Saturday, April 16, 2011

F**k You, Mom

Tuesday, I had an audition for a student film. Something silly. I just want to get back out there. If I was too distracted to have a conversation, I was too distracted to audition or even submit myself for roles.

Eventually, I got an audition for a project called BLACK JESUS.

The breakdown was as follows:
Featured / Female / Caucasian / 18 - 25 / Sexual Situations
A young nun who parties with Jesus

Yeah . . . maybe I didn't mention before, I have a Jesus fetish. I love that man.  Sexy, smart, activist. Sweaty. MMMMMMM!

I drove out to Tarzana for the audition at a film school. The sides were silly.

Hey Jesus, we wouldn't miss your last orgy.

Yeah, you have done so much for us over the years.

You taught me that I can enjoy even the missionary position.

I went in there and the director was an overweight white kid with a thin mustache. A tall, white 24 yr old cup of vanilla foam deliciousness walked in and introduced himself as the producer on this project. . . . ha ha ha, hm.

My blog does give the impression I prefer younger men. The last 2 years I have enjoyed their company, but before that, I only ever dated older men. Its just the young ones are so adorable, and genuine.  Older men think they can influence your impression of them and control the conversation. Young men just want you to laugh at their jokes.

I walked in and handed over a crumpled headshot with no resume on it. I am not my usual together self. I apologized and said, "I'm sorry,  its .  . . hold on. I am thinking of a good excuse. Its been a bad week." They laughed.

Then, I asked if I was reading with someone. The director asked White Chocolate to step in and read for Jesus. Seriously, could this get better?

I asked him to sit down and pressed my breasts against his arm and slung my leg over his lap per stage directions (I think). We started.

White Chocolate
Hey Jesus, we wouldn't miss your last orgy.

I said, "That's my line, baby cakes. Yours is right here."

We did the scene once and I asked to go through it again with an adjustment.

The director, "I am not really good at giving adjustments on the fly. Um . . ."

I said, "You don't have to."

He said, "No hold on, let me think of something. (pause) How about, if you are more high?"

I said, "I can do that!"

With my hair super frizzy and in a tangled mess, I pulled it out and shook it over White Chocolate's chest. I felt how baby soft his arm was and kept my eyes lazy as my bare legs scratched over his denim. And, that was it.

I got in my car to meet my friend Rummy and take him to the west side. Even though I am carrying men's unscented deodorant around in my purse, I could still pick up on my animal scent. I should have put on some perfumy moisturizer or something, because I was starting to smell like a steaming bowl of vegetable soup.

Rummy and I made our way to Venice, which is my old hood. Gawd, I love the west side. Of course, it comes with its old haunts. The Prophet. My Ex-Husband. Mostly pleasant memories but sad ones.

We parked by the beach and jumped into a house he was staying in for a couple of days before a business trip. We agreed to smoke a bowl and then go out looking for a happy hour, at 2pm on a Tuesday.

What I learned is there is no happy hour before 3pm on a Tuesday.

We ended up at the Sidewalk Cafe on the Boardwalk and asked for two shots of well tequila, which turned into three. 

He said, "I kinda want to have sex."

I said, "Do you?"

He said, "Yeah, kinda."

I said, "Its not a good time down there. I am expecting my period and I take this time to grow out my hair to be waxed."

He said, "Is it bad?"

I said, "Its not a jungle. Its more like the Hewlett Packard yearlings growing in after deforestation."

He said, "Guys don't care."

I said, "Eh, it makes me kind of self conscious."

The male bartender came by and dumped the last two shots of a bottle of Corzo tequila in our glasses and charged us well prices. Smooth. Wash that heart ache away.

Two black men were next to us watching the Lakers.

I said, "They are playing tonight?"

The one closest to me said, "Yeah. Sacramento."

I said, "Oh. I like the Lakers, but I hate Kobe Bryant. Fuck that guy."

He unzipped his sweatshirt to reveal a #24 jersey and said, "Excuse me?"

I said, "I don't like rapists."

He said, "That girl had three different types of sperm in her when she went to the hospital to report rape."

I said, "That doesn't mean its consensual."

He gave a look of bewilderment. "Well, three different types?"

I said, "Let me ask you something, have you ever been intimate with three different women in the same week?"

He thought about it and said, "Once."

I said, "Ok, so it happens. That said, she was fucked in the ass."

He said, "It was (slowly) consensual."

I sat up, grabbed my purse, patted him on the side and said, "No one wants to get ass fucked by a black guy. Trust me."

As I walked away, I heard him laugh. (Thank God)

We went back to Rummy's place of the day, and sat on the couch. He kissed my neck and we decided to fornicate. I am not sure if I am making the right decisions for myself, but it was a good day.

Afterward, I got up to get going, he jumped in the shower and said, "Is that it?"

I said, "What do you want me to do? Hold you?"

He said, "Geez!"

I said, "Your meeting is in 2 minutes." I picked up a tambourine and sang, "Thank you for the lay!"

Then I made my exit.

I called my sister, she is dating. This is great news since she wasted 7-yrs on her Jewish Momma's Boy (with no chin) who came over just to eat her food, fuck her then go home.

Quick back story on my sister, she has a PHD in literature, two Master's Degrees and hates people. She is one of the funniest people I know, but she enjoys being a loner. She also teaches 9th grade English for a private school in Las Vegas to a bunch of privileged brats who plagiarize, make phone calls during class and get passing grades when my sister is called to the Principal's office, instead of vice versa.

Me: "So, you're dating a Republican?"

Her: "Yeah, well, he is from the OC, he was in the Navy and he took me to a Dennis Miller show. I thought it was going to be Dennis Leary, who is actually funny. Dennis Miller started tearing into teachers and I got a little over sensitive. He asked me if I was not conservative, and I said 'I am in education.' He said, 'What does that mean?' I said, 'Screaming liberal bordering on socialist."

I don't think my sister has ever been in love, which breaks my heart. Especially when she hates her job. I am happy and hopeful.

I got to Em's and she was sitting in the living room with her brother. They asked what I did today and I gave a quick recap; hike, tequila, fornication.

Em's brother, my friend, said, "I know you are going through this grieving period thing but you are going to have to not be drunk at some point."

I said, "I am not drunk when I work."

He laughed and said, "That's GOOD."

Em and I had a chat outside about everything, it was far to precious of a conversation to document in this blog, but someday I hope I can capture an eighth of all the things we covered about being women, being actresses, being daughters.

My parents have been on me about moving back to Washington. I have rationalized it as my depression worries them, and they want me to be closer to them so they can try to control it. Moving far away from everything I know and love is not the answer.


Mom: What's happening?
me: had an audition yesterday
  two today
Mom: Thought you were not interested in acting anymore; is this just to supplement your income?
me: I don't know why you thought I wasn't interested
Mom: Wish you would come back to Washington; don't see much future in California
 me: thank you
Mom: Why continue? Wouldn't a fresh start be better?
me: I am not sure it would
  a fresh start to do what?
  what job would I take there that would satisfy me creatively?
Mom: Don't know. However, you could always write, no matter where you are. I just don't see how struggling so hard every month to make the rent and feed yourself is going to help. Wouldn't it be better to have a steady job and do your writing from home?
me: Doesn't sound like a good plan
  write about what
  part of writing is inspiration
  being isolated won't be great for my mind
  and I was struggling in Olympia too
  working two jobs
  barely making rent
  I don't think there are more jobs up there than in LA
Mom: Washington isn't nearly as bad as California as far as jobs go. You've got a lot of experience and even though you wouldn't like office work, wouldn't it be better to do and meet your bills rather than hoping something comes up each and every month?
me: I am not sure
  working in an office is like death
  waste away
  watch the years go by
  get lost in TV and movies wondering what could be
  I am going to take the girls for a hike
 (Here I saw 'Mom entered text' but nothing was popping up)
  are you going to press enter?
  enter text
Mom: The years are going by.
me: All things considered, I am happy
Mom: Ok. Have a good day.

After that conversation, I smoked a bowl and took my dogs for a hike. Driving back, with both girls heads out the window in Altadena, I caught myself smiling. Just smiling. For no reason other than I was happy.

Em is going through similar conversations with her Mom, however a lot harsher. My theory stands that Moms are harder on their daughters than their sons. They push you, you have to get better grades, work harder, clean more, cook more, find a husband, have babies, and be skinny or else you are a fucking failure.

Guess what? F U** K   Y O U,   MOM!


First of all, this isn't the fucking 50s. Its called EVOLUTION, ok? I don't have to do everything for nothing like you did.

My mom ran marathons, put herself through college, worked full time and kept our house impeccable. I hardly ever saw her, but she set the standard very high for personal achievement. I will still never forget one Saturday, after my mother scrubbed down the kitchen, my Dad left an empty mustard bottle on the counter for her to clean up while he returned to watch television.

I told her then, I think I was 13, "Tell him to clean it up himself!"

She shook her head as she tossed the bottle, "You pick your battles."

Fuck him. Fuck that.

Secondly, do you know the courage and strength it takes to be an actress? To put yourself out there again and again, sell terrible dialogue, expose parts of your body for strangers to look at, try to make people laugh and cry just using your face. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS? You need magic.

Not to mention, the fact that every girl I know supports herself by working her ass off. We work. We work, and fight everyday and struggle to find more energy to support our boyfriends and husbands, keep tidy, meet their mother's expectations on some level, look pretty and not get too frazzled carrying the burden of it all while they get stoned playing video games.

Its hard. SO FUCK YOU, MOM!

I spent 11 years educating myself in the industry and taking jobs in production and distribution, making a documentary, finding paid work as an actress and doing it because I want to even though I am considered too old by the industry and, as my father pointed out,  have "no connections." I am going to keep going because this is my life, I made it and you know what, I FUCKING LOVE IT!

Don't take it away from me. Don't tell me I don't know whats best for myself after all the time I invested. If I was a man, you would leave it up to my better judgement, you wouldn't be pressuring me through guilt and shame to come back home like a teenager.

I love auditioning. I love surprising my co-stars when the camera rolls. I love making someone on set laugh out loud and ruin the take. I love finding a way in through the gates of celebrity offspring and the privileged few who weasel their way in whether they deserve it or not. Its the challenge. Its my challenge.

And I above everything else, I love writing about it.

I REFUSE to let nepotism take over Hollywood. And I refuse to give up everything I built for myself so my mother can rest assured, I didn't get any further ahead than she did.

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