Yummy Awesome (original) (raw)

Write about losing control.

Nov. 7th, 2005 | 02:18 am

I dunno...it happens to everyone. Not often to me, granted...but every once and a while. For a while, I was really stressed out, and kind of being a brat. It just seemed like everyone wanted to see me except the people I wanted to see. You know? Everyone wanted to ask me what it was like filming Phantom, and especially kissing Gerry. No, seriously. If I had a dollar for everyone who asked me what kissing him was like, I could sew a gown out of dollar bills and wear it to the Me Awards (Haha, get it, the Emmy awards? Oh, I slay myself!). And I'm always like "Oh, it was nice. His breath was kind of bad, but what can I say, he's Scottish" sort of thing, laugh it off. What I really want to say, though, I can't...but sometimes I really just want to blurt out, "Hahaha, you have no idea." or "He's pretty good in the sack, too."

Anyway. Digression ahoy, matey. But everyone wanted to ask me questions and take pictures of me in pretty little princess gowns. Like, really...I think there were two photo shoots of me in slacks. Everything else was either a flowy Christine gown, a tutu, or, like...seven yards of gauze draped over my naked form. That one was a little weirding-outy. And I love love love pretty dresses (they're not my favourite thing), but you know...usually I just wear pants. Trousers. Slacks. I'm Emmy, not Christine. And Emmy digresses. Again.

Aaaanyway. What would happen is that between piano lessons, continued voice training, and various publicity things, I would get no time to myself, no time to sleep...my mother drives me so ridiculously hard it's...well, ridiculous. I've got piano lessons Mondays, voice lessons on Wednesdays, and I take French classes online Tuesdays and Thursdays. I wanted to continue with ballet lessons, but I just don't have time...my brain is reeling enough as it is. Oh, my God, Emmy, stick to the topic! Anyway, no sleep, lots of stress, and on top of everything, Gerry was going through all the same, if not more, and never had time to talk to me, when he bothered to return my calls and/or emails at all. I never had time for friends and my mother was just constantly on my back...

And then one day, during a photo shoot, I get my period. Thing is, with me, I don't get cramps until I'm aware that I'm menstruating. It's like in cartoons, when someone runs off the edge of the cliff, and they don't fall until they look down and realise they aren't standing on anything...yeah. So I'm like "Hmmm, I'm a bit gooey. I'm going to go to the bathroom and wipe off," and I get there, and my underwear is all but ruined, and there is blood all over the inside of the damned dress, where I'd been sitting on the petticoat things, and as I'm looking at this mess and wondering what the hell I'm going to do, my stomach starts rebelling. My ovaries decided to go on strike, and I spent probably the next fifteen minutes in the bathroom, clutching at my stomach, and wailing. Eventually, my mother comes in, gives me a tampon, and tells me to just come back out when I'm ready.

Five minutes later, she comes back, and drags me out of there; I'm all but in tears. And all the photographers are saying, "Over here, Emmy! Smile for the camera! Emmy! Emmy! Emmy!" and my mother's shouting "Hang in there, Emmy Grey!" and the go-fers are asking "Do you need anything, Miss Rossum?" and my ovaries are shrieking "OH MY GOD CUT US OUT OF YOUR BODY! WE WANT OUT!" And eventually it just got to be too much, and I started screaming, like, really screaming, and I just threw a fit. I fell to the floor and started crying and demanding that I be taken home, and hitting things, and calling my mother names, and just generally acting like a teenage girl on her period.

My mother took me home, but she never really forgave me for that, I don't think. I mean, she may have, but all the pictures that they got of me mid-tantrum ended up in a manila folder with the negatives on my bedside table a week or so later, and I figured that was kind of mom's way of reminding me that movie stars aren't allowed to have those kind of emotions unless they want to end up in the tabloids. Still, some of those pictures are pretty cool in a goth sort of way, because my makeup was running down my face because I started crying, and I'm screaming and throwing props around, while wearing a white taffeta dress. I sent one to Gerry, who replied with a note written on a Japanese postcard (which had a bunch of naked guys with giant leaves [well, not giant, I mean, they're Japanese] on their groins) which read simply, "You too, eh? Love, Scottish. I mean Gerry :P"

Anyway. Yeah. So...that doesn't happen, anymore. I make a point, now, to let everyone know if I'm a little cranky before getting myself into anything. Yeah.

If you could find out one single fact about every person you met...

Sep. 26th, 2005 | 01:27 am

If you could find out one single fact about every person you met, what fact would you want to know, and why?

Anything at all? Er...actually, it would probably be something dumb like, "What kind of underwear do you wear?" Or...I don't know, "How often do you masturbate?" That's probably a good one, though I can definitely see that one going downhill pretty fast. I mean, sure, everyone would like to know how often Brad Pitt or Britney Spears tickles the kitty/squeaks the dolphin, but if that meant everyone in the world, then that would include more unsavoury people, as well. The Queen of England, for example. George W. Bush. Ron Jeremy. My mother. Euch, don't make me shudder. And actually, I'm not really certain I would want to know what sort of undergarments they prefer, either. So I suppose I'd ask something lame and non-personal, like, "What's your favourite kind of Pop Tart?"

Or, actually, I think a really good one would be: "What's your favourite word?" That would be an excellent exersize in vocabulary, as well as being quite amusing.

If you could do one totally irresponsible or even bad thing with absolutely no consequences, what w

Aug. 21st, 2005 | 10:41 am

If you could do one totally irresponsible or even bad thing with absolutely no consequences, what would it be, and why?

Oh, you picked the wrong girl to ask this one of. Oh gosh. See, I'm on kind of a tight chain most of the time. My mom keeps me pretty strictly in line, so I don't often get to be irresponsible. I mean, that's fine. Normally, I don't mind at all. But if there were no consequences, I would probably do, like, everything.

I think the first thing, the absolute FIRST thing I would do, would be to bleach my hair, and dye it bright pink! You see, the most I'm allowed to do to my hair is use relaxer on it, so I don't look like Little Orphan Emmy (Oh, god, I played Annie in elementary school! I forgot about that!). My mom doesn't want me to damage my beautiful hair, so no pink for me.

Then, I would...wait, only one thing? Screw that. I'd do a hell of a lot more than just ONE thing. Second off, I would probably eat everything. Now, I don't want you to think that I'm your typical starving-myself-to-be-skinny celebrity. I really generally just don't enjoy junk food. I have a decent appetite, but it's nothing compared to my metabolism. I'm just a healthy sort of person, and too much junk makes me sick. But, if there were absolutely no consequences, I would probably go out to eat at every fast food place in town, and then go home and eat double fudge brownie ice cream with Gerry.

Which brings me to my next item! *evil grin* Actually, truthfully, there's not much that I don't do with Gerry. I wouldn't really need a no-consequences day

, except for the sex-in-public, or unprotected-sex sort of thing. Or if I wanted to get married to him

. I'd probably do something boring, like meet his mom and do a sort of trial run for when I really do get to meet her. Yanno, scope out the competition sort of thing.

I don't know if there's much else that I would do. I'm a pretty boring person. I'm pretty happy as I am, and I'm not really into the whole party scene. I don't want to get drunk and stoned and fuck everything. I just want to dye my hair pink and eat fast food and meet Gerry's mom.

If you could meet any famous personality, living or dead, and smack them in the head with a large t

Aug. 21st, 2005 | 10:15 am

If you could meet any famous personality, living or dead, and smack them in the head with a large trout, who would it be?

I think this is my favourite question so far! Though I prefer whitefish, myself...

Anyway. To be completely honest on this one? I think I'd have to say myself. Yeah. That's right. I would, in fact, come up to me and hit myself in the head with a large trout. Not only would my reaction be hilarious, but then I could have mad lesbian sex with myself. I don't like girls, but I'm pretty sure I could make an exception for me. But seriously, sometimes I don't think there's anyone in the world who needs a trout-slap more than I do. So definitely me. Definitely.

What's your greatest strength?

Aug. 21st, 2005 | 10:07 am

I'm not really sure. It could be a lot of things, I'm a pretty competent person. If I was my mother, I'd say it was my voice. And I wouldn't be wrong, not really...after all, it's what's helped to make me who I am, and it's basically my key to success, financially, but I wouldn't say it was really my greatest strength.

Honestly, I think my greatest strength is probably my sense of humour, the fact that I can find something happy in just about everything, if I need to. That's my real key to success. As long as I can laugh at myself, at my situation, I'll survive. I'm not saying I'm never sad, because everyone gets sad, and if you don't get sad, you can never really be happy. I'm just saying that even though I might be really upset at something, I still have the ability to say, "Yeah, okay...admittedly, that's pretty funny." It's the sort of fall-on-your-ass-in-front-of-everyone thing. It hurts, and it's embarrassing as hell, but you can't deny that it's damn funny.

So I would say that my greatest strength probably lies in my sense of humour, and my ability to laugh.

Memes! Word Association!

Aug. 11th, 2005 | 03:49 am

current disposition: loopy. it's 4am!

What first comes to mind when you first hear the following words?

Axe: murderer!
Chainsaw: massacre. This isn't getting off to a good start, is it?
Dog: Chrissie! Aww, little Chrissie.
Cat: little man!
Crow: Bunnies.
Television: Elimidate!
Plastic: playgrounds
Metal: lica?
Fire: ouch
Water: god, i'm thirsty.
Pigeon: there's this song by Natalie Imbruglia, called Pigeons and Crumbs, and now it's stuck in my head.
Pie: pumpkins! yes!
Blood: Dracula. ...Mmmm.
Death: Bill Door.
Bunnies: Um...Crow?
Flowers: Dandelions!
Sun: tan
Frilly pink dress: What about my Christine costume?

What first comes to mind when you first hear the following adjective?

Hot: gerry.
Cold: nipples.
Wet: nipples.
Fried: nipples...no, i'm kidding. er, chicken.
Funny: nipples? okay, okay, i'll stop. Fish and Chips.
Sad: wet kittens
Forlorn: more wet kittens
Happy: dry kittens!
Hyper: ...it's three am.
Depressed: alone
Bouncy: me!
Stiff: Gerry.
Stretchy: taffy
Wobbly: cat food
Dark: Gerry. (wtf? dunno, it was the first thing)
Bright: nipples. ...XD

What first comes to mind when you hear the following verbs?

Jump: up and down
Walk: the plank
Run: fa la la?
Drink: no, really...i'm so thirsty.
Fight: thwap!
Rant: and rave
Complement: 45 degrees.
Sit: down, Legolas
Stand: up, Legolas
Spin: around, Legolas
Call: me please, Gerry...I miss you.
Whistle: while you work!
Ask: me anything! i'm an expert on lobster moths!
Beg: for a biscuit. :O A PLEASURE BISCUIT.
Give: me a hug.
Take: me out to dinner.
Slash: my tires.

How did you lose your virginity?

Jul. 29th, 2005 | 01:05 am

Hey, isn't that a little personal? You nosy bastard.

But all right, I'll tell you. It was August of 2003, and I was sixteen. I'd been seeing this guy, Lawrence, who was eighteen, for about six months, though we didn't get to see each other, much, what with me being crazy busy and stuff. He was really lovely; long blond hair, light blue eyes, a little on the thin side, but who am I to complain? He wasn't much taller than me, only about 5'9", 5'9 1/2"...but taller than me, nonetheless (I'm 5'8", by the way. I know, I am a freakish giant).

It was pretty cool out, considering. In the low seventies, I think. We were sitting on the porch, on the appropriately named porch swing. We were, as could be easily deduced, swinging. On the porch swing. On the porch. Yes.

Now that we have that established, we can move on. I was leaning against his chest, and he had his arm around me. We weren't talking much, just swinging and thinking and watching the sun climb down the sky in preparation for bed. Then, he broke the silence.

"Emmy...you're a virgin, right?"

I laughed. "Um. Yeah. What makes you think of that?"

"Dunno. Just wondered."

"Oh. Well, yeah."

The wound in the silence healed over, and he and I continued swinging. Lawrence lived in a nice neighborhood, sort of far out of town. His house was set pretty far back away from the street, and his front yard looked rather a lot like a well-kept forest. There was a decorative pond with decorative rocks and decorative fish, surrounded by decorative trees. There was a decorative stone path coming across the decoratively short green grass. It looked like a display at Stein's.

I had just completed that categorically innocent train of thought when Lawrence spoke a second time. "Do you believe in sex before marriage?"

"Is that like asking if I believe in Santa Clause? Because I know sex before marriage exists," I chuckled, but Lawrence was being pretty serious. I was smart enough to know what he was talking about, anyway, and I toyed with the thought. He leaned his head over on mine and nuzzled me a little, which, considering my train of thought, was really rather arousing.

"No," he said, and kissed the side of my ear, making my lower back twitch and my breath just sort of stop, "What I mean is...do you want to have sex, Emmy?"

And then I exploded. I think I managed to croak out an "Um..." before I attacked him. Next I knew it, we were kissing pretty passionately, and he was being rather gropey and touchy, which I have to say, I did not object to. Then he grabbed my ass and sort of tossed me up into him so that I could wrap my legs around his waist. And then he kicked open the screen door and carried me inside. His parents were in Hawaii or somesuch at the time, and his little sister was staying at his aunt's house, so we had the place to ourselves.

We didn't make it past the living-room couch. "I want you so bad," he whispered at me, pulling my shirt up over my head. When I think back on it, now, I wish I had corrected his grammar...but at the time, I think you can gather that I didn't really care about the omitted "-ly."

So my first time wasn't precisely candles and red satin sheets...but it was sunset and brown velvet couch, which was good enough for me.

What do you look for in a romantic partner?

Jul. 28th, 2005 | 09:06 pm

Oh, gosh. Okay. Well, any time this question is ever answered, it's always the same, isn't it? "Oh, I don't care, so long as they love me..." I guess I'll try to be a little less cliche. In general, I prefer the tall, dark, and

European

handsome thing. Dark hair, tall, thin and slightly muscular, with killer green eyes and...but looks don't really matter all that much, do they?

As far as personalities are concerned, probably the two most important things are intelligence, and a sense of humour. Someone I can talk to, and I mean really talk to. It doesn't bother me if a guy is smarter than me (since I tend to prefer older guys, it's to be expected), but it will bother me constantly if he is significantly less smart than me (which is why I date older guys). And I joke around constantly. I mean constantly. Really. So a sense of humour is a must.

Other than that...similar interests are mainly it. Something to relate to. You get a lot of celebrities saying that it's so much easier to date a "normal person" (whatever that is)...but sometimes, it isn't. It's much nicer, to me anyway, to date someone who really understands how much time filming can take; who doesn't mind never really going out, in case you wake up the next morning with "EMMY ROSSUM CHANGES UNDERWEAR IN PUBLIC BATHROOM WHILE BOYFRIEND WATCHES!" plastered all over the National Inquirer. Not that that's ever happened to me. Really.

I think that covers the basics. Good looks, funny, and intelligent...oh God, I haven't really succeeded in being less cliche at all, have I? Sigh.

What is your favorite time of day? Why?

Jul. 27th, 2005 | 03:17 am

My favourite time of day tends to be late afternoon. Of course, I have to admit that I'm generally referring to my days off; the immediate mental image I get when I think "favourite time of day" is me lying in a hammock beside an open window, with the sun just past its peak, and a few errant sunbeams trickling in through my billowing curtains. Which is very idyllic, but also rather unlikely, since I don't own a hammock.

But it still tends to be when the best things happen for me; back when I was still in school, it used to mean freedom for the rest of the day, it's when Gerry tends to take me out and buy me expensive salads XD, it's when pretty rainstorms start, and I get to just lie down on my bed and read...it's lovely.

Of course, for that matter, it's also when filming recommences after lunch, and everyone's nice and full and has been up since 4 o'clock and oh, God, just wants to go back to bed! It's when my mom suddenly remembers that I didn't take out the trash, and phones the studio to remind me to do it before I go to bed. It's when I have to try and squeeze back into whatever costume I'm filming in, after having pigged out on massive amounts of veggies and dip.

But despite everything...I still think that mid afternoon is my favourite time of day, because it tends to be when I feel most alive.

Hmm...

Jul. 25th, 2005 | 09:56 pm

current disposition: contemplative
aural pleasure: stilla attila! oh yeah!

If I join ocgd_anon, am I a good friend or a total loser?