Three Hundred Nineteen.

This is going to be scattered because I feel scattered.

On Thursday, AKA The Longest Day at Work Ever That Made Me Partially Insane, I was sitting in my office, having a chat with my 19-year-old coworker, who is about to start another year of his undergrad degree.

I wish I could tell you the exact context of our conversation, but I think I blocked it all out after he said something along these lines:

“I’m just going to finish my degree and get a job and then I’ll pay off all my debt quickly and be fine.”

And I looked over at him, stunned into silence, and then I said:

“And what is totally crazy is that in your world, that’s a totally realistic hope. Because when you finish your degree, you’ll have jobs to choose from.”

“Right, I guess it’s different in the arts.” he replied.

I wasn’t even sure what to say.

“There are jobs you can choose from,” he joked, “Like retail jobs, or you could be a bartender…or a server…”

I let out a sharp, short laugh. It had the same emotion behind it as the “WOW.” in this post, even though I know that my coworker was just razzing me. My office mate instinctively started moving toward me, wheeling his chair up to mine.

“I have a master’s degree. I HAVE A MASTER’S DEGREE, guys.”

And then my office mate hugged me and I wanted to die.

Sometimes working at my science job is like:


And it makes me feel like this:

But then maybe one person tells me they read something I wrote and it moved them, or they say something crazy like, “You should write books!” or they tell me I’m funny and I should act in things.

Or I read quotes like the ones in this article, or I read the lessons presented by the brilliant Kevin Spacey in this article.

And I just think, you know what? You really do have to make your opportunities. It’s time to stop being scared. Or rather, to stop letting the fear keep me back. It’s time to embrace it, harness it, and let it be the thing that pushes me forward. Because when you’re scared and you start running, you can’t really stop, can you?

(You can’t because the monster will get you.)


Run. Run. Run

Just be you.

tina-fey-quoteAnother thing I need to do: be okay with asking for help along the way.

Here goes nothing.



Three Hundred Eleven.

Well, since I told you about some of the men I thought I would marry when I was a child, I thought it would only be fair to also tell you about some of the women I loved most.

What’s really funny, though, is that – no, you know what? Let’s just take a look.


SIDENOTE: By “small,” I mean like, 13 and under, but some of these dreams have never died. You know what? Basically none of them have.


I mean, hello? Obviously. Obviously. I watched Batman like, every single day on TV after school. I was obsessed. So naturally I dreamed of being this feisty, sexy woman.

SIDENOTE: I would look killer in that outfit today. And I would love to have a reason to rock it.

Wonder Woman.
Wonder Woman.

Again, mega-DUH.

SIDENOTE: I feel like my response to most of these is going to be, “DUH!”

Morticia Addams.
Morticia Addams.

I’ve already talked about how much I hoped and dreamed about being adopted by the Addams Family as a kid, but while Wednesday was closer to my age, I always really wanted to be Morticia. She’s pure class. Stunningly beautiful. And those giant eyes. Get out of here with those eyes, Carolyn Jones!


My brother collected all sorts of superhero trading cards when he was a kid. I wish I had easy access to them, because I would totally find the Storm card I was so in love with.

I just thought she was the coolest, okay?

Chun Li.
Chun Li.

Noticing any trends? It took A LOT for me to not play as Chun Li when my brother and I would play Street Fighter. (I had a soft spot for Blanka and Guile – no idea why. I liked Ryu, too, but my brother was always Ryu.)

SIDENOTE: Always secretly wished I could do that with my hair.


The Pink Power Ranger. (Kimberly Hart)
The Pink Power Ranger. (Kimberly Hart)
The Spice Girls.
The Spice Girls.

SIDENOTE: We’ve been through this.

Lesson learned: I like ladies who kick butt and TCB.

And now I am one. Bam.


Three Hundred Ten.

When I was little, my brother and I used to always play along the sidewalk in front of our house. We used it for fun things like running back and forth, skipping back and forth, biking back and forth, and so on.

Look how fucking cute we were.

(This should be no surprise, because look at us now, am I right? Haha.)

Anyway, there were some neighbour kids in the neighbourhood, some of whom we got along with better than others. There was a set of three kids who lived just down the street who were sort of fun to play with, but also sort of mean. Like if you played with them for long enough, one of them would do something straight up evil just to see what would happen.

You know the ones.

On this particular day, my brother and I (at that time about seven and four respectively) were playing around when the three kids showed up and crashed our party. My brother and I – being of the extremely non-confrontational personality type – played along with it. Everything was going fine – a bit of a drag, but FINE – until I was like, running along side my brother’s bike – or maybe it was the boy kid’s bike – and I fell. Or maybe he pushed me. I’d like to say he pushed me because like I said, they weren’t very nice, but maybe I’m just remembering the story as an adult who can now see what jerks some kids are.

Bottom line: I fell. I was horizontal on the sidewalk.

And there she came.

The youngest sibling. A year younger than I, but so, so much scarier. (I wasn’t scary at all, except when I was super whiny and annoying and I don’t remember being that way because I was the one doing it.) She was on a tricycle and she came barreling at me with a look on her face so twisted I can only tell you to imagine a kid tri-cycling with the vigour of Danny Torrence from The Shining, only take his face and replace it with Chucky.

I basically saw it happen in slow motion, but I was paralyzed with fear. So I had to just sit there and watch in complete horror while that little twat rode her tricycle RIGHT OVER ME.

Naturally, my knee/leg got ripped open by the stupid wheels of her stupid tricycle and started to bleed like crazy. I still have at least one scar from that day. Not to mention the emotional trauma.

(I wouldn’t give that girl the time of day if I saw her tomorrow. Is that bad? I don’t care.)

That was the day I learned that getting run over by a bike sucks. I don’t recommend it.

Also maybe some children need to GET SOME BIKING MANNERS.


Three Hundred Seven.

Remember like almost 300 days ago when I wrote about personality traits that are sexy?

SIDENOTE: I sure made it seem early on like I had a huge boner for Adam Levine. What’s hilarious is I barely have a boner for him.*

SIDENOTE TO THE SIDENOTE: I know, I know, now you’re all like, “My god, Andrea, what CAN we believe if not that?!” Sorry.

Well, I’m here to tell you that my varied tastes in men are not a new thing in my life. I’ve always been attracted to all sorts of cool dudes.

On that note, I give you… (drumroll)


SIDENOTE: By “small,” I mean like, 13 and under, but some of these dreams have never died. I’ll leave you to guess which ones.

William T. Riker.

What. A fucking. Dreamboat.

Oh, Riker. I just couldn’t get enough. What with his dreamy blue eyes and his beard. This childhood obsession crush worries me the most because my dad had a very similar beard. So maybe I just thought Riker was my dad. But I definitely thought about marrying him. Whatever, kids are weird. They don’t understand that stuff. Let’s all agree that Riker was the coolest.

SIDENOTE: Ironically, in hindsight, I totally find Patrick Stewart way dreamier.

Craig Simpson.

No, you didn’t accidentally click over to someone else’s blog. I, Andrea Beça, was in love with a hockey player. It all started when I was in kindergarten and I met him IN PERSON and I was like OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU. I mean I didn’t say that out loud. But he was super cute and like, cool and a grown up with a super interesting and exciting job, and he was pretty famous and a big deal and he was being super nice to us so giggle squee oh my gosh and also I WAS FIVE.

I had a couple of his hockey cards and I held onto them for dear life so that if anyone asked if I had a boyfriend, I could pull them out. Also maybe so that I could plan our wedding to match the Edmonton Oilers colours.

If you caught me on the right day I might still brag about meeting him even though it was over 20 years ago and I barely remember it.

Liam Neeson.

The real reason I wanted to visit Ireland.

Just kidding.

But seriously.

I can’t even remember the first time I saw Liam Neeson, but it was pretty much love at first sight. As my mom says, “I think you just saw him on Entertainment Tonight and stuff and you were hooked.” I guess I just had good taste.

Vincent Price.
Vincent Price.


Vincent Price and a Friend.


Lesson learned: The childhood heart wants what it wants. Also, sometimes that doesn’t change.


P.S. Please note that this is just a selection of the many men I thought I would marry. Childhood lasts quite a few years. I know you don’t have all day.

*I have to say, I commend guys for putting up with boners. I mean, you don’t give birth or anything, but if I got a boner every time I was excited, I’d have a lot more awkward stories than I already have in life.

I feel like that came out wrong.

I feel like this conversation got uncomfortable.

I guess I just meant to say penises are weird. Way to go at managing them or whatever.

But I mean like, don’t brag about it. It’s not that special.

(Shut up, Andrea. Shut up.)

Three Hundred Six.

Yesterday I got to spend the day in a beautiful location watching two of my favourite people get married.

Holy cow, guys, it was perfect. I feel so lucky to have been there, and so lucky to know the happy couple (Hi, Mandelle and Adam! I love you guys!).

It happened in a small town just outside of Calgary – a quaint, storybook country setting.


My friend Caitlin and I got dolled up and had basically the best time ever.

Cait and Ang

We laughed, cried, ate, and danced our asses off. I don’t think I have ever had that much fun dancing at a wedding. My friend Caitlin’s a damn good date. I highly recommend her presence.

I’m not going to go into great detail on the wedding today, though I might talk about it more another time. For now, I’m just setting the scene for a hilarious moment.

When I say we were dancing our asses off, I totally mean it. We danced like crazy people – air punching, shimmying, jumping, shaking our butts, scream-singing along to the Spice Girls and scream-rapping along to Run DMC (shout out to Keith, our friend and DJ, for taking my song request). When “It’s Like That” came on, our shoes came off and we really went for it.

Right at the end of the night, a guy we had met throughout the wedding day and night hopped onto the dance floor to dance with us. We were all having a great time when he dropped into a dramatic dance move, really low to the ground.

Cue the sound of a record scratch and the music going dead silent. (But only in our minds, because in real life the music kept playing.)

His face flashed from “having a great time” to “oh my fucking god” faster than any of us could even process.

“I ripped my pants!” he shouted over the music.

“Ha ha!” I laughed. I thought he was joking.

“I ripped my pants!” he said again, scurrying off the dance floor.

“Oh my god!” Caitlin and I said to one another, feeling both extreme sympathy and extremely amused.

It soon became clear that he wasn’t – ahem – properly attired to continue dancing despite the rip. If you know what I mean.


A night in Glasgow. A few of my classmates and I had been out to see what was the worst production of Othello I have ever seen in my life. It was so bad, in fact, that we ran away at intermission. If you know me at all, you know that a production/movie/anything has to be horrendous for me to leave before it’s over, because if I can avoid being disrespectful of the work being presented to me, I will. I’ve been a producer. I’ve been a director. I’ve been an actor. I teach Zumba classes all week. I know what it feels like to watch people walk out of your work.

But it was that bad.

Now, all of my classmates are like me, so we all felt guilty for leaving, but we were desperate. So naturally, we didn’t leave the theatre calmly. Well, we left the auditorium calmly – but then we ran. Why did we run? I don’t know. I still run to the parkade every time I leave work early, even when my boss tells me to leave work early. I guess my instincts tell me I may be caught and chastised or something.

Regardless, we hurried.

I was speed walking down a dark, narrow street next to my classmate Carissa when we all heard an “OooooOOP!” and our friend Janice disappeared from our peripheral vision.

There was a thud.

Our first instinct, of course, was to say, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

The only response we got was laughter, which started small and built up to straight up maniacal. Janice was beside herself; she could not stop.

“Guys! Guys!” she tried to talk between gasps for air, “It’s a banana! It’s a BANANA!”

We looked around, trying to determine what the hell she was talking about.

And there it was.


Janice had slipped on a banana peel.

Need I say more?

Lesson learned: Sometimes those quintessential “movie moments” happen in real life. And boy, are they ever entertaining.


P.S. Totally just shared the link to this post on Facebook only to have my friend Janice tell me that it was Carissa who slipped, not her! I guess I remembered it backwards because I was LAUGHING FOREVER.

Two Hundred Ninety Nine.

I worked a casino last night.

Funnily enough, I have never actually been to a casino except to work at them as a volunteer for various theatres in town.

They’re usually kind of boring. Sometimes exciting. Always strange.

I guess I was really asking for it when I tweeted this at the beginning of the night:


At first, my entertainment was mostly fashion-based:


And BFF-based:


But then the men at the casino caught on that I was in the cash cage.

Tw4This guy – let’s call him Goddess Worshipper, or GW for short – was pretty hilarious. It all started when he was at the ATM right outside my cash window. He started glancing over at me, then began to motion at my hair and giving me the thumbs up.

“I like your hair!” he yelled at me.

“Thanks!” I yelled back.

(How awkward.)

He stared at me some more.

“You’re perfect!”

“Wow! Thanks!”

(What was I supposed to say? Nothing like having a yelling conversation with a tipsy GW through soundproof glass, am I right?)

“Everything about you – your style – like, everything from your hair, your tattoos, your outfit – mmm – everything. It’s just 100% you. You are who you are, you know?”

“I…appreciate it!” I laughed.

I thought he was going to get his money and go. But instead he came right up to my cash counter.

“You’re teaching people things just by existing,” he said to me very seriously, “You are a perfect goddess. You’re teaching people how to be themselves. Just by being. Gorgeous. You’re a goddess. A goddess.”

“Okay! Thanks so much!”

(I’m way too nice.)

GW then sat at the blackjack table just a few feet away from the cash cage with his back to me. Throughout the night, he kept turning back to me and yelling “Perfect!” over and over again. After a couple hours, we apparently had inside jokes. He’d turn, point at his friend’s back and laugh, shrugging and shaking his head and motioning to me like, “Can you believe this guy?”

I, of course, would shrug, laugh, shake my head, and motion back to him like, “What a card!”

SIDENOTE: Yes, I just used the expression “What a card!” In a blog post about a casino. THANK YOU I’M HERE ALL WEEK.

Then the night was super quiet for like five hours.

And then there was this guy:


His story begins with another guy – a really young guy we’re going to call Young Guy, or YG. Let’s call the guy the story is actually about Forty Five, or FF.

(It’ll make sense in a second.)

It was the very end of the night and YG came up to me to cash in his chips. I had seen him earlier and noted how young he looked. He looked 12, but I’m sure he was 19 or something. Anyway, his cash out was $45.

He stared at me in horror as I handed him the money. He was obviously smashed.

“I got slaughtered tonight.” he said, looking like he was about to cry.

“That’s too bad.” I replied.

(What do you say to that, right?)

FF, who was organizing his chips just slightly behind YG came up to the counter.

“What did you lose, man?”

“Oh, dude,” YG turned to FF, “I got slaughtered. Slaughtered.”

“What’d you lose?”

“$800, man. $800.”

“We can fix that, bro. We can fix that. I lost $4500 last week in Vegas. No big deal.”

“Shit, man.”

“What’s $800?” FF continued, “You can’t do anything with $800. You can buy a hooker and have some fun. That’s it. $800’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Young Guy’s face lit up.

“Let’s go out, man. Have some fun.”

“Bro, any other night and I would, man.” FF threw his chips at me, looking me up and down, “Tonight’s the one night I can’t.”

“Why not, man? Let’s go. Come on. Get a girl, get some stuff…”

“It’s the one night I can’t, man. I’m back on site in Fort Mac. Drug testing Monday, man. I can’t. Shit, any other night, bro. Any other night.”

At this point, I had laid out FF’s chips and counted out his money – a couple hundred dollars – but he wasn’t paying attention to me. I had to wait until he took his money to put his chips away, so I stood there, just listening.

“Fuck, man. Fuck. What a night.”

“Any other night, bro. I swear.”

Then Forty Five turned to me, in all his expensive jeans, tight t-shirt, bald head, look-at-me-I’m-hot-shit* attitude. He looked at my tits. Then at my face.

“Look at you in there.”

I looked at him, expressionless.

“Look at this chick,” FF turned to YG, “With her neck tattoo.”

Great, I thought, here we go.

FF turned back to me, leaning in really close to the glass between us. He bit his lip.

“You with your neck tattoo and your shaved head. I bet you’d be really up for it.”

And I was like, “WOW.”

I said it out loud. Too loud. It sort of fell out of my mouth. Sheer shock.

It wasn’t “WOW” as in “YAY.” It was “WOW” as in:

KWFKM“You’d take it.” he said.

He grabbed his money and paraded himself away, giving Fort McMurray a horrible name with every step.

Lesson learned: I’m definitely not going to meet my dream guy at a casino.


*See: NOT.

P.S. I totally forgot to tweet about the classiest part of the night. On my walk from the casino to my car – which was less than 250 feet – I saw not one, but two penises. Apparently, dudes just pee on cars at 2am at West Edmonton Mall. Fucking wonderful.

Two Hundred Ninety Two.

2010, Ireland.

My mom had come to visit me while I was living in Glasgow and we took a nice long trip to Ireland with lots of time for tours and exploring. I had been to Ireland before – as you may remember from the day I cried at Burger King or my recap of bathrooms in the country – but I was happy to be back, because Ireland is one of my favourite places on earth and we were going to visit a couple of towns I hadn’t gotten a chance to go to.

One of those towns was Dingle.

Funny name, adorable town.


It was pouring rain while we were there (RAIN?! IN IRELAND?!) so we ran around trying to find something fun to do indoors.

That’s when we found this guy.


“Arrrr,” he said to us (in my mind), “Welcome to Ocean World!”

For a girl who is terrified of the water, I love me a good aquarium. I think part of it is the anticipation of sheer terror. Kind of like when I was five and I was TERRIFIED of Harry and the Hendersons, but I watched it on a loop. I’ve seen that movie so many times, I could reenact it for you right now if you asked.

Okay, not right now, I’m busy blogging.

SIDENOTE: But that one scene where you see an extreme close-up of Harry through the viewfinder thing on the gun? GET OUT OF HERE. Scariest scene. I used to have to watch it through my hands. Scratch that – I probably still would.

The aquarium was awesome. Not huge, but it had a large variety of species. They even had sharks, which was cool.


I could be scared and marvel at them from behind glass. Great.

But then we got to the end of the exhibit and we hit a huge road block.

A shark tunnel.

You know what I’m talking about, right? When aquariums have huge tanks with tunnels built into them that you have to walk through?

They’re one of my biggest fears. Because I’m terrified of the water AND sharks (and fish, really) and standing under glass makes me panic because I feel like (A) I’m in the water, and/or (B) the glass is going to break and we’re all going to die.

“Where’s the exit?” I asked nervously.

“Through there,” my mom replied, “Let’s go.”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t!”

I scanned my surroundings. There was no other way to get out of the aquarium, save going all the way back to the entrance, which felt like it was miles away at that point.


“Just walk through. It’s no big deal.”


I took one look at my mom, took a deep breath, and I ran.

Shark Tunnel

My mom thought it was super funny that I was running, so she walked behind me and took a photo.

I honestly didn’t breathe until I got to the other side. Then I waited for like, 10 minutes while my mom casually perused EVERY FISH IN THE TUNNEL.

Lesson learned: I have my brave moments.


Maybe our fears only exist until we have to face them.

JUST KIDDING. Still 100% scared shitless of sharks and water.


Two Hundred Eighty Four.

A couple nights ago, I was watching some of a friend’s short films on YouTube (you should check out Hyperphotonic here – they do cool work). One of them had just started when I saw the lead actor, froze, and said – out loud, to no one but myself (and my dogs) – “Hey! Screwdriver Guy!”

I knew this guy in university during my undergrad. I wouldn’t call us friends – we were acquaintances, and we had a mutual friend. In fact, I’m pretty sure the guy was interested in our mutual friend (which makes perfect sense, because she is a tall, gorgeous blonde with a huge smile and legs that go on forever).

SIDENOTE: It sounds like I have a crush on her.


Anyway, one night we were both at the theatre on campus to see the same play, so we ended up sort of hanging out for the first time, and by some series of circumstances, he offered me a ride home. At least I think that’s how it went. We could have also been leaving the class we were in together. To be honest, I don’t remember which class it was. (It sounds like I was a party animal in university. I was actually just in too many classes and working too many hours on the side.)

Remember Nick’s car, Yugo, from Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist?


This guy’s car was the white version of Yugo. It was old and beaten up. The doors didn’t open properly. Inside it was messy and full of the guy’s “life.”

(I feel like you all know what I mean – all our cars are a disaster, right? Because I’m pretty sure up until like, two nights ago when I had my car professionally cleaned (Fancy! And soooo worh it! Thanks, Groupon!*), I had an empty suitcase in my trunk that I lent to a friend for CHRISTMAS holidays and some props from a play I produced TWO YEARS AGO.)

So I get in and sit down, and he sits down next to me and puts the key into the ignition. Only instead of turning the key, he just leaves it there for a second. Then he says, “Excuse my reach,” flips open the glove compartment, and starts rifling through it, clearly looking for something specific.

It is at this point that I realize he hasn’t closed his door.

What the heck?

He pulls out a screwdriver.

“Sometimes I just need to…” he says as he pops the hood, gets out of the car, disappears from my sight for a second, and messes around with the screwdriver.

Then he sits back down, turns the key, and the car starts up.

“Perfect. Okay, so where do you live?”

We never hung out again after that day – not because of the screwdriver,** just because of life circumstances and the fact that we were, as I mentioned, acquaintances and not friends. So since that day, he has been living in my mind as “Screwdriver Guy.” (I actually forgot his real name until I saw it in the film credits.)

Another example.

I met my friend Karly (I have no idea if Karly reads my blog – what up, girl?!***) back in 2005 when we worked at a bookstore together.

SIDENOTE: I’ve totally blogged about Karly before! Check it out! Wow. Keeping track of a 365-day blog is hard work.

We had been friends for a couple of years when we spent Halloween together. I’ll never forget that night because I was wearing a corset so that was the night I learned just how difficult it can be to function in a corset. (I should blog about that. I should also totally get a corset again. I fucking love corsets.) I don’t know what I was dressed up as. I was wearing a corset and a top hat. I had a very 1920s haircut at the time. Maybe I just thought I was Liza Minnelli.

It doesn’t matter what I was dressed up as, because Karly needed a costume, so she came over and we created a makeshift costume with what I had in my room. She was wearing all black, so I lent her a pair of cat ears, helped her with some makeup, and she was a cat. For the record, she looked adorable.

It just so happened that that was also the night that Karly met my brother, Bryan. And it just so happened that he never (I believe?) met Karly in person again because he moved to Vancouver shortly thereafter.

Look, what I’m trying to say is that when I talk about Karly to my brother, it goes one of two ways.


ANDREA: I was talking to my friend Karly…

BRYAN: The cat?

ANDREA: Yes, the cat.

BRYAN: Okay.


ANDREA: So I was talking to my friend Karly…

BRYAN: Karly…

ANDREA: The cat?

BRYAN: Oh! Karly. Yeah, cool.

Long story short (except not at all, right?), those are just two of many occasions I’ve learned that first impressions really do stick. And if they’re the only impression you get to give a person, I guess they could be either really damaging, or really hilarious.

Can’t talk, I am now wondering which “Girl” I am to people.

(I’m guessing I’m already “Zumba Girl” or “Tattoo Girl” to a number of people. But I do do some weird shit sometimes. There are so many girls I could be. Exhibit A; Exhibit B; Exhibit C…….oh, shit.)


*I did not get paid to write that. I fucking wish.

**On the contrary, I do this weird thing where I find old, beaten up cars to be super charming. Does everyone do that? Like, it’s somehow cute and cool to have a terrible wreck of a car? Even though it’s totally not because in real life you just end up sinking all your money into it? Maybe it’s just me. (I know it’s not. Just look at Nick and Norah’s and like, every other movie ever.)

***Am I cool enough to pull that off? I do actually say it sometimes. Should I have admitted to that?

Two Hundred Eighty Two.

You guys are gonna laugh at this, but I have one more hair anecdote before I get to my novella.

Come on, when have I been one to follow rules? Even my own.

As a little kid, I had long hair. Like, really long. Up until grade 2 – when I decided I NEEDED a fashionable (“fashionable”) bob-with-bangs cut – I had long, beautiful hair down to my bum.

For the record, I don’t remember my hair as long and beautiful, but as PAINFUL TO COMB. As an adult, though, I can imagine how sad my mom was to see my gorgeous hair get chopped off.

I always wore my hair down, because my mom thought there was no point in having long, beautiful hair if it would always be in a ponytail (fair enough, Mom!), so naturally, my hair was always in my face. I would remedy this situation by over-exaggeratedly flipping my hair back, over my shoulder, first on one side, then on the other.

Large movements, everyone. Laaaaarge movements.

It was basically like this:

Except not as cool, because I’ve always been a nerd.

SIDENOTE: I will NEVER apologize for LOVING that song.

Anyway, one day I was at a birthday party for two friends and their mom was video recording us while we played in their backyard. Because I was super close with these two girls, I stayed after the party was over to watch some movies with them.

SIDENOTE: This was also the day I became obsessed with the movie Jaws, at age seven. Amazing.

So we watched these movies, and then we decided we wanted to watch some of the birthday party footage. My friends’ mom put it on for us.


I stared at myself on video, mouth gaping open. What on earth was I doing with my hair? Why was I doing it every 30 seconds?! WHY DID I LOOK SO STUPID AND ANNOYING?!

And from that day on, I weaned myself off the hair flip.

(And then I chopped off all my hair.)

Lesson learned: We should all video record ourselves to recognize and stop our irritating body twitches and habits.

I’d be nervous to do it now.


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