I was booked on a Bank of America commercial today. This one was supposed to be a good job $150/10 hours. Well . . . the booking agency (sister to the booker) took 10% off leaving us $135 before taxes. Not to mention the monthly membership to get booked which is $25. BUT, the good news is the whole job wasn't expected to go over 6 hours. And when they book you for a minimum (in this case 10 hours), they have to pay you for the that minimum no matter what.
Matt and I arrived to set. The security guard for the set impatiently mimed that I should stop and roll down my window. I did. He instructed me to drive around the block and park in the lot. I said, "So I can't park here on the street?" He said, "Yeah, you can . . . if you want to pay a $185 parking fine."
Me, "(lowly) I just wanted a straight answer but (louder) Thank you!" Why WHY do older men have to make such an event out of giving me advice? They have to stop everything they are doing, create a mood, do the set-up . . . blah blah blah! Say what you need to say. NO.
We arrived and ran into Glasses and his friend with aviator mirrored sunglasses on; we can call him Strother Martin or Boss for short. I think Boss looked like a 41 yr-old, 5'8, white bread American cop.
Here is the introduction to Boss:
Boss: "I was engaged once. We were together for 6 years and then I left her for a nurse. That was only 3 months and she left me for another doctor. I got back together with my girlfriend but she was pregnant with another man's baby at the time. And I was like 'Fuck that, I don't want another guy's kid.' But you know, she and I really connected, there was a bond there I still think about."
Me, "Well, if there is that bond and you did really love her, you could have accepted the child and married her."
Boss: "Nah. I had stepdads. I don't want to put a kid through that."
Me, "Be a better man then."
Boss, "I don't have to be a better man."
Me, " . . . ok. Well, if you were really in love, you could have been. Now that love is gone, its hard to find."
Boss, "Oh, no. Its fine. Ending that relationship made room for the next girl I got engaged to."
He isn't married. Or engaged.
Glasses kicked off the beginning of the evening with a joke. "Why did cavemen drag women by the hair? Cause the other way around they were picking up too many rocks." (Beat) I don't want to have dinner with him.
Matt was quiet, as usual. So I was left with the Boss. Hm. Boss. Not a genetic match for me, and yet . . . he insisted on trying to entertain me ALL night long. The most effort I exerted on set was forcing laughs at his jokes.
He balanced a twisted white napkin on his upper lip and said in a terrible British accent, "Is this sexy, my lady? Am I sexy?"
"That light on your phone really brings out your eyes. You should really text a lot more. You look hot."
Boss, "I have very gentle, caring hands. It tends to put people at ease when I touch them."
Me, "I hear Jesus had the same effect on people."
Boss, "Yes, I taught him well."
Me, "Oh, you really look great for your age. What are you, closing in on 2,000?"
Boss, "He was a little one, I raised him up."
Boss, "That's a joke. That I am Jesus' father . . . you know . . . so I am God."
Me, (pause) (head nod) "Work on that one."
Glasses would interject some lame "my Uncle was a molester" joke or "we are really homosexuals but are joking because we alter our voice" type things.
I brought back hard candy for everyone at our little table in holding. Boss ate his piece and handed me the empty wrapper.
Boss, "I am a giver. I reciprocate."
Me, "Except in this case, you actually made me the receptacle." I thought that was pretty clever.
Then he did this Gawd awful George W. Bush impression. I could see him performing it at home for his family on holidays. After a few glasses of the nog, they could think it was hilarious. It is . . . not. I asked for an impression of Obama and he tried to contort his face to a monkey. (Oh, yes. So Cop-esque . . . Coppy . . . looks like a Cop, smells like a Cop)
I said, "Um . . . Obama is hot."
Boss, "Well, he does his pimp walk to the podium."
I said, "I didn't notice that. In a lot of ways he is the ideal man."
Boss, "He is a hard worker, invested in everything he does, intelligent, but he is not perfect, he is human."
I said, "Yeah, so? I was talking about him as a mate not a president. Does that guy over there look like Shia Labeouf?"
Boss, "Oh. So far this evening you have only talked to me about your ex-boyfriend and other guys you are attracted to."
I said, "What does that tell you?"
Boss, (thoughtful pause)"That you're horny."
No. It means I am not interested in you.
I said, "Hm . . . interesting."
Boss, "Well how would you like it if I told you that my ex-girlfriend gave me the best blowjob I have ever had?"
I said, "Usually stories come with a beginning, middle and end. Your stories just have ends. "
Boss, "Its just an example."
I said, "Right, but what made it the best blow job ever?"
Boss, "I don't want to talk about it."
I said, "That makes no sense, you brought it up."
He shook his head frantically, as if to indicate I totally don't get what he is saying or that I confused him. I think he believed the former when it fact it was the latter. (sidenote* I really hate it when people act like you don't get the joke/idea when you have simply moved on to save them the humiliation of suckage (n. the act of sucking)
I did tell him I was stoned. Now, before I embark on this part of the blog- I should state quite openly that a few weeks ago I decided that I would get stoned everyday until I am over the whole Flip Flop situation. I am not ADDICTED. I don't have a PROBLEM. I just have an easier time dealing with romantic crisis in an altered state.
I still work all the time and seem to do fine. I walk my dogs, do all necessary chores, balance my budget, drive safely . . . I am able to resume my life as I did before without the neurosis and heartache. " . . . it's a fool's game. Nothing but a fool's game . . . standing in the pouring rain . . ." Ok, I won't get that song back in my head.
I also watched this film called SUPER HIGH ME, about a guy who smoked marijuana for 30 days straight. He went through various tests sober from the month before and then 4 weeks later stoned straight. Changes recorded while in a cannabis state included: SAT score slightly higher, sperm count slightly higher, psychic ability slightly higher, short term memory moderately higher and weight added 8 lbs.
Since I have been smoking regularly, I feel much more rested, less emotionally driven and more creatively motivated. Its also easier for me to do tedious things like clean, organize, train Psycho Cake, etc etc. Overall, it has greatly improved my quality of life. I don't think its a permanent change, I want to keep sharp. That said, I don't feel like my mind has dulled at all. I think I am just looking at everything differently. I have more time now.
I made a comment about how Matt and I baked, and at first Boss responded with slurred speech and tried to fuck with me. I said, "I am STONED not drunk, that's not the effect it takes. Have you ever been stoned?" He said he only tried it twice then he laid into me about it. He said things like "Pot opens the doors to other drugs" "Pot is addictive" "Pot is for terminal patients only."
I said, "Do you know where you live? Um, you're in California. Pot is used to treat anxiety, depression, all sorts of conditions."
He just spoke over me, "For terminal patients only! Nobody gets that!"
I said, "Not in California. Wait, what state are you from?"
He said, "Before I answer that, I should preface that I worked in the medical field for 8 years."
I said, "Ok."
Again, me, "What state are you from?"
He said, "I don't want to answer that anymore." What do you think Texas or Kentucky?
He asked me if I thought it was professional to come to set/work stoned. I said, "In general, no. But I do fine with it. In fact, it has made me more patient."
He looked at me, "If [the booker] knew, do you think she would still book you?" I said, "I don't know, but I should state here that I hope this conversation is kept between us and you don't share this information with [the booker] or anyone else on set. I am pretty open with it, but I would prefer you not say anything."
He said, "Are you paranoid?" He moved his eye brows up and down with a sinister look.
Suddenly, I remembered driving there an hour before down Wilshire with Matt. I was holding a pipe and lighter in the left hand while steering with the right. Out of the blue, 4 cop cars came ripping down the street. I couldn't turn to the side because we were buried in moderately bad rush hour traffic.
So I said, "What do we do?"
Matt said, "Uh . .. "
So we just froze there in the middle of the road. The four cops spun around us, and in the third car I saw a Hispanic female cop yelling with a very unpleasant look on her face as she passed by. Me, "Whoa, did you see that face?" Matt, "She was . . . not happy."
Matt and I broke out laughing. Two more cop cars sped towards us.
To Boss, "No, I am definitely not the paranoid type."
Boss, "It didn't even occur to me to go to [the booker] to rat you out. That's the product of a paranoid mind."
I said, "I am having an adult conversation with you about something personal. I asked you if you could keep this between us. I am being very upfront and honest with you, that's not paranoia."
Boss still tried to give me shit and then I said, "You are like one of those guys that tries to make me feel bad for asking about the last time you took an STD test. That's so . . ."
Boss ended with "cowardly." Yes. It is.
He tried to win me back after that, stating that I was very defensive. I just didn't want to go back to 1987 to talk about marijuana when I live in 2010.
Boss had decided to put 100% of his focus on conversation with me, which seemed like a very poor investment. I noticed Glasses checking us out from afar, wondering if his friend was getting anywhere with me.
In the bathroom, there was this girl I call Crazy Butch. She isn't really butch; she is feminine actually, very skinny, olive complexion with a black, pixie hair cut. Men drool over her for some reason. I see her gain the attention of game show hosts, audience fluffers and Matt noticed her. I think her eyes are too close together.
I decided to hate her when she tried to cut in line one day on Catch 21. She asked the one guy ahead of me (when there were 6 girls) if she could jump in, which is bullshit. He said she had to ask everyone else since he was just one guy. She looked at me coldly. I just said, "Why?" She got flustered and stormed off, "Never mind, I guess. I will be late for my audition!" Join the fucking club, Butch.
Bygones. Now in the bathroom, she needed cover-up and asked if anyone had any. I offered her mine. The heat has made all of us break-out with those really impossible pimples that grow under your skin for a week before surfacing. She thanked me and asked my name, I told her, hoping she would forget.
Crazy Butch Babble, "And, you know, Lady Gaga says "If you don't have any shadows you're not in the light" So I think I am all good . . . if you only knew the shit I have had to go through in life."
What? Did she just get back from the Congo jungle . . . give me a break.
Crazy Butch Babble Pt. 2, "You know, people hated Jay-Z and Eminem so I don't care if they hate me. Right?"
I looked in the mirror, I really need to get some more eye liner to make my eyes pop out. I asked for hers. She gave me a look like I wanted to trade panties. Her head straightened out and she closed that big mouth of hers and smiled. "Sure" she said with saccharin. What a cunt.
You might get the impression that I didn't have a good time on set. It actually was one of the best jobs so far, actually. I only had to jump up and down for two 20 minute intervals and spent the rest of the night enjoying black coffee and BBQ potato chips. Has anyone thought of BBQ coffee flavor? Just a thought. Kind of gives it a smoky-something.
Its 4:30am. I could use a cup of soup and a warm body. Oh well, to the next one in my colorful little life. :P