Lifestyles of the penniless and obscure

Okay, so my funds are seriously dropping, so much so that I'm anxious about spending $9 on a movie with a friend of mine Saturday night. $9 is a lot when you have about $70 in the bank. I survived a few months ago with $7.75 in my account for two whole weeks. I just have to stay creative in the saving money area, or I have to start whoring myself.

Mum JUST told me that after my show in October (I'm in a musical; it's going to be gear!), we should head down to New Orleans again. Last time I was there was pre-Katrina. Actually, about two months pre-Katrina. I will be able to take some brand spanking new photos because all I'm taking NOW is headshots and real estate. There is a new gallery opening nearby and I got word that they're looking for submissions. Whoot! Should I be irresponsible and take off a week and have a holiday in New Orleans? Sure.

Waiting to hear if I got a part in a new film. Tomorrow I'm filming for the webisode. Two of the commerical directors have dropped off the face of the earth. They were calling me and I tried to return their calls and now no answer. I'm up for a role in another commerical and I seriously need the money. Things could be so much worse financially. One friend of mine is still "homeless," another has severe asthma and doesn't have any insurance. There's only so much I can do to help them.

These past weeks I was convinced I had an anurism. My head was throbbing all the time and I convinced myself I had contracted the HIV virus from sharing a tissue on set. Yes, this is very unlikely. But you never know. Then I got a spoof email saying someone hacked into my account. I imagined my tiny amount of money in my checking account and the nice chunk of a balance in my credit card account slowly being drained, or increased, depending on the respective cases. I was just about to end it all, or change my identity and move to Turkey. It turns out I was just having PMS.

So, I really wish the patient programme could go all year round, a few times a week, but alas. School is over, which means the next time I do this will probably be in July. I was kind of counting on it being a constant thing. Oh well. Today that Old Guy who shows everyone his boxers told me the healthiest thing to eat is aspartamine and aspertane, and the chemicals in the foods we eat are actually making us live longer. I quickly learned just to nod and smile. I guess it would've be a bad idea if I showed him my packet of wheat grass and chloryphyl powder.

I'm glad we got to leave early because I got a superbad migrane that hit me hard and fast, and spent my way home trying not to puke. It's a  shame it just NOW went away, because it's too late to deposit the pittance state tossed my way.

So I spent last night trying my best to diagnose my latest weird symptom: I have this weird taste/smell that won't go away. I'm experiencing this SENSE, but I don't know if I'm smelling it, tasting it, or remembering it. I keep getting whiffs of it all day. It's making me crazy. My mum told me not to go to the doctor until I've experienced it for over a month. But thinking I might have gastrointerlogical cancer or gingivitis makes me ansty.

Is it wrong that I fnd this too funny?

So Mr. Stabby (the pimp director) called me twice and emailed me once. I didn't listen to his messages, and shot him an email, very diplomatically saying I wasn't available to do the movie. My friend messaged me saying Mr. Stabby contacted HIM and he wasn't very happy with me. So I might just live in fear and yet feel all the more sexy and dramatic I might just have to have my first restraining order.

So on MSN, a link to different cancer symptoms caught my eye and I couldn't resist. Thus, I have diagnosed myself with lung cancer, ovarian cancer and lukemia. I know I just went to the gyno in December AND got a blood test. I'm thinking it all developed right after I went in. So if Mr. Stabby doesn't hack me into little pieces, I'll die a slow, horrible death.

Went to a winery today, fun fun. It's very strange, but all the while growing up and until about three months ago, I used to hate mushrooms. And now I love them. Same with peppers and tomatoes.

So this next week is the training thing at the school where we'll all play different patients to help the pre-med students prepare for their careers. The pay is not bad at all. And no, my employer hasn't paid me for about a month. It's back to living on black beans again. The real estate people wanted me to do a shoot about two hours away. I told them no. If they wanted to rent me a car and pay me more, we'll talk. It feels so good being a firm badass.

I did a shoot yesterday for a property in a very bad neighbourhood. It happens, but this specific house had no door. A peice of plywood was in the doorway, secured by a padlock. I was to unlock the padlock and let myself in, so therefore, I couldn't lock the door BEHIND me as I entered into a pitch black porthole into hell. Which it WAS. It looked as if it had survived a atom bomb. Black everywhere, glass and trash all underfoot. I couldn't see anything, and everything was demolished. It was a combo of Candyman and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The stairs were almost collaping, and I was to take all these PICTURES everywhere. There were scary people around yelling around me, and I knew any minute someone was going to let themselves in past the plywood and come and kill me, mutilate me and string me up in the window to warn other presumptious photographers. I was shaking so bad I couldn't do it. It was hysterically funny and the most scared I have ever been, including when I had the knife waved at me by Mr. Stabby in his little barbershop of horrors.

Do I have a death wish this week or what?

The only good thing about possibly being stalked by a 500 pound tattooed, pierced guy armed with mideaval weapons is that he'd be easy to spot.

My shoot today was cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances not on my part, which was fine with me. Still getting over my cold.

So I'm warding off the piggy flu by upping my dosage of ester-C and my kyolic aged garlic  and dophilus capsules. I'm not too worried about ME, but if I get it and I give it to mum, her health is so bad she won't survive it, most likely.

Against my better judgement, I will drive 20 minutes to go buy a notebook. I have other notebooks, but I don't like them. Please forgive me and this irresponsible strain on the ecosystem, farting out exaust instead of just using one of the notebooks I already have. Well, I also plan on popping into the thrift store. I am in dire need of more summer clothes and another throw-everything-into-it bag now that my bowling bag is kaput.

Tomorrow is an audition for a talent agency, but I'm not sure I will go because I do not have a monolouge prepared. I hate monolouges. I could dig a few up from my high school days, but that's unlikely. Most of my adolescent days have been psychologically blocked out, so the chances of remembering anything are very slim. I would be stupid NOT to audition, though.

On a lovely note, I made the cast for the feature I just auditioned for. I think they liked my brill red lipstick. Or at least they were scared of it. I am very convinced red lipstick is a control mechanism.

I am supposed to go to a networking thingy tonight, but my gas is low (I know what you're thinking, just DON'T go get a notebook!) and I don't really want to expose myself. One case of the piggy flu was found in my area, and during the shoot sunday I was exposed to a bunch of people out of town. I know it's very unlikely, but I keep thinking about the book The Stand. I only read about halfway through and I convinced myself I had the disease.

So I have a cold again (I think I either caught it from my employer or my dad) and I don't have cold meds left. This is funny/scary: I was looking through my med cabinet (which is really a drawer), and I saw a pack of pills that looked like my cold meds, but it was out of it's box. The name wasn't on the pack, but it looked just like my cold pills. Anyroad, I was about to take two and then I realised they were my freaking wonky Indian ANTIBIOTICS that I had the worst allergic reation to, and I had only taken about a quarter of a pill at a time. If I had done it, you all would have never heard from me again, and the only left would be my boring LJ blogs. How sad is that?

I don't like those stupid job websites. I have careerbuilder and monster.com, and everything I'm offered is either sales, customer service and technical writing/web design. I hate these things with an insurmountable passion.

All I can really do right now is drink tea and moan. Which isn't that different than my normal day. Good side: I don't have to feel guilty about not taking advantage of this crisp, rainy weather that I love way more than than the hot sun (and I'm badly sunburned from yesterday...the only day I didn't slather on sunscreen. I have a fear of skin cancer), AND not driving my car around today means more fuel in the tank.

Oh, and besides moaning and drinking tea, I can work on my "novel" (bleah, I don't know where to go with it, except for killing off someone else which shouldn't become a habit), or just meander through the lovely, inspiring assortments of inspirations from youtube, watching certain nighttime talk-show hosts do sexy dances, reminicse about  times of long ago, and just feel like a gross pariah.

So today we got a call from my aunt who told us my cousin (who I'm not very close to) has hemochromatosis, which is a genetic disease that messes with your iron levels. He was pretty sick and last night, he had a heart attack. Right now, he has damage to his organs and probably brain damage. We have no idea if he's gonna make it. I spent the morning/afternoon in the ICU. Everyone in my fam is now gonna get tested for this, because it can even be a recessive gene.

After that, I made my way downtown to the big hospital. Why, you ask? No, not from any hypochondria on my part. I am participating in a Student Programme, which means I will play different roles of "patients" in order for the pre-med students to practice interacting with patients and diagnosis. I sat in with a few actors (there were a few there I have been on sets with before and the coordinator is a talent agent who's in charge of lots around here) to see how the thing worked. Turns out, I really think I missed my calling as a MD. I found myself instead of concentrating on the acting part of the programme, I began mentally diagnosing the conditions. I diagnosed asthma, walking phneumonia and possible acute bronchitis, and finally depression and anxiety of the three "patients." Screw this art shit, I should go to fucking med school.

Except I'd be the kind of MD who would be doing a surgery and have an "oh fuck" moment, realising I left my watch inside the patient. I don't think they'd want me. Everything I have learned from the med profession is that I should be a patient rather than a physician.

I am praying like hell my cousin will be okay.

Okay, so I stopped taking the dodgy antibiotic because all the weirdness was attributed to a crazy allergic reaction.

And I'm itching like mad. One of the side effects is a rash, but I also have these tiny little bumps. I don't have a dog or cat that could've brought in fleas, but I'm itching like I have fleas. So I threw away my mattress cushion and bought a new one, washed everything and cleaned up like mad, and I'm still itching. I stopped taking the medicine days ago and I'm still feeling it. The itching is driving me up the wall. They looks like little BITES. I don't know what the deal is. I've examined everything to see if I could find little bugs, and I'm not seeing anything.

So I'm going to my surgeon Monday if he can get me in, who's a master at skin and abnomalities. I want him to check out a little bump on my boob anyway just to make sure it's nothing (breast cancer runs rampant in my fam, so he said I should get anything checked out that seems wonky) and I know he's gonna be mad about using a dodgy antibiotic and will probably lecture me. I'm just learning my lesson and I deserve all these side effects for being a self-medicator.

My friend is into homepathism and she sends me these little trial thingies. I've been using this powder you mix with a drink that looks and tastes like pond scum, and it's made of chlorella, grass and chlorophyll. It promotes immunity, so I'm trying to beat this yucky cold with that.

So I need new headshots. You bring them to auditions and the one I am using now mum told me makes me looks weird. So probably tomorrow I will head over to my photographer friend's (whom I fancy a bit and flirt like mad with) to get some done. Hopefully I will ONLY do that. he is SUCH a randy sod, but an adorable one. I am trying to hook  up with a good talent agency, and the one who wants me to pay $200 is telling me I should go with them, THEY willl get me tons of jobs and I know they would. But I have to keep in mind they're working for ME.

Tonight I am heading down to a club to see a band and generally try to have a bit of fun whilst networking. The boob-and-stiletto girls from the magazine I used to work for will will there, too, and I really don't care because I will never work for them again even if they begged me. These girls wear stilettos with heels. I don't see the point in that. When you wear jeans you DON'T see your feet. So why kill yourself for nothing? This elludes me. And mum bought more chocolate.

And my employer STILL hasn't paid me for like, 10 photoshoots. I don't know WHAT his trip is.

Okay, I still feel like shit and it's moved into my head now, which is weird, cause it always starts in my head and moves down.

About 3 seconds ago I took 1/4 of an antibiotic I got last time I was out of the country that was made in India. It's a slightly different kind of antibiotic, think. I have never taken it before, and I have no idea how strong it'll be. If I don't die, I'll take another 1/4th. If I do die, I leave to you dedicated LJ readers the following: my impressive and vast collection of cds, mostly classical, blues, Beatles, Stones, The Clash, Zeppelin, bootlegs from the early 60s and lesser known punkrockers from the 70s and 80s. Fight amongst yourselves.

So I'll continue to type until I see the white light.

It seriously pisses me off that my employer owes me about TEN FUCKING photoshoots. And right now I have a little over a hundred dollars in my account. I would've gone to the doctor's to get some reputable antibiotics, but no, right now I have to horde my money like Scrooge McDuck and figure out how to pay my bills with the last of it. My employer mentioned it last time he rang me, which was about a week ago and still, no cheque. I think he figures since I have no spouse and children like he does, my life is simple and I'm not in need of it quickly. He can be a right bastard at times.

I just heard the post and I ran (as stupidly-zonked out as I could) in to see if my cheque arrived. Nope. I shot him an email last night.
You know how some people are the types where they always know how to have money, find money, make money? Well, I am not one of those people; I wish I WERE. I can SAVE money to the point where I should get a nobel prize for my ingenuity, but I can't seem to make it very well. I think I should fix that, don't you? Really, it's about the law of attraction. Maybe the reason I don't make money very well is that I don't feel I DESERVE the money I make, and I'm ASHAMED of it, for some reason. I think I've reached an epiphany and it only took foreign antibiotics to make it happen.

If you don't hear from me, you'll know I died.

So yeah, I am definetely sick, no effing around this time. This is a killer chest cold which sucks more than a head cold because my lungs feel like fire and my glands are the size of barbells. I have chills and I'm starting to hallucinate, which makes typing all the more difficult.

Right now, antibiotics are futile because I don't have an infection. The crap that comes up is not wonky colours yet (if my friends can talk about buttfucking and masterbation on LJ, I can talk about cruddy mucous, heh). These things always turn into infections, but I have spare antibiotics lying around, so I'm prepared.

So I have spent the majority of my pathetic day exclusively on youtube and facebook, stalking people, watching snippets of Ferris Bueller's Day Off and drinking massive amounts of tea. I esp identify with this right now.

Being sick was great when I was a kid. I got to stay home from school and eat popsicles all day and watch t.v. Sometimes I could fake out my parents into letting me stay home a few days more.

I think I'm dying. Today my face was green. Incidently, if I do die, I'm not gonna miss anything gear this next weekend because I have no cool plans whatsoever and no gas to get me anywhere. And blast it, the black is washing out of my fucking hair again.

Oh jeeze. I think I'm finally sick, for real this time. My vegetarian magical properties have worn down and I finally have a cold or something for the first time in a year. Yeah. I'm all grotty. I thought I could stop it in it's tracks by going medieval on it's ass with extra strength C and zinc; apparently not. I am feeling worse and worse. Yuck. Maybe it's psychological.

Incidently, I better get my cheque in the mail this week or I'm gonna have to get medieval on my employer's ass. I have a feeling I'm gonna have to relive the time where I had to survive a week with $6 in my account. Let me tell you, it IS possible.

So now I'm gonna take more C, drink my water, go to bed and dream of happier times.

Tonight I cleaned out my closet. I am a very purging person. I have to rid myself of past things every so often, changing things about my surroundings on a regular basis or I get in a rut and that makes me antsy.

I have had this consistant headache/jawache for the past few days, which I chalk it up as:

1. PMS
2. Pshychosomatic
3. My wisdom teeth killing me
4. I am fighting off some bug

Bad thing: I have been borrowing a friend's camera lens and she hadn't bought a filter for it (every photographer knows you can't use a lens without a filter, or you are summoning the camera gremlins), so now it has a scratch and I cannot buy her a new lens. So tomorrow I am going to call the company and scout out a repair shop to fix it. I think it's just the coating that is scratched. Now I know that I don't owe my loan co an extra $12,000, I have embraced life positively once more. This is crazy: people have even taken their own lives as a result of college loan people harrassing them. I know that feeling. I never thought COLLEGE LOAN people were like credit card companies, but they ARE. Fuckers.

This week I am looking forward to: paycheck in mail. I really need it. My employer has been waiting to be paid so he can pay US, and it's been a long time. I'm not too worried. Last summer I think I survived a whole week with exactly $6 in my bank account. You really learn how to scrimp when you get that poor.

I really dislike it when people treat their dogs/cats like their kids. I mean, it's one thing to love your animals...but sometimes it goes too far. Like last summer when I house/pet-sat for a couple, and the woman didn't want me using her sink, but she lets her dogs eat on her huge, kingsize bed. Yeah. Not only did the dogs refuse to eat ANYWHERE BUT the bed, you had to lay in bed with them and coax them to eat. I don't have patience for that shit. I love animals, but when you have to make your world revolve around them and their habits...that is sick.

I want to get my two remaining wisdom teeth out. I honestly think my intellegence went up significantly when they came in, and although my left two are gone and I haven't had any major turn of retardation, I want to get the last little buggers out so I don't have to worry about impactions and infections. So far, they're not hurting me. I take it as a good sign.

The time I got my left wisdom's out was needful. They were pushing on my other teeth and I spent a crapload of money straightening out my teeth and getting work done that has in many a convo made people cringe. I went to a ex-army dental surgeon and I really recommend one. I got a local anesthetic and he got both out in less than 3 minutes, tops. I also happen to believe that getting a local keeps you from getting really sick afterwards.

A day after they were pulled I started pushing the vicoden. I think this is the greatest drug. Mum and her friend who was the mother of two friends of mine were going to a conference to see speakers (one of which was an ex-black panther). In my sky-high state, I decided to go, also. We stopped over at my mum's friend's house where my pastor and his wife were dropping off their younger daughter to "babysit" the grandmother. I don't really remember what I said I anyone, except that I loved everyone and tripping, almost falling on my ass in their kitchen and laughing maniacally.

I also vaugely remember registaring for the conference, don't know what things I wrote down. I know I was stoned off my ass and asking the people questions and not really paying attention to what they said.

Then we all had to stand up and introduce ourselves. I know mum and her friend probably hid their heads in their hands, cause I really don't know what I said, probably that I loved everyone. I spaced out entirely during the speeches and watched a candle instead.

I recently spoke with my student loan people and because I was stupid for not paying always on time or the right amount, I was informed I owed an additional $2,000. Which was a blow, but I learned my lesson and to be more careful in the future.

Yesterday I opened up some dusty emails, one of which stated that I owed my student loan and additional interest of $12,000. So naturally I just wanted to end it all, figuring out some way to turn some tricks and become a woman on the streets, for life really wasn't worth living. I was able to sleep thanks to some xanax.

Today I called them up again and even though I "knew" the answer, I wanted them to confirm it. Not only did they not see ANY record of me owing $12,000 additional fees, my loan amount has not gone up at all. To top it off, because I applied for a financial hardship thingy, I don't owe anything for february. They told me to disregard the email. I called up again and another agent said the same thing. So it turns out that I'm not going to end it all or become a woman of the streets. Good thing, because I am running out of xanax. And fishnet stockings.

I am here to tell you that God does work miracles.

I couldn't post yesterday because my internet was doing wonky things. Certain websites and search engines did not work. I didn't know my connection could be so fickle and exclusive like that. Msn worked; livejournal didn't. Careerbuilder worked; facebook didn't. Blogger worked; this link about a kid who pretended to be a cop didn't. I stumped four techies. No one had ever heard of this happening. Livejournal started working about 5 minutes ago.

Went in for the auditions about 7 am sunday; there were already about 50 people there. It was really cold and that night I was cold at work; I was sure I was coming down with something. But I didn't; go me and my vegetarian magical properties!

On my way home from the auditions it started snowing and at the light to get onto the freeway I skidded into a car. We exchanged info and there didn't seem to be any damage. He said he was just taking my info as a precaution. He was more worried about ME. I was very relieved he wasn't a yuppie who freaks out about every scratch on his car like some of the losers I have encountered in the past. He had an accent and I thought he might be south american. But on the back of his car he had a bumper sticker that said 'Hakuna Matata.' I think I lucked out. Was the bumper sticker trying to tell me something?

Why can't cars be lined with padding? To make life just a little easier for all of us? So assholes can't bitch about little dings and make hell on earth for people like me with no money?

I try not to worry, but I just can't help it sometimes. I try to be all carefree and easygoing, and I really am. But I can't help but feel I am in a Woody Allen movie, all the time. Between my bouts of hypochondria and the people around me who are annoying, the weird compulsions I dig up...even way back when I was a kid. If I were really in a Woody Allen movie, I would like to be either Mia Farrow or Carol Kane. When I don't feel like Woody I feel like Edina.

If you are NOT a chick, read with caution, for this blog entry contains female language, female physical functions, and psychological female nudity.

I self diagnose because my whole family has done so and each of them are more or less dying from something, or in really bad health. I learned about sex and incurable diseases as soon as I learned to read from Gray's Anatomy. Sure, I peeked at the occassional Playboy, but they really weren't as informative. I didn't go to the doctor at the drop of a hat, and still don't, so I guess I'm not really a hypochondriac. I ignore colds and aches and haven't had a physical for years and years until last week. This is what happened.

Mum had been sure I was dying because of my lack of rotten meat in my diet and the fact I am "too thin." Mind you, I've taken that BMI test online right in front of her many times; still she hadn't been convinced, because I could fit behind the telly system to hook up a dvd player. I call that efficiant. What really pissed me off is the fact I have to pay for a blood test I didn't want in the first place.

So I'm getting the physical exam last week, and the doc is giving me a once over, saying my weight is fine, and he's pressing a bit "down there," and asks if I'm pregnant. This is a fairly regular question when one sees a doctor, but he's pressing in my neitherregions, so I immediately catch on to WHY he's asking me this NOW. I say "no" and he asks if I'm sure. I assure him but refrain from going into how I have no life and there's no way in hell it could be so, not unless I have a multiple-personality disorder and my other side is getting more action than me.

So he's feeling all this stiffness "down there" and I had noticed it before also. Being only a borderline hypochondriac, I've always ignored it, thinking all that stiffness was just the crap (literally) and the bits and bobs that are supposed to occupy my body in that region.

I guess not. He scheduled me for an ultrasound and internal ultrasound, saying that the stiffness is probably fibroids, which are pretty common in women. He says it's nothing to lose sleep over.

Hell right.

I then go across the hall to get my blood work done and I see stars. I mean, really. I'm a bit of a fainter, and the talk of foreign objects growing around my whatsits was making me rather woozy. They take the blood and I almost pass out. They had to drag me to the next room and they left me in my la-la-land to contemplate the meaning of life and John Waters' movies.

On my way home I mentally made out my bucket list, deciding not to tell a soul until actual tests came back with real answers. I was going to schedule the deep-and-probing test-o-doom asap, but of course I got my period the very next day. I had to wait a full week, today, to get any tests done.

I was really sad that I had nothing of value to add to my will, except maybe camera equipment and a fetching collection of lesserknown jazz musicans and barely-bootlegged Beatles and Stones cds.

So today I got up at the ass-crack of dawn for that deep-and-probing test-o-doom and go in and this chick does the tests, saying how I have these huge fibroids, which is a relief. She's also looking at the screen harder.

She tells me that I have a gigantic uterus. I mean massive. Which is simultaniously funny and scary. I immedeately ask if she's ever seen any so large (usually a question of a GUY) and start wondering if I would end up being one of those people on one of those medical shows or Reader's Digest. I was the next "woman with a 200 pound tumor." I watched that special; it was freaky.

I make a mental note to call Popular Science when she tells me she's seen them that big, but only in older women. I always knew I was born old.

So I have these huge fibroid and a huge-ass uterus, which makes me wonder why there's still room in for all that other stuff. I mean, they gotta still BE there, unless they got fed up with their instrusive neighbours and shrank, which would expain my recent need to piss a lot. The doctor will give me test results probably monday, so I won't know for sure if my bucket list will be needed until then, or whether or not surgery will be recommended. I mean, I really don't think about having kids right now, but I really want that option. The chick giving the test couldn't answer any of my questions because I knew more about fibroids than her. How is this possible, you ask? Because I thoroughly researched it the second I got home from my physical last week, that's why.

And it's always so typical that I get these very personal things going wrong with me, like the little lump in my boob that I had diagnosed. What the hell would I tell people about this one? "I have these hard things down there and a uterus THIS BIG, man!"

So that's what happened. Sorry but it needed to be said because I have no life and this will probably make me even more unpopular in Livejournal world.

Incidently, I bought some nice red nail polish, blue eyeliner, a new notebook and was given Starbuck's Holiday coffeebeans for Christmas this week.