It's been a rough week for me, I am not sure why. A lot happened so quickly, I barely feel like I can get my brain caught up. I remember being tired in the beginning of the week, then I had a fitting, the next day a Sony commercial and then the next day I was on MAD MEN . . . only leaving one day of rest before launching into production on my pilot.
I quit smoking. I didn't regularly smoke for very long, just 6 months or so to lose weight. I lost a lot of weight, around 8-10 lbs. I went from a few cigarettes at a time to half a pack a day . . . then a couple times smoked a whole pack in a day. For me smoking was very ritualistic- take a cigarette or two, hang out in my car with a cup of coffee and listen to classic rock. If I was combining masturbation into my day, now that could eat up all my daylight time!
I enjoyed it. The revelation to stop smoking so suddenly is still unclear. Somewhere in the weeks following the third and final break-up with Asshole Abe, I was stoned and laying on my bed thinking, "I really have to stop smoking. I don't want to do it anymore." And like that I stopped. No cravings. No struggle. I just didn't want them anymore.
About 5 days later, I started violently coughing. Then I started sweating with other unpleasantries. Other former smokers told me that they went through bouts of cold/flu symptoms, sweating, coughing . . . I find it very hard to believe the smoking I did in 6 months time put my body in such a state of withdrawal. I can tell you between the wheezing and coughing, I have no desire to inhale a cigarette ever again.
Then, while on-line with Abe, I felt a warm sensation and realized I was bleeding. I went to the bathroom and discovered I was menstruating 5 days early. Not only that, I was bleeding in excess. I went through an entire tampon in 3 minutes. Really, I haven't bled that much since adolescence. If it's related to my nicotine withdrawal that would be interesting, or maybe it was one of those immediate miscarriages . . . I don't know. It was gnarly though.
Wednesday, I was booked on a SONY commercial as background. I arrived early in the morning and was lead into an abandoned pink warehouse with puddles on the floor. It looked like an old sweat shop. Craft service was three bowls; one of cheese puffs, the middle frito scoops and the third was cashew party mix. Champion's breakfast.
They ended up needing to book us for all three days, and though I would have made more money, I wouldn't give up my chance to be on MAD MEN. So those of us that didn't book the whole assignment, were left in the pepto-bismol walled warehouse where I read a book called the MALE BRAIN . . . riveting.
Matt was working the job with me but didn't bring a book. Peyton, the 24 yr old kid that always tries to put his arm around me or hold my hand, was there. Sandwiched between both boys, I couldn't tear my eyes out of the MALE BRAIN. I devoured that book. I read it cover to cover without putting it down for 6 hours.
It didn't help me with the Abe situation, but nonetheless, it substantiated things I have long suspected. It was just one of those books on behavior that really explains things in a way you can grasp and retain.
Page 48: "Researchers have shown that teen boys begin to be repulsed , not only by the proximity of their mother's body, but also her smell. The scientists speculated that this may have evolved as protection against inbreeding."
Page 55: "And a study in Switzerland of sweaty T-shirts that had absorbed the pheromones of the people who wore them showed that those were were good genetic matches (that is, those who were most dissimilar) smelled best to each other."
Page 56: "In the mating game, a kiss is more than a kiss- it's a taste test. Saliva contains molecules from all the glands and organs in the body, so a French kiss serves up a signature flavor . . . information is collected and sent to our brains."
Page 58: "In studies of mating behavior in primates, females have more sex with males who bring them meat. Primatologists have dubbed this the meat-for-sex principle."
Page 59: "One of the most colorful examples of animal tactics [with regards to human male mating strategy] is provided by the side-blotched lizards. The males come with three different colored throats that match their mating styles. Males with orange throats use the alpha-male harem strategy. They guard a group of females and mate with all of them. Yellow throats are called sneakers because they slip in the harem of the orange throats and mate with his females. The blue throats mate with one female and guard her 24/7."
This book was delicious. Oh there is more, much much more.
I wrapped the shoot and went home to put rollers in my hair for MAD MEN. I bought the curlers as the 99 Cent store but the damn things are so frustrating. How the F U C K did women in the 60s do their own hair? I was constantly unrolling, brushing, rerolling. My arms were tired, I was cramping, but the worst part is trying to sleep with those things coming out of your head. I don't know how I could have slept the entire night if I didn't prop up my pillows like the Elephant Man and smoke a few tokes before drifting off.
I woke up feeling like it was Christmas morning. You must understand, I think MAD MEN is the most progressive feminist narrative show to ever broadcast on mainstream American television. I love Mad Men. I was really excited, and hadn't heard from my parents in a week, nor heard from Abe in 3 days.
My partner and good friend Lana sent me an email wishing me luck. Jaq wrote on Facebook. Helen texted me. It was really sobering and wonderful to hear from those who love you and recognize a magical morning in your life. It honestly was the most exciting job I have had yet as an actress, even though I was just doing background. It would have been a good opportunity to hear from my parents, my sister or from Abe. All of them have their heads jammed so far up their own asses, they probably wouldn't even know if I starred in a Michael Bay movie.
(I should provide a general disclaimer here that I am feeling very angry towards a few people who were close to me. Please excuse the raw emotion.)
I woke up at 6am, checked email then put on the pantyhose, which smeared the cover-up on my tattoo all over my leg. Then my rollers looked ratted, a few were falling out, it was kind of disaster anywhere I looked. I wrapped my wrist tattoo in plastic wrap and put band aides over my ankle tattoo since "sun tan" pantyhose are roughly the same unnatural shade of brown.
I had yoga pants and a button up shirt on when I checked in. I called the casting information line and found out that my call time was pushed back an hour and a half. So I arrived on set, and had to cross the entire studio with shitty hair rollers falling out of my hair. I sat down next to two other women and waited for the hour and a half.
Turned out there were about 22 secretaries in this scene. So a third of us went to make-up first. There, liquid eye liner and fake eye lashes were glued to the tops of my eye lids. This was shortly after my make-up artist asked, "Hey, how many fake eye lashes do we have?" The other make-up person said, "Not many, so only use them on a few people. The people that need it. (to the actress she was working on) You have great eye lashes."
The actress giggled and thanked her as my artist lathered glue on top of my eye lids. WTF? Do I have bad eye lashes??? It felt like my eyes were sticking shut.
Then she painted my lips a bright pink shade called POPPY. I looked in the mirror and said, "Yo!" Everyone giggled. I looked older somehow.
I moseyed on over to hair after that where I had to sit in a small room with three hair stylists and two other actresses for AN HOUR. Oh Gawd, it was fucking boring. She took out my hair rollers and said, "I am going to have to recurl your hair, so get comfortable." I apologized, she patted my shoulders and said, "It's ok. At least you tried, that's what's important." She teased my hair, sprayed it, curled it, combed it, fluffed it. I looked like Edward Scissorhands half the time.
She was playing Etta James on her ipod and ordered a grill cheese sandwich with a side of bacon for breakfast. I really admired her palette. She said she got to hang out with Kris Kristofferson and he said once he was eating out with Janis Joplin in a restaurant. She had feathers dangling in her hair. A random guy came up to hit on her and she turned her head and said, "Oh fuck off!" and blew the feathers out of her face.
Another conversation: The black, plump hairstylist said, "Men don't know how to COURT women anymore." The other short, plump hair stylists with damaged skin and bleached blond hair said, "Oh in Paris they know! You walk down Paris and they make you feel like Farrah Fawcet." She waddled half way down the make-up room like it was a small runway surrounded by Parisian men. I always love my make-up and hair people.
After my hair was put under the control of one whole can of hair spray and hot metal- I was pushed to wardrobe where they gave me a new outfit entirely different from the two I tried on during my fitting. It was a long black dress with a white triangle on the left breast of the dress. I had to put on the pantyhose, a missile pointed brassiere and a slip before throwing that thick black dress on in the heat. Jesus.
We took turns latching the back of our dresses and once again I wondered, how the HELL does anyone do this every single day by themselves?
The shoes were fucking atrocious; way too broad around the base of my foot, so I was constantly sliding back and forth over the narrow heel. It is almost as if everything about the style was meant to make you feel uncomfortable. Mobility is limited, you are under a lot of heat and discomfort. (Don't even get me started on wearing a belt to latch your menstrual pad on before the brilliant invention of a tampon!) What a difference from my 1920s Parisian outfit from the earlier shoot.
Wardrobe walked by and stopped in front of me. One small woman said, "What do you think of her?" The other taller woman said, "Oh we love her, she is tall and lanky. Yeah. Love it." Then they walked away.
We were arranged around the lobby of an office building. Originally I started outside, which would suck because the pedestrian traffic really is just shadows and feet. I was then moved to the interior lobby and introduced to Rachel, our 2nd AD. She was coordinating everybody. I went from one corner to the next when Hair pulled me again to do more frizz maintenance on my do. I was seated next to the chair with the embroidered 'Jon Hamm' across the top. Jon HammmmmMMMMMMM! The lead. His character is one tall glass of almond milk.
He never came to his chair before I was sent back into the chaos of background choreography. Due to the time spent in the hair chair, I missed all the main direction of where to walk. I kept following Rachel and reminding her I needed direction, I WILL NOT be cut from the scene! She had already handed out directions through most of the scene and gave me the last line to cross the scene, passed the principle characters and then walk back. I thought to myself, "Ooooh, that's good."
Rachel said, "Now when the girl says to Jon Hamm ... you know who Jon Hamm is, right?" I said, "Oh yes. If I concentrate hard enough, I can feel his chest hair tickle my cheek." Rachel said, "Eughhhhh, GROSS! I like girls." I said, "Oh, well I can carry his seed and we can raise the baby together." She didn't really laugh, she just kinda stared at me and then walked away, confused and distracted.
Jon Hamm arrived on set. His eyes looked very blue, almost unnatural, bugging out from tired sacks in his head. He punched away on his blackberry, which he kept inside the vest of his 1965 period jacket, and sipped on a Venti Iced Starbuck's coffee. Yeah, I wasn't feeling sexually drawn to him. Sometimes it happens, and sometimes not so much.
When I was on set with Gorden Ramsey, who was not appealing to me in the least on television, I remember seeing him and instantly feeling my uterus walls clap together and rub, like Mr. Miyagi in the KARATE KID. The smell of his sweat with green onions put me in some kind of primal trance.
Last year I met Kevin Spacey, who I always was drawn to on-screen. In person . . . not at all. He is definitely gay. The mystery of attraction ;)
The first run through of the scene cut before I got a chance to cross the set. Rachel asked me about it, I said they cut before I had a chance to cross- so she bumped up my cue. One of the crew members was a tall guy, probably in his early 40s. He could see how happy I was to be on set. He said, "What happened? Why did they save you for last?" I said, "I don't know, as long as I get to cross."
Second run through, I got to cross the scene and meet two other secretaries before crossing Jon Hamm and the other main actress. It was great, we are the only background in that part of the scene. I got back to my entrance mark and high fived the crew member. He said,
"I saw you on screen, you're in there!" I smiled. Rachel looked at me, I said, "That was great for me." The actor behind her chuckled out a cloud of herbal smoke.
Herbal cigarettes were being handed out in packs labeled ECSTASY. They smelled like camp fire, and my lungs were already having a hard time with the heat, air conditioning and now heavy smoke.
A man walked around with a small computer vacuum hooked up to a mouth piece. He made it just for MAD MEN to help the non-smokers keep their cigarettes lit. After taping, one actor took a long drag off of his before ashing it out off stage. I said, "Really? One last one drag, just for fun?" He said, "I know, that was weird. They are awful."
We did the scene a few times. We had a nice craft service table with fresh fruit and iced tea outside. Despite having put my purse on my chair in holding, people had tossed it aside, and down, then over to make room for themselves. I don't really care who I sit next to, and eventually was pushed into the old man section of holding.
The guy on my left, probably 65 yrs old or so, said, "I spend a lot of time thinking about the weight of women's breasts. I spent some time weighing my wife's breasts. And its interesting to me . . . I don't know why. Women with big breasts complain about back problems." I said, "Yes, they do."
The guy on my right said, "I have an enlarged prostate, but I don't have to go to the bathroom right now."
We went back and forth to set a few times, and right after we wrapped the scene I had my moment as I do with all my leading men, where I turn and make eye contact. Jon Hamm looked at me, I looked at him. Eh . . . nothin'. I joined the herd of women galloping to the changing room, where we took turns unlatching the hooks, peeling off the layers and running out the door in flip flops.
As I was waiting in line, an AD came by and said, "Who is non-union, keep your hands in the air." "Ok, who was born in March?" Hands went down. "Who is a Pisces?" No hands. In my stomach I know what this is, this is about a SAG voucher. Just say Aquarius, I thought. "Who is a Scorpio?" A girl's hand shot up. "Congratulations, here is a union voucher." She squealed.
I opened my mouth and unleashed very long, loud, "FUCK!" I turned and the guy next to me smiled. I said, "I am always going to be poor." He said, "Don't worry, you will get your vouchers."
All of a sudden, I felt tears brewing behind my sun glasses. I don't know what was happening, I was melting down. The exhaustion, the poverty, the absolute need for validation was all catching up to me.
The crew member signing us out didn't say a word to me. I am sure he thought I as an asshole for pouting. The actress was blond and petite, of course, and was jumping up and down with joy. She shouted, "This is my third one!!" The crew dude said, "Congratulations. Here ya go, now enjoy paying the $2600 initiation fee."
I kept telling myself, she deserves it . . . it is her third. I should be happy for her. But I couldn't recover. I needed a bathroom and found myself wandering through sets and production offices with hot tears pouring out of my eyes. I kept my sunglasses on and made it through the parking garage. By the time I pulled out of the studio, my tears had washed off my fake eye lashes and all accompanying make-up.
Once I started crying, I couldn't stop. I drove to my apartment to meet Em and unload equipment for the pilot pick-ups. It really was no big deal. We grabbed a quick beer after we unloaded and organized, and I felt the tears streaming down my face. Meagan looked and me and said, "What's up? Talk to me." I just muttered, "I don't know."
It was around this time I found out my episode of BAGGAGE was airing and I had no cable, because I am broke, nor did I have warning from the producers as they promised. Meagan's brother, my friend, TIVOed it for me.
She consoled me before I zipped off to another pre-production meeting in a cafe in Van Nuys. There, I walked in and continued crying. I told Meagan, I got used to crying in public in high school. My boyfriend and I had no privacy, so we hung out in diners and had our moments there with the occasional interruption for dessert.
The DP and Line Producer were also going through some tough relationship drama and stress, so we commiserated. Lana said, "I think there is just a lot of excitement right now and your body is trying to catch up."
It was such a motherly thing to say to me. Right when she said it with that strong, matter-of-fact tone with just a sprinkle of warmth and affection, I thought, that's exactly what my mother should be saying to me right now. I wanted to throw a party for my first TV appearance and the discouragement of the voucher, the no call for 3 days from Abe after disclosing to him my blog and having a few great hour-long conversations earlier in the week, and then the total disappointment from my immediate family all crossed wires in my mind and I felt like I was overheating. If there ever is a moment for valium, this was a good one.
I was still functional. I caught up on the call sheet and the equipment. My face was hot from all the crying and I just needed to lie down and sleep I think. I failed to mention it was around this time of day that I texted Abe a few times. They were little text messages (maybe around 3) that were prodding him. I hoped he would call, or maybe even come by and just hold me then decide to help on the shoot because he cared so much about me. I have been feeling so unloved, recently. The energy shifted and I feel like I am staring at a shadow of myself during a really important moment of my life I don't quit understand yet.
Abe wouldn't call. I told him I had a rough day. I told him if he cared he would call. We went back and forth via text before Lana took my phone away and said, "NO! He doesn't deserve to hear from you." I asked her to erase all the messages, call records, every train of communication that would lead me to his mobile device. She did.
She also exclaimed, "Ok . . . it needs to be said. You look REALLY skinny. Too skinny." I smiled, "Reallly?" Lana nodded her head, "Yes, I mean you look gaunt." Feels like an exaggeration but I don't intend to lose anymore weight.
He did text again, throwing some guilt at me. Something along the lines of his feeling like a failure and blah blah blah. So me having a bad day was really about making him feel like a failure! I mean . . . some people really don't know how to think about anybody but themselves. I really think that is the problem with people like my sister who don't socialize then make their entire day about themselves. It makes you a selfish prick.
In the end, he didn't call. And I told him to go to hell.
Then, I drove to Meagan's and Kevin's and watched myself on TV for the first time. It was cued up and Tivoed for me in her bedroom. I was swaying back and forth from sleep deprivation, a joint and the summer heat. My head looked like the size and shape of a walnut on their big screen TV.
I even thought I looked a little heavy.
The show changed my occupation from "Unemployed" to a "Teacher" in Olympia, which is just ridiculous. Throughout the show, I noticed they cut down the audience applause a bit and I realized why comedians prefer live performances. An audience roaring and applauding your joke is the best sound you will ever hear. I promise.
We watched it twice in a row. The second time I grew convinced Jerry Springer's eyes changed when ever he spoke to me. I told Meagan and her husband, "Look at his eyes when he looks at me. They are like brownies baking in the oven." Yes, I think Jerry was in love with me for 45 minutes that day. I can see it in his face.
That Friday between my Mad Men Meltdown and Pilot Pick-Ups was spent completely recovering my mind and energy. I just needed to get my head back, despite whatever emotional side effects I was going through.
Abe called, with a voicemail saying, "I would really like to know what I did that makes you want to condemn me to hell." I always liked the way he put things.
I think there were some minor exchanges when he called and we had the conversation. It wasn't a long conversation, but it pretty much completely changed the way I feel about him. There were a couple things he said that ring out in memory:
After telling him about my Mad Men Meltdown, he said, "You don't see me having mental breakdowns." Another great exaggeration he can add to his collection.
"Why do you complain about guys constantly calling you and you ignore them, and then you do the same thing to me expecting a different result. It doesn't make sense."
This right here, just looking at this sentence makes my blood boil. He is saying that after 3 days of no contact from me or him, my 2-3 text messages on a bad day are like a desperate loser chasing unrequited love. He makes me sound so pathetic . . . and clueless.
Logically, I know its a stupid thing for him to say. My communication was moderate, but never heavy. Abe always said if I wanted to call and talk, I should. And my messaging was a fraction of what it was during our honeymoon period when he actually liked me.
But . . . wow. That was one of the shittiest things a guy has ever said to me. Oh . . . then he says, "I asked my female friends if they constantly want to be around their boyfriends and they said it was overkill-" I didn't EVEN let him finish this sentence. I interrupted and said, "Hey ASSHOLE, I don't want to spend ALL my time with you. Now, goodbye!" Gawd, that last bit sounded like Little Orphan Annie.
VENOM SEETHING out of my PORES. Telling other girls I constantly want to be around you . . . are you fucking KIDDING me?
I texted him, "You are the most arrogant, pig headed, narcissistic jerk I have EVER met."
He texted back ":(("
When your ex-boyfriend says things this awful to you . . . pretty much everything you ever liked about him is washed up and stored in a thin container kept behind the insult. Your initial reference for the ex in question; whenever you hear his name, think about what you did together or what he might be doing now . . . all of those thoughts and memories are now covered by one, brash insult.
Post Break-Up Uzis
My first boyfriend in 10th grade, The Mormon, post break-up: "I hate your teeth. Especially that one on the side that's twisted. Whenever I look at it, I want to puke." Ok. After that, I pretty much begged my mother for braces and orthodontic surgery- immediately. My teeth look fine now, but that was mean.
College Boyfriend I was madly in love with for a month then he dumped me: "I wouldn't cry at your obituary." How he even thought of the scenario still bothers me. The most disturbing about this one is I never said anything to hurt him, so he wasn't angry with me when he said it. He was just thinking aloud.
The Prophet: "The only men who will be interested in you now only want to fuck you before they marry a younger, prettier girl."
Yeah . . . that one has a definite sting to it, doesn't it? And, it still hurts so let's move on.
Abe. Welcome to My Asshole Club where memories never die. EVER.
I never want to see him again. I shudder at the sound of his name. I am desperate to get any particle of him off of my life. I want to go on a date immediately, I want to have sex with someone else as soon as possible and then get rid of anything he may have left behind . . . except for his blanket ,which I will have sex on top of as soon as I find a suitable candidate.
On set of my comedy pilot, Abe was offered the position of gaffer on my pet project, but slipped away in a marijuana induced coma and was replaced by our DP's hot gaffer boyfriend. Things seem to be improving between them and it was especially difficult watching the relationship I wanted on set RIGHT in front of me while still licking my wounds.
He was quizzing her on camera facts. "Where did [so and so] get their couches?" "But I love our couches." Shoulder massage. Smile.
I guess what pisses me off the most is the total and complete personality change from the honeymoon period to real life. I don't think I can ever trust a man with my confidence again until several months go by. Meagan had mentioned waiting to have sex helps. I know it helps, that was always my plan . . . but I gave in. He is a conqueror.
I really wish I could slap his face. Unfortunately, that would involve touching his bullshit face again. Fucker.
OK, look. I got through this. Saturday morning I was in character, serving up the comedy on set. When I am acting, there is no heart break, no overdraft fees, no parents . . . only my imagination. What I always aim for is getting someone to laugh who is standing behind the camera. Now, half the time I am doing comedy, I catch someone giggling in the corner of my eye. The other half, everyone is just focused on the frame and my action. After Lana would shout, "Cut!" I would say, "Was it funny?" She would nod and smile.
Lana is unique. If she was a man, I would be in love with her. I think I actually had a foggy erotic dream about her once a few years ago. I can't remember it, probably because my brain shuts down around a Lesbian's 3rd Base.
When I met her, she picked up on my sense of humor right away. I even think she made it better. She is gorgeous, with brown eyes and all these wonderful chocolate freckles. Her eyes are so delightfully expressive, I was hoping she would decide to act with me in our comedy show. She is sharp- her timing is perfect . . . not to mention she is stunning. Alas, she wants no part of being on camera. Smart girl.
She got a pre-med degree in Pennsylvania and was accepted into Medical school. She decided one day that she didn't want to practice medicine, she wanted to make movies. That was the day her mother built a wall and told her she was disappointed.
My mother's wall was right around the time when I refused to apply for Graduate programs in Journalism, and said the only way I would continue my education is if it included filmmaking. Exhale. Ok.
My parents only seemed to care about me pursuing an education, despite what that really meant for my career or financial obligations. And, once I completed that education with a Master's degree in hand and worked in various professional facets of the film industry, my mother has the nerve to tell me I have done "nothing" with my life. Oh it burns alright . . . but not as much as it must be for my mother to look back on her monotonous life as a retired secretary. That would be worse.
So Lana and I wrote a comedy pilot (a pilot is an episode meant to be the first of a series if it picks up financing) about being assistants in the industry, trying desperately to keep their heads above water. We wrote on a Google Document and had a great script after one afternoon. Some things gel . . . creatively. Lana and I work that way.
Saturday morning we started shooting pick ups. Before the crew arrived to my house, I laid on my bed holding my iPhone. I opened up my email and saw one from Abe:
date: Sat, Aug 21, 2010 at 2:41 AM
subject: U R Correct
"you were right. Im being super cheap with the Little things that matter alot and that equates to me not caring. I'd like to think I understand because Ive been reading about relationships all night.
I'm not telling you what to do, you dont have to mail me back
I wish you wouldnt hate me. I still have feelings for you. I should have taken the initiative to read and figure things out for myself around the same time you did. I was bad. and I dont deserve a girlfriend who gives me as much confidence as you did.
I feel awful right now. We connected on many levels.
Sorry that I let you down. I miss you being happy. Sorry I made you so unhappy. Sorry if this email is insufficient. Sorry if sorry doesnt cut it. Sorry that I don't cut it. "
I should make a t-shirt that said, "I fell in love and all I got was this stinking email."
I wrote back:
date: Sat, Aug 21, 2010 at 7:04 AM
"I tolerated your exaggerations in person, but to misrepresent me as
needing constant attention to your friends and family is more than I
I refuse to endure the humiliation of it. We have crossed the point of
no return. I hoped we could work it out, but I refuse to be in the
company of people who think I am pestering you for constant care.
Especially after I have been so open to your perspective.
Let's not talk about it anymore. It's a waste of time. I have my very
busy and fulfilling life to get back to. And I have my dignity.
Have a good trip with your family."
And that was that. I later texted a "Thank you for the apology. It means a lot." to him but I just sent it because it felt like the adult thing to do. I don't know if it means a lot. His email has the faint odor of guilt trip and I don't know why now, after almost a month of not seeing me, he just decided it was time to pull his shit together and do/say something. Because I called him an asshole? Or maybe he instinctively knows he has lost me for good now? I hope he does know.
We plowed through the weekend of shots. Things went more smoothly this time than when we did principle photography; smaller crew but we had a line producer and an AD this time, thank God. Also, I was far more confident as an actress. I feel like a veteran at this point. Things went really well.
We wrapped. I dropped off all the equipment at various places this morning. I turned to Meagan and said, "You know, I never got a good luck on the shoot or anything like that from Abe." Meagan said, "Maybe he thinks you are done and that last email was it." I said, "It was! But he should be clawing his way back to me like that fat chick in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS." Meagan nodded, knowingly, "Yes, yes he should."
I am done. I am just angry.
This morning, my hair was still ratted from MAD MEN, so I tied it in a bun and showed up to the first venue with sleepy eyes and no coffee. The boys working the counter not only helped me unload all the audio files to a hard drive (on equipment rented from another venue) but I also got one of their digits!
Normally, I try to demonstrate how smart I am by figuring out the equipment and anticipating how things work. This morning, I just had a big whatever painted on my face. I tossed out a few one-liners, "I'm not retarded, just sleep deprived." "I think it worked fine. I don't really know. The only reason I am the one here returning it is because I am unemployed." (My purse falls over) "Whoops! LOOK, nothing fell out. Impressed?" Yeah . . . I am a real charmer.
They treated me like a pretty dolly . . . even though I was in a Cookie Monster t-shirt with my hair frizzing out of my bun and old shoes falling apart around my feet. (sing song) Delightful.
Meagan and I finished the rounds before noon and then had vegan pizza, vegan brownie and beer. We even made a smiley face out of it and took a picture with my iPhone. The waiter was this surfer looking dreamer. He looked at us and said, "I wish I had your life."