I needa break.

Problems that need fixing.

1. I have to stop biting my nails.

2. I need to move out of my family’s basement.

3. I need to figure out if I’m attracted to men. Like, actually.

4. I need to decide if I’m moving to Los Angeles. 

4a. I need to decide if being an actress is actually what I should be doing with my life.

5. I need to enjoy the fact that a singer songwriter that I met the other night wrote a LOVE song about me.

6. I need to write more, facestalk less.

7. I need to get the fuck off of facebook.

#3 THIS BLOG GOT ME FIRED!!!!

********** first posted on my facebook account 3 weeks ago. I was fired not 24 hours after the initial post*************I have a job…a day job. I am a woman in my mid twenties, a college graduate, a well-read individual, and a girl who believes that the world is actually my oyster and I am folding clothes for a living. How’s that for mind numbing, soul sucking hell? At least when you are waiter there’s that camaraderie with all the other waiters that none of us want to be here. Pant folding is another game altogether. I haven’t had a “real” job in over a year. Do you have any idea how amazing that’s been? Waking up when my body says; “good morning Ingrid, do you think now might be a time that you want to get out of bed?” My answer is completely dependant on my mood. Or, in many cases my alarm will wake me up because I have somewhere important to be. Like…an acting job at 6am! When I’m getting paid to do what I love, that alarm ringing in my ear doesn’t sting. It kind of whispers to me like a lover…minus the morning breath and hard on. It’s a sexy alarm and it gets me going. I haven’t even seen 7 am in a long time and now my -folding clothes gig- has me in the store by 8am. They also request you to get there fifteen minutes before each shift. Fucking Cute. I’ve reverted back to that high school stoner that I was ten years ago. The sound of an alarm clock eats away at me like nails to a chalkboard. Prying my eyelids open before sunrise with a silent plea to God to end this hell. Don’t ask me how I got conned into doing this because I really don’t know. But what the shit is busy work??? If there isn’t a customer (oh, excuse, we like to call them “guests”) in the store and all the pants are folded ever so delicately on the shelf why can’t I just CHILL?! Why can’t I just talk to the girl at the cash about nothing? It’s better than folding over priced yoga gear over and over again until my fingers feel like they are sand paper while my soul is being sucked out of me and my mind is racing on over drive about how I can conquer the world after just. One. More. Pay check. Sometimes I will protest the system, standing in my section doing nothing because at 3pm on a Monday….there isn’t anything to do! But then someone will come up to me and remind me that there has to be a sense of urgency in me. URGENCY?!?! Do to what??? I’m an actor, I know…and I can play the part of a salesgirl really well…but there is nothing urgent about this job!You know what she likes to do, when there’s nothing to actually do? She lets me in on her secret. She takes tags and hides them in pockets. “Wwwwhat?” For a split second I’m thinking that this girl is badass and I look at her with some admiration. “See, the clothes are really overpriced- so it’s a great way to tell someone about the item before they get turned off by the price” she says. That’s busy work and it’s a great time waster is what that is. I’m not lazy. In fact, I’ve been described as a “serious go-getter”. I’m goal oriented and ambitious. I have no desire to climb up the corporate ladder. This ladder, by the way, is responsible for dressing woman across North America in spandex pants. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that most of North America doesn’t look like the girls in the ads, or the mannequins in the store. Maybe if more people did climbing of any kind (rock climbing, stair climbing, mountain climbing) instead of the theoretical ladder climb…. then I might not have such an animosity towards this spandex trend pant wave. Honesty and trust are two of my core values and this job has made me a liar. Women with complexes walk in and out of my life asking me, the lycra pant expert, my opinion on what size they are. “What size do you think I am?” They cry out to me. I’ll look them up and down. Think about it for a second and then with all the honesty that I learned to create in theatre school I answer confidently: SIZE 2. Universal answer. Made the honesty is my policy mistake one too many times. So, now we go with the universal answer of SIZE 2. They fucking love me.I can’t say how long I’m going to last. I have no pride attached to this job. I can’t even laugh with my fellow workers about how fat, stupid, arrogant, annoying the “guests” are because this chain has a code of conduct that we all must follow. It’s this weird cult like thing that on some days I find myself really jiving on. “Never allow that which matters least, to give way to that which matters most.” So true, sooo true. Every day I walk in hoping to quit and somehow they either sense it- or actually like me—and finish the day by giving me a present. Free yoga gear! I’m not joking. At least in the service industry we all hate doing it- but it’s a means to an end. Am I right? Any bar or restaurant that I have worked in we can all bitch in unison about how terrible our job is and how much we hate our lives. But with this- I’ve tried. My fellow “educators” (we don’t sell clothes, we educate about the lifestyle) shun me like Demi Moore in the Scarlet Letter. (Or anyone else you can think that that’s been publicly humiliated and shunned simultaneously. A few world leaders come to mind…. let’s not get crazy here.) No bitching. Just folding. 8am till 4pm you can find me, Ingrid Haas, folding pants at the back of a store without a smile except when you ask me what size pant you might wear. It’s our little secret now. There’s no moral to this story. Day jobs suck. Doing what you don’t love to do, everyday, on the daily, really blows. Being surrounded by a corporation that disguises itself as some yogi, Buddhist, oils and spirituality haven is just plain bizarre. I can’t say that it hasn’t forced me to be more creative and light a little fire under my ass in order to get me out here. I can’t say that isn’t true. So what if I’ve been forced out of my premature “lady of luxury” days? Waking up with the sun blaring into my eyes was sometimes annoying too. 

#2 Are Women the new Men?

 

I have friend named Mike….he says that “women are the new men.” He claims that we date around, we slut it up, we don’t commit, we break promises- bla bla bla. My point is…(whether that’s true or not is irrelevant) what he failed to mention was: MEN are acting like the worse kind of WOMEN. And I do not like it. Not one bit.For the last year- every date that I go on….and lord knows I don’t get out much….but every time that I do- I am faced with a terribly akward predicament.

 

The men who seem to want to wine and dine me always, without fail, to bring up on date NUMBERO UNO: marriage, children, down payments of things, and meeting mothers. I’m not averse to meeting your mother, or even getting married- but frankly- let’s save that shit for date number two. I was just getting into my lemon drizzled talapia appetizer when the man brings up in list form: getting hitched, when I could meet his mother, and how often he’s going to fly my Toronto tush out to LA. It was all fun and fantastical until he started talking about why the last gal he was engaged to didn’t work out. I suddenly felt the urge to drink much more of my gin mojito in order to qwell my desires to become his therapist for the evening. (To note: that extra mojito I had at the end of the evening was a very bad idea.)( Right now- I’ve been “phone dating” with a guy. “What the hell does that mean”, you may ask. Well….we met- we hit it off. However, we live in seperate cities- so we chat on the phone. On the daily. We text cute, little sexy things every now and again. We chat a lot. I like him. He’s funny, he’s nice, he seems genuine. The other night- he casually brings up in a….how do i say this?…..In a lighthearted manner? He off handedly asks me where I would like to have our honeymoon. “Cute” I thought. CUTE was my first instinct. I told him Paris, maybe some tropical destination. Thoughts of romance and passion swept over my mind like a hurricane. My heart felt a flutter. He was hitting some sort of nerve with that question. Fast forward a few nights later. My father and I were driving to a basketball game. It was father-daughter bonding and I, so rudely, answered my phone. It was him. I tried to usher him off by saying it was father-daughter bonding night- but instead of taking the hint- he insisted that I tell my father that he says “hi”. Again, kinda cute. But really….hi??? My father doesn’t know you, you don’t know my father. Now we are forced to talk about you because you forced me to tell him you said “HI”. Now family is involved and that’s when shit gets weird. “Who is he?” My dad asks me. “A guy I like, but I don’t live near, we never see other- but he’s a nice jewish boy, from a good home- so i guess that gives you reason not to freak out that he talks about marriage before ever kissing me…??” I’ve dated BOYS in the past. Young men my age who have never walked near the big “M” word. Only now am I getting out into the real world and discovering that any man over the age of 30 is quite frankly- shaking in his boxer-briefs–that he is going to miss finding “the one” and is trying to lock me down like a chastity belt….Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be an old spinster just like the next gal….and yes, men who like commitment are very hot, but let’s get realistic gents- let’s bring it down a few notches, play the hard to get game “un pokito” and trust me- we’ll be eating out of the pawm of your hand in no time. Men like to pretend that it’s women who are the needy ones- but I need to say straight up- in the last year- I have had nothing but the opposite go down. It inflames my ego a little: YES… but it’s done nothing for my love life except empower me to write this. And that doesn’t get me through a cold, November day in Canada….I’ll tell you that right now.

#1 Hello….Is it me you’re looking for?

so, this is the shit that made diablo cody a god, and a tad famous.  ohhhh– this is what made perez hilton (not an oscar winner) a millionaire. I see. Blogging.  Another form of narccism?!  Sweet.  I’m a product of the internet era. I get it. I’m just a little late on the uptake. My name is RUDE PRUDE….I’m Canadian and I have a lot that I’m ready to get off my chest.      Here I am world of bloggers.  I guess the stigma is gone now, huh?…..(all internet people are fat, balding men in virginia- waiting by their computers to find some unsuspecting 1 1 year old virgins)…. I guess that was a thing of the 90’s eh?    I didn’t join so i could boast- or talk about what I makes me sooo happy. Nobody bitches, complains or writes a good break up song cause they were happy and in love.  But- allow me to state the not so obvious…. I have a whole lotta love swirling through this sexy body . these are things that make me horny/happy (interchangeable really):  vanilla cupcakes with lots of vanilla icing. masturbation. late nights spent with a bottle of red wine. funny viral shit. a big salad with just the right amount of dressing. artichokes.  the feeling of a freshly waxed body part- particularly my vag-jay jay.an honest compliment. making out with a person that i actually like. waking up feeling really good about myself. no snow.  This is a place to let it all out.  A diary for the world to see.  Lots of things make me angry. I’m neurotic and I want to fall in love. I don’t put out easily- but when I fall I fall really hard. How poetic, how pathetic.
This is me. Hello out there, my name is Rude Prude and I’m ready to start blogging.   Love, RP.