I write about myself and movies and whatever I feel like. I turned my vlog, Tuesdays with Tish, into a weekly personal essay. I write about movies and tv that make an impression. I’ve written for BUST magazine and Hello Giggles.
Even when things are going well and I want to bask in the good feelings of “I have things I used to only dream of having” and “I'm looking forward to these great things that are to come” my Depression Monster™, though quite small during these times, is still there and pokes its head in to say “It’s not actually that great; you’re forgetting this downside” and “That dream will never actually happen” and “Something bad is coming because good things don’t last.”
This weekend I helped my friend/coworker on her first short film shoot. I went to film school twelve??? years ago, but since then haven’t been on any type of film shoot, so I was excited to get back on a set because I remember loving it.
I used to love not fitting in. I would pretend to be things that I’m not to fit in less. I hated feeling the same as the crowd. I needed to stand out and be different and do the opposite of whatever everyone else was doing and be damn proud about it.
My crushes are about acknowledging (and enjoying) various types of attraction at various levels. Sometimes I just like looking at them, sometimes I am sexually attracted to them, sometimes I would like to be friends, sometimes I just like the way they make me feel or admire their style. Whatever it is, I keep it simple; identify the crush, determine what type of attraction(s) is going on, and continue to enjoy the presence of said crush.
I am an over-thinker, to put it lightly. I am obsessive, to put it strongly. Sometimes I get fixated on something positive that I’m excited about, but it’s more likely that I’ve found something that makes me upset to obsess over, which makes me spiral, bringing every other little imperfect thing in my life down into a depression hole. So, writing about my day only in a positive way is a little way to combat spiraling.
It’s not the 1920’s (the theme of the party I went to last week to which I wore a three piece suit complete with bow tie and fob watch); it’s not scandalous for women to wear a suit any more than it is for women to wear pants. She’s not disguising herself as a man. She’s just wearing a suit. And it’s hot.
When I was at film school (2007-2008), cable TV came with my apartment, so I was watching a lot of cake shows like Ace of Cakes and all those cake competition shows. (Don’t even mention Cake Boss to me- that guy is so annoying!) That, along with the general “cupcakes are cute” trend made me want to devote my life to making cute fondant-covered cakes and cupcakes.
I also didn’t bother trying to explain what I was doing at ComicCon this weekend. I guess my mom tried to explain already because Grandma said “Did your weekend go well? I don’t understand what you’re doing but I know you’re doing it.” That’s good enough for a grandma I think.
What’s it like to be a person who will actually tell the hairdresser when they do something you don’t like? I mean, we’re all just sitting there hoping they don’t cut too much off and wondering when they’re gonna get to that thing we specifically said we wanted at the front, right?
Today is also 15 years since Mean Girls came out. I was 14. 14 year old Tish thought 30 was all grown up. 14 year old Tish wrote a monthly zine full of emo poetry that she photocopied at the church and handed out to friends at school. 14 year old Tish really didn’t know what was going on with her hair but there was a lot of gel.
Am I expecting more than I deserve? But then- is that ‘Imposter Syndrome’ or whatever? Women backing down from taking credit because they don’t want to seem like they’re overstepping? I wanna say fuck that- I (we) deserve recognition, but… that’s not why we do the work, is it?
I’ve never had a Five Year Plan. I like plans and knowing what’s going to happen but I’ve also always lived like Rory Gilmore saying “Five year plan? Wow. I’ve got about the next two hours planned and then there’s just darkness. And possibly some dragons.”
Which brings me to… dating apps. Ugh. Groan. Fart noise. Everyone looks so boring! I know I’m picky. Very picky. Especially with men. But I don’t see the point in spending time talking to, or god forbid going out on a date with, someone I’m not TOTALLY STOKED about!
The thing about me and public speaking is… Anxiety? Stage fright? I don’t know what to call it, I mean, I definitely have anxiety in general, but I actually look forward to opportunities to speak in front of people (hello, self-centered attention-seeker).
If this were a video essay, I would just stand in front of the camera and SCREAM for nine and a half hours. Because that is how much time I spent watching all four A Star is Born movies last weekend and that is how they made me feel by the end.
The question here is; why did I care about having a boyfriend when I was only nine years old? I didn’t like boys. I didn’t want to kiss them. Or anyone. Why did I think having a boyfriend was such an important thing that I should do? Answer: heteronormativity.