Thursday, September 30, 2010

The Heatwave Hustle

Friday: late night, Abe came over.

Saturday: We headed up to Pyramid Lake on a mother of a hot day. We didn't make it up there til the afternoon and missed road access to the lake- so we headed down a dirt road, through a few campgrounds and pulled in between two bushes so I could teach him how to dance.

Abe knows I love dancing and asked me to show him how. I advised that initially, he just alternate weight between the right and left foot and then improvise swings, turns, arms in the air, whatevs. I am a ham when it comes to dancing but he felt that I was "sexy." Ha! He really has missed me.

We took pictures, smoked pot, listened to music and kissed. The chemistry is still there. Sometimes you lose it when you have been hurt or you both start changing into different people. The sparks were still hot but my heart has a new picket fence around it now.

After a first big fight, I can finally wake up from whatever spell the suitor has over me. I remember my first boyfriend in high school, Jay. He was two years older than me and I lusted for him with the hormonal rage of a Catholic 16 year-old. I remember once just sliding over the edge of the couch and falling face down on him. Before I left for Germany as an exchange student, I confronted him about having an affair. He declined and I proceeded to have a (virginal) boy bash in Germany.

When I got back, he was forced to listen to stories from a mutual friend in my class. There was one party in Germany where I just walked down and kissed every single German boy along the wall. I also was getting postcards from an English kid I was up all night with, just talking til sunrise, in a Munich hostel. Suddenly, Jay was interested.

I worshiped him for a few months, I even kept a piece of hard skin callous that fell off of his foot in martial arts class. When I wore his coat, I would rub it in between my fingers. It grossed out my mother. Anything Jay I loved.

After our first fight, I was out with some friends and came home. My father said Jay stopped by and then pulled a sundae with rose petals on it out of the freezer (this was 4 years before I converted to veganism and LOVED ice cream). My father said, "You really know how to train them." Jay and I were together for 3 years after that and our dynamic mellowed out.

They say, in a couple, one always loves the other a little more. I don't think its about love, I think its about whose happiness is contingent on the other. Now that I have loved and lost Abe, developed close friendships with some amazing women and been pursued by other men, I feel that my happiness is not contingent on Abe anymore. My heart and head have leveled out and my focus is now on how we work as partners.

That, of course, doesn't change that magical shiver from physical contact; oy, he holds me, kisses me, looks at me . . . bringing us back to Pyramid Lake where we were in his car making out at dusk. The sun set and a Sheriff's truck pulled up behind us with his lights on. I thought, "Oh fuck- I have my pot in my tupperware in the back seat."

At first, I thought the cop was going to ask us if we need help, and Abe got out to greet him. The cop said, "Stay right there, hands in the air." Abe stopped and puts his hands up. My heart started beating.

The cop called in our license plate and asked to see I.D. Abe told the officer he would be reaching into his back pocket to pull out his ID, and turned his backside to him with his hands still in the air. Abe was surprisingly calm. The cop had a flashlight on him and nodded as indication that it is ok to pull out the ID.

He looked at it.

Cop, "Costa Mesa? What are you doing all the way out here?"

Abe, "Just gettin' away from the smog."

I stuck my rustled head out of the car window and said, "I'm from Pasadena! (beat) We were just kissing." He looked up at me and his face softened.

He walked Abe towards me and said, "Hey, sorry, its just we get stolen cars out here and I have never seen anything like this before in my entire career."

People making out in the bushes? Really?

I say, "Oh, sorry. It will never happen again (Jewish arm shrug) . . . I guess." He softened up even more.

I reached in back to pull my tupperware out and get under the seat. He flashed the light on my face and says, "Whoa whoa whoa, what are you reaching for?" My hand moved to my sweatshirt. Me, "Just getting cold." Now, I had to put this fucking thing on and sweat some more. There goes what's left of my
Supermodel perfume.

He said, "Ah, ok. Yeah, you never know what you are going to find out here."

Abe calmly explained how we couldn't get road access to the lake and just thought we could enjoy the fresh air and night sky. I am really impressed with how calm he was. He was so conversational and relaxed, I couldn't believe it.

Abe, "Yeah, we took this other exit, what was it?"

Me, "Smokey Mountain Road."

Cop, "Smokey the Bear? Just kidding. The irony."

I laughed, though I didn't get the joke. If a cop makes a joke, I will laugh. Especially if I am high as a kite and he is dead as a pan. Har har. The cop's lips curled ever so slightly into a grin.

I offered to get out and show him my ID, anything to keep him away from the back seat of the car. He said, more relaxed now, "Nahhh, that's ok."

The call came back on his radio that the car did indeed belong to Abe. He nodded and let us go.

We got the hell out of there.

On the ride back, we were talking about my blog. My blog alias, Star Fire, for those of you that don't know, was inspired by "
primarily Sumerinan and Egyptian civilizations. A substance called Star Fire was considered to be nothing less than the life-giving extract from the divine menstrual blood of the Goddess."

Abe introduced me to the idea. In the dawn of time, people used the ingestion of menstrual blood in Egyption Civilizations to prolong life, as it has the
most valuable endocrinal secretions of the pineal and pituitary glands. That's why I love Abe.

Abe and I have had intercourse near the beginning or end of my period before and I asked him, "Have you tasted my blood?"

Abe, "No, just smelled it."

Me, "Would you eat my menstrual blood?"

Abe, "I suppose, if I had no other option and you were just going to throw it away, I would. (beat) With a piece of butterscotch."

The next day we took the Cake and Esther (my deaf Pittie) to a free pit bull training class downtown, where I originally trained Maggie and Esther. It was too hot and no one was there, so I took Abe to the original bat cave in Runyan Canyon. As hot as it was outside, we were cool in the cave. Makes you realize we can survive without air conditioning units.

We were talking about serious relationships and Abe said I had plenty of time to start a family.

Abe, "I spoke to a doctor who said with medical advancements, people will be able to have babies well into their 40s in the future."
Now, common sense says, Star Fire . . . just keep your mouth shut. Instead, in a very controlled voice, I said, "I am 32. In about 3 years, it will be ten times more difficult to fertilize an egg. I could wait to have a child around 40 but even then, I would need about 5 years or so to develop enough trust in a relationship to have a baby. The closer to 40 I get, the more time I lose finding and developing trust with the right guy."


Abe, "Those are a lot of big decisions."

The boy should be reminded that I am a girl, with an expiration date on my uterus. I don't want a baby tomorrow, but I would like a family in less than 10 years. There is no way I am holding out til after 40 so I can suffer through hormone shots and then get stuck with twins. Eugh.

I introduced Abe to Indian food, which he never had before. We went to a hole in the wall in Venice. He ordered a little bit of everything as part of the experiment and liked it a lot. A family walked in with two small children. My eyes fell on the little boy with red hair and I saw Abe looking at me from my peripheral. I turned to look at him and his eyes fell to his plate.

*Note to self: Don't talk about fertility issues a week after getting back together.

Up next was Glow-in-the-Dark mini golf. Why is it so exciting showing someone you love new things? Part of falling in love, I guess.

I kept reminding him he could leave at any time, so he wouldn't feel that I was so clingy or needy now that we were back together. He kept saying, "No . . . I like watching comedy with you." We didn't really watch that much, just The Soup and my comedy. He liked watching my comedy.

Damn. That is satisfying.

Monday was so hot, all we could do was exist next to my AC unit and count down the minutes until Em was off of jury duty so we could have an impromptu BBQ/Pool party. Em has a pool at her house.

I climbed the tree in front of my apartment and grabbed a few avocados. Abe bought food and beer. Its so easy to be generous when you are dating someone with good credit. It felt good to bring gifts to Em's house, after all the hosting and heart to hearts and love coming out of their house ... finally I was equipped to give something back.

Veggie burgers, beer and a pool was fun. I did get a little carried away with the rough housing and spoke to Abe on the ride home. He said, "Yeah, I thought, my girlfriend is running around a pool in her underwear with three guys trying to dunk her, should I feel weird? Then thought, nahhh. You're just having fun." A huge weight was taken off my chest and throat, he was growing to understand me. Not sure my friends approved of my behavior. Such precious, delicate threads we weave in life.

Wednesday: I had three auditions. The first was for a film called "Blood Sucker Punch 2." Em advised I stop going to auditions stoned, so I showed up sober and felt a little nervous. There were two directors, they asked me back to a room with another actress. I said, "Do you have a hard copy of the sides (ie. a portion of the script used for audition)? I have it on my iPhone but a hard copy is easier."

Director #1, "Ah, yes, nothing beats paper."

Me, "It is . . . timeless."

Director #2 laughed. Good start.

10:31am: Audition for Vampire 1 and 2 (they have male names in the script)

First run as Mike:

Listen to me you little maggot,
you’ve got ten seconds to tell me
what I want to know or I am going
to reach into your chest, rip out
your puny heart and let you watch
the last drops of blood beat out
of your ripped aortas right before
I bite into your...

Spike sees a look on Mike’s face.

What now?

It’s just a little too graphic
don’t you think? I feel like I
just saw an episode of CSI or

This is my best stuff! I’m
painting a picture here!

Fine, do what you want. Can we
move on to some physical stuff
here, I’m getting hungry. (I added, 'I'm on my period.')

10:34am: Run through as Spike

(to human) Tell me what you know.


You know that did feel good. It
was very intimate, but in a scary

Exactly, the scariest stuff is the
close stuff. I do all my best work
within five to ten inches.

As Spike I added, "That's what she said."

Of course, I lost my place in the middle of the second reading and the other actress had to show me where we were. What are you going to do?

10:54am- drove down to Hollywood Center Studios for another audition called "Birdland."


INT. Mobile Home- Morning

Sandra picks up the porcelain angel. One of it's wings are broken. She searches for the broken piece finding it on the ground. She picks it up quietly, setting it back on the sink.

While on the ground, she notices the water dripping from the refrigerator. She looks at the puddle.

Miming a non-dialogue portion of a script with my imagination is always awkward, but I got my heart rate down from the joy of horror/comedy and got my mind into a place where I could relate to a single mom with a bashed in lip, worried about the quality of life for her son. I thought about my dogs and having no money for rent this month.

Director, "Very nice."

11:33am: I drove home, ate and called Valet of the Dolls (an all girl valet company that works valet for private entertainment events). I guess they are currently filming a pilot for a reality show.

My email and resume came back as undeliverable, so I called.

Me: "Hello, I sent an email regarding employment."

Valet of the Dolls: "And? What happened?"

Me: "Email undeliverable."

Valet of the Dolls: "Well ain't that a pair of tightly laced shoes."

I like her. After asking me if I drove manual and a brief interview about cars, she hired me for an event on Saturday. There is a hazing process with new hires, apparently; on my first day, they will load me with a bunch of cars and I will waive my tips for the first four hours. I was quiet . . . what am I going to do? We are in a recession. I accepted.

1:10pm: I drove out to Garden Grove so a friend and Abe could help me shoot a silly karaoke audition tape for a feature film. I hate audition videos. It makes sense to ask for one- you can review people's auditions over YouTube without having to organize a space and audition time with each actor. That said, you have to track down someone with a camera, deal with editing if necessary and the download process.

I performed
LOVE SHACK with my friend Peter, a Vietnamese boy (early 20s) from the feature, "ANAHEIM." The role was for a "Quirky Karaoke Singer" which I am, but . . . doing it for camera was really hard. Peter helped keep things interesting while I incorporated moves from various 80s movies including the "FLASHDANCE" head flip turns and the one armed push-ups from "ROCKY." Then sexually harassed Peter for the remainder of the video. Stick with what you know.

I went to Abe's for a couple hours to wait out rush hour traffic. While on his bed, he dropped a check on my lap. It was from his stock returns for an amount that could easily cover my credit card debt and the remainder of what I owe on my car. Did I say easily? Easily.

I picked it up and said, "WHAT IS THIS!?"

He said, "It is a return on my stocks."

I said, "You have . . . stocks!?"

He said, "Yeah." All casual like.

I stared at the check.

He said, "Now I can pay off my credit card debt."

I said, "Um . . . how often do you get returns?"

He said, "Every other year or so. I have about [he gave me a number of what my mother's annual salary was before she retired] invested in the stock market, moving around."

My eyes filled with tears. I don't know why, the subject of money has become so sensitive with me. I am waiting for a miracle. How does one even invest in stocks?

We spoke about it a little longer, with my mouth open and my eyes moist. He was so casual about it. His life is so different from mine, I envy him. He has made comments before like, "Just because you don't have a lot of money doesn't mean you shouldn't treat yourself to something of quality once in a while."

She says, "I love you" and "Too much",
She doesn't have anything you want to steal,
Well nothing you can touch,

. . . Pretty in pink, Isn't she?

-Psychedelic Furs

I confided in Lana and she said, "You landed yourself a rich poor boy."

7:06pm: I drove all the way back to Hollywood to meet Lana and our editor to fine tune the comedy pilot. Good God, I was exhausted.

I have been starving myself to lose weight and slim down. Basically, I cut all carbs from my diet and now just eat tofu, vegetables, fruit and coffee. Once in a while, I will have noodles. Last year, I weighed around 142 lbs, now I weight about 130.

As of right now, I am very happy with my body. My stomach is flat (not toned) and my legs look good on camera. I did sacrifice the weight in my face which made me look more youthful, and the weight in my tits, which sucks for obvious reasons. I don't mind eating much less, because for the first time in my life, I am not self conscious of my body.

That said, pulling off a day of three auditions and an editing session killed me with no food in my stomach. I was grouchy, exhausted and had difficulty focusing. I went home and dropped in bed.

I called Abe and asked what he was doing.

Abe, "Watching videos of model airplanes on Youtube. There is some cool stuff. Wait . . . hoverbike?"

Me, "It's not real."

(Silence for approximately 10 seconds)

Abe, "You're right, it's not real."

If he is investing in the stock market with returns, he can watch whatever he wants on YouTube.

Thursday: I woke up this morning and was booked as a possible contestant for LET'S MAKE A DEAL.

Debby, my booker, cut a deal with us that we show up to "Let's Make a Deal" with the possibility of being contestants, no pay in lieu of cash prizes, but a bonus on our next commercial job. The bonus was a reasonable number, so I wonder how much Debby was compensated for getting us over there.

We had to go in costume and I needed something simple that wouldn't cost any money, so I dressed up in an Asian-style dress from the Boardwalk and bought myself Halloween make-up and a sword at CVS. That's right, I was going to be RoboGeisha!

RoboGeisha Trailer

I was running late and applied make-up in the car. After finding parking (10 minutes late) I ran up to Sunset Blvd to enter the studio. We filled out the paperwork in a single file line and were then advised to put our cell phones in our car. Now, usually I leave my cell phone in my car, but this time I wanted to check it with security. I don't know why.

We waited outside in 90 degree weather for another 45 minutes, while "real" contestants (aka. tourists) were brought in first. I felt a little spell of dizziness and leaned back on the concrete wall. I hadn't eaten, that was stupid.

Once I got up to security, they refused to check our phones and sent me back to my car with a tall woman dressed like a sea urchin. She had pieces of sweater covering sections of her limbs and nothing but netting over her torso. It was . . . interesting. She had a screwdriver, scissors and two cell phones in her purse, so we walked back together.

As we were walking back, I said, "A screwdriver and scissors? Really?"

She said, "Well, I wanted to bring a variety of things, just in case they wanted something special." Later I found out there was a game where if you have a requested item in your purse, you are handed a $100 bill. They asked for things like credit cards, movie stubs and markers. Not . . . tools.

She said, "What are you?"

I said, "RoboGeisha! (Thank GOD someone finally asked me) Its a Japanese film that hasn't been released yet. She has a mechanical saw built into her head and toxic milk that sprays from her nipples."

She said, "Oh . . ."

I continued, "Have you ever seen 'TABOO'? Its a Japanese horror film where a guy fucks a corpse and it gets stuck on his penis, so he has to drag it home to his wife and her lover to help him get it off. They put him in a tub and inject him with heroin so his penis gets small and pops out of the body."

She said, "Oh my God."

I said, "Yeah. The Japanese are crazy, but it
was an American that thought of the 'Human Centipede'. That trailer scarred me for life."

She said, "Don't tell me about it."

I said, "You don't want to know about the 'Human Centipede?'"

She said, "No, we are supposed to keep our minds happy for the show. So let's not bring in bad things."

WTF? Bad things? I thought we were talking modern art, here.

In case you want the pleasure, here is a link to the trailer of THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE

I ditched that broad and went back to my car. I was sweating off my Geisha make-up. I did a little touch up. A cop had pulled someone over a half a block away from me. Was I so bold as to pull out my pipe and fit in a few tokes before the show? Yes, yes I was.

Back at the studio, we were brought into the first trailer, with our paperwork filled out. There was a costume store for tourists who were willing to pay $20 for a wig or accessory to improve their chances of being selected as a contestant. We got up there, handed in our paperwork and had to give a mug shot to a webcam.

Then we were brought into another trailer for a group interview. We all lined up, and a producer asked two questions, 'What do you do for a living?' or 'What do you do for fun?' . . . I had so many things to say.

There was a woman behind the producer, in a chair, writing notes down. Because I had gone back for my cell phone, I was now in the last group for the interview. She stopped writing down notes. I could see she wasn't interested in anymore possible contestants.

The producer asked me what I do. I said, "I am an aspiring waitress." No one laughed. Did that just bomb?

The producer, "Where do you do that?" He wasn't paying attention.

Me, "I live in Pasadena, but I keep trying to get hired as a waitress and no one will hire me."

He said, "I would hire you."

I said, "You would!? I am competing with people who have 20 yrs experience I guess." AND- then he moved on to the next one. That was it? My one chance to be selected. CRAP. I leaned against the wall, I needed a glass of water and a protein bar.

They went down the line, not writing any more notes for the last bit of us. The woman on the end was asked what she does. She replied in such a heavy slang, I couldn't understand her. The producer repeated, "You slam old people in the face . . . and then make them cry?" She said, "Yeah! I work in an old folk's home. If they don't do what I tell them, I bring down the fist."

From there, I waited in line to use the one restroom allotted to the 250 audience members. On my way back from the restroom, I got trapped in the first 50 people waiting to enter the studio. I couldn't get by with all the pedestrian traffic and muttered, "Jesus Christ."

A random dude said, "He has nothing to do with it."

Ok . . . yeah, I am trapped around tourists and out of my element here. I forced my way back to the other actors at the end, waiting to enter the studio.

I was in a good position in the audience initially, third row from the front. I started thinking about how I could win money, what I would say, what I would spend it on. Alas, I was never called. Cash and prizes was handed out liberally by those that were selected, mostly tourists or actors with an accent that indicated they were from another part of the world.

There was a drag queen in a blonde afro wearing a moo-moo. A blind referee. A guy in a peanut costume who wouldn't stop with the scrotum jokes. He was very sharp, must be a comedian. If I wasn't slipping into a diabetic coma, I would have had a lot of fun.

We broke between shows to get new audience numbers, use the restroom (singular) and grab a condiment cup of water (we didn't even get the small dixie cups at doctor's offices . . . just a little salsa cup from Rubio's.)

I waited in line with the boy dressed as a Flamingo. The pink flamingo neck stretched out from his lower torso and attached to his real neck, hanging the breast of the bird costume around his balls. There hung a yellow Hawaiian lei like a festive cock ring. It was fairly awesome.

I said, "Looks like all the hidden parts of the male genitalia they show you on posters at Planned Parenthood. Have you seen those?"

He said, "No, I am gay."

I said, "You should still get checked out."

He said, "Oh, I do. But I have a family doctor."

I said, "Oh you have health insurance, so you aren't an actor then?"

He said, "No, I am an Administrative Assistant but they are laying me off. So I think I will try to become a baker."

I said, "I have someone for you, if you are single."

He said, "Oh no, I am with him." The short, plump white guy in the flamingo costume gestured to the 6'4 Black Guy in a cowboy hat next to him.

I said, "Oh, good for you two. Let me know if you want a little Asian boy to throw in the mix."

They laughed.

The Black One said, "No . . . thank you. We are happy."

I said, "How long have you been together?"

Flamingo, "3 weeks."

I said, "That's long for gay guys."

The Black Cowboy spit out his water laughing. Thank God, they laughed! Thank God.

Flamingo, "I know! All my relationships last 3 weeks. This is my longest relationship, well . . . next week it will be."

God Bless Hollywood.

I suffered through another show where I watched every guy who stood next to me in line that day . . . every single one . . . win cash. There was a lottery at the end for $100 and it was given to audience member #199. I was #200.

Working these game shows, I have learned a lot about desire for cash and greed. You have to remove yourself from the emotion of money to work with it. It can be a brutal monster.

Everyone that won today deserved it. I was genuinely happy for every single contestant/audience member. We were all unemployed. Most of the audience members were asked what they would use the cash for, common answers were, "Rent", "Debt Collectors" and "Bills." No one gave a stupid answer. They did look ecstatic.

We are all in the same boat. Money is fluid; its about give and take, not holding on. I say this with $5 left in my name until I get my unemployement check and my belated paycheck from Baggage. The fuckers haven't paid me yet.

In the words of Tiger Woods ex-wife, "Money doesn't bring happiness, but I am not going to lie, it makes things a lot easier."

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

The Perfect Thing to Say

Facebook Status Update
10 Hours Ago
"called in for a bikini hot girl background role on TV. Casting Agent: (pulls up my headshot) "Um . . . I'm gonna pass on this. Thanks (click)" What is that slow burn down the abdomen? Ah, yes, Hollywood.

5 Hours Ago
Email from Lana:
You doing ok?

Low self esteem day but I am ok.

low self esteem? whhhhyyy? you have a boyfriend who luuuurves you! A webseries! things are turning around!

Had a casting director pass on me for hot girl background work. Hate me in the feature. I am not hot- I am weird looking.

Not a big deal- but . . . You know.

ugh i hate those days.

those days when you would rather be Video Hofessional Girl #5 instead of Annie Hall.

i hear ya. however, your Annie Hall ways are what's going to make you famous, or at least living in Bill Murrays guest house.


[*footnote: I LOVE Bill Murray, but that is another blog]

Friday, September 24, 2010

Game Shows, Guy Friends and Fortune Cookies

This week has been fascinating. I wish I could give full disclosure on things, but there is a thin wall between this blog and my undisclosed personal life.

I will start with Million Dollar Money Drop. It was a two day shoot but the show didn't want the same people both days, so Debby would only book me for one day. Luckily, unbeknownst to the show, I was able to book with another agency for the second day. I need the cash.

Day 1 of Money Drop

Matt was there, but he was with his girlfriend so I couldn't play with him.

The show is based off of a UK show. I must be discrete since it hasn't been broadcast yet. The host was Kevin Pollak. Kevin Pollak? My heart skipped a beat. The Kevin Pollak fascination was born when I watched the first Project Greenlight. He was the funny, sarcastic actor who was unsatisfied with the level of professionalism on set. Then I noticed him in movies (he is very talented) and saw his stand-up on Showtime last week.

I could say the Kevin Pollak fascination is a platonic one, but all my male fascinations are equipped with a vision of what it would be like as a couple. Let's be honest, if you are funny, I don't give a shit what you look like.

I was escorted to the front row on the wings between Crazy-Pixie-Haired-Loud-Bitch from previous blogs and a Norwegian model. Great.

Of course Crazy brought with her a tote bag full of food. I think we covered every single food group. She started with the chicken salad and ranch sauce (which she sucked off of her fingers), then roasted seaweed, Toblerone and finally, then . . . gum. Delightful. All of that was chewed, sucked and swallowed in my left ear drum. Bitch.

The other girl would just keep looking at me like she wanted to talk. I was reading THE FEMALE BRAIN, I can not be bothered with small talk by some gorgeous 20 y- old. She was new, she let men sit down and talk her ear off for an hour at a time.

Now, I could see Pollak was the type to get surly. All the more reason to seduce him with my eyes. We made eye contact a few times. And there were a few times I caught him looking at me. How do I know? If I was looking away and drew my eyes back to the stage, as soon as they landed on Kevin staring at me, he looked away. Then he stopped looking at me totally. I was hoping to have my one Game Show Host moment, but it never came.

Bill was our Audience Fluffer. He is one of the best because he is genuinely funny and actually really advocates for the audience's best interest. Basic needs for us like water, restrooms and body ache rarely occur to anyone else.

He asked if we could go to restrooms and one of the stage wranglers snapped at him, a pudgy blond girl with a voice that could crack plastic. Bill said, "I am just delivering a message of concern. Geez. Everyone, that right there is why I am gay." And he pointed at the girl who was now lost in the shadows.

Bill, "Was anyone on the last show I worked? I made a pot joke and 70% of the audience applauded. Do you all really go out to your cars and blaze up between shows?"


Bill, "I mean, even the 60 yr olds were cheering me on."

Another joke, "Did anyone see the VMA awards? It was awful. Yeah, Lady Gaga had steak on her head. If I have meat on my head its a good night." Ha ha.

Since there was a million dollars cash in the studio, there were security guards everywhere. As I was closest to the stage, I had the pleasure of facing Gil all night. Gil is a silver haired, Italian dude who looks like he has killed a few people. He looked around all the time, occasionally doing the neck cuff twitch as he stood there. It reminded me a lot of my oldest pit bull Maggie. No matter where we are, she is always scanning the horizon for potential threat.

When my parents were visiting, my mother would screech, "Maggie, relax! Jesus Christ. Enjoy the walk. God, its making me nervous." Maggie wagged her tail and looked at me. I simply shook my head. She's crazy. I mean . . . my mother.

Maggie May is the one animal I have who adopted me. When I took her in off the streets, I stopped having nightmares. She is my body guard.

Back to Money Drop, Gil stood out from the other security guards because he had Dean Martin's hair cut. I stared at him a lot, just because the dude was so fascinating. He smiled at me. Uh oh.

The Female Brain pg 5: "One study scanned the brains of men and women observing a neutral scene of a man and a woman having a conversation. The male brains' sexual areas immediately sparked- they saw it as a potential sexual rendezvous. The female brains did not have any activation in the sexual areas. The female brains saw the situation as just two people talking."

Crazy walked up to him and said, "Love your hair." What a fucking moron.

One of the questions on the show was who was the most disliked sports figure. While the couple was negotiating the answer, Kevin said, "Am I hearing that dog fighting is worse than adultery?" This is where I clapped. I have 3 pit bulls, of course I clapped. The people from Standards & Practices who were monitoring the show for legitimacy really didn't like that and felt that I was cluing the couple into the correct answer. We were all lectured for it over the next 48 hours. To be fair, no one said I couldn't clap during the minute the couple's decide where to put the cash. Whatever.

We were held for over 6 hours, which meant we were paid a meal penalty. When they let us out on our first break 7 hours later, smokers spilled out of the door with cigarettes in their mouths, lighting up as they walked away. It was kind of brutal to be held into a studio for so long. Not the worst scenario, but it was brutal.

While waiting outside between two actresses to get back inside the studio:

Actress #1: (holding a bag of beef jerky) "97% protein. See that? There is practically nothing else in here but protein and sodium."

Actress #2: "My candy bar has protein in it. I wonder why? (holding up a Snickers bar wrapper) There isn't meat in it, at least I didn't taste any meat in it.

When we were let back into the studio, I was placed on the other side of the stage, underneath Kevin's teleprompter between a beautiful girl from Canada and some other pretty girl. Conversation with them was the only actual work I had to do on this job.

The contestants on the show are couples. Lovable or stupid. The last couple was both lovable and stupid. They were newlyweds, Italians from Chicago. It was the husband's birthday. It was like watching Cher and Nicolas Cage in real time negotiate where to put their cash. You kinda just fell in love with them.

The show is cruel because it physically puts people within a few inches of a lot of cash and forces them to place it on answers to very broad questions reducing the show to simply chance. On all these game shows, I see easy come, easy go. This time it was harder to watch.

The couple wanted to help out their family and visit Italy. The wife started crying on the very last question with what little remained of their winnings. Kevin even gave them $5 to help with their luck.

When the money dropped, my eyes burned. I turned to the girl next to me and saw tears in her eyes. I could feel moisture softening my contact lenses. I said, "That fucking sucks."

The couple cried. We all stood up and clapped for them, and as they walked out, we sang Happy Birthday. He held his wife's hand, turned to us and waved sadly. Easy come, easy go. Tough lesson.

Day #2 of Money Drop

I wore my hair in a pig tail and put on big sunglasses in the hopes no one would recognize me and I could disappear in the second audience. I checked in and Travis from Day #1's agency saw me and just smiled. We were cool.

A girl came up to Travis and said, "I am voting for you! For sexiest audience wrangler ever on Facebook! You are number #1." (I looked for it, but couldn't find it)

Genital Herpes was there. He saw me and smiled.

GH, "Hi!"

Me: "This is a totally different outfit from last time. It was Hipster/Swingers/Vince Vaughn this is Lumberjack."

GH: "Lumberjack?"

He was in a green button up flannel with jeans on. The call was for business upscale.

Me: "Upscale Lumberjack."

He looked down.

Him: "Its Los Feliz" Me: "Canadian."

GH went back to get a sweater and then came back to stand next to me in line.

I said, "The sweater was just a ruse to sit next to me through the show."
He said, "You guessed it."

We were escorted in. Once again, I was placed directly under Kevin's Teleprompter. GH sat behind me and invited a young actress from Indiana to sit next to him.

I turned and said, "How is your girlfriend?" Feel lucky I didn't ask about the Herpes.

GH: I don't have a girlfriend. We broke up a long time ago."

Me: "I'm sorry"

GH: "No, I am happy. I didn't like her. I never had sex with her. Well, like once . . . . . . . . a week."

ME: "How long were you together?"

GH: "A year"

Indiana was trying to compete for his attention, but she was just a kid. GH wanted my validation.

ME: "Why would you date someone you didn't like for a year?"

GH: "Convenience. And she was always trying to do everything for me. She worked really hard and wouldn't take no for an answer. There are people you just reject and reject, and they keep coming back for more. So I just kept her around. Now I have 4 girlfriends. Oh, here is a text from her."

ME: "By 'her' do you mean your ex or the 4 others in orbit?"

GH: "The Ex (the text read something to the effect that dinner is waiting on the stove) See? Girls fall in love with me."

ME: "And you are being intimate with all of them?"

GH: "Yeah."

Me: "Well, women's brains release a chemical cocktail of dopamine and oxytocin during intercourse which makes them feel enamored. But, congratulations, sounds like you are spreading all sorts of things around."

GH: "When I was young, I had to really work for sex. Now its just so easy. You want to know my secret? Become their friend."

ME: "I know that's the secret. I just read in a book (The Female Brain) that a woman's orgasm is contingent on a feeling of trust and her feet have to be warm. Of course, if you make a woman orgasm during sex, her uterus is actually sucking up and retaining more of your sperm."


GH: "I don't care if they orgasm."

Indiana starts giving GH some heavy eye rolls and the look of disgust on her precious little face was priceless.

ME: "You really are amazing. Have any of them asked you about STDs?"

GH: "Not one (laughing) I have no STDs . . . . . . . . . . . diagnosed by a doctor."

ME: "Nice parenthesis"

The Female Brain (pg 64): " Seduction and abandonment by males is an old ruse, going back to the beginning of our species; one study found that young college males admitted to depicting themselves as kinder, more sincere and more trustworthy than they really are. Some anthropologists speculate that natural selection favored men who were good at deceiving women and getting them to agree to have sex. Females, as a result, had to get even better at spotting male lies and exaggerations- and the female brain is now well-adapted to this task. Modern females have fine tuned their superior ability to read emotional nuance in tone of voice, eye gaze and facial expressions. "

The female is looking to mate with a man who will secure the nest; protect and commit to the family to insure survival of offspring.

GH: "Dating people holds you back. With your career."

GH is a comedian through Second City. It really annoys the FUCK out of me that people like GH can afford to pay the tuition for Second City, or Groundlings, or Upright Citizens Brigade and launch some kind of career in comedy. We poor people get no such opportunity. When did being funny rely on your pocket book? Really.

Me: "I agree with you actually, but something can be said for having consistent support while you struggle through your career."

GH: "Eh. I don't need that. When I make my first million, I will settle down with a girl and a big house. I can call and tell her when I will be home. Then I can be in control."

ME: "Being in control? You should want a partnership."

GH: "No, I want a girl who is young and stupid."

Me: "What? Young and . . ."

GH: "Stupid! HAHAHAHAHA! Its so nice talking to you. We aren't dating so I can be myself and tell you exactly what I am thinking."

He is the orange throat lizard (The Male Brain, pg 59) "Alpha-male harem strategy. They guard a group of females and mate with all of them." Not to mention, they spread disease.

Bill, "Anyone own a Honda Civic? (silence) Point and laugh. No just kidding, you are getting towed."

A tall white boy in a button-up top slowly stood up.

Bill, "Dude, you parked in someone's driveway? Really? You just hoped they wouldn't notice?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders and walked through the studio in front of 300 people. We all applauded him.

Bill, "Well don't walk. RUN! (as the boy exited the studio, Bill made his default gay joke) Call me! (then) I know where you can park your car."

Oh Bill. I love that we are always attracted to the same boys.

Other highlights included a small, white girl with incredibly long, brown hair belly dancing to Beyonce in the audience.

This chick was lifting up her shirt, almost to her bust. Every time she lifted it a little higher, the audience would say "OOOOHH!"

I was stuffing my face full of trail mix. Me (with a full mouth) "Oh My God!" A piece of shredded coconut fell out of my mouth.

The crew on set put a spot light on her, and different disco colors flashed over her as she swung her torso around. It was, quite honestly, mesmerizing.

(I can never hear what people say to Bill when he talks to them across the studio, so he repeats their answers into the microphone)

Bill to Belly Dancer, "Thank you. The people in the booth and the head of Fox really enjoyed that. What? You have other talents. I will hang on to the microphone. Oh, creative writer."

On the next song, a black girl stood up and shook her ass hard. Equally impressive. The crowd was getting rowdy and even the security guards redirected their focus from the $1 Million dollars to the hot black girl/hot white girl dance off.

GH: "Now that is real entertainment!"

In lulls, Kevin Pollak would do little things. He mimed a dance that ended in both of his middle fingers pointed at the cameras. That was nice.

He also did a Humphrey Bogart impression. The crowd was quiet, I don't think most of them got it. A girl in my row clapped, and I shouted out, "I love you, Kevin."

Then he did a Woody Woodpecker impression and the crowd cheered.

Anytime, he had to plug a product mentioned in the questions or clear up a celebrity fact, he would stare at the camera with this priceless expression . . . like he was holding in fecal matter embroidered with, "My career" on it. Its a recession.

During the last break, an Asian guy mentioned he could play guitar.

Asian Fruit: "I play like 8 instruments."

Me: (gesturing to GH) "This guy is a DJ, maybe he could play your stuff."

My quiet revenge on genital herpes. GH puts hood on and went to sleep.

Asian Fruit (earnestly to GH): "I do all kinds of music, hip hop, R&B . . . soft rock."

This kid had a hair cut that screamed Duran Duran. And he kept talking.

Asian Fruit: ""I am 1/6 Russian, 1/6 Mongolian-"

Me: "Do you know Genghis Khan raped so many women, his DNA is in 0.5% of the world's population? That means your great, great grandmother was probably raped."

Asian Fruit: "Actually, I am from the tribe to the south that fought and usually conquered the Genghis Khan dynasty."

Me: "Ah, so your great, great grandfather did the raping. You are on top of that genetic scenario!"

He nodded and smiled at me. He really was proud of that.

Asian Fruit, "I have had my share of girls. I am dating a half German, Half French actress who wears a bikini and bartends at night. I have dated a few girls that were with black guys, and they said they didn't like it. I always say, the smaller I am the closer to the clitoris. I have a friend who is a little taller than me and always on me about comparing his penis. He never lets up, he is always putting me down."

WTF was this guy talking about?

Asian Fruit: "I know how tall a guy is means how big he is."

Me: "That's not true. The tall white guys I am usually with are tiny. Right?" I slapped GH's leg (he is a tall white guy). He popped up from a deep sleep and went back under almost immediately.

Asian Fruit: "I am very quick, most of the time I lose people in conversation."

I don't know what it is with small Asian guys ... but they are the worst at bragging. Men think if they tell you something, you will believe it at face value. 'Oh, you are awesome in every way, wow- can I date you? Please? I will share you with the German Bartender in the bikini!'

It really is sad and pathetic. He followed me out, but at 1am in the studio the temperature of a meat locker I have no patience for small men and their soliloquies of sexual superiority (unless its Napoleon, gush). Honestly, I prefer the conversation with Genital Herpes.

Bill said what he always says when we wrap a show. "I would say I hope I see you again, but I hope you guys book work doing what you want to do."

Walking out, we were waiting in line for 20 minutes. The day had gone longer than expected, and the coordinators were racing to get the cash envelopes correct for everyone. I was cold and tired. The beginning of the lethal combination for my bad mood.

Me: "Come on, come on. What the fuck?"

The Girl in front of me turns to me.

Me: "Sorry, I am complaining in my head, but sometimes my mouth opens."

Girl, "I know exactly how you feel. This is ridiculous."

A few Russians were trying to figure out the tax paperwork in front of us. One of them said, "Just make up a social security number. Jesus! Just put down anything. I am cold!"

When the line started moving, I saw an Asian girl approach the coordinator with the cash and say, "Did you give me $80?"

Me, "Yes, now get the fuck out of our way."

Only the Russians and girl in front of me heard. They laughed. I was serious.


So the last blog touched a few souls mentioned. I received messages from both The Comic and my friend that they wanted to talk. I assumed they read this blog.


Monday: The Guy Who Always Says the Wrong Thing

The Comic came to Pasadena in the afternoon and we decided to play pool. It was an especially hot day out, so I suggested a cold beer and a game. It was friendly. I would say, even taking into account the few weeks we dated, The Comic was the most natural and fun on Monday. Even after reading my last blog.

The jokes regarding the eHow discovery are of course, never ending.

The Comic, "Well how do you seduce a woman?"

Me, "Be patient and start a friendship . . . not with me. Of course. But that is the best way in general."

The Comic turns and nods

Me, "Not with me."

The Comic, "Maybe further down the line."

Me, "No."


Me, "I mean, how did you come to that page anyway?"

The Comic, "I googled How to seduce a woman."

He did spend about $50 between beer and lunch afterward on our conversation. I am truly mystified by what he thinks he gains from our friendship.

Tuesday: The Guy Who Always Says the Right Thing

Mr. On the Right, my good friend, had a pending date with me. I texted him about reconnecting with Abe but I knew the blog would be more detail than he cared to read.

I knew he didn't drink, but felt if we were going to talk, the conversation warranted some hard alcohol. I also knew that he needed a girl drink, like an apple martini or as he would say, "an appletini", so we hit the PF Chang's Happy Hour.

Mr. On the Right always does say the right thing, but because it is the right thing it comes more from his brain than his heart. We had a very open conversation about everything, which honestly, I have to modify my martini limit because 1.5 unlocked every secret I had in the world. That was messy.

It was kind of like the end to LAST TANGO IN PARIS.

Mr. On the Right, "You deserve a guy who has to tell you how amazing you are every day." That is a wonderful thing to say to somebody. Sadly, I am not amazing.

Both suitors, all things considered, do not know me very well. My theory was because I have dated both in the past (one last year the other 10 yrs ago) and never had intercourse with either, their biology wanted to conquer me. As far as intimate connections go, I have experienced a greater bond with the few men I had sex with while dating. They never call me years down the line. (*Real boyfriends exempt)

It's mystifying to me that the lovers I had who shared secrets and made promises never contact me. Where is the burning itch I see in those who haven't had the pleasure of my company in bed?

Then there is Abe. Dear Abe who has texted me and called me everyday since our reunion. A for effort. I would like to be with the man who makes me dizzy with magic and butterflies. Over the last few months, I dreamt of Abe in a photo album, the pages flipping through time.

Recently, I opened a fortune cookie that said, "It is not too late to take a different path."

I can't stop thinking about what that means. My first instinct was my acting career. It wasn't too late to get a degree in Early Childhood Education and become a pre-school teacher. Then I thought, but I am so good at this lifestyle (aka. scrounging for cash and living each day on my wits). It feels right in my gut.

So, what is the different path? I have been looking at things in my mind to what it might mean. Clearly, God was trying to communicate something very important to me after dinner.

For years, I have been trying to escape a darkness. My mother claims she can see it in my eyes.

I hated being a kid and through high school and college, cut my wrists, arms and ankles. It's called wrist scratching, common in teenage girls with low self-esteem. I still have scars and even placed a tattoo over a wrist to help conceal 18 year-old cuts. It is impossible to hide all of them.

As an adult, I have worked on projects in prisons and brothels. Suffered from nightmares and sleep paralysis. The cocaine induced love-ins with Not-for-Profit, including confessions to every disturbing sexual thought we ever had.

Above all of the murder, misery, masochism and abuse is the most alarming event of them all- it fascinates me.

After finishing my documentary on abused women in prison, one of the professors on my advisement board said, "Stay away from the dark side now." That is part of my motivation to go into comedy, to keep away from the dark.

Abe knew the moment he met me, that I struggled with the light and dark. I don't have to explain it to him. He will say, "Look to the light." He can make me feel better just by saying it. Looking up from the computer screen now, there is still a fortune he found and taped to my wall from our first week together. "Everything will now come your way."

When I think of a life with him, I see big meals, a house, life on the beach, family and a white light. With the others, I think I could drag them down into the shadows.

Abe . . . yes, I want to be with Abe. All things considered, I logically can not put myself in the position to be heartbroken again, so I have to modify our formula to insure protection of my nest.

On the Phone
Me: "I think we should go back to the original plan and wait to have sex, so I am not so emotional about things."

Abe: "Well, needless to say that's a disappointment, but if that's how you feel then I guess we have to do it. You might have to tell me again since I will probably forget. Goodnight. (click)"

My first instinct is I should renegotiate so he isn't mad at me. Women have a natural compulsion to resolve conflict to keep the family unit alive. Then, that weird strong undercurrent of a feeling came back . . . the same one that made sure I quit smoking and it whispered, 'Stay strong. Protect yourself.'

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Romantic Sabotage by Yours Truly

I am in a bit of a fog at the moment. I have projects in various stages of development and relationships in various stages of decay. I met with Lana today in Hollywood to develop a plan of attack for the audio mix on the pilot.

We stopped in on a little bar on Sunset called THE BOWERY which was very cool. It was just a long room with a beer and wine list on a chalkboard. Trendy but empty, which I like. We each got a drink and drew up a to-do list before going outside so Lana could smoke.

We sat on a ledge next to a tall guy wearing sunglasses that looked like the special prize in a box of raisin bran from 1989. Across from him were two other guys- all three of them were wearing white t-shirts and jeans.

Dimitry kind of gracefully asserted himself into our conversation, mentioning that he was in movies and could look at our project. Lana asked what he did, and he said he was the DP and co-producer of the JACKASS movies. He also said they just finished JACKASS 3-D.

I said, "Oh yeah, I got the casting call for a girl to pop her zit in 3-D for that movie."

Dimitry, "Yeah, we never got that."

I said, "If you give me some time, I can work something up for you."

Dimitry, "No, no . . . we're picture locked."

Lana asked how it was shooting 3-D and he said, "I don't remember a God damn thing. I still don't know what happened. There were so many people, I was like, 'Don't got to do shit? Good."

We exchanged numbers, he showed me the screen saver on his cell phone.

Dimitry, "See . . . those are dicks." They were cartoon dicks. At first glance, I thought it was Good & Plenty (the candy).

I said, "I see. Do you like dicks?"

Dimitry, "No. I mean, yes. You know."

He was drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon out of the can and introduced me to the guy across from him, a shorter guy with good energy. Apparently, he has a skateboarding show on Fuse.

Dimitry mentioned he was a Russian Jew, and I said, "Happy Yom Kippur" He raised his can of beer to me.

I said, "Are you atoning?"

Dimitry, "For what?"

I said, "Your sins . . . the trials of your people. They are the chosen people."

Lana, "Of Hollywood."

Ha. Ha.

Dimitry, "I am going to yoga for the first time, does that count? That reminds me, I need to get a mat at Bed, Bath & Beyond."

Lana, "Don't they have mats at the gym?"

Dimitry, "That shit is absorbent. Fucking disgusting. Someone's piss all over it."

Lana, "Just their sweat, is that what you mean?"

Dimitry, "Yeah, their piss."

That was my Hollywood conversation for the week.


So, for whatever reason, Cupid has been tail gating me all week and there has been some romantic confusion.

Three men have presented themselves to me as interested suitors. I feel a little dazed by it all. The first gentleman is a guy I dated over a year ago for a couple weeks. I call him the Comic.

The Comic and I met during the Cancer Year when I was working for two emotional terrorists and lived with Not for Profit who was slowly becoming an alcoholic wife beater. This was about the time I started taking a stand-up comedy class.

I went to a few open mics and met the Comic, who approached me after my very first time on stage. He seemed nice and I thought he was funny. So we dated for a couple weeks.

The Comic made three fatal errors. The first was when we were kissing on my bed and he insisted on going on and on about how pretty I was. Now, I am ok. I am cute in a European, Girl Next Door with some quirk kind of way. I am no bombshell and can never book jobs for "hot" girls.

I asked him to tell me something else about me he liked.


I said, "You liked my stand up performance, right? So you could say funny."

Comic, "I have very high standards for funny."

Now, no one is socially retarded enough not to think of nice as a generic compliment. I believed at the time, and still believe, that he was holding a validation card over my head to gain leverage.

The second red flag I ** just remembered. When I took him out to meet Lana for the first time, we sat in a cocktail bar where, under the table, his hand quickly migrated to my crotch. Despite trying to subtly discourage him, he persisted. No bueno.

The third red flag was when I took him to Lana's pre-engagement party and he hit on another girl at the party.

Last weekend, Em and I were saying that men must think they are so desired, that women never tell each other about being approached. Actually, we only wait as long as it takes for him to go to the bathroom. When The Comic sends a Facebook friend request or email to any woman I know, I find out immediately. That's how we operate.

It was no big deal, we only saw each other for a few weeks and I was trying to strategize my way out of my own life. My dating life was not a priority.

The rest of the year, The Comic continued to text, write and call. I ignored him for the most part. After Abe and I broke up, I started talking to Comic a little bit. He wrote this long letter apologizing, it was thought out enough that I responded. Then, I answered a text, then a phone call then agreed to meet for coffee. So we are now kinda friends I suppose.

Last week, he donated his old iPhone to me since mine was stolen. I could not restore his phone with my laptop, since I get an error that the phone is corrupted. My laptop has issues. I can not erase all of his files- so I worked on his memos, text messages, contacts . . . manually deleting and replacing with my own.

When I opened Safari, a page popped up:

eHow: How to Seduce ANY woman into bed

It starts with:

"This is a quick guide on how to SEDUCE women and win the "game" EVERY TIME - and how to make them LOVE YOU for it."

1) Before you start attempting any seductions, you need to get in the right MINDSET. And here it is in brief. DON'T be a "nice guy". I don't care what the media is feeding the public these days, the fact is women DON'T like "nice guys". In fact, all the things we men think are "nice" - buying her drinks, gifts, dinners; complimenting her OVER and OVER every minute; asking her "interview"-style questions; talking only about boring "safe" non-sexual topics... all of these things FAIL to attract women. In fact, if you do these things, women will only see you as either (a) an asexual FRIEND and nothing more (i.e. a girlfriend with a pecker) or (b) a creepy, needy perv who sucks up to her and is only being "nice" to try to get her into bed. Being "nice" and effeminate and needy only leads to REJECTION.

~I almost feel like my own narrative isn't really necessary, but here we go. Any man who bookmarks this page is by DEFAULT a creepy, needy perv.

Let's break this down by where I see consistencies with his approach towards me and this poorly written article:

ATTRACTION: have fun with this. Tease her, tell an interesting SHORT story about a recent experience, and find out about her interests (AVOID subjects like work, school, etc. unless you can USE them as part of a quick story or tease). Teasing a girl shows you're a fun guy who's not afraid of losing her. It SUBTLY shows that you are an Alpha Male with LOTS of options. See her open up. She will begin enjoying your company if you flirt the RIGHT way. And this includes light touching (on the arm or shoulder). You MUST touch her gradually to get her interested. Women respond to touch and it is VERY important for them, but not too suddenly at first.

~The Comic teases. In conversation, he talks very fast and is usually running some kind of inner monologue aloud. I am not sure if he assumes people around him are slower than his sense of humor, but I believe most of us don't fully understand what he says or what the reference is. He is then quick to cut out and segue. He is always on, as they say.

GET THE NUMBER. Within a few minutes, if she looks busy, you act busy too - say "hey I gotta bounce now but you seem pretty fun/cool. I'd love to continue this sometime." Or something along those lines. Don't sound "iffy" or unsure. Then hold your cell phone forward, pointing at the center of her chest (this is a SECRET trick that triggers her reflex to take the object) and say "punch in your 10 digits" or something similar to that. Word it your OWN WAY, so it's unique.

The main point here is you don't ASK if you can have the number - you just TELL her to put it in your cell phone as if you're already going to get it anyway. A guy who does it like this, looks like he's already used to getting LOTS of number from girls.

If she doesn't offer her number, just say: "here, type it in and I'll give you a call". Then say "see ya later" and go.

~The Comic totally had me punch my number into his phone.

10) The Day 2: here you continue rapport and comfort building, while still sparking attraction from time to time.

* Keep touching her periodically. Escalate (make the touching more intense gradually) Touch her arm, hand, HAIR (a big turn on), and shoulders. Also the back of her hips (ABOVE the buttocks, not on them) is a very sensitive area.

~The Comic is always touching me . . . first with my knee, then my leg, around my shoulder. UGH! Its frustrating because he will move next to me and I will know immediately where its going. I prefer to avoid humiliating people when they make fools of themselves.

So, when his hand lands on my knee,I get a little distracted but ignore it and try to budge my body away. When his hand moves up, I ask him, "Why is your hand there?" He acts surprised with my reaction, lifts his hands off of me. Time passes and repeat.

You might ask, "Why would you ever hang out with someone who repeatedly touches you when he knows its unwanted?" In my mind, I want to prove that I can handle guys like Comic. Two things combined: I appreciate that he has a good sense of humor and might be his friend if I was a dude. Also, I refuse to let him make me uncomfortable.

(For some reason men think women HAVE to be their friend if they are nice to them. We don't HAVE to play by any rules you don't play by. Nice is not enough.)

* Tease her occasionally to let her know you are STILL not sold, and she still has to prove herself to YOU.

~The Comic recently said that the television did me no justice when I was on BAGGAGE. "You are much prettier in person." Now . . . that isn't a compliment.

But I think, I can call a spade a spade and move on.

* At some point you KISS HER. When you've already touched the ears, hair, neck, and possibly cheeks, start with smelling her neck and tell her it smells good. Then kiss her ears.

~Smelling someone's neck before kissing them is creepy.

* Within 5 minutes you should be kissing her on the LIPS. If she resists, go back to kissing her where she was comfortable (neck or ears). Do more kino (touching), then STOP for a while. Then do it again soon after. This is called "fractionation" or "push-pull". You take away those good feelings of touch for a while, then start giving them again. This builds up a woman's BUYING TEMPERATURE (i.e. her desire to "buy the goods" so to speak). Seduction is always a "soft sell", but it's done hands on without fear or shyness.

~It doesn't feel good. It reminds very specifically like being in the community pool when I was 13 and feeling my friend's stepfather swim between my legs, put his head in my crotch and thrust me out of the water. Freak.

* If she keeps resisting the kiss, don't push it. She's probably overwhelmed at this point. Keep fractionating (hot, cold, hot, cold) and she will eventually come around.

~Overwhelmed or disgusted?

*You should already be running this whole process on several women, have 3 or 4 in the rotation so that if one flakes or goes cold on you DESPITE your best efforts at fractionation, you still have (This isn't a typo on my part- the sentence actually stops here like this)

~OK . . . The Comic and I really never got very far sexually, which is part of the reason I think he is still in hot pursuit. If I never have intercourse with someone I dated, they will ping me for YEARS afterward, desperate to reconnect.

*You don't have to eat her out. Some girls don't like it, and most don't expect a guy to do it the first time. If she insists (which is rare) do whatever you're comfortable with. Don't EVER let a woman bully you. If you don't like to eat girls out, say so. She'll respect you more for it. But they almost NEVER demand it. Finger them at least though.

~Um . . . any girl that doesn't like it, hasn't had it performed correctly. And fingering is usually unpleasant. Men act like they should thrash about like they are trying to hit all sides of your canal as fast as possible. Ding! Ding! Ding! We aren't a cow bell! Unless their finger is on my clit or they are able to pull off a move like Abe's snow cone . . . it's a pass.

~A girl bullying a guy to perform oral . . . hahahahahaha. Fuck you!

* Get her totally naked, if she isn't already naked at this point.

* Let her give you a handjob. Then this will normally entice her to escalate to oral. Have her do oral on you. Most girls are okay with this, a few are hesitant. Enjoy whatever she's comfortable giving, even now, don't be pushy - there are lots of other girls, and now would be a BAD time to get whiny and scare her off. Pleasure her at the same time. Wipe your hands periodically. Wash your hands before the next step. They will be WET.

~HAND JOBS enticing a woman to BLOW you . . .hahahahahaHAHAHAHA! When will guys figure out that we are doing them a favor. I already have carpal tunnel, throw in an involuntary jaw click and then search my face for a smile.

Slip on the condom, and insert slowly. She will enjoy a slow initial entry more than a rapid one. Then pump her, alternate between fast and slow. Try a few different positions. Missionary, doggy style, and sideways are best for beginners. Don't attempt anal the first time, and certainly NOT without her knowledge. It will be painful and she may scream rape.

~If you need the above paragraph to guide you through intercourse- God did not intend for you to procreate. And last time I checked, if you stick your dick in someone's ass without their knowledge, it IS rape. Morons.

*As you sex her, touch other parts of her with your hands - arms, belly, breasts, all is fair game. She is you canvas, you are the artist. Kiss her while you're having sex, and especially French-kiss. If you can get her to turn her head and French kiss while you're taking he doggy style and bending over her, you're already a master. If you can do all this while fondling her boobs, you're a natural.

Make the experience exciting but also smooth and pleasurable. If you have the stamina, make her orgasm before you do. She will appreciate it a million times more than any gift or dinner. And she will definitely reciprocate and be ready for more in a few seconds.

If you are having trouble with seduction, or the steps don't make sense send me a private message and I may be able to answer you questions.

Now, the Comic had given me this wonderful iPhone. It doesn't ring or make sound, but it is an iPhone and for that I am grateful. However, the phone came with another night of discussion about why I won't date him. It's just so exhausting.

I almost think it is a way to wear me down, so I give in just because I am tired of saying no. But then wouldn't I just be too tired to even answer his calls? It is a mystery to me.

This whole confrontation came less than an hour from another conversation with a male friend who wants to take our relationship to the next step. There is no reason for me not to date him, he is nice, supportive, a great friend, funny-


Cue . . . Abe. I text him. I tell him I am going on a date with someone via text.

There is no answer and I feel like a total asshole. So I send a pic of myself.

No answer. Now I feel like a pathetic asshole.

I text him that it hurts he isn't responding.

He answers. "What about yr date?"

Me: "I was hoping you would talk me out of it."

Abe: "LOL, Im not supposed to talk U out of. Im a guy."

Me: "Yes you are. If you want me."

Abe: "I would like it if you surprise came over with pot, cookies and wild tales of acting."

Me: "Maybe I will."

I did. Of course, there was the ho hum negotiation of time and place. I asked he drive here as a gesture, but he had to atone for his sins in San Clemente the next day, so it made sense that I meet him before he drove further south.

I showed up and he was asleep. Mother fucker.

The neighbors across the way were smoking, drinking and talking amongst themselves. The boy said, "I can't believe you slept with that guy."

Girl, "I know."

Boy, "Disgusting."

I text. Call. Call again.

Boy, "I was tested like 4 months ago, so I know I'm clean."

The door opened. I said, "Is Abe there?"

"I am Abe."

Me, "Let me in."

I walked in and set down everything on his desk. He followed me in and turned on the light.

Abe: "Let me look at you." He stopped me, then held my face in his hands and smiled.

I was chatty. He was nervous.

I thought, "The chemistry might not still be there."

He kissed me. The chemistry was still there. God, what IS that tingling and flutter?

Then I thought, sexual chemistry doesn't mean we are a match otherwise.

Conversation chased the nerves. He said, "I noticed that I cuss like my father. He cuts himself off, like 'God Dam-' or 'Go to-' 'Assh-'

I laughed hard. I confessed to him thoughts I was having about my career, about my family. He asked if I kissed anyone else and I turned my head and closed my smile. He groaned.

He asked me about the guy I was going on a date with and grew closer to my face.

Little things he did, like jolting up suddenly to take off his sweatshirt in one swift move. So quirky. I love that, whatever it is. How can he feel familiar?

I had psyched myself into saying I was only visiting him for closure. As soon as he touched me, I knew that I wouldn't have the heart to do that.

We stayed up all night.

The next morning when he walked me to my car- he leaned in to kiss me. We both had sunglasses on so they clinked when he reached in for my lips. Then, he lifted up both our sunglasses at the same time so we could see each other's eyes during the kiss. He has these big blue eyes, they started wide then narrowed into a grin. Something about that moment feels precious.

So I came back home and realized I just sabotaged myself and my date. I napped, I thought, I cleaned and thought some more.

Abe called last night to tell me how he felt. Writing the words he spoke here seems unfair because the words alone are clunky. It wasn't the words that won me back. It was listening to him pace back and forth on his cell phone, outside a donut shop in the middle of the night, telling me how he felt for the first time.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

The Ameritrade Commercial

I was booked on an Ameritrade commercial yesterday. It was a night call which was especially jarring since 2 days before I had to get up around 4:45am for CSI: NY (background).

Picking up Matt at 6:30pm, we barely had enough time to iron our clothes, drink coffee and smoke bud. We managed. He climbed into my car and I told him to grab my tupperware bud kit from the back seat. He said, "You just keep it out in the open like this?"

I said, "Its the last place anyone would expect it . . . and my car is such a mess anyway, it would give anyone a headache to look back there."

We took in some Western Wind, so far my favorite medicinal blend, and headed into the tail end of rush hour traffic in Los Angeles.

The shoot was at Union Station, which I was only slightly familiar with. We maneuvered around the many inner driveways, entrances, parking lots and garages until we got to the right parking structure and were directed to the 4th floor. There we saw no signs for set or people.

It is a huge parking structure, so huge I couldn't see where it ended on the north side. On the south side there was an elevator we took up with a couple of tourists. We ended up outside on a lower roof area with no pathway off the building and a Denny's sign in the distance. So we went back down. I got the feeling the couple didn't want us to continue following them since Matt's eyes were red and I insisted on narrating the entire elevator ride as a story in real time.

I led Matt towards the other end of the garage, which was infinite black. There was no traffic. We picked up another actor on our way, a 20-something blond kid with a white hoodie. He seemed very quiet, so Matt and the Boy ended up following me as I led us into a service elevator. There was no indication this was a service elevator, although I do remember walking into a corridor that appeared to be a security desk.

The three of us walked into the elevator and I hit 2. Nothing happened. I kept tapping the numbers and the light wouldn't stick to the button. I realized you must be required to use a scan pass. I am talking, but honestly I am so stoned that it is just me speaking every thought as it is check-listed through my brain.

The elevator jumped half a step as if we were going to move, the doors sputtered a little open and then clammed shut like it was grinding its jaws. I realized we were trapped and that's when I couldn't stop laughing.

The Boy turned to Matt and said, "What if this is the devil's work?"

Matt was quiet. I hit the call button. A deep voice came on the other end announcing his station.

I pressed the button (later The Boy said that the Deep Voice couldn't hear me because I pressed my entire body, including my face, against the elevator wall to talk). Why would I do that? I remember being confused about where to put my mouth when I spoke to him. I could not see little speakers so I was standing on my toes shouting, "Yes, hello, we are trapped-"

The voice said, "Hello? HELLOOO!"

I held the button down and said, "Yes, we're here. We are trapped-"

The voice said, "Fine just stand there and don't talk." Then he hung up. I turned and laughed hysterically while both Matt and the Boy faced me with their mouths open. I could see they were more affected by the situation than myself. So I turned back and hit the bell a few times, the elevator moved and opened its doors to a security guard holding his uniform on a hanger over his back.

I said, "Hi, we were trapped."

He said, "You aren't supposed to be here. This is the security office."

I said, "We need to get to Union Station."

He guided us out to the cars again and we were suddenly caught in a stream of building employees. The security guard asked them to guide us to the correct elevator, and a pudgy man with glasses offered to walk us there. He escorted us to the elevator and we took it to P, not P1 or L but P.

We arrived on the first ground level of Union Station. The building looked like a bright apricot with the orange street lights lining the spine of the road. Again, no signs, no people.

We wandered into the front doors and climb down a long, winding staircase to end up in the front lobby of Union Station. There was a big mural with faces of different races painted across the high wall. Those people were staring at us.

Two cops and a security guard were at the bottom of the stairs. I asked them about the Ameritrade commercial shoot.

They said the shoot was going to be right there but no one set up yet. He pointed to the utility power cords (stingers) and said, "That's all they have ready. Wait here with us, nothing will happen without you if you stay."

The woman who books my audience work and background commercial jobs is named Darla. She is a shorter woman of about 60 yrs old, bleached blond hair and a little smudge of mascara below her eyes. Everyone has been yelled at by Darla. She is short tempered, particular and a workaholic.

She will send 3 emails complaining about my wording and claim she has no time to deal with clarifying instructions then drag out the argument for 15 minutes via email ping pong.

Other people have more colorful stories, but Darla never has the nerve to say anything to my face. She is simply cold to me now. She still books me. I don't care if she likes me or not, business is business and I show up (pretty much) on time.

The words of the police officer "Stay here and wait" were floating overhead. I looked up and said, "I can feel Darla in the building." If we didn't check in by call time, she would shove her feet so far up our corresponding asses we would be her new pair of loafers.

I saw another actor, a middle aged Hispanic guy with a wardrobe bag over his shoulder. I briskly walked towards him and relayed the information. He said he found a crew member and we had to go all the way down this hallway and turn left.

So I am walking faster than the Boy and Matt, but I continue to check over my shoulder to make sure they are within ear shot. I feel like Mama Bear. We wind around the building (no signs to set) and end up in a dining area where the crew is eating what looks to be delicious, warm food.

It wasn't a long shoot- but when you do all nighters, time tends to slow down. You get hungry, cold and grouchy. I also had the munchies and kept eying people's non vegan food.

Matt and I checked in on time, barely. With Darla I am cold, she reminds me too much of my bitchy bosses. I understand menopause is a difficult time for everyone- we will all turn into monsters at some point. That said, I don't engage the monster. Matt tries to be polite, thank her, ask her some questions about how she is ... she loves that shit, tosses her hair back and blows off the question. I get the same amount of work as Matt, so why bother.

I saw an actress with three changes of clothes on hangers in one hand and a muffin in the other. Amateur. I brought my clothes in a suit case and would never (chuckle) eat a muffin.

Matt brought two thermoses with him, vanilla tea in one and coffee in the other. We both hate the standards of coffee on set. One thermos was pink- so Matt would ask me to hold it while we drank from it.

Eventually, he drank all the tea out of the black one just so he could switch everything out of the pink one. He really did not want to hold a pink thermos.

At the crafty table, I saw Starburst for Matt.

Me: Do you want a Starburst?

Matt: Pink lemonade or cherry.

I handed him a red one.

Matt: They should make starburst into the size of a Rubik's cube.

Me: With different colors and flavors or just one flavor per cube.

Matt: Just one, like cherry or pink lemonade.

Me: How would you eat it?

Matt: Like an apple, biting pieces out of it.

The woman next to me was older and accessorized beautifully with her scarf and jewelry.

Me to Woman: I like the pink you've got going on. Matt's favorite color is pink. He has that pink thermos and prefers pink candy.

Matt: It's my girlfriend's thermos.

We were subway pedestrians in this commercial. I would try to liven things up by making games like rudely bumping into Matt no matter where he wandered in the scene.

On the other side of set, I was conversing with a middle aged woman. I am sure at one time she was very beautiful. She had blond, fine hair and bright blue eyes that popped out of the sun damage and worry lines. She was a divorcee with three kids, raising them on her own.

Me: It must be difficult raising three kids.

Blond Actress: Well, its expensive. Even with the alimony and the child support, its really difficult to make ends meet. We qualify for the free lunch program at my daughter's school. There are so many programs white people don't know anything about. So much is made available.

Me: Well, its hard times. I am pretty sure we are about to dunk into a depression, though no one is saying that out loud.

Blond Actress: I KNOW! I think we are. Its like they keep telling us everything is getting better when its not. Just to keep us from freaking out.

Me: Yeah. Well its good there are programs.

Blond Actress: I found out it also qualifies me for food stamps, but I would have to get out the hat and sunglasses so nobody recognizes me. I live in Newport Beach.

Me: You shouldn't worry-

Blond Actress: Oh no, I don't care what people think, that doesn't matter to me. I think I probably qualify for food stamps, but I would have to tell them what kind of car I drive and I just don't want them to know.

Me: What kind of car do you drive?

Blond Actress: A Mercedes. Look, a car is a car. It gets you from one point to the other. They shouldn't take my food stamps away because of that.

Me: They are expensive in upkeep though, right?

Blond Actress: Very expensive.

Hm. I guess we aren't in a depression quite yet. On a new scene, I was directed on the same direction of pedestrian traffic as Matt for this camera set-up.

Matt: Would you want to have sex with the wardrobe lady?

Me: If I was a middle aged lesbian in Alaska. Would you?

Matt: (silence) . . . yeah.

I looked around and said, "I don't see anyone I would fornicate with." Just as I said fornicate my eyes landed on one of the crew guys who immediately stopped smiling at me.

Me: I want to shake the hand of the man who invented the tampon.

Matt: A simple idea that stuck. Like peanut butter and jelly.

We were pretty stoned. I was delighted the high could follow me all the way to midnight. The first thing you do when you arrive to set is try to figure out how long of a day is ahead of you. No one wants to tell you because shooting is so unpredictable, so it is difficult to be patient and exist in a space without any idea of how much time you will have to spend there. The set owns you til it decides to let you go.

We were booked for 10 hours but they said they would try to get us out in 8. Once we heard that, the collective line of focus switched to how long until lunch break? A production is legally obligated to break you after 6 hours. If you are on a location you can not leave, as opposed to a "walk away lunch", the production is obligated to feed you.

After 2am, we were not broken for lunch. Then the collective line of focus moved to "MP". An MP is a Meal Penalty. If they do not feed you after 6 hours, even if you are non-union, you are compensated. With union its a big deal, but with non-union, its $8.

So at 3am, when everyone started cheering for meal penalty, I said, "Big deal, we can afford to go to a matinee, in SOME cities."

The final scenes took place using a Metro car in the tunnels. We all hope to be next to the principle actor with lines so we can see ourselves in the commercial. An older woman was switched with me so I could stand next to the principle. The old actress frowned at me.

I sat on my luggage. The actor turned to smile at me.

Me: You are the face America identifies with. They are looking to you for where to invest their money in these hard times.

Principle: Yeah, I sound like a fucking asshole.

We wrapped around 4:30am and were allowed to grab from their catered breakfast. I grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and dumped diced onions in it just for kicks. Not bad.

Matt and I agreed not to smoke anymore since we were so exhausted. Matt had call at 8:45am and I had to feed my animals in a few hours.

I am still exhausted . . . my love affair with the lifestyle of a stoner is slowly tapering out. I find myself in periods of longer sobriety. I am getting over Abe, and that is a whole new series of awkward, unwanted feelings. I loved having a long crush on Abe, I loved dating Abe and I even loved missing Abe. Its hard letting go of romance . . . its like leaving home and for a permanent vacation. I would rather just stay home.

I texted him,
"I just had 6 orgasms thinking about you. So you see? You are good at something..."

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Shame & Satisfaction

This past week has been still water. No auditions. No jobs. Which was fine, actually, since the gas tank was below E and I had absolutely no cash to fill up my car. So I did what any financially destitute artist would do . . . got stoned and watched the Golden Girls.

When my unemployment check came in, I called Em over to drive me to the bank. She showed up and we tried to keep a conversation going as we chugged along the freeway.

Me, "So, I sent Abe an email for closure and wrote him this text: 'I sent you an email that is important to me. No response necessary."
She said, "Why did you say no response necessary. Now he isn't going to respond."
Me, "He is doing the exact opposite of everything else I say, so I thought I would tell him not to do something . . . to do it."

Am I endlessly pathetic, or what? Eh, whatevs. I would rather be the one to hope for the best and reach out, than be the one who gives up and shuts down. At least that's what I tell myself at night. I am ok with looking like a fool in exchange for the occasional letter, which really does help me. I am not ashamed, I am just a really, really good girlfriend. (ha ha) I don't have the heart to disappear like they do.

She said, "I am still feeling a little fuzzy from last night."
I said, "I feel stoned."
Em, "Are you sure you aren't?"
Me, "I don't know. Time is moving so slowly right now, I have no way to tell."

The depression was sinking in this week. If I don't work, my mind gets dark.

We went to the bank and then stopped off for hair conditioning packets and coffee. We were in her truck and she was trying to light her cigarette. I offered to help and shook the lighter up and down.

I was telling Em how I hung out with an old college buddy Tuesday night. He asked if I had any ganj and invited me back to his apartment in Venice. I walked in and sat on the bed with my little tupperware package to pack the first bowl.

He said, "You don't waste any time, do you?"
I said, "I am going through a break-up. I don't let a moment of noticed sobriety pass me by."

The flame jumped up in from of Em. "Finally!!!" she said as she sucked in the smoke. "I can think now, what were you saying?"

I love her.

She spoke to me about something called Fashion Night Out in the Melrose area. A new thing in LA, I guess. The invite was hard to read on our iPhones but we decided to get out and keep the blood moving.

I went to Ross with my birthday gift card I was holding on to for 9 months to buy something to wear, anything but my few default dresses. Some of my clothes are from high school. It makes me crazy that I never have money to buy my own clothes. With all the hand me downs and Christmas clothes, its hard not to be embarrassed and constantly feel out of sorts. Especially when people start to notice you are wearing the same clothes to set over and over. And now, since I started dieting as an actress, they are all a size too big . (Important note: dieting as a regular person goes in another category entirely)

Usually, I hate shopping, however dresses are the exception. I walked over to the dress section, size 6 . . . fucking hallelujah. I started seeing things I liked, the first few came with a mild justification and a "Just to see what it looks like." Then I started pulling handfuls of dresses off the rack. I said to myself, "You're freaking out." Another handful of dresses. "Freaking . . . out."

I hang my head in shame and satisfaction.

We all assumed the party was really not going to take off until after 10pm (like all good parties). Jaq and I arrived at 10 and the Fred Segal event was out of alcohol. We walked through the store because that's what people were doing. I made eye contact with men through the crowd like a pin ball machine. "Gay" "Gay" "Gay" . . . Jaq seems to find the tall, skinny boys after her first panoramic scan. That's her type.

Usually, I am not attracted to men right off the bat unless there is something unusually appealing about them. The male models were too pretty. The young guys too young. The old guys too old. And everyone else too confident. I don't know- smug. I just don't think I am in the mood to date.

We were supposed to meet up with Em and some of her friends. We went to Betty Johnson and found wine to be drunk. We were only given a 1/4 of a plastic cup's worth by two men wearing shirts, one pink and the other black, with the words "Boys (heart) BJs" on them. West Hollywood indeed.

A tall, skinny boy (hot white trash, it does exist) approached them, slurring that he didn't like the implication of their shirts. I knew Jaq would be all over this kid and somehow we got on a sidebar conversation with him. My argument was that you can't give girls blow jobs. How did we arrive to that conversation point?:

-Boys (heart) blowjobs
-Moron, "Not all boys enjoy giving them."
-Wine Pouring Gays, "Its more about receiving them."
- Moron, "Then put everybody loves blow jobs"
- Me, "But girls can't get blow jobs."

In the Land of Stupid, sometimes you need a point by point in conversation. Moron's argument to me was that he blew his girlfriend like a trombone and she would achieve orgasm. Jaq laughed and I was enjoying the visual as he used two hands to build his hypothetical vagina in mid-air so we could witness his talent.

Then, he went on about how he is in medical school, something about transferring to a Mexican school and being a professional soccer player. Then towards the end, he said he and his girlfriend just broke up. Of course.

The problem with my sarcasm is that I am sarcastic so much people mistake my serious conversation for sarcasm. So even when I am trying to have a real conversation a few shades into dumb, Jaq was laughing. I could tell he was catching on that we weren't taking him seriously. He slurred, "You shouldn't make fun of the successful." Say it, don't spray it.

Jaq was interested. Probably a genetic match for her. So I was patient and just wanted to look at pretty dresses.

A group of people asked if we could take their picture and the 23 yr-old medical student/professional soccer player (not) said, "I don't do stuff like that." Nice. So I took it then had the delightful pleasure of watching a homeless man walk in to the store and stare at everyone from the top platform leading into the main show room.

He stared at them. They stared at him.

Em arrived finally with her friends, a couple chicas and some gay gents, and we walked up and down Melrose looking for a bar or a party. Nothing. Fashion Night Out started at 6pm and was withering out and dying. So we decided to go 80s dancing and said goodbye to our gay escort. It hurts to lose the gays, they really make an evening complete. I long for their friendship. (sigh)

There is a club on Hollywood called Perversions. On Friday night, its called Clockwork Orange. I used to go there when I was in Grad school and eventually dragged Not for Profit there on birthdays. It isn't too crowded and the main floor is great 80s music. There are two other rooms, Top 40 and Electronica.

Now, there are rules for when I go dancing:

A) Usually, I don't drink because I need my balance and sweat it all out anyway. This evening I made an exception, not sure why.

B) I do not want to meet men when I am dancing. I just want to dance. When approached, I tell them I am a lesbian and introduce them to a girl friend. This is kind of a risk because in the case the man gets more excited, you have a harder time shaking him off. That said, I was introducing Jaq as my girlfriend and she is very good at shutting guys down right away. Still not sure how to do that.

B1) When all the girls went out to smoke, I stayed in and danced with a guy that looked like a tall version of Pedro in Napoleon Dynamite. Now why did I make the exception for Peach Fuzz Mustache? Well, dorks and nerds aren't confident enough to hassle you. They usually don't jump into dirty dancing right away either so you can have a nice arm over shoulder dance with Pedro and cut out as he pulls you in closer. He won't bother you again. Rah Rah for low self-esteem.

C) I always hold my drinks and my purse.

Em asked to jump on stage to dance- which was open for anyone to dance on. We put our purses in one central area and danced. Occasionally, I would pick up my purse and hold it over my arm while dancing. Em got me another drink and I chugged it, stupidly. I was already feeling dehydrated and woozy.

There was a cute, olive skinned boy I danced with who never touched me. He asked me if I would consider being in his comedy improv group. I gave him my card. I wonder what it was about my Sir Mix A Lot (though released in 92' was still played last night in the 80s room) that inspired the offer. We'll see if he calls.

There are few things in the world I enjoy as much as dancing to 80s music. I can't stop when I get started. I will get cramps in my side, parched, sweaty, hoarse, tired . . . but one after another, the songs made me dance more and More and MORE . . . wait, where was my purse?

Gone. FUCKING GONE. Bunny, Em's friend, said she was guarding the purses all night. It must have been slipped off my arm when a guy came up behind me to dance. That happened like 6 or 7 times. Or it fell off my arm while I was dancing. Or . . . wtf? Doesn't matter. SHIT.

I went down to the security guard and told him my purse was missing. He said he couldn't leave his spot. I said, "Can't you tell the guys at the exit?" You know, to see if someone walks out with it. The security guard says, "You can walk over there and tell them yourself." So I did, fucking useless.

The lights went up and Em, Jaq and the two new friends went through the club like mad women looking for my purse. I had a tab at the bar and the bartenders were ignoring me. I shouted, "Can you sign me out!!!?" I was LOSING my shit.

Bunny came walking up with my purse. I showered her with gratitude and then saw my wallet and phone were gone. My car keys were left behind. Bunny said, "Security said they grabbed him and he dropped the purse and ran." I know what happened, Security grabbed the purse and let the fucker go. Apathetic meat heads.

Thank God I have my car keys, I don't have a spare. Ok- despite my little prayer of gratitude now as I write this, last night I threw my purse against the wall and shouted, "I lost my boyfriend now I lose my fucking purse! FUCK!" (guess I am not over Abe yet, I was feeling over it) Everyone was telling me to calm down. I have had all day to ponder how else I could have reacted; what if I was a man- it would be expected I throw something, right? What if I was totally calm, that doesn't seem human . . .

Instead, my tears started pouring out. Here it came, my annual, public and very emotional break-down.

There is always some crisis- last year it was when my car burst into flames while I was driving to my sister's graduation in Las Vegas. I got out safely with all my paperwork and luggage (in the 45 seconds it took for the fire to move through my hood to my windshield) Everyone told me to calm down then too . . . and in retrospect I can see that it wasn't THAT devastating. Please keep in mind that I was watching my only form of transportation burn into ashes right in front of me. That warrants a break down, right?

I got on the ground and sobbed. I would scream things like "Why!!" or "My only asset!" The young male police officer who came by told me to calm down and call the insurance company for a tow.

When he started taking my car, I told him the insurance company was coming for it. He said, "Why didn't you tell me that 15 minutes ago?" I said, "Because like most men in my life, I took your advice and then didn't tell you about it." He was smiling on the inside.

Ok, so back at Perversions. 2am. Sobbing. I threw my purse two or three times and screamed, "POOR!!" or something to that effect. We went outside and there was a cop car with two male, 30 something police officers cuffing a dirty hippie. I told them my purse was stolen, and they asked me to wait while they dealt with the hippie. As far as I could tell, "dealing" with a stoner seemed to include staring blankly at each other before uncuffing him and letting him go.

Jaq and Bunny were trying to calm me down while Em texted and called my phone relentlessly, begging the asshole to give it back.

I was crying that way you cry when you are a kid, choking on your tears, mild hyper ventilation. I felt fucked. I JUST paid off that speeding ticket, now the parking ticket and THIS! No phone. No iPhone. How was I supposed to make my acting career work without one. I have no fucking money. NONE.

The cops stood there and I was very bitchy with them, too. I was just SO ANGRY. The cops were shit anyway.

Cops, "So, what do you want us to do?"
Me, "I don't know, talk to security about a description."
Cop (to security) "Do you have the description of the guy?"
Security, "It was the other guys inside, not me."

The cop shrugged his shoulders.

Me, "I guess going inside and talking to the right people would be too much to ask."
Cop, "HEY!" They always say that, like they are keeping you in check.
Me, "Or writing a report, that would be too much too? Of course, relax. Go bother some homeless kid. Far more productive."
Cop (slowly), "Ma'am. Calm down. Watch your tone."

Jaq felt them circling me. She stood up and said, "She's fine, just upset. Thank you for your help."

Me, "Help? Please. To protect and serve . . . what a joke."

Cop #2, "Hey, sleep it off."

Me, "Sleep off one beer? Brilliant advice. That will help a lot, thanks." I actually had a martini and two beers but sweat was soaking through my new dress and I didn't feel drunk. It wasn't the alcohol, it was the getting fucked part that was making me crazy.

Cop #1 turned back towards me, coldly.

Jaq, again, "Thank you! She's ok. I will take her home."

Cop #1, "You have a good night. Good luck with your purse."

Me, "Go to fucking hell." Oh yeah, I said that.

Things I hate about Hollywood cops:
1) How they handle domestic violence cases
2) How long for them to show up to a domestic violent situation after you call
3) How they handle their jobs in general

I cried on Bunny's shoulder, I told her my parents weren't helping me. That I was behind on rent. That I have all these animals to take care of and I feel like I am totally fucked. She said, "Everyone is going through it. Everyone is." Normally, I wouldn't find that to be such a comfort, but it was.

I know more people who are unemployed than employed now. Rod #2 told me the repo man is after his car. I don't have kids or a mortgage. I am not sick, rather healthy, young-ish and pretty. I am one of the lucky ones.

Also- when you look back on the purse incident, I was ridiculously lucky:

1) I used the Ross gift card I kept in my wallet for the last 9 months that day. They would have grabbed that.
2) Keeping a tab at the bar, which was unusual for me, kept my driver's license and debit card safe.
3) I got my purse back and most importantly, my keys.

So, basically that mother fucking thief got an iPhone that was starting to go bad anyway, a couple maxed out credit cards, my Bally fitness card and a whole stash of my business cards. Good work.

Jaq drove me back to her place since we carpooled and I insisted on going back home to my animals. And, of course, I called Abe at a payphone and left a voicemail. I was crying, cold, and just wanted to connect to someone I had been intimate with.

Abe and I had a brief affair, but we achieved a comfort level I don't have with the others. I was also hoping for some right-brained counseling. Mostly just a friend. He never called me back. Right, he doesn't love me. I get it, but . . . I thought the kid had a soul.

UPDATE*** Abe called twice in the middle of the night Saturday. Thanks to my pre-historic new flip phone I couldn't answer in time. I got on-line and had a nice chat with him. Turns out a Costa Mesa Cognac party can throw you into a Singapore time zone.