not to clean and reuse the one you have, or you can even buy swag with the GoGirl logo. Not to mention it’s mess free and hygienic. The best part about it is that there is a GoGirl tour!!! Can you believe it! Oh my gosh are they coming to LA?!

Amazingly there’s a woman in the film industry who’s included her success story. You “GoGirl.”

“Wow, this is going to come in handy for my job! I'm a stuntwoman, and there are times that I have to sit in a car, for a scene, for hours and hours on end. A lot of the car scenes are filmed all night until the sun comes up, so I drink a lot of coffee to keep me on point.....and we all know what coffee does. Bathrooms are sometimes miles from the set, and time is money when we are filming, so I have had to get very creative when I have to "go." The GoGirl is going to make my life so much easier!!! Thank you.”

Sure, I’m in the film industry and I’m active but do I really want to feel like I need to purchase a cute pink funnel in a tube to be stylish while I use the restroom in the woods, on the side of the road, behind a haystack, in the snow, or because I’m too lazy to get up? Maybe I’m an independent woman who enjoys squatting behind a tree and roughing it like they used to. I mean listen to this…

“My daughter is 8 and loves GoGirl. She insists on using it at home since we received your product today. I purchased one for her and one for myself for our weekend camping adventures… I'm getting a ton of feedback on Facebook from my girlfriends and I think there should be a toddler-sized product available for those who are working on potty training. Babies get used to peeing standing up in their diapers and there can be a big fear of sitting on public toilets with icky germs. My child never goes in public restrooms because of potty germs and this will make our roadtrips much easier. I have a feeling some mothers would have improved success with their daughters who don't want to sit to pee.”

Okay first of all, when I was eight I was peeing in the woods when I was building forts with my neighbor because we were hardcore. If you’re child is worried about potty germs, use toilet paper or tissues or a seat protector. Dive deep into that mother load of a purse you have and make your child sit on the damn toilet or lift her up so she can pee midair. Surely you don’t have to spend money on such frivolousness.

Now I realize this is a bit extreme and many elderly women would highly benefit from this pretty pink pee pod and not to mention Chelsea Handler, but really ladies? If I’m going to use something I want it so I don’t have to pull my pants down, I don’t have to leave the slopes or hide behind a tree still. I want to be able to sit next to someone and say, “Did you know I just peed while you were talking? That’s right, I have the new Gal Pal where life just got a bit easier for the lazy gal lifestyle.” **

(**Disclaimer: Please note that I will be purchasing a GoGirl because frankly I think this invention is brilliant and fully support their efforts in making active women like myself more comfortable. And this is not just because I think it’s super cute, pink, and will definitely make my tilted life a bit more stylish.)

http://www.go-girl.com/

Are you a "Bobble" Head?

Sitting peacefully in the midst of chaos, I work diligently at my desk in Grand Rapids, Michigan where we're working on the film "30 Minutes or Less." One of the many transportation drivers stops by on his morning drop in the office with items from set. Several moments later I hear, "Jessica, you got something!" Looking up, I see our secretary walking towards me with a strange looking contraption in her hand. As she places this odd looking bottle on my desk I start giggling. The guy who sent this to me is the same one I worked on "Bruno" with and all I can think is oh my god, he got me a sex toy. Of course I know he wouldn't do that and this odd piece of plastic must be some sort of water bottle but it sure looks like a deviant hot pink toy. Me likey.

As I read about this toy called the "Bobble," I'm still holding back giggles. I'm temporarily living in conservative country where bikini bars run rampant instead of strip clubs and the closet tea party patriots are likely lurking. I sit facing only feet away from a republican mayor's son for heaven's sake. Our group had already invaded bringing Jews, Blacks, Libertarians, and worse, independent single women! "Hide yo' kids!" Thanks Antonie Dodson for your incredible insight.

I resume examining this pink and clear toy, clearly marked as a "Bobble" on the packaging, only to learn that it is a self-filtering water bottle. Brilliant I tell you! Not only does the pink piece use a charcoal filter to remove the nasty as you drink but the clear plastic bottle is made of recycled plastic. Karim Rashid you bloody bastard you. Why didn't I invent such a fantastic, hip, environmentally friendly creation?!

The coolest thing about the "Bobble" is that you can replace the whole top filtration piece with different colors for only about ten bucks at many local store chains. Sure, it makes a strange noise as you drink, the water sticks to the head of the charcoal filter, and you can't guzzle water out of it since the filtration system uses a sport top bottle to squeeze water into your mouth. But I can tell you flat out, my pink "Bobble" has become my new favorite toy. I'm a newborn "Bobble" head.

Are you a "Bobble" head?

Ain't Nothin' but a Quarter Life Crisis

We spend our early years going to school and then mostly being groomed for college or some sort of career out of necessity with a family business, supporting family, or providing for a family of your own. But do we ever really sit down and accept that life is short and what is it truly about? Family? Money? Love? Friends? Career? Success? Parties? Experience?

I ask you, are you seeking out what you truly want, are you settling, or are you always searching for more? Perhaps we never really figure out what we really want but as long as we surround ourselves with people we care about, people whom are filled with love and life, and share with others then maybe that is what it’s all about. I don’t know.

I find myself in a constant circle of questions, lack of satisfaction, and need to incessantly feel unrest. I used to think it was A.D.D that teachers failed to diagnose me with which would have greatly helped with how badly I wanted more time to finish tests. I always wrote more than necessary. I like to call it elaboration or proof that I knew what the hell I was talking about except I’d forgotten the short answer. Teachers often thought simply I hadn’t studied as hard as I should have. On the other hand, it all could be due to the intense pressures of sports from a young age as a pitcher, point guard, and setter that I’d constantly been pigeonholed into which distinctly tied into a leadership position that was more stressful than most kids usually handle. Sure, I’ve always loved the encouragement and feeling of elation when you do well but it was always about the team doing well. If I did poorly, I let my team down.

It’s an interesting turn of events when you end up in college living selfishly and graduate wondering what’s next. You only let yourself down and maybe your parents if it’s of your concern anymore. In any case, the pressures of the real world and becoming an adult with responsibilities and desire for a family of your own and career path you enjoy holds a heavy weight on one’s shoulders.

I just want to yell RELAX but it’s never that easy. When do you get to take a deep breath and feel like you’ve succeeded? What does that even mean? Perhaps when you feel safe about how much money you have saved up so you can live off of it and not work as hard or retire? Or maybe when you have a job you enjoy and you’ve accomplished your goals of reaching the top or the position you desire? Or rather you find your life partner sharing love and happiness? And with that perhaps it is the bearing of children to whom you can pass on your knowledge, love and share happiness with?

Perhaps we’ll only know some of these answers or maybe most but it’s all simply a puzzle I look forward to putting together with the continuous need to explore and without sitting still. How can you just wait for life to pass you by?!

J. Rabbit back from MIA

What a whirlwind the last two months have been since I last wrote. I could use some lame excuse that I was working but really I think I just haven't felt inspired. I was a bit more addicted to my "Bruno" iflip as I captured the three cities I was traveling around this month. From San Diego to New York to Chicago I was caught up in helping put together SELF Magazine's Workout in the Park in each city. If you're really that interested you can check out the website as it's every year (www.selfworkoutinthepark.com) but frankly it's just a bunch of women working out in a park with a main stage and branded sponsor tents with their respective sponsors selling their wares and giving away free swag. Maybelline, Garnier, Asics, Reebok, Blue Diamond, to name a few. In any case I did this last year and I did it this year for the free trips to NY and Chicago of course. But frankly I'll spare you the stories that came of these trips because I'll hopefully crank out some form of a video at some point to put on facebook. Simply put I almost caused a fight in San Diego (not really but my "brothas" love trouble), I got to go to the top of the Empire State Building in NY, and with the help of my co-workers got kicked out of a bar by an angry pregnant bartender because I was convinced throwing my jacket around like a helicopter was a good idea. Wouldn't be the first time and nor will it be the last! If Petey Pablo says it's okay then it should be.

Back in LA only two days I was back out on the tarmac and headed to Grand Rapids, Michigan to work on a feature film for four months. That's right I'm now in small town Michigan until the end of September. Strangest part about all this travel is I don't miss LA. You would think after five years of living there and enjoying friends, the beach, partying, concerts, etc. I would miss all of it and be tired of traveling but frankly I feel like I don't want it to end and I just want to keep running. I should have chosen espionage as my career path. But maybe it's the fact that I have that "itch" to get out of the country and go to Thailand, London, Germany, or New Zealand among so many other fantastic places on my list or maybe it's just my horoscope on igoogle is hitting the head on the nail with the fact that I've hit a fork in the road and I'm preparing for a big change. I mean I don't know if I'd go that far but I think it's more like I'm ready for change and whether that's me moving out of LA, switching to the aspect of my career choice that I've always truly wanted but just haven't made 110% effort to go after because I'm afraid I will fail, or because I like to do what I do best "Question everything." In any case, I know what I truly realized and that's how tired I am of selfish, self-involved people. This is what populates most of LA and hence why I can only now say after five years that I have some pretty great friends in LA after finding these few needles in the haystack who mind you are not from LA. However, having been in Michigan almost two weeks now and having been to Chicago twice in the last month, I can honestly say I miss the people of the Midwest!! They're just nice, friendly, sociable, hospitable, and well just more attractive on the whole. And here I am with a full feature film crew invading this sweet small city and I guarantee we will leave people stressed out, exhausted, and feeling bad about themselves in our wake. I mean I've already made one poor woman cry and tell me how inconsiderate I am when SHE CALLED ME BACK because she was worried about the damn commission on the hotel sale and how was I supposed to know her father was dying in the hospital! I mean I started crying I felt so awful wishing I could make her life better and give her a big hug telling her things just happen the way they're supposed to but she will be okay and not to mention we all know I HATE CRYING and ESPECIALLY in front of people. I mean I apologized to my boss because of it and he couldn't believe anyone would apologize. But for myself it's like this: "There's no crying in baseball!"

So aside from my quick recap, ranting and realization after having been out of the Los Angeles smog filled bubble for a while, I have to share just one more thing; two words, Wrigley Field. And okay a few more as I might add, I don't know that I'll ever stop loving my trips to Chicago because truly, "What happens in Chicago, stays in Chicago." What a fun city. Can't wait to go back for Round 3! Oh, it's on.

Since I was a small child I've been surrounded by a love for Chicago and the Cubs. Certainly not die hard fanatics but a love for a ball team and city closer to home than most out there because we were a softball playing and baseball loving family. Well, maybe it was mostly my Dad but let's put it this way, I'll never forget the double feature my Dad took me to of "Babe" based on Babe Ruth with "Beethoven" back in the day. Nonetheless my dad has always gone to baseball games but it was only spring training our family was ever able to all go to which is cool and all but it's not the same as getting to experience a home game during regular season. After 27 long years, I finally had the opportunity to get to go to Wrigley Field not once, but twice in only a few weeks! The smell of the hot dogs, peanuts, and cracker jacks, the taste of beer in the hot sun, and hearing the fans cheer as Ronnie Woo Woo walks by with his silver, sequin Michael Jackson glove and a Cubs jersey that says "Woo Woo" on the back. He roams the stadium getting photo ops as he hollers, "Chicago Woo! Chicago Woo." I mean this old, black man just doesn't stop. I think Energizer should give him a commercial deal. The best part about the baseball game at Wrigley Field is the old school scoreboard. I mean you might not be able to read it like the big fancy screens at every other major league baseball stadium, but it's like living back in the days when things were less complicated. My momma always said I should have been born in another decade. I leave that for the day when I solve the mysteries of time travel.

The lead in to April Fool's

I guess the week of April Fool's needs to be eventful.

If you've had the pleasure of reading one of my former posts about my accident prone days just think of this as some sort of bad joke as a continuation of that period in my life.

They say you often have a "feeling" something is going to happen before it actually does. Maybe this is a woman's sixth sense, "instinct" or maybe it's just one of those strange inexplicable paranormal occurrences. In any case, I gave my blood, sweat, and well I saved the tears for later to Flag Football. That's right I bled for the game. One man had already gone down with a sprained ankle and somehow I was next.

It was my signature play and as I go for the touchdown I catch the ball and before I know it I hit the ground like a skater on pavement. Luckily this wasn't pavement and the grass pillowed my fall or well gave me grass burns, bruises and scratches up the left side of my body. However, the large tortoise shell sunglasses I had stubbornly decided to wear in effort of shielding my tired eyes from the burning California sun pierced my temple leaving a bloody gash in their wake of falling from my face. It all felt like a bad slow-mo montage on MTV. Thinking I just hit the ground pretty hard as everyone crowded around, I eventually stood up as I kept hearing gasps and a stunned silence. It's not like I was dripping blood. Well that is until I put my sleeve up to my head when someone said there was blood. My whole reaction to the incident was "Fuck." Simple, expressionless, and just annoyed with myself for wearing my damn sunglasses. Arriving back at the picnic tables where our stuff was sprawled, one of the other girls tells me it just looks worse than it is while my friend walks up with a big wad of toilet paper laughing and telling me to use it. Dude, this isn't where I'm desperately asking my unknown neighbor in the stall next to me for some TP because my stall is out. TP? Really? Didn't your mom teach you that shit sticks to anything wet. I think I still have TP stuck in my gash. (Wow that sounded dirty. Forgive me or not.) Anyways, for some reason I was either stunned or just like well this sucks as I look down at the bloody wad of toilet paper. Thank god it wasn't like when I hit the back of my head on the grocery store floor leaving a bloody mess after I fell off the back of it. I was kind of a bloody mess.

The great part about the park we all play football at is that the bathrooms are relatively nice for a park but there's no mirror! It's like they want you to suffer. All I wanted to know was if there was dirt in my wound and if I needed stitches. But knowing I would have been crying if it was that bad I went to the bathroom with a couple of the girls who cleaned and bandaged me. So of course what do I do but go back out and play of course! Yes I'm that hardcore. Okay really I just wanted to play and it's kind of like if I'm not crying from the pain then I must be good to go.

A trip to the pharmacist later then led to Hydrogen Peroxide, Neosporin, and Waterproof Disney Princess Band Aids. The Transformers weren't big enough. Believe me I'd much rather be donning Bumblebee than Belle. All set and ready for my close up. Okay maybe just my launch at Angels Stadium for Bamboozle among So Cal teeny boppers thinking I'm making some sort of fashion statement.

AFter all of this chaos as I'm still cleaning my wound three times daily, my car decides to hyperventilate and the Check Engine light starts yelling at me. A call to my mechanic leads to a tow truck ride home with some dude from Idaho trying to buy my car on a payment plan for his 18 year old "funny and smart" son who goes to the University of Washington. What is this, a set up? The nightly chaos is over after learning your car hates you despite you hating it more and wanting to sell it only desperately hoping the mechanic won't end up ripping you off the next day with over a grand in labor charges. This leads to worry and non stop playing out every situation until you're still not satisfied only to wake up at 3:30 AM to your neighbor upstairs still editing with loud ass music as you grab the damn Swiffer Mop and bang on the ceiling. I felt like the little old lady from some Comedic film. I can't think of one but I can only imagine if I'd had a knee length nightgown on, slippers, and a hair net with glasses I would have come straight out of an 80s movie. Needless to say I toss and turn and my gash starts pounding as my alarm goes off at 5:15 AM. Lucky me.

One tow truck arrives only to inform me he'll kill my bumper if he drags my car behind him so he tells me to call for a flatbed which of course isn't something you can get a hold of until after 7 AM. The car shop opens at 7 AM. Awesome. Another tow truck later with a flat bed leads me to meeting the most angry black man I've met in a long time. I mean I was fearing for the lives of others on the road as he'd telling me how people call his number to complain about his driving and how it goes straight to his phone line. I mean he was a pro with the words "I'll get right on that." Oh Office Space I heart thee. So after his rants about stupid drivers and how flatbeds can't drive in Culver City because of city regulations we finally pass the stupid "wreck" which was really tree cutters on the 405 parking lot and I make it to my mechanic. Some more bitching from my tow truck driver and some texts to my co-worker, who is nice enough to drive me to and from work and the shop, finally lead to a much needed latte and work at last. Whew. Lucky break.

In the end the night before April Fool's Day I'm left still smiling because I was charged less than a grand, thank god and my gash appears to be healing as it now itches like crazy and it's bruising up nicely. I mean frankly the side of my face is starting to match the assorted colors of my band aids. Neato.

Guess we'll see what else is in store for me or NOT in store for me the rest of this eventful April Fool's week.

(Did I mention another friend of mind fried her computer with tea and the other one he blew up his car as it went up in smoke! What a week! They say shit happens in groups of threes. Chew on that.)

The -Ness

I'm sitting at work talking to my co-worker and posing the question, "Is geniusness a word?" The response I get, "Sure. It's not in Webster's Dictionary but I took a cultural studies class where we used the -ness to add essence." (Maybe not word for word how the conversations went but BRILLIANTNESS!)

So in light of unlocking this discussion I looked up "The Ness" on google. What do I get? Not what I expected. http://www.theness.com/ The New England Skeptical Society. Not only does this cater to my nerdy love for science but you're looking at one of the average Skeptics. What do I usually mention in most of my posts?! QUESTION EVERYTHING! (I was groomed from an early age kind of like I was trained to use the ladies room before I leave anywhere, and I mean anywhere.) But frankly despite the radness of this site this is not the point.

The "-ness" is what you can add to just about any word and add eloquence and give emphasis. Think about the Loch Ness monster and the River Ness. I mean yes the myth precedes itself but the River Ness and Scotsmen had no idea it would have such a killer name. So let's give a few examples shall we. (And for you video game nerds, this has nothing to do with the Nintendo game "Earthbound" and its character Ness even though he may have a bit of awesomeness since he uses a baseball bat to fight but I just learned he existed so forgive my naiveness of Nintendo games.)

Geniusness
Greatness
Brilliantness
Courageousness
Brightness
Awesomeness
Radness
Dudeness (Maybe this is a stretch but I like describing The Big Lebowski as "His Dudeness." I mean that just sounds like royalty.)
Rudeness
Sadness
Happiness
Forgetfulness
Thoughtfulness
Thoughtlessness (Ssssssuck on that one)
Hopelessness
Helpfulness
Goodness
Neediness
Pokiness (I had a softball coach named Poky. No joke. But yeah he was a joke.)
Coolness
Amazingness
Sweetness

I'd just like to point out that next time you are writing an email or describing someone or something why not throw in a -NESS.

I will now sign off here as "Yours truly, JStewNess" (This just sounds like a soup. Maybe I'll opt for Jessness? Maybe not.)

"What do you want from me..."

This line from Adam Lambert's stupid song has played over and over intermittently with some techno music for two nights now above me. I can't decide if the idiot who suddenly decided to do this is editing or just went through a break up!

All I want to do is make a shotgun appear and blow a hole in their freakin' speakers.

Let's get this straight, I love good music, I love to party, and I do not have a problem with loud neighbors until midnight on a weeknight. BUT 3 AM and blasting lyrics clearly? Really? And where my walls actually shake? This building has some kind of quiet curfew of 10PM so how is this possible?! For those of us getting up at like 5:45AM in the morning and working long hours, this shit is just RUDE.

Yes I've been up until this late playing Rock Band on weekends BUT not on a Monday or Tuesday night! So what it's LA and no one works or they're all unemployed. Maybe you're in school and you have no life so you sit at home listening to shitty music. I don't know. Is this some kind of mental breakdown? Maybe some girl cheated on you and you're feeling like the blatant lyrics of commercial music speak volumes despite their lack of imagination. Maybe you are training for American Idol or wishing you were on Real World. I just think you're a wannabe editor. Final Cut Pro and your Mac Pro desktop literally just spit out a "duh" screaming at your lack of skill. Obviously you are set on waking the entire complex with your amateur editor skills so GO BACK TO SCHOOL before it's too late! Perhaps I should offer my own critique or maybe just pose a simple "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!!!!"

Note: I woke up at 5:20AM to a rap song. Just thought I'd add that.