Lifestyles of the penniless and obscure

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.

I shouldn't post when I'm drunk because it's awfully frustrating to type drunk and make so many typos and then the next day being all embarrassed about being a bad grammar student.

So okay. Nothing much happening except being destructive as usual. Saturday is the next film shoot and I have no idea what that entails. Tomorrow is two real estate shoots and I have exactly $7.75 in my account, and no money to pay for gas going the 45 minutes to one of them. And I hate having to type when I'm drunk because I have to keep backspacing and it's annoying.

Gonna housesit again for Dick Clark woman with spoiled dogs thursday. She doesn't like the dogs to be left alone for more than 2 hours, which is too bad, cause I have a life and all that. Yeah. I have a job and stuff, so the dogs can just pee and I don't care.

I'm gonna read this later and be so embarassed. I love Craig Ferguson, by the way. He's so hot. And I love wine. 

That's about it. I'll delete this later on when I've come to me senses.

I'm house/pet sitting for about a week. My mum's friend does it for a living (I know, you're thinking, 'Whaa?') and I'm covering for her. It's really a lousy business. Taking care of spoiled dogs. Good side: a big house to myself. Bad side: the house doesn't have an internet connection. So I'm hacking.

The owner of this house was relatively famous back in the late 50's/early 60's. I guess you could call her one of the Dick Clarkers. I want to ask her if Dick Clark indeed sleeps in a large tupperware container, but we all know he does. She's 70 and looks about 55 and does everything she can to look it. She's had a great facelift and in her fridge is jam and diet coke and not much else. In her closet are all her wigs. In her parlour is an old turntable with some of her records. She goes to the Emmys every year and has all these pictures of her and the celebs. Because I'm a bit of a snoop, I looked through the Emmy programme they give out to the attendees. Looks like People mag. She has all these pics around with her and the cast of this and that. She told me about her holiday with Frank Sinatra Jr. and the Rat Pack's antics.

I'm not starstruck at all and to tell you the truth, all those award shows are just a mutual admiration party. I've been to award shows and it's rather sickening. Celebrites are just people: nice ones, mean ones, smart ones, dumb ones. Some are very normal and some are very self-involved. There are some I would love to meet, just because I admire them as an artist. But as far as 'celebrity' goes...yawn.

She's a totally sweet woman, though. A bit scatty, but very nice. Her dogs are borderline spoiled. Which means I don't have to feed them on a bed, like the ones I had before when the dogs refused to eat anywhere else. I'm not a petsitter. I'm having a holiday and getting paid for it.

When I arrived this morning, she was frantically searching for her missing engagement ring, which is the size of a quarter, not exaggerating. The biggest effing diamond I've ever seen. We looked all over and she finally found it in the bin. She had accidentally tossed it. The bloody thing is insured for God knows how much. Jeeze.

Her daughter is a model and she just might hook me up with a mag. Is nepotism REALLY bad? Naahhh...

I think I'm a cat person. Having neither a dog or cat growing up, I only have to witness those around me. I'm never getting a dog. I love animals, but they are too high maintenance. These dogs will pee on the furniture if I don't take them out every three hours. Which is making my schedule rather annoying. Last year I housesat and entertained myself very thoroughly with some of their malt scotch. I don't know if I should risk that here. She might have cameras and I think I'd be embarrassed enough by my loud rendition of Dancing Queen I just performed in her foyer.

I confess I am a blogging/website junkie. I have 4 blogs, 2 myspaces, one website I use, two I abuse, 3 hotmail accounts, a horde account for one co. I work for...why do I DO this? How can I have so many different usernames and passwords and remember then (some of the time)? Starting afresh with a new blog is exhilarating and liberating. Maybe I should just get rid of the others and just use this one.  I've stalked livejournal for so long, I just threw in the towel.