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."

Silence.

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:

SPIKE (TO HUMAN)
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.

SPIKE (CONT’D)
What now?

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

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

MIKE
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

SPIKE
(to human) Tell me what you know.

MIKE
Nice!

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

MIKE
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."

Sides:

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."

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