Ode to Gilmore Girls

Posted in Uncategorized on September 2, 2016 by beccasteinhoff
     I think my love of the show Gilmore Girls is getting a little out of hand. I watched the show when it was on the air, and when it was on the air I was about 5 years younger than Rory so I looked up to her. I have been watching the show on a loop since it stopped airing. I have lost count of how many times I have watched the entire series, but on a loop for the last 14 years is a lot of loops. I never get tired of it. I know exactly whats going to happen, who Lorelai or Rory is with based on which season, which heart attack Richard is on, what color hat Luke is wearing, which school set they’re using. I bet I could map the town of Stars Hollow. Never once have I looked around and said, ‘hey maybe this is too much love for a TV show,’ but I’m here to say it now. It’s too much, and I don’t care.
     I don’t care because I feel that I’ve passed the point of a love of a TV show. It’s a lifestyle that I love, a fictional place that I want to live in and be a part of which is the mark of a great show. They are characters I want to know, and I think they would like me too. I think I would fit in, and I would get a good welcome wagon from Miss Patty when I got married and moved there. I think I know what I would order from the diner, and I know I would probably be going to Dean’s state school and not Yale, but I could still crash in Rory’s dorm for a few nights before Paris kicked me out. And I still don’t care that this all sounds crazy.
     Gilmore Girls helped me out of a very dark period in my life. Some 10 years back, I was so sad and lonely after making a very controversial feminine decision that many women have had to make before me. A surgical procedure which we shall not name but know it must not be done after the first trimester. That’s right I went to an abortion clinic, to play a rousing game of penuckle of course. And afterwards, there is nothing that would console me except eating a whole cheesecake on the tray it was sold to me in and season after season of Gilmore Girls. Take me away from my life, I said, and they heard me. No judgments, no arguments except the formidable arc where Rory and Lorelai weren’t speaking because Rory had gotten off track (tough love baby). I don’t know what I would have done without them in that time.
     Now, I know better than to watch this show around men. It’s been a house rule of mine for as long as I can remember. When there’s a guy in the room, we watch something else. Any man that follows up this rule with “well I actually like watching Gilmore Girls” has something else going on. They are gay, or they have already been subjected to too much of the show to turn back because some poor schmo woman before me has broken the cardinal rule. I don’t try and talk men into watching this show, or as my current boyfriend says, “these pigeons squawking in Stars Hollow.” I get it. its two smart, very quirky women talking very fast and you already have enough of that in your life living in my world and I’m so OK with that. It’s not for you to disparage anyway. It’s for me in my time when I want to forget about him and the outside world anyway.
     I’m watching it right now, as I write this. I’m watching it because my boyfriend is out of town. He didn’t know that by leaving for a little over a week that he challenged me to watch the entire series over again before his return, but that’s what it is. I’m watching it right now because I had picked up somewhere around the 6th season to watch a specific episode (the ousting of a tyrannic Yale Daily News Editor), and suddenly found myself at the series finale, for the best “interesting tribute” speech from Taylor the series has to offer. My two favorite episodes to watch back to back are the series finale and the pilot. Watch the girls jump from fully formed and saying goodbye to young and cheery eyed and saying hello for the first time. The sets are weird, Luke is still into health food, and Rory is still kind of mild mannered. Lane still has a dad and the theme song hasn’t been introduced yet.
     I’m watching it right now because someone at Netflix heard my prayers and made more episodes. I don’t think the creative directors of that company realize the good deed they are doing for me and thousands more women like me. They are giving me something truly special to look forward to. Sure they are giving me more of the characters I love to love so much but it’s more than that. They are giving me another season of fantasy to escape to over and over again for the rest of my life. They are giving me the closure of wondering who these women ended up with; how their life turned out, so I can know it’s OK whatever happens in my life. They are giving me more to discuss with the women in my actual life I love discussing this show with. They are giving me a warmth in my heart I am only a little ashamed to say comes from a TV show. They are giving me something that I don’t mind saying was made only for me when I know it was made for every woman that feels exactly like I do.
     I don’t know how they expect me to wait until November 25th to watch the new season, but I already know what I’m grateful for this year.
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That Bitch who said Faggot

Posted in Uncategorized on July 30, 2016 by beccasteinhoff

It was a full room, as it is most nights at this venue, but the crowd was not very quiet or respectful of the comics. They were loud, and chatty, and rude. At the time, whenever I had a rude, chatty, and loud crowd I would start my set with something abrupt to get them to shut up, and when I had their attention I would move from there. In theory this is a good tactic, but my joke on this night was night the right way to go about it. It was the middle of the summer in a stuffy basement, and I opened my set with, “I know I’m hot the same way I know I’m drunk, I start calling random people faggot.” It’s gotten laughs before, even in this room, but not on this night. It worked, oh it worked. They were listening, they were quiet, and boy did they hate me. I trudged through my set to radio silence, walked off the stage and felt promptly like shit. I ordered a half priced burger and sat in the back, and who needs ketchup when you have tears to add flavor to your meat.

About an hour after my set, it becomes clear to me that this crowd is loud and shitty and disrespectful because they are only there to see their friend, a guy who’d only been onstage once or twice, so he went way at the end of the show, and they were getting very impatient. Oh, and he is a prominent gay guy in the community. He gets onstage and proceeds to tear me apart. I’m pretty sure he abandoned any material he had pored over to make sure this entire room of his friends hated my guts.

“Is that bitch that said faggot still here? what an unfunny cunt, RIGHT ROOM FULL OF MY FRIENDS?”

The room explodes with applause, because yes that bitch was an unfunny cunt, how right you are my good sir.

I lift my head from my burger of sadness as if to say, yes I’m still here.

I let him do it. I let him use his time on the mic to talk about how terrible I was, and how dare I use such an offensive word and hurt him. I guess he doesn’t realize that ripping someone to pieces onstage like that is just as hurtful and offensive, but I’m not going to heckle the guy while he heckles me from the stage when the room is on his side. What I did do is oh so much worse.

I waited until the show was over. I went up to him and said yes I’m still here. Yes I said that but I wasn’t saying that word to you, and that you were also offensive. I said that this just an open mic, a place where we go to try new things and see what works and what doesn’t. He told me to be funnier, I told him to be nicer.

Or at least that’s what I planned to say to him before I walked up to him. I believe it went something closer to “you fucking asshole, you think you’re so much better than me blah blah blah. I have plenty of gay friends blah blah blah”

“I have plenty of gay friends?!” Really?! That’s what a racist person says about having plenty of black friends when they are trying not to sound racist!

I left the show very upset, too traumatized to go back there for some time. I was afraid to see this guy or any of his friends there again, and I haven’t done this room since, only partially by choice.

Should I have said that word onstage? Probably not. Did I mean it offensively? Definitely not. Should I be allowed to say any word that I want onstage in the name of funny? Definitely. But the rule is this: If you have the nerve and the wit to say it onstage, you have to have the resolve to back it up when someone calls you that bitch who said faggot.

Restaurants: Wars That Cannot Be Won

Posted in Uncategorized on July 22, 2016 by beccasteinhoff

In a busy rush, working in a restaurant can feel like a struggle akin to that of hand to hand combat. I remember admiring a coworker who seemingly had her cool even in the busiest moments. She drops (serves) some drinks for her duece (party of two) at the bar, rings in a ticket with one hand, pours my service ticket with her other , all without taking her eyes off the screen. She sends her order as the phone rings. She picks it up, and takes a to-go order in 10 seconds flat (a new record). She feels my piercing newbie gaze on her, and takes another precious 10 seconds to get right in my face. “It’s a war out there kid. and it’s us, or them,” she says. In the hustle and bustle, and with a similar pacing, I say “Yeah! and I think we’re winning!” Another bar patron pipes up to ask, nay demand for more water. As she picks up a water pitcher and throws down another service ticket, she looks back and utters under her breath, “I don’t know if we’re winning, but we have to KEEP fighting.” I drop my drink to my table, and when I look back, all water glasses are full, and she is taking another to-go order with one hand while her other is balled in a fist.

Put On A Bra, You’re Going to Starbucks

Posted in Uncategorized on April 8, 2015 by beccasteinhoff

I don’t know what to write about. its 1:03 now and I’m going to keep typing nonstop until 1:10. I should have sipped my coffee first but whatever. I refuse to turn the TV on, I don’t want any music on, I opted to stay here and struggle to make coffee as opposed to going to starbucks with my computer and having them make me coffee while I write. that would have involved getting dressed, bra and all, putting my computer and any other notebooks I have in my backpack, getting in my car and going to starbucks. it would have been fine except for the bra thing. I really hate those. It’s like it’s strangling my favorite body part. It’s a necessity though. when those things roam free trouble happens. everyone knows when I’m cold. I cant bounce around or move at all. It’s mesmerizing. I think I’ve caused car accidents. Clearly once I take my bra off in public, the men lose their minds and the weemens get mad at me for attracting all of their mens into my life. They trick me though. they act like they’re not looking because they’re looking without moving their faces. They have perfected this and they think we don’t know. what just cus you don’t turn a head, mouth agape, drool spilling out of your wide open mouths as you think wow that woman with the magical titties deigned to walk out here without a bra. What was she thinking this is the best day of my life. Well yes that is what I was thinking. But mostly its strappiness hurts my back fat, but no one ever wants to talk about my back titties. front titties only. You cannot have them sir they are not for you. Just cus I walked out here without my bra on does not mean every man who can’t even look at them straight on in the face with their eyeballs can touch them. You must have balls to touch my titties. Granted if you have balls and the balls to ask me, yeah I guess its ok. i mean i’ll consider it. You had cohones. You had juevos to ask, or to at least look head on, while you watched me see you do it. You perv. So no. I avoid all this. I wear a bra in public. It’s for the greater good that I do the things that I do. You are so welcome, america

.And that’s why I can’t just walk into a starbucks without the proper attire. No shirt no shoes is RIGHT.

Restaurant Ethic: An Exercise in Futility

Posted in Uncategorized on March 20, 2015 by beccasteinhoff

Waiting tables for a living can be quite stressful if you don’t keep your mind in check. Here is my favorite coping mechanism mantra:

“We Serve Biscuits”

After over a decade in the restaurant industry, I’ve honed the mantra “We Serve Biscuits” to a tee. In a nutshell it means relax. It means everyone will eat, so there is no point in me getting stressed about whatever is going on or wrong in my evening. The longer version is “We don’t save lives. We don’t fly planes. We serve biscuits.”

Sometimes when I or someone around me is stressed the fuck out about being busy, I remind myself of this in whatever way I can. I’ll go to grab a jug of milk and in my haste I will drop/spill/break something. “oh god, I don’t know if the milks gonna make it. Get me 3 towels stat! We’ve got to stop the spilling!” If you’re happy and secure in your position like I am, this is a mantra that means calm down and don’t worry. If you’re unhappy or insecure or just plain like to stress the fuck out, you will be offended by this. You will think it means “My job is not important.” You will think I am undermining your life’s work. But if you think I’m saying that to you, keep in mind that we both do this job. We are standing in the same place as I say that.

I don’t think working in a restaurant is unimportant (I don’t think this is a double negative either). Everyone’s gonna eat was an earlier version of the mantra. It means “why are we stressing, everyone will have their food if you’re stressing or not. let’s everyone calm down.”

It also means that wherever you are, wherever you go, you will always find work in a restaurant. Everyone eats, every day. 3 times a day! If you can find a restaurant that serves good food, you can find a way to feed yourself and your family. You have picked one of the wisest professions in our society. Great job. I’m adept enough to know that I have way more skills talking to strangers, making them feel welcome and providing them with already made food than I am making them food that would look and taste burnt or bland.

So when I’m up to my elbows in the weeds, been triple sat, my apps are taking 20 minutes and a coworker next to me broke up with their significant other and can’t stop scowling, I spill red wine on my shirt at 5:30 with the whole night ahead of me, and the wine glass broke on the floor, I can’t find my busser or anyone to help me, and I drop the wrong check at the wrong table, as the owner of the restaurant walks in and sees a mess, I try my best to remember. I Serve Biscuits.

It’s my Shitbox Car and I Will Drive if I Want To

Posted in Uncategorized on March 3, 2015 by beccasteinhoff

In honor of buying a new car and actually going through the hell of selling my old old old car on craigslist, I will put up an exerpt about what it is like sifting through the bullhonky of what craigslist ads are really like. please keep in mind this was written a year ago and the condition of the car has deteriorated further since then.

I would be concerned about potential buyers of the car finding this post and changing their minds, but first of all, it’s craigslist and I doubt there is that much cross-research going on, and second of all, I’m not getting that many bites to begin with.

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iIt’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Shitbox Car(eeeeee)

I drive a shitbox car. It’s scary to even consider writing about the car, because telling jokes about the car is absolutely out of the question. Any time I write a joke about my car, truly believing every time that the joke is funny, the joke dies onstage, and a fairy loses their wings. I’ve even tried that onstage, and no it didn’t work. It didn’t work the 3 times I tried it after that either. I bet audiences can sense the truth, that my car isn’t funny, it’s just sad.I lied to myself about this car, told myself it was a good car cus it runs, but a good car should do more than run.

For a minute there i was thinking about buying a car, and I was looking at ads on craigslist. Browsing craigslist ads for cars means you have to keep a few questions in mind. Most important being “what’s wrong with it?” Theres always something wrong with it, especially if the price is reasonable or cheap. I thought a lot about what I would say about my car if I wanted to sell it. I wouldn’t want to lie to the people like they lie to me.

In reading a craigslist ad, it’s all about what they don’t say. I feel it is only right to provide absolutely everything they would need to know to say no to buying this car, and all the better because no matter what, i feel like shit for selling it to them. So here it is, if you know how to read between the lines (or in this case, the parentheses), you will know everything you need to know to make an informed decision to keep looking.

Craigslist ad for my car:

(5 or 6 pictures of the car from different angles)

1993 Toyota Camry, >160,000 miles. 2000$ OBO (anything more than 50$ is overpayment)

4 cylinder, 4 door sedan. (Door handles are busted. All 4 doors can let you in, some lack door handles to get out.)

don’t lock the driver side door, the key doesn’t turn the lock (don’t ask, it’s a long story)

Need’s paint job. (paint is chipped and seemingly melting)

Needs re-upholstery. (dashboard is shredded like it took a lashing)

Minor dents and dinges. (like it’s lived through a couple Katrinas. It didn’t, but like it)

Best air conditioning and heating system I’ve ever had (that part is true)

Gets great mileage. (Wait does that mean lots of mileage? Lots of mileage.)

No really, 25 mpg around town, 28 mpg highway.

Brand new (severely undersized) tires.

Aftermarket stereo. (3 working speakers, no radio)

New fuel line, (replaced last one after it leaked ¾ of a tank of gasoline all over my engine. My mechanic said it was a miracle I didn’t catch on fire.)

Really reliable, daily driver. (Every day that it just starts up, I’m surprised)

most people have the joy of discussion their shitbox car after they have had the pleasure of getting rid of it. Not so in this case. On some level, as much as I believe I deserve happiness and good things (after many years of believing the opposite), believing I am capable of owning basic necessities has yet to sink in. I’m referring to extraneous human needs like health care, dental, and getting a more than shitbox car. I say this out of fear of another monthly bill. Making payments on a car 2005 or newer just doesnt seem in the budget. I would rather own a deadly old car, make occasional (and unexpected) payments to fix it, and own the thing outright. I like to pay things outright, and own things outright, and god damnit if i’m going to have a shitbox car, i’m going to be very proud of it, until i looked at it one day and i broke a door handle with my eyes. it crumbled like sand at my feet and all i did to make it break was look lovingly at it.

except for those occasional moments when this car tries to kill me, it’s been an excellent car. It’s never not started right up and taken me where I need to go. Even if it’s an 8 hour drive, even when it was leaking gasoline over my engine, it’s never been anything but consistent. And consistently, since I’ve owned it, it’s needed to be replaced.

what it really boils down to is a hard truth to accept: to date this has been the worst purchase I have ever made. Entirely with my own money, I decided this 93 toyota camry for 1,200$ was a reasonable buy, with less than 140,000 miles on it. I’ve since put upwards of 5000$ into it, not including the purchase price. with every repair it drives better, and with every improvement something else breaks. I wish I could keep it just to set it on fire in a parking lot to watch it burn, but I really can’t let it go for any less than what a reasonable junkyard would take for it.

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for funs sake, here is a link to the ACTUAL ad I have on craigslist right now for my car.

http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/cto/4915497368.html

A Book Lover Is A Rude Reader

Posted in Uncategorized on February 3, 2015 by beccasteinhoff

Hey website checkers! Here is another entry from my book. My book is going to be a series of life stories, mixed with musing, mantras, and thoughts compiled in essays. The stories and the musings inform each other, but aren’t necessarily connected. I attempt to put the lessons learned in the experiences in separate entries. I like to describe it as David Sedaris meets Fran Lebowitz meets Lena Dunham but you like me. This next excerpt is more my thoughts on reading, and if you’re a reader like me, I hope you enjoy.

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A Book Lover Is A Rude Reader

I am a rude reader. I love to read, and I read fast. I still read actual books. I still like to hold books in my hand and get readers arthritis from holding it open with my thumb, index finger and pinky too long. But I don’t wait to be alone to read. If I am engrossed in a book, I will ignore you, even if I invited you over. Anyone who was near me during the 17 hours it took me to read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows will be able to tell you how little I heard of them and how much I ignored them during that time. I wasn’t polite about it either. “Can’t you see I’m reading. Does Harry live or die?! Is Snape good or evil? These are things I have to know.”

What I should have said was “thank you so much for being my friends and wanting to come over to my apartment. Please forgive my rudeness for preferring to live in an imaginary world rather than a real one, and humor me for the remainder of this book. Perhaps come back in 2 days when I am finished and need the serotonin required from human companionship that the Harry Potter series will never again provide for me.”

No, that’s not how it works. I believe a good book is a book you finish, and a great book is a book you don’t put down until it is finished. It ends and you feel hunger for another book equally as readable. So if you are around me during the magical time (for me) and the unbearable time (for you) when you can tell I would rather read than interact, please don’t take it personally. I’ll let you read it and ignore me when I’m done with it.

Reading is a dangerous thing for me that must be seriously monitored if I have shit to do, or even worse, if I have to make serious life decisions. Any actions that must be taken will have to wait until I am done with my book, because reading = paralysis. There are several moments in my life where I will have to cut myself off from reading.

1- if I have to work that day, and all of the preparation that comes from going to work. Eating, showering, getting ready. This will all suffer as will my work performance that day if I have a good book to read.

2- If I am at a crossroads in my life and would love to procrastinate moving forward. Once, instead of deciding how I was going to get a dollar to my name, get out of my parents house, get my life together and figure out how to achieve even a moment’s happiness, I read the first book from the Game of Thrones Series (yes I know its the Fire and Ice series. suck it). I had already seen the show, known what would happen in the first book. I did achieve some relaxation and relief from reading it, but it cost me a week of  decision making. I cut myself off from starting the second book until I have one million dollars in the bank. Today it sits on the shelf (and it doesn’t even belong to me. More on that in a moment.)

3- Those are the only 2 times I can think of where I will actually not allow myself to read. More times, I will trick myself into believing that I don’t love voracious reading as much as I do, why not just watch some TV instead. I have also tricked myself into believing if I want to read a book, I must own it and add it to the collection. And therefore, if I don’t have money to buy a book, I will not read a book. This is doubly true because even though I read fast, I have always hated the time imposition a library will put on me, and have never in my life returned a book on time. I always end up paying the price of the book or more to the library in late fees. And then I keep the book that’s been marked by the library like it’s been through the prison system.

4-I will not allow myself to walk into any bookstore, at any time for any reason other than for gifts during christmas or my birthday. It is a physical impossibility for me to walk out of a bookstore without spending 50$ or more (make it 100$ if it’s barnes and noble, due both to prices and selection).

Books are the one accumulation I will never get rid of. If I had to keep all of my possessions in my car, it would be a library, and the same 5 shirts and 2 pairs of jeans I wear every day. Everything in my life can go and I am fine with that, but I will not dwindle my library by even one page. Instead I will continue to build my empiric home until there is enough space for all. There may even be two rooms for books already read and books not yet read.

There is one way I will get rid of books. I will give them to people to read, knowing 9 out of 10 times I will never see them again. I cope with this loss by not making a list of names or titles. If it’s gone, I will miss it for a day, then forget which book I lent to whom, and I sincerely hope it was enjoyed. I have also accumulated books in this way, and I don’t mind because at the end of the day, they are meant to be read. If they are, then their aim is achieved, and better they be read by myself, then someone else, than perched on a shelf and forgotten.

That being said, I just finished a great book, and am in need of another. I’m open to suggestions.