My Acting Credits.

I have nothing to share on the food front.

Instead, I'm going to tell you about my short-lived career in the show biz industry.

When I was in high school, I got really into the whole acting thing. And by "really into the whole acting thing", I mean I had mega crushes on famous dudes and was sure that acting was my ticket to stardom. Even though my family was dirt poor, my mom managed to save up enough scrilla to get me in acting classes. I started off with a weekly children's acting class taught by a former "stage dad". I don't know how much I really "learned" in that class, but I know it made me feel less like an awkward, self conscious weirdo. Also, I do remember one nugget of wisdom he taught us: "Scenes with no dialogue are much harder than scenes with dialogue. Work on conveying emotion without using words."

Soon after that class ended, I signed up for another class with one of those "We'll Make Your Kid a Star!" agencies. You know the ones. They usually advertise in the local paper and set up shop in an executive suite. And they have a line out the door of ugly brats whose parents swear they're the next Mary-Kate and Ashley.

Yep, that's where I went. But to clear my name (if possible), I wasn't going because I thought I was hot shit. I was going to take acting courses.

So, I took a few classes there at the knock-off agency. We practiced improv and working in front of the camera. I don't remember anything remarkable from this place and now I'm beginning to question their true intentions...

Anyway, when I was around 18, I got my first paid acting job. I wasn't the starring role or anything. But I was just as important. Because everyone knows Extras totally make the scene. The job was a TV show pilot that was to air on the WB channel. I was instructed to be at Warner Ranch by 7:30am and bring "party" clothes.

I arrived on time. Which was a fucking miracle because it's nearly impossible for me to be anywhere on time, much less somewhere that involves LA rush hour traffic. I spent the day with a herd of about 100 other kids hanging out on the WB lot. It was boring as hell because apparently actors mess up their lines a lot. And if there's one little tiny thing that's off with the set/ film/ cast, they cut that shit and start all over.

Things got really unfortunate when it started to rain. They moved our herd into one of the empty houses on the neighborhood lot (it was actually the house from Lethal Weapon). But that wasn't really any better because these houses are set houses, you see. And they don't have furniture or heating or walls or fucking ANYTHING inside them. We were like well-dressed squatters.

So the main scene I was in was at a house party. I was with a group of people in the backyard and we were supposed to silently mime and silently laugh and silently drink non-existent booze like we were really at a party. In reality, it was just awkward and totally unnatural. The day finally ended around 7pm and I was stoked because as a non-union extra you make a set amount of money for the first 8 hours of work, and then anything over that is overtime. My favorite part about this job? Craft Services.

By the way- that show? Got pulled before it even aired.

My next job was through my friend Jessy, who's stepdad was a fairly popular make-up artist in the industry. It was on a Showtime series called Resurrection Blvd. It was a mostly Latino cast and the show was about Latinos living in LA. Jessy and I were in a few scenes- the day time one was at a park. Nothing exciting. But the night time one was set in a dance club and we were told to wear "sexy club" clothing. I wore a tight, red, leopard print cocktail dress (because I'm ghetto and tacky like that). And seeing as how this was a "sexy club" environment, I even busted out the big guns: My clip-on fall. Because apparently nothing says "Latina" like a leopard print dress and big hair. (What. It was the 90's, okay.)

This job was even more difficult and awkward than the last because in the "club" we were instructed to "dance to music". Only there was no music. Because then the mic's wouldn't be able to pick up the actor's voices. So me and my clip-on fall and some random dude pretended to salsa dance. Without making a sound. And without music.

There wasn't too much I learned from this job other than not to date Production Assistants. Especially if they're ten years older. Because it's just creepy.

After that job, I pretty much hung up my acting boots and decided to retire. I figured I wasn't cut out for something that takes that much effort and patience. I was never going to make it to mega-stardom, or be in a music video.

Or was I...?

Flash forward to last year. My friend Danielle and I went to a bowling/ karaoke get-together thrown by her friends Ming and Ping.

It was officially the first time I'd met them, but Danielle had shown me their website and some YouTube videos. This was basically a recipe for me to get super nervous and make an asshole out of myself.

Which obviously happened.

But the great thing about it was, everyone was pretty drunk and having a great time and nobody made any comments about me acting like a leper with Tourettes. And to top it all off, Ming and Ping used film footage from that night's events for their next music video, Bridge and Tunnel Music.

And guess who made it into the video!

I DID, THAT'S MUTHAFUCKIN WHO!

So, it looks like my big dreams came true afterall. It's probably because of all those acting classes I took. Or maybe it's just my natural talent.

Also, did you watch the Ming and Ping video? Were you able to spot me??? I have a few quick appearances, as do my dancing feet. FYI: Most of the people in the video are Asian. So what I'm trying to say is, it's basically like playing my own personal version of Where's Waldo.

So that's the story of how I got über famous.

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Remember That Wedding I Was In?

Last Saturday I was in a wedding. I've known the bride since junior high and I've known the other bridesmaid since second grade. It was a pretty big deal since we're all good friends and the bride was the last one in this little group to get married.

The day started off great with an appointment to get my hair and makeup done. This is the first time I've really splurged on something like this (I did my own makeup when I got married) so I was luh-luh-loving the pampered life. In my head, I had high hopes of walking out of the salon looking like the most beautiful cross between Heidi Klum, Gisele Bundchen, and Helena Christensen. In reality, I walked out of the salon looking like Miss Singapore.

Allow me to clarify: I loved my hair and makeup. LOVED. Everything came out beautiful. I had just set my sights in the wrong direction. Next time, I need to think more along the lines of Lucy Liu and Margaret Cho. For some reason, I thought my stylist was also a magician and could turn me into a 100lb caucasian supermodel. Lesson learned.

By the time I got home from my Toddlers and Tiaras makeover, I only had a few minutes before it was time to leave for the hotel. I decided to get my strength up with a little power snack so I'd be ready for the big day.



The next couple of hours were spent throwing back mimosas, eating homemade Danish cookies leftover from the rehearsal dinner (I was the only one eating them. And by eating, I mean inhaling.), and making sure the bride had everything she needed. The other bridesmaid and I managed to snap a few pix in our spare time. Of ourselves, of course. That's What Friends Are For.



The ceremony was originally supposed to be held on the grounds of the beach hotel where they were staying, but shit ended up getting cold and windy, so plans got moved indoors.


It was a beautiful day. Based on this picture, you'd never even guess it was like Hurricane Katrina out there.


This bride was ready to get the show on the road. Seriously. She left us in the dust as we headed to the ceremony.


Made it through the wind tunnel and still looking good. Well played.

This is where I start to fail on the photo opps. I was busy with being a bridesmaid and posing in wedding party photos and generally trying not to look like an asshole. So I missed a lot of key shots. Like my outfit. This is the best shot of my dress and flowers.



The reception was buffet style. You know what that means. :::Jackpot in my stomach::: This is an awful photo, so you'll have to take my word for it: This shit was DEEEEELICIOUS. I served myself up some chicken in white wine sauce, green salad with a crazy looking bread roll, pesto pasta salad, haricot vert, and mashed potatoes with gravy. Also known as, everything at the buffet.



I made my speech and it went off without a hitch. Except for the fact that I fucking forgot it, like a moron, back in the bridal suite. I did my best at winging it and even got a few laughs which was a relief because I was desperate enough to pull out the old :::mic tap::: "Is this thing on...?"

The wedding had some special touches customized to this particular bride and groom. The cake toppper was a nurse pulling a fireman behind her. The garter song was Fire by The Ohio Players, which I was super excited about because I love me some disco. (You know the song. The one from the Hells Kitchen show with Gordon Ramsey.) (Don't pretend like you've never seen it.)

Boyfriend and I were seated a table full of close friends and we had a great time. I'm sure you'll be surprised to know I had two slices of cake because I realized (after I'd eaten it) that I had been served white cake with strawberry filling, when I really wanted the carrot cake with apricot cream cheese filling. Well since no one puts baby in the corner, I casually sauntered back up to the cake table and got seconds. What. Sue me.


So full, I can't even breathe.

That's my wedding wrap-up. A beautiful day for a beautiful couple. Congrats Mark and Kim.


PS: Mark's dad is Terry Bradshaw's twin. You can see him standing off to the right.

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31 is the New Black. (Part 1)

Last Friday was my birthday!!! Yes, my birthday really is on April Fools! And yes, I really am the big old boring 31. Somehow it seems like 30 was more acceptable, like it was still grouped with the 20's, so I was cool with last year's birthday. But I feel like 31 is kind of grouped more with the 40's and I'm feeling old and like my obsession with Judge Judy is all making sense now.


Anyway.


Friday night we had a few friends over for my birthday party. It wasn't anything big because I'm not rich and everyone knows house parties always SEEM cheap, but end up costing $arm and $leg because you wouldn't be caught dead running out of food or drink so you always stock up enough to feed 20x the amount of people actually invited. Originally, I couldn't make up my mind about how I wanted to spend the evening: A nice dinner out with Boyfriend... Inviting a bunch of friends out to the pub... House party... I opted against the private dinner because we can really do that anytime. And I nixed the pub because all of my friends are married avec kids and they can't get sitters and don't have money to blow at the bars (that makes two of us) and act like recluses at the mere mention of going out in public. So all things considered, I was very happy to have a little get together at home.


Since I'm not a fancypants, everything at my party was on the cheap. I purchased Pillsbury Funfetti cupcake mix and frosting and made the cakes myself.



Party hats and plates: Dollar bin at Target.



My favorite decoration of all: The birthday banner that Boyfriend made on the down low.




The party menu consisted of chicken dino-bites, frozen CPK pizzas, chips, veggies and dip. Why? Because I like them.



The night was spent shooting the shit while drinking White Russians, PBR's, and shots of whiskey.











Once everyone was nice and too-liquored-up-to-be-embarrassed, we fired up the ol' Rock Band.











And don't forget the gifts and cake.



The rager lasted into the wee hours of 12:30am. (We're wild. I know.)

I really had SUCH a great time and I'm so grateful for all the cool people in my life- friends, family, bloggers, commenters, etc. I'm really not even joking. Looking back and knowing I was thiiiiiiiis close to canceling my party because I got in a funk Thursday night (thanks for slapping some sense into me, Boyfriend), I'm so glad I didn't.

Happy Birthday to me.

The birthday festivities continued all weekend long, so expect like two more entries about this booshet. For now, I'll leave you with a quick vid from me and Biscuit.

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Another One About Poop (Part II of II).

Remember that one time I couldn't eat for a long ass time and nearly went insane in the membrane because of the starvations? Yeah, I do too. In fact, I'm still having 'Nam flashbacks to it. Every time I see a commercial for something delicious and greasy I start rocking back-n-forth in the corner. And then I realize my test is over and done with and I can eat all the non "clear liquids" my heart desires. And I immediately run to the kitchen and eat my weight in Ritz crackers and Hickory Farms cheeseball.

So the last time we left off, I'd basically blown a hole right through the bottom of my torso where my butt used to be. That night I tried to stay up as late as possible to avoid any middle-of-the-night disasters. I ended up waking up a few times throughout the night, which was totally okay with me because at least it meant I wasn't doodooing all over the bed.

The next morning I was feeling pretty good and looking forward to getting this test (of my willpower and strength) over with. By the time I got checked in at the hospital, my stomach was basically eating itself. Boyfriend and I hung out in the waiting area for a few minutes (I was the youngest person in the room by at least 100 years) before they called me in. The nurse asked me some questions, handed me a gown, and I waited on a gurney for probably another twenty minutes.

TILTE weak from the starvations.

Finally, a nurse came in to set up my IV. This broad must have been new to the game, because she couldn't manage to get her act together. First she tried my wrist. "Try making a fist... hm... Ok, relax your hand... hm... ok... I can't seem to get it to thread... let's try your arm instead." So she poked my arm and then gave me the same old song and dance about not being able to get it to thread. At this point my brain was imagining the needle doing a window-wiper effect, scraping back and forth inside my vein. She ended up calling another nurse over and they finally got me hooked up.

They rolled me- on my gurney- from one room, through a hallway, and into the "official" room. This was the first time I'd ever been on a gurney and it felt weird. Like, real weird. I was pretending I was starring on an episode of ER and I felt like some really top secret doctor shit was about to take place.

I was in and out of sleepiness for the rest of my visit, but from what I remember, it went something like this:

Nurse: Okay, we're going to start the drip.
(five seconds later)
TILTE: UhhHhHhHh... I feel totally wasted...
(and scene.)

Next thing I know, I'm waking up and it's all over with. There was some farting taking place, which the doctor had warned me about. (Not to mention I got to experience the symphony of flatulence from other colonoscopy patients when I was first waiting for the nurse to turn my arm into swiss cheese.) Boyfriend came into the recovery room and I'm pretty sure I thanked him a million times and told him how much I loved him and probably daydreamed about an Arby's Beef n Cheddar.

Once I had become lucid enough to go home, they sent boyfriend outside while a nurse helped me get dressed. Thankfully, I was still like 80% loco from the meds so I wasn't even embarrassed when the nurse wiped my butt not once, but twice. After I was dressed, she put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me out to boyfriend where I greeted him with a "Oh hai! What are you doing here?" (I don't really remember this, but boyfriend said it happened.)

TILTE being "...sooooo wasted..."

As soon as I got home, I fell straight back to sleep for another hour and a half. Boyfriend woke me up to let me know I had to eat (Waking me up because I need to eat?? Match.Made.in.Heaven.). So where did I go for my first meal in a lifetime two days?

THE OLIVE GARDEN.

What. I wanted delicious, knock-off Italian food, okay. Sue me.

HellooOoOoOo all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks.

And for the piece de resistance...

OhhHhHhhh Tour of Italy. You'll never do me wrong.

So that was my experience with a colonoscopy.

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Droooooool.

Living near/ around/ in LA, I've seen my fair share of celebs (and pseudo celebs).

Roger Lodge (From the famed TV show Blind Date, duh.)

Jodi Foster

Pauly Shore (That's right, The WeeeEeEeEesel himself)

Jillian Barberie

Jim Carey

Tom Hanks

Joe Pantoliano (Who actually kissed me and made some innapropriate offers- totally serious, btw)

David Schwimmer

Kirsten Dunst

Kristen Wiig (Hey Kristen- remember when I walked past you to go into the ladies room?!? I'm sure you do.)

But my top three favs are (in order of stalking seeing them):

3. John Ritter
When I was a nanny in richville, one of the kids I watched was in the same class as John Ritter's daughter, Stella. One morning, after parking my rickity-ass '84 Volvo alongside all the fresh new BMWs, Range Rovers, and Mercedes', I spotted him. An angel sent from Regal Beagle heaven. There he was, my dreamboat of dreamboats, Johnny Ritter. I foamed at the mouth for a bit as I tried to think of how I would make my way into his beauhunk heart before reaching the classroom door. This was my chance. Speak now or forever hold my peace. I mustered up my shit and squeeked out "Oh my gosh, I'm like your biggest fan!"

Right as I wrapped up my haiku of undying love, Stella burst into tears for some unknown reason. John sat down on a bench, put her on his knee, and started consoling her, totally blowing off my special moment. Fuck. I walked my kid into class, signed him in, and shuffled back to my car, face burning with the intensity of a thousand white hot suns.

Even though there was no "real" conversation taking place between me and jRitter, I'm pretty sure our eyes did all the talking. It will always live on as one of my fav celeb moments.

2. Paris Hilton
A few years back, some friends and I were shopping around at one of LA's known celeb spots. While at the food court, my friend Michael casually mentioned that Paris Hilton was nearby. Being TOTALLY in love with her at the time, I flipped the fuck out and decided I was NOT going to pass up this opportunity to meet the Princess of Ridiculousness herself. I grabbed my camera and headed over to the sticker shop where Paris was hiding out, in cognito (avec a dark wig and sunglasses, of course). Surprisingly, not too many people had spotted her so the shop was pretty empty. I lurked around some corners, staring from afar, and finally decided to make my move. I walked up to her and politely asked "Um, excuse me... Can I get a picture with you...?".

Friends, I'm gonna say this now NOT because I used to openly obsess over her and post magazine cut outs of her all over my college apartment refridgerator, but because it's the GD truth. SHE.WAS.SO.NICE. I totally swear. She smiled and said "Mm-hmm!"

We posed, took our pic, I thanked her, and we parted ways. (Paris and TILTE: Total BFF's)

1. Kerri Kenney
Also known as Deputy Trudy Wiegel from Reno 911.

My love for Kerri (or "Kerr" as I call her) started way back in the early 90's when she was the only female on just THE.BEST.FUCKING.COMEDY.SKETCH.SHOW.EVER.WRITTEN. EVARRRR. It was called The State and if you were lucky enough to be graced by this comic genius, consider yourself blessed. Seriously, that show had some of the funniest sketch shit I've seen in my entire life and I hope some big time producers are kicking themselves in the balls for not picking them up for longer than they originally aired.

From there, Kerr and two other State alums- Michael Ian Black and Thomas Lennon- formed the show Viva Variety. This show... meh... not so great. But since I was STAAARVED for State comedy gold, I went with it.

Just last week, as I was perusing through the aisles of my local Target Greatland, I saw her. My female comic funny-face making hero, Kerri Kenney. I was frozen like a dear in the bedding department. After I shit my pants, I passed by her like three times and was probably one pass short of having security called on me. I didn't care though bc I LUUUV her. Seeing someone who's hilarious, pretty, and holds her own in a group full of dudes- Ugh... she's my fav. Here's to you, KerrBear:


There you have it, TILTE's fav celeb sightings. Now I'm not one to get overly foofoo about seeing stars, because afterall, they're just normal people. And I'm sure all of the above mentioned normal people are totally blogging about seeing me too. I just wanted to give a little shout out to my fav peeps in the industry. And also let all of my readers know how cool I am because I totally hang out with the rich and famous.

PS: Happy Thanksgiving, yo.

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Mazel Tov.

Back when I was 19, I moved in with a family friend and became kind of like a live-in nanny for her family. My friend was going through a divorce and was in need of some extra hands around the house. -Which worked out great for me because I was nineteen and waaaay too badass to be living at home anyway.

The four kids- David 8, Ketzel 6, Joey 4, and Mouche 1.5 (nicknames may or may not have be used)- were just like little extensions of my own family (except they're Jewish, French, and obviously have different parents).


(Photo courtesy of Ketz' facebook album. I totally stole it unbeknownst to her- Thanks, Ketz. Also- Sorry Mouche, you weren't born yet.)

For a year a half, I had one faux little brother and three faux little sisters. Being nineteen, I didn't really appreciate it so much then because it was more like "eh... these kids I live with". But keeping in touch with them over the years has really made me grateful for the opportunity I had to live with this special family. If I'd never lived there, I would have never:

-Shared disco music with Joey (Fly Robin, Fly was a fav)

-Walked in on a naked 8 yr old David sitting on the kitchen table and not caring who saw.

-Accused Ketzel of stealing my $2 bills, to which she adamantly denied it (and later on I found them in her jewelry box).

-Greeted Mouche every morning only to receive a look of horror like "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHERE'S MY MOM?!?!" day after day for a year and a half.

Over the years, I've been lucky enough to attend bar/ bat mitzvahs for my faux fam. This past weekend was a big fat Jewish deal though. It was the last mitzvah: My little Mouchie.



AwwWwWw... Little Joey and Mouchie... (I know, it's crappy scan. If you click on the pic, it should enlarge, but don't quote me on that. I don't know how to use that fancy Photoshop booshet, okay?)

For anyone who's never been to a Bar/ Bat Mitzvah, it's a basically a rite of passage that takes place around 13 years of age. There's two hours of sitting, standing, sitting, standing, following along in a holy book (heads up for non Jews: books in Hebrew read from back to front. You can thank me later for this one the next time you're in temple.), you hear stories about the celebrated person, and they get some lessons about how to be a respectable member of the community. It's actually a really cool thing to see and be a part of.

Mouche and family members at the bima.

Four generations at the ceremony- VERY cool.

This is when my stomach starts the celebration- challah bread (Holla!) and Manischewitz.

Kiddush Luncheon including tuna salad, bagels, fruit salad, egg salad, and cheEeEsee bliIiIntz!

Mazel cake (I'm still kicking myself for leaving without a slice).

Great grandma keepin it real.

They really are SuUuUuch nice people.

Omgggg, I can't believe all these kids are so big now. Especially that bigfoot on the far right (otherwise known as naked-8-yr-old-on-the-kitchen-table).

After the ceremony and luncheon, the family also had a party in the evening. My favorite part of any party- Always the food. My plate kind of looks like a disaster, but trust me, it was delicious. Highlights: mozzarella balls, chicken bites, and hummus.

Oh hai, cheez. Fancy meeting you here...

Dinner was followed by a make-your-own sundae bar. I managed to avoid this luxury because I'd already pigged out twice that day. Also, because I didn't think this would be a good time to have lactose intolerance butthole explosions.

Party guests cutting le rug.

Well, it's not really a party until someone ends up with an ice pack on their head.

Brother and sister dance-off.

Another set of "kids" whose bar/ bat mitzvahs I went to.

All in all, a great day spent with people who are beautiful, inside and out. (Technically, I've never seen the insides of any of these people, but I'm assuming they're just as beautiful as the outsides.)

Also, this weekend reminded me how olllllllld and short I am.

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