Monday, March 28, 2011

Throw Me Away, but Keep the Paper Boats

I don't know if this blog entry will be worth any one's time. Right now, there is a grating against my heart and I just need some relief. After smoking a pack of cigarettes, I really think the only thing that can help take the weight off my chest is writing. Or else I will go crazy.

Abe and I have had intermittent communication the latter part of the week. I responded to his email:

Last night I had a dream we were wandering through Italy and were late for our own wedding. I made us stop at a sacred fountain so we could get a blessing, and your family was there trying to speed things along. I couldn't find the blessing from St. Augustine in all the tourist crap around us but eventually we stood in a small pool of water and took the blessing. My iPhone dropped in the water but I thought it was funny in the dream, so I am guessing I was in a financially better situation than I am now.

The fact is I love you a lot. My heart is really broken right now and I am trying to pick up the pieces and keep going.

If you aren't willing to pick up the phone and talk to me, this is where we will stay . . . now we are strangers.

I would love to see the man in you do me the respect of a real conversation. I think our relationship was precious and deserves some attention, even if its post-mortem.

I am not your high school girlfriend, I am a woman and a really good catch. Show me you see that.

 . . .

No response. You know who else hadn't called me? Atticus.

It's not that big of a deal. I knew it would bother me for the rest of the week, but not beyond. Its just the . . . disappointment. The silence.

At work, another girl said, "What's going on? I haven't seen my boyfriend in 2 weeks and I JUST got a text from him a few minutes ago, after several days. My girlfriend is going through something similar, too. Her boyfriend decided to tell her that he is going away on vacation for 3 weeks, with the girl he was dating BEFORE her. What the hell!?"

It doesn't stop there.

Another beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful girl took me out Friday night to a nice restaurant, since she got her tax return. We could order whatever we wanted off the menu, in our sloppy ponytails and dirty sweatshirts.

She left her boyfriend after being wooed away by a mutual friend. He spent a month flirting, promising, consoling her. When she made the leap to his arms, he became less attentive. He only came over for late evenings and brushed off suggestions to actually go OUT.

In this case, I advised her to cut him off and/or tell him that he is hurting her feelings, and just lay it all out for him. Its too easy to make a girl feel used. ROMANCE PEOPLE! He was responsive and took her to a bar last night. Baby steps.

We spoke about letting go of men and she said, "You can tell your friend to leave a guy a million times over and she won't do it. Jesus Christ himself could come down and say, 'Leave this guy. He is bad for you.' And the next day, he could show up, take you to Jack in the Box and tell you to order whatever you wanted- and you stick with him. That's just the way it works.You don't leave until you are ready to leave."

Unstick myself. That's what I have to do.

Seriously, I always wondered why the FUCK women ended up with Woody Allen; neurotic, small, not attractive . . . but lately I've been reminded of a scene in "Manhattan."

Woody runs into Diane Keaton during a rain storm, and they find shelter in a Planetarium. They don't kiss, they have some wicked banter and it grows into an intimate talk. I thought about the two of them, smiling at each other, wet and awkward . . . about to fall in love. Its something a woman would remember, but Woody Allen did. A man took a memory and made it into a haunting, charming, clumsy romantic scene.

Later, when they are about to have their first kiss:

I thought you wanted to kiss me
at the planetarium.
I did.
I thought so.
But you were going out with Yale then and
I would never in a million years interfere...
Did you want me to kiss you?
I don't know what I wanted.
I was so angry at Yale that day.

But you were so sexy.
You were soaking wet from the rain and I had a mad impulse
to throw you down on the lunar surface and commit
interstellar perversion with you.
I can't go from relationship to
relationship. It's senseless. I can't do it.
Well, what... Are you still
hung up on Yale? Is that the problem?
I've got too many problems. I'm really not the person
to get involved with. I'm trouble.

Hey, honey, 'Trouble' is my middle name.
What are you saying?
Actually, my middle name is Mortimer.                   
I'm... I'm kidding.

My problem is I'm both attracted and repelled by the male organ.
So it doesn't make for good relationships with men.
Why am I writing this? I don't even know why.


I hear the music now, in a different way than I had before. I knew they were stories, but lately, they seem like memories put on little paper boats and left on the river to sing to us as life keeps going on land.

All those beautiful, heartbroken stories put to music. Presents from the dead.

"She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak,
I've been locked inside your Heart Shaped box for weeks."

"Don't do me like that, don't do me like that
What if I love you baby, don't do me like that"

"This is the time, this is the place
So we look for the future
But there's not much love to go around
Tell me why this is a land of confusion"

"And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had
And what was left after that too."

"Cause' the love that you gave that we made wasn't able
To make it enough for you to be open wide"

"What have I become?
My sweetest friend.
Everyone I know,
Goes away, in the end.
And you could have it all,
My empire of dirt.
I will let you down.
I will make you hurt."

"Will you please let me stay the night?
Will you please let me stay the night?
No one will ever know."

"Lights will guide you home."

"For the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends.
Music is your only friend.
Until the end."

All those stories, rocking back and forth on little waves from the water, keep sailing by. And they can't be touched. Not even by their authors.


A male friend emailed me after my last blog. He wrote:

"I think you are selling yourself out short.  You're not making these guys work for you.  It is not that you are the prize, you are the partner. Don't settle for quick anything.  Be patient and trust that YOU are worthy of something more than even you expect."

I wrote something back:

"That doesn't nullify my desire to connect with someone the way I wanted to, physically and intellectually. Just because I am a girl doesn't mean everything has to be about holding my goods until I get a pay back on investment.

I wanted to be touched and held. I got what I wanted."

Don't I sound so tough?

The truth is, I really wanted to know I was worth a text message back. A 10 second text message.

To Abe, I am not even worth a phone call.

Are there so many wonderful girls out there with hearts on their sleeves that we are worth throwing away?

Saturday afternoon, I had an audition for a lead role in an independent feature film. The monologue was essentially a woman praying to God, begging to get pregnant.

In the audition, I started shaking. I worked up some tears and pathetically asked God why I didn't deserve a baby. In the corner of my eye, I saw the director look away from me in the middle of the audition, and stare at the floor by his foot.

When I left, I steadied myself on the staircase and said, "Let it go. You are not the character. Let it go." Then I walked out into a cloudy afternoon and drove to work at Doggie Daycare.

There is a Queensland Heeler named Zoe. She is kinda crazy, but we all think its funny. The other dogs can pick up on it, and sometimes they harass her. Zoe, being generally imbalanced, will bark and stalk and act kooky.

I called her out from under the jungle gym, where she was hiding from the others, when a boxer jumped on her and nipped her. There are dogs that will attack uneasy, nervous dogs. I assume to keep the pack strong.

When Zoe was bitten, she cried and buried her head in my lap to hide. I scolded the boxer, and while comforting Zoe. While stroking her raccoon coat, I said, "Its ok. I've got you."

I started crying. It was over nothing specific.
One by one, dogs came over to me and nuzzled me. A large doberman stood over me like a horse. A little terrier mutt climbed on my lap and pressed against my chest. A lab mix crawled underneath the doberman to lick the tears off my face. I buried my face in them. Soon, a quarter of the dogs there made a circle around me and waited for me to finish crying.

I found my core again, and stood up. Kept working. Made jokes. Mopped floors. Life goes on.

After work, I shared a smoke with Camille who is this tomboy Hispanic/Native American-something. She wears black frame glasses and a sock hat. My little resident lesbian says I am not her type. She likes the Filipino ladies, but I think I can win her heart.

She was coming off a double shift, and had to take all the shifts she could since her car was towed from too many tickets.

I told her, despite working every God damn day for the last 2 weeks, I would still be $800 short on rent.

I said, "2011 is getting rough with everybody."

She said, "I know, wasn't it supposed to make up for 2010?"

I said, "And let's not even talk about 2009."

She said, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."

I puffed my cigarette.

She said, "The only failure is not trying at all."
I nodded, squinted my eyes and puffed another drag from my cigarette.

She said, "Life can throw you some curve balls, keeps you on your toes."

With the cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I pretended to wave frantically to catch the ball until she laughed.

I said, "The boy I went on the date with Wednesday night never called. So I sent him a text to tell him I was disappointed in him."

She said, "That's RIGHT."

I said, "What do I have to lose? (puff) Dignity? Fuck it. Then I texted my ex-boyfriend that I was fucking someone else tonight. (I put out my cigarette on the wall) But I am just going home to do my taxes."

She said, "That's RIGHHHHT!" She put her hand up for a high five. "That gets a DOUBLE!"

Am I being juvenile? Why not? Apparently, the men I am attracted to don't have any feelings.

I texted Abe at 2am to tell him it was a bluff, to put him out of his misery. He wrote me a one-liner the next morning, "Hope you have a good week." 

On GChat I signed on, saw him and said, "Talk to me? (waited) I am really hurting."

10 minutes later he went off-line.

As I wrote this, I did get a text from Atticus. "I thought I was your rebound fairy."

I wrote, "Silly boy. Call me when you're all grown up."

He texted me back a text-character-pic of Marge Simpson.

I just don't know where to go with that.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Vegan Beggars Need Smooches

I haven't had a day off since last Tuesday the 15th. My mind is a little hazy so bear with me.

The working keeps me from missing Abe. I haven't seen him in almost 3 weeks now. Honestly, shortly after my depression surfaced, he spent less time with me anyway. So missing him is kind of relative. I miss looking forward to seeing him.

I am getting pounded by calls from debt collectors. Lana and I joke that we aren't scared of them, and pick up, say, "Hello!? Hello!?!" and there is  no one on the other end. If there is, I simply tell them I have no money. They are constantly filling up my voicemail with silent messages.

Chase Bank called one day, knowing I missed last month's car payment, I told them about my financial woes and they said I should come into their branch and talk about it. I was given a time to go to their Hollywood branch, which cost me a quarter of a tank of gas to get there. Gas is now $4 a gallon.

I drove down there and signed in. Half the page was filled out with "Reason for Appointment: Closing Account." There were at least 7 people closing their account that day. BUT, there was free coffee, and I haven't been able to afford my own coffee since earlier this month. I poured myself a cup.

Dirt water.

My name was called and I was led back to someone's desk. I explained that I was there to refinance my car loan. He made a few calls. The man in the cubicle next to me was standing up and raised his voice, "I want my account closed NOW!"

His banker remained seated and said calmly, "It will be closed in one business day. All fraudulent charges will be covered on your account first."

My teller hung up and then gave me a number to call to refinance my loan. I said, "But, I thought that's what you were doing?"

He said, "No, they called you in to get you to open an account. Would you consider opening a checking account with us today?"

I said, "No. May I use your restroom?"

He led me back where I made the only deposit I will ever give Chase bank.

With all the extra work I have been doing and my unemployment benefits on their way back, I am on track to covering most of my expenses. Everything has been coming out of my food budget. I have been boiling noodles and trying to be creative with spices . . . digging up things in my pantry forgotten in the last year. The fatigue is getting to me though, and I really need protein.

Lana's friend volunteers at a Church Food Bank where they give out Trader Joe's food to the homeless. She connected me. On my way to the Church, Everclear's "I Will Buy You a New Life" came on the radio.

Just before leaving, I wrote my parents an email to update them on what was going on with me. They sent me a one-liner a few days before saying they were worried. I bit the bullet and told them Abe and I broke up. I briefly explained my depression created a gap, he couldn't deal with it and disappeared.

"I don't want to talk about it. I am heartbroken."

What is it about telling your parents a promising relationship failed that feels so much worse than the actual break-up? I was holding out on telling them in case things suddenly took a turn, what if Abe showed up at my door with flowers and said he just didn't understand. Or whatever nonsense fantasy I construed to delay telling my parents. They really liked him and felt better about him than they had my ex-husband.

When I was about to leave my husband, I hadn't called my mother in over 2 weeks and she was upset. I remember walking to a Church courtyard on my half hour break from work to tell her things weren't working out. She was surprisingly supportive and said, "All we care about is your happiness. If its not working out, that's ok. Just call us and tell us."

I sent off the email that Abe was gone. Then to hear the strumming from Everclear's guitar on the way to a  another church:

I will buy you a garden
Where your flowers can bloom
I will buy you a new car
Perfect shiny and new
I will buy you that big house
Way up in the west hills
I will buy you a new life
Yes I will.

I broke down crying at the wheel. Its hard to describe moments of damning modesty, but here was one. I was bleeding out of my vagina, I was hungry (it was 1pm and I hadn't eaten yet), I was about to take food from the homeless and I failed a relationship I really felt the strongest about it my fucked up little universe.

Abe would rather lose me entirely than move in with me, rescue me financially and spend more time with me as an adult partner. Do you know how much that fucking burns? Why? WHY!? A year and we were spending less time around each other. He was coming and going as he pleased, not communicating with me regularly or making firm plans for next week or next year.

If he moved in with me, I would make it. Instead, I was looking for a broken parking meter and crying in my ash tray of a car. I found that broken meter, by the way. Yay.

When I got to the church, I thought about bailing. I was ashamed. Somehow hunger always prevails, and I got out of my car and walked in. The volunteers were nice and gave me a huge garbage bag of food. She even asked if I was vegan. I told her I was, a vegan beggar. So classy.

There were vegetables, fruit, garlic, hummus, bread, tons of stuff. I kept thanking her but still felt like an asshole, so I said, "Can I volunteer? Do you need  more volunteers?" She said yes, and asked me to come by Thursday.

I drove directly to Doggie Daycare, and Kelly Clarkson's "Break Away" came on, which reduced me to sobs. With half a pound of cornbread spilling out of my mouth, I sang the lyrics.

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
I'll do what it takes til' I touch the sky.

Jesus. Talk about low points.

I pulled over and had a moment. I started texting Abe. It was a moment where you make a decision and suddenly freak out and turn back. You don't want to get lost on your way somewhere new, you want to go back to the street lights and corners you already double backed through several times before, just so you know where you are.

I texted, "Why do you allow yourself to be a disappointment?"

"I respect that you didn't think our relationship was worth fighting but I hope you find something that is. You will find strength and character in the work . . ."

"It was love, wasn't it?"

It occurred to me in all this time, since Murray died, I have been starved for comfort from my boyfriend. Comfort. Console. Solace.

He was there in the few days after Murray died, but never stayed long with me after that.

I was fumbling through heartache alone. I was in a relationship and lonely.

He freaked out and backed away from me when I needed him the most. I have Lana and Em, but there is something that comes with an intimate bond that provides warmth you can't find anywhere else, or that feeling of leaning on someone's shoulder and never worrying about their arm falling asleep.

Lana and Em have their husbands, their nests. My little island was drowning in an ever expanding ocean of isolation.

Last week, I did tell Abe that I wasn't going anywhere. That he had time to figure his shit out because I didn't want anyone else. My mind was going back on those words, the more I thought about his false promises to move in, his 24 hour stays once a week, his warped advice on finances, and bullshitisms "You can't afford a day off" to spend with my family. All the while, I am exhausted and he is constantly bored from privilege.

He, of course, was playing the same old game, ignoring me, since I was coming across as desperate with my text messages. I needed love really fucking bad that afternoon. I needed some reassurance from an intimate, someone that could hold me and remove all air and space between us to bring my cold body back to life.

It is a game with him. I was hurting and he was playing games. So I texted, "Fuck you and goodbye."

Then you know what I did? I contacted someone I met several months ago.

Now, I don't mean to sound at all arrogant but I am about to. There is a wait list for men who want to "hook up" with me when and if I broke up with Abe. Nothing formal. Nothing written down. But there was always this one boy I thought of . . . if I wasn't with Abe . . . We met last October and I blogged about it actually here:

I emailed him once before about an editing job and he wrote me back:
"I don't want to hear from you unless you are crying about breaking up with Abe."

Well, here I was. And I was in sore need of a kiss. Not a sloppy, sexy, bullshit kiss . . . a real kiss from someone I thought might get me.

So I wrote him, "Are you dating anyone?"

He said, "No. I don't. I have a friend in town until tomorrow. I trust you don't have a no-drinking-on-weekdays policy."

I said, "I would RATHER drink on weekdays."

We decided to meet at the same place we first met, The Good Luck Bar.

Ugh, an alias. I need an alias. I am going to give him Atticus, the name of the one-eyed doberman puppy at work that insists on walking and playing between my legs at all times, and one of the best literary characters in published history.

I was feeling confident because I looked pretty. It was raining out and I was tired but excited to meet him all day. How divine to lean up against someone and have a few beers.

There was also the guilt because some part of myself was betraying Abe.

With my hair in Princes Leia buns and the off-the-shoulder sweater dress I wore while trying to seduce Bill Murray, I jumped inside the bar. Chinese motif. Red paper lanterns. Dimly lit booths. Patsy Cline was playing on the juke box.

I looked around and didn't see him, then climbed the long, flat step to the back couch area and spotted him behind the curtain. I plopped down next to him and conversation came easy.

Atticus is a tall, incredibly handsome, 25 yr-old (oy) editor who thinks and talks like me. I have never met anyone like me before, so it was a weird and wonderful. It was just easy. Easy to talk. Easy to laugh. Easy to sit down and lean against his arm without wondering what that meant or what he thought. He immediately said everything he thought.

He did kick off the conversation with, "What happened with Abe? How long have you been single?" 

I promised myself I wouldn't get into it because . . . it just seems like the wrong thing to do. Bad form. I gave in and we spoke about it; the emails, the lack of commitment. He listened and sipped his beer. Then I realized I just got an email from Abe. Isn't it amazing how that always happens?

    "Im collecting my feelings and recovering from a little bad luck streak.

I don't want to make you upset.  We need some time to clear our heads.  I do.

We have an intimate connection. We also have some extreme differences.  We also have a distance problem.  We have trust issues.

I feel discouraged about resuming our relationship."

Atticus said, "It sounds like he is done."

I said, "Its the push-pull game he is playing. He hasn't heard from me so now he is hanging the bait. Fuck it."

I peeled the Pabst Blue Ribbon label off my beer bottle. The email made me sad. I didn't want Atticus to pick up on it, so I tried to keep our conversation light and less personal.

We were analyzing a couple across from us. He said, "Do you think they are a couple?"

I said, "No, she is sitting away from him. Look at all that distance. And he isn't attractive."

He said, "Maybe she likes him and is nervous."

I said, "No. She has leather boots and a Joan Jett hair cut. She knows what she wants."

The guy suddenly slid several feet across the couch to get closer to her. Both Atticus and I said in unison, "Whoooooooaaaa!"

He said, "I wonder if he knows how amazing that just was."

We looked at other couples and talked about the biology of human relationships. Why ugly people have long monogamous relationships and more physically attractive people struggle to keep and find one loyal partner.

An older man was introduced to a group of young girls by a twenty-something Jewish girl and I said, "Why do older men insist on trying to fornicate with younger women all the time?"

Atticus said, "Nature."

I said, "Yeah, but does that mean every guy will always pursue a younger woman no matter what his relationship situation ?"

He said, "Look. Think of it this way: If there was a box and you were promised a million dollars to press a button, but a million people would have to die, there are some people out there who would press that button. They are the same people who are married and look for young girls. Then there are the people, like you and I, I hope, who would not press the button because it isn't the moral thing to do. Those are the people who would look at their much older wife and say, 'Look, you are not a pretty young woman anymore, you are old and kind of not pretty at all but I love you and you are my wife.'

I have been asking that question to people for years, and this was the best answer I ever heard. Since I have moved to LA, I have grown concerned that men are simply not monogamous creatures and now fear I will have to surrender my romantic ideals about a long term relationship. But when a boy says something like that, it makes me believe again.

We talked about education, theories we developed about the human bladder and sexual behavior. He asked me why in the world I was an actress, and scrunched his nose. He apologized, he had to scrunch his nose because he has worked with actors before.

I told him it made me happy. That's all. There is no other reason why I am doing it. I said, "Now, you are a paid editor?"

He said, "Yeah, I got a steady job in editing right out of college. You can hate me for it."

I said, "Hey, I did a documentary right out of Grad school and got it distributed on Netflix and Amazon. Then worked in production on a documentary series for Sundance channel. I got those jobs I wanted they just weren't as fulfilling as I thought they would be."

He nodded and listened. I didn't have to fight for his attention like I do with the others. Abe was always difficult to follow in conversation, not to mention keep engaged in conversation. He was in a perpetual dream state. With Atticus its easy, he was really present and hyper aware, awkwardly honest.

He leaned in to kiss me. His mouth was warm and he was gentle with me. I felt like all my broken pieces swarmed up to meet his lips. He asked me to come home with him.

I said, "That seems like a bad idea."

He said, "No it isn't. I know you are on you're period. Nature set its boundaries."

I said, "You read my Facebook posts."

He smiled. "Nothing to worry about. No sex, just smooches."

I said, "Where do you live?"

He said, "Koreatown."

I said, "My wallet was stolen in Koreatown."

He said, "Sorry that was my fault."

I agreed and followed him home. He lives with three other boys his age. They have rifles and machetes nailed over their door.

I said, "You guys are all set for a zombie attack."

Two of the roommates wandered in for small talk. I was so happy, I kept talking and snorting laughs. My hair buns were uneven now and my eye liner smudged. I ruined the punch line of a David Sedaris joke. His roommate asked if I wanted something to drink.

I said, "Just water. I want to try to sober up as fast as possible." Then I exhaled a cloud of marijuana in his face.

Atticus took me to one of their bedrooms which was converted into a movie viewing room; a big screen TV and two parallel couches. He popped on a movie we spent about 10 minutes deciding on. I only remember opening credits.

There was nothing confusing about our night. Whether it was the beginning of something or just the night, I needed a man to be there and hold me, to laugh at my jokes and try to impress me, to put his arm around me and kiss my neck, to keep my heart warm and pumping so I wouldn't freeze shut.

I just hope I didn't mind fuck myself.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

I Know Who I Want to Take Me Home

Friday night was my date to the Chateau Marmont with my Manager. I rushed home from work quickly to feed my girls and bring them in, pop in my contacts and get fabulous before jetting off to Beverly Hills in under 40 minutes.

Once I found my stellar street parking spot on La Cienega and plopped my expired tags ticket on my windshield, my manager picked me up in a taxi. She apologized but her other friend couldn't be there because its the super moon, there was an earthquake predicted for Saturday and the radiation fumes from Japan were supposed to arrive with the weekend rain. So her friend went to Arizona instead.

We arrived to the Chateau after a clumsy time finding the entrance, but a handsome, tall stranger followed us in with a smile. Turns out at the Chateau, there are nothing but tall, handsome strangers. It was surreal.

We were escorted outside to the patio where we ordered drinks. She already put her hand on my lap and said, "I am buying. Don't worry." I was worried. I was -$224 in my checking and pushing the few dollars left on my credit card. So, in this situation, I always order what the other person is ordering so they never pay more for my drink. In this case, it was vodka and grapefruit juice.

It was delicious. Ice cold. Bitter sweet.

She wanted to sit facing the dining room so she could see who was there. I just wanted to be directly under the heat lamp.

I said, "You know, Britney Spears was blacklisted from this restaurant for wiping her dinner all over her face. It upset the other patrons, so they asked her to leave." Poor Britney.

My Manager said, "They always pick on the girls. They are the first ones to be discussed, photographed, gossiped about and then they are torn apart." It's true.

We had a fairly balanced conversation about our relationships. We discussed how we gravitate to psychotics and how men are perpetual adolescents. Nothing new. She and I have a lot in common, as it turns out.

When the bill came, it was $90 for four drinks between us.

Manager, "$90!!!! We only ordered four drinks!"

The Waitress said, "Yes, but we squeeze our grapefruits fresh to order."

Manager, "No wonder it tasted so good." She gave her credit card. Shortly thereafter, the waitress returned.

The Waitress, "Do you have another card?"

Manager, "Was it declined?"

The Waitress nodded and stuttered a "Yes."

My manager went through all the things we say. "But I just went to the bank today." "There should be plenty of room." "This is funny, isn't it?"

I said, "I wish I could help you out but I only have $6."

The Manager came over and asked if there was a problem. Repeat the above blubberings and then we sat there. She said, "Should I call my bank or my ex-boyfriend?"

I said, "Call your ex-boyfriend. Your bank isn't going to help you right now."

She said, "Thank you for telling me what to do."

Her ex-boyfriend picked up, got his credit card and paid over the phone. My Manager kept repeating, "This is just hilarious, isn't it?" I knew she was embarrassed, but I am never embarrassed in these situations. Its old hat for me. I just always give a little speech before handing over my card, make it as entertaining as possible so everyone feels at ease when my card is eventually declined.

I couldn't see much of the hotel from the patio or hallway, which was a little disappointing. I wanted to see where John Belushi died. I wanted to see the chandelier Jim Morrison fell from. At least SEE Lindsay Lohan, who lived there for a few years.

We used the restroom which was wallpapered with something vintage I liked. I could feel the ego of the place in the bathroom. I could sense the presence of cocaine, rich . . . bitches.

She said, "Do you want to go to the bar now?"

I said, "I am up for it but I only have $6."

She said, "Oh its much cheaper over there and I know there will be room on my card for that."

So I said, "Ok."

We passed the paparazzi, and walked into a bar. I have been there before, a few years ago. Its very small but people were mingling, the energy was better. Immediately, I spotted a tall, handsome, bearded stranger at the end of the bar smiling at me. My ovaries were on fire.

I told her, "There are a lot of bearded, tall twenty-somethings in here. That's my type."

She laughed. I walked us up to the bar, ordered a Pacifico and told the bartender it was her birthday. While waiting for drinks, I looked to my left and saw a tall, bearded twenty-something with thick glasses on, blue eyes and one of those beanie hats that hang heavily off the top, like Heath Ledger . . . or one of the seven dwarfs. He smiled at me. I smiled at him. And we struck up a mild conversation.

I can't recall what it was about, but I was feeling dizzy from the attention. He guessed our ages- 22, 23? Har har har. I included my Manager in the conversation, and she hit it off with Thick Glasses.

Everywhere I looked, there were clusters of men eyeing me. It got to my head faster than the vodka and freshly squeezed grapefruit. Thick Glasses had a friend, also tall, also twenty something, also wearing one of those beany hats. His name was Will.

We briefly spoke about his education in Law and my life as an actress. I really didn't find him all that interesting, but I could see Thick Glasses had this arm around my Manager now so I was locked into conversation with the BF.  Of course, Law Degree wasn't working hard in the conversation because I doubt he has had to work hard for anything his whole life. So I leaned against the wall and sipped my beer.

Three East Indian men behind him lifted their glasses to me, and I reciprocated.

Will, "Do you know them?"

I said, "Nope."

Will said, "Do you want to talk to them?"

I said, "Nope."


I said, "The male to female ratio in this bar is really imbalanced."

Will said, "Yes it is."


He went to the bathroom when a British stranger, a little shorter than me, approached.

He said, "Maybe you could help me out. I am looking to buy a house. I am looking at one on Canon Drive (Beverly Hills) or closer to PCH (Pacific Coast Highway in Santa Monica). What do you recommend?"

Nice to meet you, Rich. I must be shallow.

I said, "Those are both expensive areas. I recommend cutting your overhead and moving somewhere higher in elevation where a natural disaster won't wipe you out."

He laughed. We had a fairly adult conversation after that. He composes music but does Business Development for income. I thought, these are the type of men I should be trying to date at my age.

Will came back, saw I was talking to another man and pouted behind the bar.

 When Biz Dev asked me out, I felt a moment of nausea. Abe. God Damn It. Why am I so fucking loyal? I swayed a little bit, closed my eyes and nodded. He smiled and I gave him my card.

Here you may wonder, why would I agree to go out on a date with someone when my wounds are still raw? I don't want to feel like I am on hold. Abe hasn't tried to communicate with me since our last GChat and I had this nagging feeling he thought I am going to chain a celibacy belt on and wait in Pasadena with a stack of books and my Scrabble until he's ready.

I am not. And I resent that feeling. A lot.

Biz Dev left when another young man came forward. Also ethnic, I couldn't say what exactly. Light brown skin, huge blue eyes and thick black curls. His name was Ash.

He said he was an assistant at Paramount for the Creative Director, and, low and behold, they are looking for new scripts. That is probably the BEST come on line for me. I nodded, dug my toe into the ground and said, "You know . . . I have a script."

He sobered up and stood straight, "Really? Tell me about it."

I did.

He said, "I would love to read it. Maybe over coffee or lunch?"

I said, "Ok." I handed him my card and said, "But I am a good girl. You know what I mean."

He nodded and lead me out of the main room. The bouncer was clearing us out now and I was searching for my Manager. The alcohol was in my head, and I felt Ash's hand in mine as he tried to negotiate with the bouncer. "Its raining out and she's cold, could you let her wait inside?"

The bouncer apologized but said no. I looked up at his African magnificence. Tall, black, strong. I said, "I understand. You are very handsome."

Outside, my Manager still had Thick Glasses and Will. She said, "THERE you are!? I was worried. They are going to drive us back to my hotel."

Oy. I had a shoot the next morning, well . . . my dogs were cast in Lana's film and after that I had to valet a private party in Beverly Hills in a French Maid costume. Now its after 2am so its just a count down til I have to be up and going again.

I said, "Ok, let's go." I said goodbye to Ash and we walked over to the parking lot where Will's car was. He said to me, "Now, my car is old, ok? There. I said it."

I walked fast, "I don't give a fuck about anything but being warm right now."

We got in. My Manager and Thick Glasses were in the back seat. She said, "Do you know how handsome he is without these glasses? LOOK!"

I said, "I thought he was handsome with the glasses." It made him quirky. It is a disappointment he jumped on my Manager so fast. He was easy. That doesn't really impress me.

My Manager turned to him, "Have you ever thought about becoming an actor?"

I rolled my eyes. They started making out.

Will drove us to my car and I said, "Ok, I have to give the obligatory speech here. [Manager], are you ok if I leave now? Do you feel comfortable? Are you sober enough right now? Will you text me when you get to your hotel room?"

She got very sober and said, "Trust me, I AM FINE." I believed her.

I said to Will, "Can I trust you with my friend? Will you text me when you drop her off at her hotel room?"

Will said, "You can trust me. I am in law school. I should be freaking out over a DUI right now because I would have no chance in making the bar." I believed him.

I turned to Thick Glasses, "Are you going to rape my friend?"

He said, "No."

I said, "Have you raped anyone?" He shook his head.

Me, "Children?" He shook his head.

Me, "Animals?" He shook his head. Everyone else laughed.

He said, "I feel like you are mad at me."

I said, "I'm not mad. I just need to make sure my friend is safe and I can make it to my shoot tomorrow morning. That's really all I care about."

Thick Glasses, "Whoa, YOU'RE an actress?" Yes, Genius. Thanks for listening.

I got out of the car and called Will's phone to make sure I had his number.

When I got home, I texted Will. He said they were out at Denny's.

I sent off one last text . . . to Abe saying, "I am concerned you think I am putting myself on "hold" while you wrap your head around forever."

I slept for 5 hours before waking up and getting the girls ready for their shoot.

When I woke up, Will had texted that they dropped her off at her hotel room. No text from her. Not a  surprise.

I rushed downtown and watched Lana direct a little girl and my babies in a scene. Time was ticking and Em was driving down to take my girls home so I could immediately rush to the party in Beverly Hills and do the valet gig.

It was the Super Moon. My tits were hurting and I felt a headache coming on. Em's truck was giving her trouble. My cell phone wasn't working. Stresssssss!

Everything worked out and I actually made it to the party on time.

The French Maid costume I had to wear was ridiculously small. I said I was a size 6 and they gave me a costume that said, "Teen: Size 2-6."

When I arrived at the fitting the day before, the chick with the costume made me change on her street corner close to an abandoned couch. Why NOT in her apartment? I should have asked, but I didn't.

It didn't fit over my ta tas, so I had to take my bra off, as she shoved the zipper up my back (cue slow moving van with a Hispanic man waving at me).

Saturday, I changed in my car and ran over to the mansion. The Team Captain is a 50 something, English woman with a horrific cigarette addiction and the face of a discarded lunch bag. Sorry, don't mean to be cruel, but she is also a bitch.

The party was a French theme, but outside. It was cold and windy. Thankfully there was no rain yet, but it was around 60 degrees and we weren't allowed to wear coats. My headache was spreading from the bump over my right eye to the back of my head. It was becoming a migraine.

There were only a few girls working this party, and as I have already mentioned, they are mostly all bitches. They do the things I came to ignore in Middle School, you know, turning you back on you when having a conversation with the group or standing in front of you and looking through you as if the most fascinating thing in the world is happening right behind you but they can't be bothered to acknowledge that you are standing right there. (All while chewing gum with their mouths open)

When a girl had an excuse for being late, Lunch Bag Face refused to respond but looked at the other girls and smiled like, "Isn't she full of shit, girls?" 

One girl said to me, "I would have worn that style of costume, but when you have boobs you have to go with something more open on top."

Hey, LABIA NECK- I have tits ok? They are just flattened like pancakes right now. Jesus.

I was wearing my coat in between cars and a girl said, "What's all over your coat?"

I looked down. It was dog hair mostly, mixed in with some dirt and twigs. Before I could answer, she was walking away from me.

They pulled shit like that all afternoon. I hate those cunts.

You know what I hate more? The tips on these fucking jobs. I GOT NO TIPS for the 3 hours I worked this party.

NO ONE did. We all complained, as we usually do. But I seriously think I would make more if I worked a Mexican restaurant in East Hollywood than I would driving these fuckers cars after they gawk at my costumed body and smile with a "That Sean really knows how to throw a party, ha ha." HA HA!

You get the idea. The gig sucked.

The migraine was now over my forehead, down the back of my neck and moving to the right side of my throat. It felt like someone was gripping that side of my neck. I was now struck by waves of nausea. Lunch Bag asked me if I was ok. I told her I had a migraine.

She said, "Do you want to go home?"

I said, "If you can sacrifice me."

She said, "We have to. You look like you're about to throw up. Go home now. Take care of yourself. We will send you the tips."

I went home and only got as far as the base of Mulholland Drive before I had to pull over. I knew if I kept driving I would throw up. So in my pre-teen French Maid costume, I crawled up in my seat and fell asleep.

Forty minutes later, I woke up and drove the rest of the way home. When I got there, I sucked down a bunch of THC, took 2 Tylenol PMs, drank 2 pints of water and fell asleep with a hot pack on my head.

There is something bittersweet about my migraines. In the moment of total physical debilitation, you can't do anything. You have to surrender to rest. I couldn't worry about Abe, or bills, or the dogs, or my career. The only thing I can do is sit there and wait to slip away from the pain.

I suddenly missed Eric (Not-forProfit). Being together for 5 years has its perks, one of which is having someone know your ritual and help you. He would lower the lights, microwave my heating pad to the perfect temperature. He would bring water to my bedside. Then cook dinner when I woke up from the first few hours of sleep. He would take care of the animals and watch the television on mute so I wouldn't be disturbed.

Once, he put me on speaker phone at work and talked me through the initial pains of my migraine until I fell asleep. I remember he kept saying, "I am here. I am here." Followed by the click click click of his keyboard like rain on my porch steps. Then, I slipped into darkness.

Damn it, Eric. I loved you.

I woke up alone this time. Took the girls out. Fed all the animals. Found something to eat and watched The Soup. Then I retreated back to my bed for more dark silence.

I never heard from Abe. Why do I fucking care? Why did I think he learned some kind of lesson? How can I be so stupid over and over again?

The Comic once asked me why I am so loyal to "these guys?" I don't know how to break my heart like glass, in one clean swipe. I have seen other people do it. Its just not something I am capable of. My heart is more like the long, clumsy rip of a velcro strap. All those little hoops caught in their corresponding loops, screaming when pulled away. Sometimes it takes a few tugs before it pulls free. Never quite fitting as tightly the second or third time around. That's my heart.

Outside of Doggie Daycare on a break, I was having a smoke with Ocean when she said, "I think people have it backwards. I think men are more like cats than dogs. You know, they like being independent, stay out all night long and don't feel like they have to tell you where they've been. They choose when to be close to you and when they need space. Women are like dogs. You don't have to tell them how you feel, they know  and love you no matter what. They don't care what you've done or how you treat them, they just want to be close to you."

I said, "I am not so sure about that. Men didn't used to be like roaming street cats. It must be generational. A few generations ago they wanted families and wives. Now they just want to be teenagers for as long as possible." Not ALL men, but you know . . .

I do like the comparison to loving like a dog.

There has been no greater gift the last few months than my job at Doggie Daycare.

We aren't allowed to give the dogs any food or treats, so let me just remove the Pavlovian theory from the equation. The only thing we give these dogs is love, attention and discipline. One my worst days, they will climb my lap, press their cheek against mine and just sit there like they know that is exactly what I need.

Some will board for days and cry for their owners until their voices are hoarse and they pass blood. Some will wait by the gate closest to the parking lot until they pick up their owners scent, whether it be 5 hours or 5 days. Some will be have a blast, play ball until they can barely run anymore, wrestle each other like pups, splash through the pools until sunset, but once they hear their name on the loud speaker- they will hit the front gates to the lobby so hard, a piece of the door will break.

That's the way I love.

Friday, March 18, 2011

I'll Sleep With You for a Soy MeatBall

So I have been poor before.  Once, in Grad school I slept through an entire weekend because I couldn't afford food. That weekend ended when I got my student loan in Monday morning. Now . . . there is no loan coming in. There is just an old bag of rice, a can of beans and some vegetables and fruit a friend has delivered to my house every couple weeks.

I don't mean to complain. I am very lucky. But . . . when I visit friends' houses, I find myself salivating over their food. I remember what it was like to go grocery shopping or treat myself to Thai food. MMMMMM. . . Thai food.

It reminds me of Julie Andrews, in "Victor/Victoria", after fainting outside a restaurant from watching a fat man indulge in dinner, she trudges home where her landlord is barking at her about rent. She takes her finger, wipes pasta sauce off the front of his shirt and licks it. She says, "I'll sleep with you for a meatball."

I am really starting to appreciate that movie even more, if that's possible.

I was meeting with Lana later that day to help plan the final audio mix on our comedy pilot.

I texted her, "Can you spare a couple bucks to buy me a cup of coffee? I am dying. Might panhandle but I my competition looks far more pathetic."

Lana shows up, "Your competition is far more pathetic. There is a shadow puppeteer playing Johnie B Good."

I don't know how in the world I found Lana, but I love her more than she loves me. I wish I was a man so I could romance the hell out of her.

When I saw her, I collapsed into her arms for a hug and we walked.

We stared into store fronts with dressed mannequins and both sighed.

Me, "I am feeling great desire."

Lana, "As soon as I get any money, I am going clothing shopping. I am dying to go to Ross."

I said, "I know. I am considering going to a food bank so I can stock up on some food." The dogs were on rice, tuna and peanut butter for a while. I was worried they would be disappointed until I heard Maggie growl at Esther (who is deaf) for getting too close during breakfast.

When I finally got money, I got them their $55 bag of second tier, holistic brand dog food. Not THE BEST, but its up there. After driving it home and proudly pouring them two bowls of it, they both looked up at me disappointed. I guess nothing beats tuna peanut butter medley.

I asked Lana how the birth control was. She switched back to Yaz and missed one day to suffer through a whole new period 3 days after her "real" period ended.

She said, "Seriously, I started crying because I realized that Dan (her husband) might be buried in California with his family and I would be buried in Philadelphia with my family. I couldn't deal with it."

I said, "That's not the Yaz. I was checking out the plot next to Abe's grandfather's grave thinking I liked the view from up there."

She said, "But you have to be Jewish to be buried in Mt. Sinai (Los Angeles)."

I said, "You do?"

She laughed and said, "Yes!"

I said, "Goddammit. Can Christians ever get a break? I mean, all we got is Christ. And he's great but Jews have a much more likable religion."

She said, "I know. I was on a quest for a new church since I am always looking,. Last time I went to a Presbyterian church they gave me sour wine. So I went to my friends non-denominational church. They do testimonies there, so I was like, 'OK, can't wait to see what they testify.' This guy comes up and he is in his early 30s, and says, 'I would like to testify my strong belief in no sex before marriage.' So I give out a breathless laugh and start clapping slow, and then he keeps going. He says he has rules to keep from having sex with his girlfriend by never spending the night, never taking off their clothes and has his internet browsing history sent to his friends every week to keep him honest."

I said, "In case he looks at porn or something?"

She said, "YES!"

I just looked it up, its called 'HaveYourFriendsBeenThere'.

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Lana goes on and says, "So I have the breathless chuckle. I feel myself getting hot and the laugh is forcing its way up my throat. " She demonstrated. She should really be an actress. "And he keeps looking at me. I mean, he was looking RIGHT at me. I am two seconds from excusing myself so I can lose it outside when he says, 'I just wanted to say, this was my first time making eye contact with my testimony, so thank you."

I said, "Holy Shit."

Lana said, "So yeah, I mean, I grew up Presbyterian and we even said, just wrap it up and get an abortion. But this Church was still in denial. So . . . I am just sticking to Presbyterian."

Today, I was reminded of the last time I spoke to Abe's grandmother on the phone. She kept saying, "You are a lucky girl. A lucky, lucky girl. Listen to what Abe tells you."

I responded, "Well he has to listen to what I tell him too."

She said, "Sure."

that about?

A friend told me today that its cultural. The Jews champion their boys like Moses himself is walking into their kitchen. Well, he's not Moses and he needs to go walk the fucking desert, get some blisters on his lips and figure it out, you know?

I am walking through my desert and no one is throwing me a party for being me, stuffing $100 down my pocket, telling me how fucking fantastic I am. I am earning it. Does he realize he has to do the same thing?

The next week, I met Lana again. I really need to be around girls right now. And, you know you have a good friend when she scouts out a broken parking meter for you.

Lana, "Here's one! Pull up! Pull up!" I pulled up and popped an expired tags ticket on my windshield, just so they know I already got one somewhere else. I don't need another one in addition to the $170 late fee charge to the DMV.

We pooled together change for her meter and went to grab something to kill time before my audition and her next meeting. We landed in Panera Bread, which I still don't know how its pronounced.

Text from Abe, "Curious if we have patience to be nice to each other again?"


We ordered coffee and cinnamon bagels.

Me, "Ah!! Bagel, coffee and cigarette. (burrrrp)"

Lana, "You are rocking this depression."

My agent somehow got me two auditions for well paying commercials. One for Johnnie Walker and the other for a French Ice Cream commercial. I also submitted to a reality show pilot looking for women in a transitional phase willing to go to the Bahamas to "find themselves." There is no pay on that last job since its just a pilot, but they pay for your expenses and travel to vacation in the Bahamas. 

AND, I found us an audio editor. Thank F---ing Gawd!

Lana, "So, how are you going to handle the Abe situation?"

I said, "I'm not. To tell you the truth, I still think he is the one for me, but I just can't take it anymore. So I am never dating again. NEVER having sex again. Ever. Ever. . . EVER!"

Lana, "I think he is the one for you, too. Its just he has a lot of growing up to do and I think this time away from each other is really good. You are getting your career up and going and he can figure out his life so he can grow up. I see it working out."

My heart tickled.

I said, "I hope so. I just have to teach him some empathy. I don't like it. I don't take pleasure in ignoring his messages. It doesn't make me feel powerful or good."

Lana, "No, but you have to give him a taste of his own medicine. He has to learn."

Text from Abe: "How are ya doing?"


Johnnie Walker was a video submission audition where I would be the voice of a ghost watching her ex-boyfriend get on with college life without her. Bizarrely morbid.

Shooting and uploading was an ordeal, usually I ignore those video submissions but the pay was half my rent and through my agent. I do have to say, without a boyfriend you figure out a lot of things by yourself. Abe made me lazy.

After several hours of trying to upload my video to a share server, I uploaded it to Vimeo and used SaveVideo.Me to convert it to an MPEG-4 for my agent.

My French Ice Cream commercial was at 4pm, and I crammed my schedule too tight, as usual. I waited until 3:09 to get my headshots printed. As an American, I thought I should try to find a locally owned place and give them a chance.

I called the first place, who wanted to charge me $3.75 to access email. I asked how much to just email it directly to him. He said, "Same, $3.75." He had a thick Middle-Eastern accent and started talking over me. I couldn't hear what he said because I was trying to explain how simple of a task it was.

Finally, I said, "Kinko's doesn't do that. Thank you."

He hung up on me. He probably wanted me to come in with a burqa on too. Dick.

The second place didn't do headshot prints and referred me to another place 3 blocks down.

Text from Abe: "I am thinking about you every hour of every day."

I was in a rush and out of breath from running. The one guy there slowly came out. I explained what I needed, just two 8X11" glossy color prints. He slowly said, "Well . . . we charge $7 each to print headshots." I didn't say anything, I just laughed and left.

At that point, I drove 15 minutes north to get to the nearest Kinko's. I explained what I needed to the guy and he dropped everything to print them out for me. His Outlook froze and my iPhone froze (this always happens when I am stressed) so I went to the bathroom then printed out the resume and directions to the audition on their rent-by-the-minute computer.

Then, he let me log into Gmail through his computer and printed THREE glossy headshots for me for free. Kinko's. Saves my ass every time.

I got lost on my way to the audition, I just don't know North Hollywood all that well. So I called the studio, they told me everything was OK and to just head in. The requirement was that I had to eat an ice cream cone in a very short skirt. They were looking for a "young Natalie Portman or Scarlett Johansson." That is what? 14 yrs old?

My skirt was so short that it barely qualified as much more than a loin cloth. If I bent down, you could see the design on my Target panties and the bite mark from Old Man Max at Doggie Daycare (who nabbed me in the butt when I broke up a dog fight right next to him). I heart Max, though.

I came in and lied about my call time. I don't know if she noticed. Sigh. Is that the right thing to do? The other girls looked about as old as I did, so I wasn't terribly concerned. The Director kept smiling at me, and invited me in to eat my ice cream cone. I haven't had ice cream in 12 years. It was fucking delicious.

I did the bit; get out of a limo, fans start chanting my name (the director chanted my real name which made me genuinely smile) and then I posed while eating the ice cream cone. The director giggled and thanked me. I did my little post-audition jig which is incredibly cheesy and a terrible habit.

Then ran out to my next audition, also in North Hollywood. As I waited, I heard two actresses in the lobby talking, "And I had a stomach ache so I wasn't having sex with him. But I needed somebody to just be there for me and he said he didn't have time for someone else's problems right now. We are getting too serious."

Is every guy a total self-serving asshole? I mean, what the fuck happened to American Men? What a bunch of babies. And have you ever nursed a man through a stomach ache? Its like coaching a teenager through childbirth.

I went in for my audition, and the guy asked me to be natural, answer questions to him and not camera and rephrase questions with the answer in it. It was the same with "Baggage." For instance, "What's your name?" "My name is Star-Fire."

He asked how old I was and I said, "I am 33." He said, "Wow, you look younger." I put my hand up to my ear. "I hear that a lot."

He said, "Oh, we got someone with personality!"

I told him about how I lost my cat, boyfriend and job in 2009. Then in 2010, started acting, got a new cat and a new boyfriend. In 2011, I lost my cat and my boyfriend again. 

He asked if I was interested in dating. I said, "No . . . no. I am going to take it easy for a while." I closed my eyes and rubbed my tummy. I think I am getting an ulcer. I said, with my eyes still closed, "I really liked this one."

He asked me to talk a little bit about myself so I rambled some, "I used to work tooth and nail for 5 years. I wasn't happy, I was totally miserable. I thought, if I were to die tomorrow, that would suck. It would all be a waste. So, now, I work at a Doggie Daycare, I act, I am poor but happy everyday, and if I were to die tomorrow . . . I would be ok with that." 

He said, "That's a perfect place to end. It was a real pleasure meeting you." :-)

Then I ran over to Doggie Daycare to finish the shift I had someone else cover.

I came home wiped out.

Text from Abe, "I still care about you, love U and can recite more reasons why now."

Before, during our first clash of personalities, I told him I didn't think he liked me very much and asked him what in fact he did "like" about me.  He could only think of "independent" and that I "liked" him.

When logging on to Gchat he popped up immediately:
10:57 PM Abe: Intelligent, humorous, Sext social, unique, not a cali girl, into Abe, Understand Abe, Our numbers synch, you like animals and children, you like movies and art, you like outdoor activities and camping, You are a kindhearted and sensitive person, I trust you with my feelings, and i kinda like that you are sorta set in your ways already (meaning that you can change what you want to because you already know yourself better than I know myself)
10:58 PM I feel like my heart is going to explode today
  Super tense day
  so edgyAbe: I miss you(Audience: I am not heartless.)
 me: I miss you tooAbe: um
11:13 PM I realized that I was being hypocritical
  or hyper hypocritical
  because I did those things to you---
  Im critical of your character and lifestyle
11:15 PM and then I get mad when you give those things back
  and its not right for me to fail to realize--that I do those things
11:16 PM thats probably the only reason It stands out to me when you get me back
  I just dont understand how I could not realize that i do that shit to you
 me: I know all these things
  I am sad that the lesson came now
  thats all
11:21 PM Abe: honestly
  I think will get along very well
11:22 PM I can see us being a happy couple
  I'm just young and its harder to wrap my brain around Forever
  ya know?
11:23 PM me: I don't know what to say Abe
  it would be stupid for me to get back together with you
  even though I miss you
  and I want that future
  I had to learn my lesson too1:27 PM me: I think in the future you will have the confidence you need
  to be an amazing man
  and I am excited to see him
11:28 PM Abe: yah? dont hold your breath, its lookin pretty far off from now like I am now
  Im hardly amazing
 me: well thats up to you
  you are amazing
11:29 PM but you have made some very sore decisions
  how rapidly you establish yourself and become the man you want to be
  the sooner I could come back to you

Abe: i want to figure out how to make things better between us
  Im kinda smart
  I think I can do it
11:45 PM me: you are very smart
 Abe: i want to
 me: if I knew that you would never react so violently/harshly/cruelly to little things
  I would come back in a minute
11:46 PM but you have created a pattern
  and one week won't break it
  as much as I want it to
 Abe: I knowAbe: ok
  And--I like your dogs
  I really do
  there a little uncleanly--but they are dogs
11:52 PM Abe: ok
  nighty night
  dream of grown up Abe a bit for me   

Thursday, March 17, 2011

The Manager

I received an email from Ms. Blonde that her manager was interested in meeting me. She wrote:

"She is new as a manager though has acted in LA and NY.  I've heard that sometimes when people are new to the biz they are more pro-active and hungry due to being new."

I called the manager and she said, "I managed my own career for so long, I thought I should be doing it for other people. One of my clients got a speaking role on television on one of the first auditions I sent him on. He is a professional race car driver. And I got [Ms. Blonde] the role in Reservoir Bitches."

Yikes. That uh . . . is not something she should be bragging about.

She said, "I kind of got a spiritual thing from you. You were really good and you have that thing, some kind of spiritual resonance.  I also do hypnotherapy since actors have such a hard time keeping their morale up. And I help a lot of people who want to kill themselves. Especially now with the economy."

Too good to pass up on a meeting, right?

So we met in Santa Monica at Barney's Beanery. She asked me if it was too early to drink. I said, "Its never too early to drink but I am broke, so I can watch you drink."

She laughed and said she would buy me one.

We met. She has a thin face with intense eyes, kind of like Rosanna Arquette or Rachel Griffiths . Its almost like her eyes were two dark pin holes with just the slightest light spinning behind them like a pinwheel. Her demeanor was sweetened by a slightly faded Texas accent and a very low cut shirt with a red crystal resting on her breasts. She was nice and jumped right into things. Oh . . . not my career.

"So, that client I told you about, who I got the speaking role from, he is actually my ex-boyfriend. I mean, he is 25 and I am much older (20 yrs older) and I just felt that spiritual thing about him. We definitely knew each other in past lives. Do you believe in past lives?"

I said, "Yeah. I think energy recycles itself and can retain information like electric pulses through the internet."

She said, "Right? So we just clicked and it was primal. I mean the sexual energy was unlike anything I have ever experienced before and he moved in."

Just making sure you know, this was in the first 15 minutes of meeting her. I said as politely as possible, "You shouldn't sleep with your clients."

She said, "Oh, well . . . we have known each other in many lives before. Its our job to fix our problems in this life. So things disintegrated between us and got really ugly. He is addicted to pot. I think that stuff is disgusting, I am a totally pure person. There are no toxins in my system, not in my food, no pills, nothing chemical."

The waitress, "May I take your order?"

Manager, "Do you have potato gin?"

Waitress, "Uh ... no."

Manager, "I'll just have a lemon drop then, thank you." (back to me) "Anyway, we started arguing all the time. He screamed, 'You're a child molester.' That's what he said to me." Again, she gets into character and points at me, "'You're a child molester.' I said, 'Well you want to fuck your mother.' You know what you say awful things like that it has to be love. So he moved out into the neighbor's apartment next door. And I started dating. He would just watch me come in and out, it was kind of creepy.

Anyway, his car was broken and he didn't have food so I let him move back in with me. We are not fooling around, we are just playing it straight. The sexual tension is really strong. Man, we share a bathroom and I just do my thing but I can feel it between us."

Here is the boring part of the story where I told her that her home is her sanctuary and that she shouldn't be inviting any kind of unresolved tension into her home, including someone who snaps into a bad temper. Walking on eggshells is very stressful and no way to live. Worst year of my life.

She said, "Oh, its no big deal. I just do yoga in my bedroom."

This conversation went on for about 45 minutes and we covered mostly this relationship, touched on her family back in Texas and how they don't really accept or embrace her life choices, how she got out of a 9 yr. relationship and was bored out of her mind sexually (probably why she gravitated to a 25 yr old race car driver) and then we sipped our drinks in a moment of silence, she pulled out her credit card to pay the bill and she asked me what I wanted for my career.

I told her I enjoyed doing comedy. She was surprised by that, actually. She said, "Ok" as the sand bag of thought juggled from one hand to the other.

I emphasized that I don't want to do anything for free anymore unless its really interesting. I told her about my B-horror movie I shot last spring, where I met Abe. She asked if I could get a copy.

After three months of driving back and forth to Orange County, shelling out for dog walkers and gas, working til all our hours of the night, that PRICK of a Director refuses to send me a copy. WHY? Because I slept with the Director of Photography instead of him.

So, can I get a copy? I said I would try.

She said, "I also do the hypnotherapy, past-life regression. I am not saying I am going to hypnotize you, but I can help you with things. A lot of people want to kill themselves right now and one of my clients is a clown. He is losing his house and the recession is making it difficult for him to work at all. He forces himself to make it to children's parties. Anyway, I am helping him. Then I represent my ex and [Ms. Blonde]. That's it so far so . . . (inhale) what do you think?"

I asked, "What's the difference between a manager and an agent again?"

She said, "A manager spends more time molding your career."

I said, "I see. Do you look at the trades a lot, and review upcoming productions." I do have 5 years experience in the film industry. Trades are Variety and Hollywood Reporter, two daily and weekly periodicals with industry news. It is essential for keeping in the game.

She said, "No . . . I don't have a subscription. I don't really look at those." Again, she was measuring me with her eyes. "Its free on-line though."

I said, "I know." OK, wow, I just sighed in real life as I wrote that . . . um . . . this chick isn't the most "professional" or polished person I have ever met, but seeing as my agent is this all business, straight forward Japanese businessman- maybe this is what I need to create balance. Someone who works out of chaos. It might bring a weird karmic charm to my career.

My agent is about as professional as a human being can possibly get before turning into a calculator. This would be a little madness for the method.

And its not like people are kicking down my door. So I said yes.

I took a couple days to get back to her. I was incredibly busy and with the Abe shit going down, I just was having a hard time focusing.

Seeing as I have some connections in the industry, I asked a friend who owns a small distribution house to contact Director Dickhead and feign interest in my B-Horror movie so he would send him a copy, then hand it over to me.  My friend warned me that he could make the connection via Facebook and how would he know how he got his contact details? The movie's website doesn't have any contact information on it. GENIUS!

I said, "Don't worry. He's not that smart."

One day later, my friend emailed me:

"He took the bite and is sending the screener soon.


Of course he did. Don't fuck with actors who are smarter than you.

My manager texted me asking for a phone meeting.

I called. She said, "Hey, I will go through your headshots with you now on the phone. I was also going to ask you, my birthday is this Friday and my sister was going to come out but she backed out and I have these reservations at the Chateau Marmont . . . would you be interested in joining me for a birthday dinner with another one of my friends."

I said, "I work until 10pm but I have always wanted to go to the Chateau Marmont."

She said, "Its very exclusive. Its hard to get into and there will be people there you should meet."

Yeah, that's the kind of manager I'M talking about.

She said, "And with my sister backing out and my mom going into rehab, my plans are kind of changing. But we can make the most of it."

I said, "Did you say your mom was going into rehab? (delicately) That's great."

She said, "Yeah, but the week of my birthday she decides to go into rehab. THANKS MOM!"

I said, "Well life keeps happening no matter what day it is. I had to go to my grandpa's funeral on my 10th birthday. It sucked but . . . not his fault obviously."

She said, "Oh . . . yeah, ok. So you think you can come?"

Maybe I should emphasize the greatness of the Chateau Marmont: I first heard about it when reading up on Keanu Reeves in high school. Obviously, I made a note since I was planning on driving down there and meeting him. Now forgive me for copying and pasting off Wikipedia but whatever:

-Jim Morrison used up what he called "the eighth of my nine lives" after he hurt his back here while dangling from a drain pipe and falling onto a shed while trying to swing from the roof into the window of his hotel room.

-In 1982, John Belushi died of a drug overdose in one of its garden bungalows.

-James Dean hopped in through a window to audition with Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo for Rebel Without a Cause.

-Greta Garbo loved to stay in the Chateau Marmont for weeks during her infamous seclusion period and would not leave her room for days.

-Judy Garland sang by the lobby's grand piano.

-Vivien Leigh, estranged from her husband Laurence Olivier, nevertheless had every surface space in her suite, 5D, covered with photographs of the great actor. In the bedroom, however, she displayed only one: on a side table near her pillow was a photograph of she and Olivier together during happier times.

-Hunter S. Thompson was often a guest at the hotel.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald suffered a heart attack in Chateau Marmont.

-The Eagles song "Hotel California" has been thought to have been written about Chateau Marmont.

 . . .

Can I come? What a silly question. I said, "Of course."