Lifestyles of the penniless and obscure

So, I feel seriously grotty, mostly from being all crampy and sick. You know what is bad? In a way, I like feeling a bit sick, so I don't feel like eating. I have been getting a bit better about that. I ate some chocolate today and a cookie yesterday on a set and I don't feel all that guilty. I also don't feel so bad eating in front of people anymore, esp. eating bad things like cookies. I only felt a twinge of guilt as I scarfed down the cookie in FRONT of someone. I have been going longer in between eating, which makes me feel good and bad at the same time.

Tomorrow is an audition (hopefully) with a theatre who's in desperate need of a few ensemble people. That's where I come in. THEN another audition, one I don't really want to go to, especially since I have to drive about 45 minutes away. It was recommended by a friend of mine, that slightly annoying and slightly mothering friend of mine who's being a bit obnoxious. She is no longer allowed to go without makeup when I photograph her. I am sick as all hell airbrushing out zits. She sent me a book she wrote. I told her it was good, but it wasn't.

As long as I'm venting, I might as well come clean: there's a girl I know, an actress, but a newbie in the biz. I met her on set months ago. Nice girl, etc. But she has no experience. But she keeps getting these parts because she's tall, pretty, and has a fresh-faced-girl-next-door look. I am resentful because of this. I am resentful of ANYONE who doesn't pay their dues, who doesn't go through horribly awkward high school years and beyond with endless rehearsals with nazi-directors, stage mothers, bitching ballerinas and years and years of countless cattle-call auditions for the lame-brains who make up this city's theatre network. People who don't spend four fucking years of college music and theatre classes with four years of history, theory, dictator instructors/accompanists/orchestral conductors, and all-night practice with second-degree smoke and splinters in your feet.

Don't get me wrong. I like the girl. But it's terribly unfair when people don't have to pay their dues simply because they look the part. They show up, they show some leg and they're in. People need to work their asses off, and when they don't, it bugs me.

So last night I went to the filmmaker's party and everyone got shitfaced. I logged into facebook and saw the standard "sorry, I was drunk" messages. I thought I would know more people, but instead I met some new people, one of which I stumped throughout the night with useless Beatles trivia, an old guy who kept trying to get me to go home with him (when I said I want to meet someone a little older, I meant someone like Craig and not a guy who looks like my grandpa), a guy who was toasted off his ass who is in a pretty big movie here, who insisted we be a power couple for the rest of the night. I suggested we'd emulate Ivana and Donald Trump. I ended up walking with him and his friend all over town after I consumed a glass of straight vodka (he was buying people drinks all night) and just got slightly buzzed. Does this make sense? How come vodka doesn't get me drunker? It was an effing fun night.

I made my way back to my car a little sloshed, just a bit, while the cops watched me drive away (I managed to walk fairly steady, amazingly so, because I was wearing heels), and back to the house where I'm sitting for. I hit my head on the car door, almost fell in the lawn across the street, got stuck in the mud in the driveway they're repaving, and was almost attacked by the dog who smelled the vodka and probably wanted some himself.

Oh, must tell you about one of the obnoxious girls I'm 'friends' with. She knows everyone in the acting industry here, but she's not involved herself. She is very interested in photography, and she'll say soemthing on the grounds of 'teach me about taking photos,' like I can explain the fundamentals of photography in a half hour. Last night she came up and swooned over the drunk ass guy, saying how wonderful he was in the "big" movie he was in and proceeded to get autographs from everyone in the room, who were all too trashed to even understand what was going on. The girl is weird. This girl leaves comments on your facebook wall that look like this:

"Ohmygod, you are in a movie again?? What movie it is? Is so and so in it? I know him! What are you doing? Where are you going? Who is going with you? What time are you going? Are you still going to teach me about photography? I suck at it! Ohmygod! Message me about it! Thank you! I know we're going to be best friends forever!!! OMGWTFBBQ!"

And so on. She is the kind of friend I try to keep at arm's length. I was just staring at her in my slight vodka-y haze while she went around the room star struck (you would think she was at the bleeding oscars), just drooling and exclaiming. I think I laughed at her. She's in her thirties.
I guess I'm pretty intolerant, which sucks cause I hate intolerance and people who are judgemental and nosy. It's just so easy to become tiresome and exhausted.

I cannot hack into the internet at the house I'm sitting for, so I'm in a cafe, using my two-hour parking time wisely.

Last night, me and one of my friends (one of whom is getting under my skin with her "we're going to be STARS and best friends forever" junk, met up with these guys who do a lot of promos, demos and recordings. My friend wanted me to come out there to see what they're about, and if I'd like to do mixes, records, photos, etc. I think she just wanted me to go with her cause the one guy obviously fancies her, but they were such nice guys, I didn't think she needed me along. What I thought was going to be a go-see turned out to be just a 'sit down and hang out for hours' meeting, which I don't mind, but after a long day I just wanted to go to bed like the old fogey I am. All in all, I would love to do selective work, and having a recording studio available 20 minutes away is very gear.

Because one of my jobs actually PAID me yesterday, I am going to go a little nuts and be incredibly extravagent and go to the thrift store and actually buy a few things. I know, right?

Still rather disapointed a lot of our footage was cut from the film. It really does pay to be a principle. I think doing underground films is best for me, but I'm actually getting tired of doing zombies and horror. I really want to do something GOOD. I know it sounds mean, but I'm getting sick of bad scripts and not enough professionalism. Last night I was watching Woody Allen, thinking, damn, I want to be in a movie like THIS. Something really funny with substance and irony and metophor. I'd better start making it big FAST, because Woody isn't going to be around for much longer.

It just seems tv and movies are just getting dumber and dumber. And it's funny, because they're spending so much money trying to compensate with big names and special effects.

Tomorrow: looking over the kinky script of yet another slasher I'm in this month, where every page of script is strewn with makeout scenes, trying to makeout with someone scenes, and full-out, slasher-goodness sex scenes that result in the sex-ees dying because they HAD sex. Those are the rules, by the way. No, I'm not in any sex scenes, but I have a feeling my character is implied as participating in such activities. I don't mind being slashed in a movie, not at all. I am now completely convinced that my career will result in me becoming the next great B-movie, cult-classic queen. This makes me feel a mixture of pride and kink.
 

It'll just be a matter of time before I'll be calling up Richard O'Brian and John Waters.

I was SUPPOSED to get more headshots done, but the photographer (who had, at the time I was trying to make it as a photographer, kicked my ass and told me how it was, giving me enough balls-which I had NOT at the time-to even TRY) hasn't called me back. She's a famous, local photographer whom most people do not like because of her blunt honesty and her kick-your-ass competitive approach. Which is why I love her.

So a friend of mine is going to be homeless. The whole situation is very sad. He has a few ideas that actually involve me renting a studio space and splitting the cost. Mixed feeling about this.

I don't like not having a car.

When you're in the entertainment business, you're bound to see some weird shit.

This last weekend, an actor friend of mine gave me a contact with this guy who's directing a movie.

Right away, I find out this director is the most pompous, narcisstic self-indulgent person I've ever talked to. Beyond rude, goes beyond just taking the piss. He won't let you off the phone, for he loves talking about himself so much. Oh well, I think. I'll play the part anyway...

So me and my actor friend head out to his place today, about 40 minutes away for the go-see, and we walk into the scuzziest, dirtiest barbershop. Surrounding us are these decapitated manniquins with fake blood, custumes, skulls, dolls, etc. No biggie, seen 'em before...

The guy is about 500 pounds with three rings in his nose, covered in tattoos, wifebeater on. Eh, seen it, no biggie...he hands us the scripts, hand-written on looseleaf paper. The script is nothing but shock-value diolouge with a few hundred racist terms. The paper is dirty, with, I am NOT kidding, some red smears.

He proceeds to tell us all about himself, how he thinks his movie is going to the greatest thing ever, even though he's never done a movie before, and what he hates and likes about society, people and films. He tells us how he stabbed his friend in the leg when the friend said a cliche, which he hates, and brings out this knife which he waves in our faces. Throughout this time, these young girls are coming in and out, kissing him, he's painting their toenails and rolling joints. He mentions he does some other things on the side besides cutting hair and stabbing people. Me and my friend are looking at each other like this is a comedy, trying not to laugh our asses off, while I'm looking at the door, wanting more than anything to bolt before he kills us.

No, I'm not doing the movie. I didn't want to tell him that there, or else he might've decided to use his threeblades or the spikes on chains which he demonstrated earlier.

I want to take a shower.

Okay, so today was freaking LONG. I got up at six, arrived at the filming for the trailer I'm gonna be in at eight. When they start filming the feature, they're gonna call US to be in it; we have first dibs. Yay! We shot three scenes and I didn't get home until about five. I ate a doughnut on the set and feel horrible about it. It was so freaking good. It was a lot of hurry up and wait; it always IS. Hung out with a couple cool people there, a few I've been on other sets with before, so it was good to see them again. On my way out, I found a parking ticket on my car. Fucking jerks need to give us leeway on saturdays.

Got home and worked on my "novel" a bit and killed off one of my main characters. I feel terrible and sad now. I may fix it and keep him alive, but when you keep writing and it turns into something like you're EXPERIENCING it yourself, you find things happen in your story you don't WANT, but it makes sense and is almost impossible to make it happen otherwise.

I then started cleaning for tomorrow, dyed easter eggs and painted each one with replicas by the great masters of French Impressionism. I have two Van Gogh's, a Degas, a Gauguin, a Monet and a Toulouse Lautrec. And two others, one of a painting I don't know by WHOM, and a springtime tree. After that, I cleaned some more, did laundry and started my black bean soup which I will be the primary eater of tomorrow when the fam comes over.

I now just have to mop the floor, finish my soup and consume the rest of my 64 oz of water. It is nineteen minutes til midnight. I don't think I did enough today.