dear zefron

Oh, COME ON, NOW. You are just blatantly trying to rid me of any dignity I may have had left after going to see 17 Again. In the theatre. Of my own free will. You think you can just outgrow your awkward High School Musical phase and be all sassy up in the pages of Nylon, like you and your singing cohorts weren't the bane of my existence for years? Well, that's just fine. I see what your game is. And guess what?

YOU WIN, ZAC, YOU FUCKING FOX. I give in. You are so bangable, I would even get a time machine, go back and bang you during the awkward HSM years, just so I could call you up now and be all "Oh, hey, Zac. Yeah, it's S. Riiight. Yeah, it's been a long time. How've you been? Goooood. Me? Oh, I'm just peachy. Listen, what are you doing tonight? Cuz, I'mma need you to come over here and fuck the shit outta me, for old time's sake, m'kay? That'd be greaaaaat."

Call me,

S.

Friends and family: if you can't look me in the eye tomorrow, I understand completely.

little bundles of idgaf

Babies.

Fucking babies.

I don't see what the big deal is. Like, I don't particularly hate them, because they're new to the world and have done nothing to me personally. However, at best, I only tolerate them in the most ideal of situations. Most ideal situations being they are quiet and haven't shit themselves yet. The minute that child opens its mouth and starts wailing, all bets are off. I am planning a feast of baby-back ribs.

I never know how to react when people ask if I want to see their newborns, because I'm usually thinking "I'd really rather not," but, apparently, people take offense when I don't act like they are the first person in the whole fucking world to give birth. Honestly, all babies are pretty much the same. Squirmy little lumps of pink flesh with big heads and too little hair. And God forbid I am asked to hold one. It's like handing me a car engine part and expecting me to have any idea what to do with it. My first instinct is to leave it lying somewhere for someone else to find and deal with. It's just intensely awkward for everyone involved.

So, congrats and all, but don't expect me to fawn all over it.

like finding nemo. in hell.

I went to the aquarium the other day. What an absolute hell hole. $30 to walk around in a dank, half-underground cave, looking at ugly little fish, whose faces reminded me of that disapproving look my father used to get upon reading my high school report cards. I had to suppress the urge to explain to the fish that I don't need school anyway, because I'm going to be an actress and damn them all for what they think of me.

To top it off, the place was absolutely teeming with small children. I could hardly turn around without nearly knocking over some drooling brat or two. I understand that the aquarium is typically a family destination, but being 6 doesn't mean you automatically get first dibs on everything fun. Or that you can run around shrieking about mermaids and everyone will find you precious. Children really need to be trained like dogs: keep them on a leash until they can comport themselves in a well-behaved manner.

That would, of course, be presuming that the parents of said spawn had any modicum of consideration for their fellow fish fanciers. Obviously, not the case. If they weren't shoving past me and my camera to press their bouncing babies up against the glass while cooing "look at the fishies, look at the fishies" -- what else is it going to look at, lady, you have it's face laminated against the tank-- it was only because they were too busy ploughing through the crowds with their armored strollers (complete with cow-catchers) to get to the next sea creature before anyone else. I think one woman expected me to climb in next to the octopus in order to get the hell out of her way.

On the other hand, SEA OTTERS!