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Liberating old people
Sep. 25th, 2009 | 01:30 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
confused
So I am armed with several months worth of paycheques that my employer likes to dish out NOT twice a month but every four of five months, and what do I do? I go thrifting.
Goodwill score of the day: an ugly yellow vintage luggage case that an old lady snagged before I could. I watched with itching hands her husband, doing his husbandly duty, talking her out of it, and not being from the women's lib era, she complied instead of kicking his ass and buying it herself. I wanted to step up and get all Gloria Steinam, girlfriend to girlfriend, but instead I snatched up the case the second her husband set it down.
The director wants to know if I have watched his borderline porno-film-noir yet. I haven't. I've had way too many body parts to wash lately.
Goodwill score of the day: an ugly yellow vintage luggage case that an old lady snagged before I could. I watched with itching hands her husband, doing his husbandly duty, talking her out of it, and not being from the women's lib era, she complied instead of kicking his ass and buying it herself. I wanted to step up and get all Gloria Steinam, girlfriend to girlfriend, but instead I snatched up the case the second her husband set it down.
The director wants to know if I have watched his borderline porno-film-noir yet. I haven't. I've had way too many body parts to wash lately.
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"Is that a gun in your pocket?" "No, it's my viagra."
Sep. 10th, 2009 | 02:42 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
weird
I feel bad I haven't been posting much and ignoring the cool LJ people I love and adore (aka my real friends as opposed to imaginary). Just dropped off my neighbour at the salon (she broke her arm) and was ever so SLIGHTLY dissapointed I didn't have to sit and wait for her because the office was strewn with tabloid mags which I never read (ie: read once in awhile in secret), but I just have rehearsal tonight and the director emailed saying their photographer can't make it to do some publictity shots of our show and would I mind "taking some quick shots" for them (ie: no pay). WHY do people always say the same thing? By saying "quick shots," that means there's no work on my part. I do not mind doing this and I'm more than happy to do it. But who are they kidding?
I can't decide if this local director I've met is a perv. He writes these screenplays with a man and a woman on the brink of foreplay, and all of a sudden there's a blackout and the man is tied up and at the mercy of the woman, who is always, in fact, a murderess. I asked him who was going to play the man in each of these vingettes. He said he was going to play the man himself. Which makes me think: is he just getting off on this? He's older, probably about 60ish. He's not a "leading man" type. He's done lots of projects and a ton of people I know have worked with him. But there's something a little sleazy about the whole thing. He sent me home with a dvd of a 30's-esque film noir, and I can tell by looking at the cover and reading the back that the two women (the detective and the murderess) are lesbians. I think he gets off on that kind of thing and writes these screenplays to fullfill some kind of fantasy.
I'm really glad I didn't get the part of the murderess.
Okay, so what else has been going on?
Been eating chocolate and fig bars and I really must stop.
My employer actually PAID me a partial...in CASH. I'm seriously broke and it's back to a bank account in double-digits and soon-to-be single digits.
Looking forward to New Orleans.
I can't decide if this local director I've met is a perv. He writes these screenplays with a man and a woman on the brink of foreplay, and all of a sudden there's a blackout and the man is tied up and at the mercy of the woman, who is always, in fact, a murderess. I asked him who was going to play the man in each of these vingettes. He said he was going to play the man himself. Which makes me think: is he just getting off on this? He's older, probably about 60ish. He's not a "leading man" type. He's done lots of projects and a ton of people I know have worked with him. But there's something a little sleazy about the whole thing. He sent me home with a dvd of a 30's-esque film noir, and I can tell by looking at the cover and reading the back that the two women (the detective and the murderess) are lesbians. I think he gets off on that kind of thing and writes these screenplays to fullfill some kind of fantasy.
I'm really glad I didn't get the part of the murderess.
Okay, so what else has been going on?
Been eating chocolate and fig bars and I really must stop.
My employer actually PAID me a partial...in CASH. I'm seriously broke and it's back to a bank account in double-digits and soon-to-be single digits.
Looking forward to New Orleans.
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More weird stuff and a holiday plan
Sep. 1st, 2009 | 04:04 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
creative
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.
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.
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Num num, pock pock!
Aug. 11th, 2009 | 04:24 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
amused
So I get to go to a concert tonight with my friend. Yay! Not going to tell you what band, because that might give hints and ruin my secret livejournal identity. I'm happy I get to go out and have fun. It's a band I've been wanting to see for about 5 years, and they never play in the states. Everyone here is just now hearing about them.
So I'm seriously getting broke again, and I'm trying to be good, but there are just too many sales at Goodwill. I'm such an indulgent bitch. I bought a skirt to wear tonight. Four dollars, man.
Did a real estate shoot today. The home owners were nice and their house was gear. Very big, very spacious, makes me jealous about the kinds of parties I could throw. Just thinking about Peter Sellars in The Party. I wanna have a party like that. The thing is, most nice houses have so much potential. But they are usually bare, clean and boring. I think it's because the owners are so bare, clean and boring.
So I'm seriously getting broke again, and I'm trying to be good, but there are just too many sales at Goodwill. I'm such an indulgent bitch. I bought a skirt to wear tonight. Four dollars, man.
Did a real estate shoot today. The home owners were nice and their house was gear. Very big, very spacious, makes me jealous about the kinds of parties I could throw. Just thinking about Peter Sellars in The Party. I wanna have a party like that. The thing is, most nice houses have so much potential. But they are usually bare, clean and boring. I think it's because the owners are so bare, clean and boring.
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Should I finish my wine?
Aug. 1st, 2009 | 10:55 pm
There's a place: living room
I got a feeling: 
listless
Okay, so that slightly annoying, slightly mothering friend of mine is asking me how to sell photos online. I'm wondering if she's thinking of selling the pictures *I* took of her. I should let her know I could sue her ass. What do you think? Do you think a "model" (which she's NOT) should get a share? Should the "model" advertise MY pictures? No. And no.
I don't know why the hell I keep getting myself into stupid situations and keep contending with difficult people. The less I interact with this girl the better. Why why why? How should I tell her? She is trying to be so helpful to me. She bought me coffee when I had about $7 in my name.
Yesterday I did a real estate shoot. The women in charge were maniacally fussy. They made me photoshop the clouds out the sky in multiple pictures. I don't get paid by the hour. People suck. It's going to be lovely when I eventually quit.
Good things: today I had a meeting with a crew about to start filming a local television show, I got cast in another film, AND I got the part in the ensemble for the musical. Time to brush up on my dancing. Oh shit.
Tomorrow I go out of town for a few. It will be nice and peaceful. I'm still seriously hung over. The funny thing is, right after I was thinking how sick and hungover I was, I thought about finishing my wine from last night. I'm turning back into a wineo. I should bring it with me tomorrow.
I don't know why the hell I keep getting myself into stupid situations and keep contending with difficult people. The less I interact with this girl the better. Why why why? How should I tell her? She is trying to be so helpful to me. She bought me coffee when I had about $7 in my name.
Yesterday I did a real estate shoot. The women in charge were maniacally fussy. They made me photoshop the clouds out the sky in multiple pictures. I don't get paid by the hour. People suck. It's going to be lovely when I eventually quit.
Good things: today I had a meeting with a crew about to start filming a local television show, I got cast in another film, AND I got the part in the ensemble for the musical. Time to brush up on my dancing. Oh shit.
Tomorrow I go out of town for a few. It will be nice and peaceful. I'm still seriously hung over. The funny thing is, right after I was thinking how sick and hungover I was, I thought about finishing my wine from last night. I'm turning back into a wineo. I should bring it with me tomorrow.
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Only the space in the palm of your hand can be more perfect
Jul. 19th, 2009 | 11:36 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: thoughtful
LP at the moment: Hannah and Her Sisters Soundtrack
I'm sitting here at my desk listening to mum on the phone with her friend, scheming to set these two people up. Why'd I move back in? Oh yeah, I don't have money. Right.
So, my friend who is about to get her Masters at Westminster is going to live centrally, which means rent on par with New York City. I need to get some serious funds. I would rather just rent up north. Today while powerwalking (do not know if it did any good, because I just HAD to eat a few of those effing fig bars, stupid me), I saw some lottery tickets on the ground. They were all marked up, but I have a sneaking feeling I should've brought them with me and made them feel at home, taken them in. You never know.
What did we learn today, kiddies? Well, I learned not to jump on a trampoline if you need to pee. No, I did not piss myself, but I almost did. Life lesson, my friends. What else? Hmm, I learned that this makes me have rather dirty thoughts.
Oh, I also learned that I really hate it when people leave a voice message on my phone and do not say who they are, and their phone number isn't in my phone, and they act as if they are my best friend and I know I don't have a best friend, and all day long I'm wondering who it was, because I don't want to call the number and find out it's someone really obnoxious. The fact that the person was NOT in my phone, but acting like she was my best friend indicates that she IS someone I don't want to talk to. Right?
Tomorrow a film I'm in is playing at the theatre and another one on tuesday. As of this moment, I am in between films. Which makes me nervous and fidgety like the workaholic I am. My friend today suggested that I have issues with money. I agreed. She proceeded to feed me vegemite. Hurl.
So, my friend who is about to get her Masters at Westminster is going to live centrally, which means rent on par with New York City. I need to get some serious funds. I would rather just rent up north. Today while powerwalking (do not know if it did any good, because I just HAD to eat a few of those effing fig bars, stupid me), I saw some lottery tickets on the ground. They were all marked up, but I have a sneaking feeling I should've brought them with me and made them feel at home, taken them in. You never know.
What did we learn today, kiddies? Well, I learned not to jump on a trampoline if you need to pee. No, I did not piss myself, but I almost did. Life lesson, my friends. What else? Hmm, I learned that this makes me have rather dirty thoughts.
Oh, I also learned that I really hate it when people leave a voice message on my phone and do not say who they are, and their phone number isn't in my phone, and they act as if they are my best friend and I know I don't have a best friend, and all day long I'm wondering who it was, because I don't want to call the number and find out it's someone really obnoxious. The fact that the person was NOT in my phone, but acting like she was my best friend indicates that she IS someone I don't want to talk to. Right?
Tomorrow a film I'm in is playing at the theatre and another one on tuesday. As of this moment, I am in between films. Which makes me nervous and fidgety like the workaholic I am. My friend today suggested that I have issues with money. I agreed. She proceeded to feed me vegemite. Hurl.
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In need of drinky, thy name is Astrid
Jul. 18th, 2009 | 03:34 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
annoyed
So this has been a busy week. I filmed for the webisode thing, the night before we filmed the slasher, where I got to die by getting my heart ripped out. Rather messy, all good fun. I stilll have sticky corn syrup in my car. It's a bitch when it gets everywhere. I am really looking forward to doing some real films sometime. I'm rather tired of zombie/splatter films. Especially when the director doesn't even say "rolling" when he's ready to film. Where is Martin Scorsese???
Speaking of which...today I was called to do a film I emailed about, only to get there and realise it was all highschoolers. I was hoping for Martin to show up. I think he's busy in L.A. and couldn't come...
I almost signed up with a new agency. Except that the agency has fees. And rule #1: never go with an agency that makes you pay. Even though the said agencies seem able to give you more work than the free agency you are already a PART of...I almost got in a jam, because I technically signed the contract. I was scared she was going to hold me to that. I'm stupid that way. People put a contract in front on me and I just automatically sign. Like those infomercials. Could be advertising the stupidest product ever and I'd want one.
About to do a photoshoot for my friend. She has recently submitted a book of photos I took of her to a contest, only for both of us to discover the venue we took the shots in makes you pay a $500 commercial fee. She's paying it. Mum told me not to feel guilty. I didn't even want to enter the photos in the contest. How come I still feel guilty?
There's a scene in Hannah and Her Sisters where the old guy, rhe curmudgeon and boyfriend to Barbra Hershy says to her, "I'm at a point in my life where I just can't be around people." Why must I constantly be in a Woody Allen movie?
I'm still trying to write every day. I can't write anything simple. Everything has to turn into a commentary on social issues, cultural stereotypes, religion and general allegory/metaphor.
A friend of mine is going back to London in October. She wants me to come and be her flatmate. I need some major cabbage to make this do-able.
And guess who got the snotty end of the phone line when I had to call a client who was pissed off because no one got back to her about a shoot she needed....a shoot that should've been given to ME by MY employer who doesn't check his sodding WEBSITE to see new ORDERS. Yup.
Speaking of which...today I was called to do a film I emailed about, only to get there and realise it was all highschoolers. I was hoping for Martin to show up. I think he's busy in L.A. and couldn't come...
I almost signed up with a new agency. Except that the agency has fees. And rule #1: never go with an agency that makes you pay. Even though the said agencies seem able to give you more work than the free agency you are already a PART of...I almost got in a jam, because I technically signed the contract. I was scared she was going to hold me to that. I'm stupid that way. People put a contract in front on me and I just automatically sign. Like those infomercials. Could be advertising the stupidest product ever and I'd want one.
About to do a photoshoot for my friend. She has recently submitted a book of photos I took of her to a contest, only for both of us to discover the venue we took the shots in makes you pay a $500 commercial fee. She's paying it. Mum told me not to feel guilty. I didn't even want to enter the photos in the contest. How come I still feel guilty?
There's a scene in Hannah and Her Sisters where the old guy, rhe curmudgeon and boyfriend to Barbra Hershy says to her, "I'm at a point in my life where I just can't be around people." Why must I constantly be in a Woody Allen movie?
I'm still trying to write every day. I can't write anything simple. Everything has to turn into a commentary on social issues, cultural stereotypes, religion and general allegory/metaphor.
A friend of mine is going back to London in October. She wants me to come and be her flatmate. I need some major cabbage to make this do-able.
And guess who got the snotty end of the phone line when I had to call a client who was pissed off because no one got back to her about a shoot she needed....a shoot that should've been given to ME by MY employer who doesn't check his sodding WEBSITE to see new ORDERS. Yup.
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Frightening encounters whilst powerwalking, part 2
Jun. 29th, 2009 | 11:47 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
anxious
LP at the moment: Coldplay-Parachutes
I should be learning my lines for Wednesday, but oh well.
I actually got PAID. Comes at a good time, cause I got a notice from a collection agency today because of these stupid medical bills from those tests I did last December. Jeeze.
A few days ago I posted about the girl without a face. Well, she has one now. This is the frightening story:
Powerwalking as usual, a few days ago I was in the very same place where I'd seen her before. I was walking towards my house, the sun facing me, so it was in my eyes. I saw this figure walking towards me, and the closer we got to each other, I could see her features better. I saw the scrawny arms and legs, and the shoulder-length hair. I didn't see her face right away, and I KNEW it was her, and I KNEW I was going to come face to face with her, and FINALLY see her face after wondering about it for so long, after TELLING people how weird the encounter was.
I started shaking as I approached her, her clothes were still hanging on her. I casually went over to the other side of the street and I saw her face. As soon as I saw it, it took everything I had not to run.
She had a twisted, little old lady face that was grinning at me. She had her head cocked and her scrawny little arms were held in front of her in a impish way. She looked like a corpse, or someone who hadn't eaten anything in about 6 months.
"Hello," she croaked. "How are YOU?" Creepy grin.
I just nodded and smiled, and I said, "Hello, I'm fine." And then she looked as if she wanted me to stop so she could tell me more, but I passed her because I was going to have a coranary.
As soon as I passed, I started hyperventalating and experienced a general freak-out. The impish, creepy way she was bent over, holding her arms, her creepy little face twisted...and she had finally addressed me when before she had INTENTIONALLY kept her face hidden. Maybe I'm overrreacting. But I sense when something is weird. This was definitely something weird. Now I keep thinking she might know where I live now, and she might show up at my window or something. Yes, I have a big imagination.
Tomorrow I might just get to attend a writer's guild. Maybe all the freaky stuff I go through is great fodder for my novels.
I actually got PAID. Comes at a good time, cause I got a notice from a collection agency today because of these stupid medical bills from those tests I did last December. Jeeze.
A few days ago I posted about the girl without a face. Well, she has one now. This is the frightening story:
Powerwalking as usual, a few days ago I was in the very same place where I'd seen her before. I was walking towards my house, the sun facing me, so it was in my eyes. I saw this figure walking towards me, and the closer we got to each other, I could see her features better. I saw the scrawny arms and legs, and the shoulder-length hair. I didn't see her face right away, and I KNEW it was her, and I KNEW I was going to come face to face with her, and FINALLY see her face after wondering about it for so long, after TELLING people how weird the encounter was.
I started shaking as I approached her, her clothes were still hanging on her. I casually went over to the other side of the street and I saw her face. As soon as I saw it, it took everything I had not to run.
She had a twisted, little old lady face that was grinning at me. She had her head cocked and her scrawny little arms were held in front of her in a impish way. She looked like a corpse, or someone who hadn't eaten anything in about 6 months.
"Hello," she croaked. "How are YOU?" Creepy grin.
I just nodded and smiled, and I said, "Hello, I'm fine." And then she looked as if she wanted me to stop so she could tell me more, but I passed her because I was going to have a coranary.
As soon as I passed, I started hyperventalating and experienced a general freak-out. The impish, creepy way she was bent over, holding her arms, her creepy little face twisted...and she had finally addressed me when before she had INTENTIONALLY kept her face hidden. Maybe I'm overrreacting. But I sense when something is weird. This was definitely something weird. Now I keep thinking she might know where I live now, and she might show up at my window or something. Yes, I have a big imagination.
Tomorrow I might just get to attend a writer's guild. Maybe all the freaky stuff I go through is great fodder for my novels.
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Do not go powerwalking, for fear of scrawny girls
Jun. 23rd, 2009 | 12:39 pm
There's a place: my DESK, people!
I got a feeling: artistic
LP at the moment: Celtic
So I've been cast in the webisode thingy. I play a Brooklyn chick (they probably think my black hair is real). This is good. Work is good.
My employer calls me this past weekend: "I bet you're mad at me, hope it hasn't been too much on an inconvenience, blah blah blah." No, just that I've been poorer than fuck. Maybe his cheque will come today. Should we hold our breath, my friends?....NAH!
Anyroad, let me tell you about something strange that's happened about a month ago
I was powerwalking around my neighbourhood and I turned into the street going back towards my house. A girl was walking ahead of me, and because I was powerwalking, I got nearer and nearer to her. She was really thin, her clothes were just hanging on her, and she had this fluffy brown hair. I couldn't tell from behind if she was older or a teenager.
I crossed to the other side and I kept turning back to see if she was old or young, just casually...and I couldn't see her face. She had her head turned just slightly so that I couldn't see her face, and her hair was obstructing any glimpse I could've gotten. I kept turning back, over and over, and she finally turned into the next street, her head still deliberately turned just so. I got chills and I knew there was something very weird about the whole thing.
Stuff like this happens to me all the time. I told my mum and she thought the girl had been a ghost. My mum's side of the family are very sensitive to the supernatural. I don't know if the girl was a ghost, or if she was pissed I'd been staring at her...but the WAY she had turned her head was a very strange way of doing so. I mean, if you want to avoid eye contact, you could keep your head down, or she might've quickly looked up, and then jerked her head to the side...the fluid movement and deliberate and constant turning, and the fact that I NEVER saw a nose, a cheek, a glimpse of anything...is very strange.
It is all probably just a coincidence.
I cleaned all the space off my desk so I can now use my laptop there instead of ruining my already-sucky posture by typing on my bed, and I have a place to write now. I have set aside my current novel and started a new one, just as frustratingly difficult to plow through. I think my biggest challenges are focusing, not getting ahead of myself and keeping patient with my pace. The more I read advice from other writers, publishers, what-have-you, the more I recognise my bad habits and I can figure out how to fix them.
Last night I did a shoot with a friend. I hate it when people want photos and they're okay, kind of overweight, and they wear tank tops or halter tops, and I just want to tell them, for photos, it's not going to look as flattering as you think.
It's time to get another job. Oh yeah, and another cup of coffee...
Oh yeah, and I hate it when chicks call their boobs "my girls." I mean...yuck. Last time I checked, boobs don't have vaginas. Body parts DO NOT have gender.
My employer calls me this past weekend: "I bet you're mad at me, hope it hasn't been too much on an inconvenience, blah blah blah." No, just that I've been poorer than fuck. Maybe his cheque will come today. Should we hold our breath, my friends?....NAH!
Anyroad, let me tell you about something strange that's happened about a month ago
I was powerwalking around my neighbourhood and I turned into the street going back towards my house. A girl was walking ahead of me, and because I was powerwalking, I got nearer and nearer to her. She was really thin, her clothes were just hanging on her, and she had this fluffy brown hair. I couldn't tell from behind if she was older or a teenager.
I crossed to the other side and I kept turning back to see if she was old or young, just casually...and I couldn't see her face. She had her head turned just slightly so that I couldn't see her face, and her hair was obstructing any glimpse I could've gotten. I kept turning back, over and over, and she finally turned into the next street, her head still deliberately turned just so. I got chills and I knew there was something very weird about the whole thing.
Stuff like this happens to me all the time. I told my mum and she thought the girl had been a ghost. My mum's side of the family are very sensitive to the supernatural. I don't know if the girl was a ghost, or if she was pissed I'd been staring at her...but the WAY she had turned her head was a very strange way of doing so. I mean, if you want to avoid eye contact, you could keep your head down, or she might've quickly looked up, and then jerked her head to the side...the fluid movement and deliberate and constant turning, and the fact that I NEVER saw a nose, a cheek, a glimpse of anything...is very strange.
It is all probably just a coincidence.
I cleaned all the space off my desk so I can now use my laptop there instead of ruining my already-sucky posture by typing on my bed, and I have a place to write now. I have set aside my current novel and started a new one, just as frustratingly difficult to plow through. I think my biggest challenges are focusing, not getting ahead of myself and keeping patient with my pace. The more I read advice from other writers, publishers, what-have-you, the more I recognise my bad habits and I can figure out how to fix them.
Last night I did a shoot with a friend. I hate it when people want photos and they're okay, kind of overweight, and they wear tank tops or halter tops, and I just want to tell them, for photos, it's not going to look as flattering as you think.
It's time to get another job. Oh yeah, and another cup of coffee...
Oh yeah, and I hate it when chicks call their boobs "my girls." I mean...yuck. Last time I checked, boobs don't have vaginas. Body parts DO NOT have gender.
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Yoko must stay with "it"
Jun. 15th, 2009 | 11:06 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: irritated
Just now I learned that Yoko Ono has a twitter page. I mean, come on.
She is just that annoying pair of knickers that seems to be all nice and comfy, but once you get them on, they start riding up your buttcrack in a very irritating, unsexy way. And you have to adjust them all day, because they're bunching and riding.
And I have never understood the appeal of twitter. I could never find a way to look someone up, find out their agenda for the week so I can stalk them (which is why I like facebook).
Besides my photoshoot today, I didn't get a single effing thing accomplished. Mum's friend called me and tried to set me up with a client of hers. No thanks.
I don't like setups. What REALLY annoys is when I find out after a meeting that someone might want to go on a date with me, but they've told my friend that had been with us instead of me. This is not highschool, people. If you like me, tell me. Not like this happens a lot, though...
In other news, my employer still hasn't paid me. It's been months now. I think it would be surpremely fun to drive out to his nice house and leave something on his doorstep, like a fish wrapped in newspaper, or a can of baked beans smeared on his doormat. You have no idea how fun and amusing this would be to me. Or put something smelly in his mailbox, or a decapitated doll. Something to send a message that says 'Pay me. Or I'll go medieval on your ass.' I don't care HOW married he is or if he has more kids than Brad and Angelina and Madonna combined. Maybe I'll take one of them hostage.
She is just that annoying pair of knickers that seems to be all nice and comfy, but once you get them on, they start riding up your buttcrack in a very irritating, unsexy way. And you have to adjust them all day, because they're bunching and riding.
And I have never understood the appeal of twitter. I could never find a way to look someone up, find out their agenda for the week so I can stalk them (which is why I like facebook).
Besides my photoshoot today, I didn't get a single effing thing accomplished. Mum's friend called me and tried to set me up with a client of hers. No thanks.
I don't like setups. What REALLY annoys is when I find out after a meeting that someone might want to go on a date with me, but they've told my friend that had been with us instead of me. This is not highschool, people. If you like me, tell me. Not like this happens a lot, though...
In other news, my employer still hasn't paid me. It's been months now. I think it would be surpremely fun to drive out to his nice house and leave something on his doorstep, like a fish wrapped in newspaper, or a can of baked beans smeared on his doormat. You have no idea how fun and amusing this would be to me. Or put something smelly in his mailbox, or a decapitated doll. Something to send a message that says 'Pay me. Or I'll go medieval on your ass.' I don't care HOW married he is or if he has more kids than Brad and Angelina and Madonna combined. Maybe I'll take one of them hostage.
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Afternoon coffee
Jun. 9th, 2009 | 01:53 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: contemplative
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.
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Am I a sociopath?
Jun. 8th, 2009 | 10:50 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: 
drained
So this last saturday I spent over 12 hours on set making a seven minute movie for the film fest that's going to screen here. I learned today that a lot was cut out to make it the seven minutes as the rules stated, many of those minutes were MY scenes. Boo.
So I have two "friends" now that are bugging the shit out of me. You know those kind of people who you hang out with two times and they suddenly act like you're best friends, answer for you when people ask YOU a question, and say things like, "We just get along SO well," and make it clear to everyone around that you and she are destined to be friends for life...and they're like that with everyone they come in contact with.
People like that BUG me. I guess that's where my commitment-phobia and loner-ism comes into play. These two girls are in my circle of colleages and they're actually older than me, but they act a lot younger than they are. So now it's 'Project: Distance Self.'
So now I've come to the realisation that I need to start hanging out with people in their 40s. In all honesty, I get along with this age group better than anyone. I don't know, I just feel like I'm older than my age. But how could that be, when I can still be goofy and retarded? Maybe it's the NEEDINESS and girlish clingy-ness about them that I label as immature. I don't know.
I got a cheque from the patient programme thing, so now I have a little breathing room. Still waiting to be paid, now over two months. Why don't I quit? Good question. I even shot him a diplomatic email. No reply.
And mum was all excited about going to see my film this week. She'll just have to wait for a different one's screening later this next month, or watch me get hacked in the slasher I'm in.
So I have two "friends" now that are bugging the shit out of me. You know those kind of people who you hang out with two times and they suddenly act like you're best friends, answer for you when people ask YOU a question, and say things like, "We just get along SO well," and make it clear to everyone around that you and she are destined to be friends for life...and they're like that with everyone they come in contact with.
People like that BUG me. I guess that's where my commitment-phobia and loner-ism comes into play. These two girls are in my circle of colleages and they're actually older than me, but they act a lot younger than they are. So now it's 'Project: Distance Self.'
So now I've come to the realisation that I need to start hanging out with people in their 40s. In all honesty, I get along with this age group better than anyone. I don't know, I just feel like I'm older than my age. But how could that be, when I can still be goofy and retarded? Maybe it's the NEEDINESS and girlish clingy-ness about them that I label as immature. I don't know.
I got a cheque from the patient programme thing, so now I have a little breathing room. Still waiting to be paid, now over two months. Why don't I quit? Good question. I even shot him a diplomatic email. No reply.
And mum was all excited about going to see my film this week. She'll just have to wait for a different one's screening later this next month, or watch me get hacked in the slasher I'm in.
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Too tired to bitch properly
Jun. 5th, 2009 | 02:00 am
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: tired
So, it's very late and I got up at 6am and I'm still up at 2am. Tomorrow at 10pm I will be "on call" for the filming on saturday. I'm also going to be "on call" for the OTHER film going on this weekend...so if I'm not doing one of them, I'll be doing the other. Today I went down to the agency that is now representing me. I'm having a really good feeling about them. At first, I thought they were just stringing me along, leaving me high and dry, but a lot of local talents use them, and some nationally. They were really helpful, and I'm excited. I got the script for this other film I'm doing this month and managed to convince the director to give me a really gross death scene. It IS a slasher, after all.
Just logged off of facebook after having a very nice pervy conversation with the photographer friend of mine, whom I slightly fancy and drinks too much. He is SUCH a perv. It's awesome. I'm going over to his place this next week. He thinks we're going to shag. Poor lad, poor lad.
Anyroad, I hate the wine I'm drinking. I'd get up to see what kind it was so I could warn you all never to buy it, but I'm too damn tired.
I really need to be paid.
I JUST realised I do not have a 'sex' entry tag. Oh, man.
Just logged off of facebook after having a very nice pervy conversation with the photographer friend of mine, whom I slightly fancy and drinks too much. He is SUCH a perv. It's awesome. I'm going over to his place this next week. He thinks we're going to shag. Poor lad, poor lad.
Anyroad, I hate the wine I'm drinking. I'd get up to see what kind it was so I could warn you all never to buy it, but I'm too damn tired.
I really need to be paid.
I JUST realised I do not have a 'sex' entry tag. Oh, man.
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I'm going to have to kill some people
Jun. 3rd, 2009 | 01:42 pm
There's a place: my bed, tosser
I got a feeling: bitchy
Okay, so we're back at square one again, and the cycle just goes round and round. Waiting for yet another paycheck from my employer, who owes me for 17 photoshoots and two wedding shoots. I shot him an email today. I'm starting to no longer feel bad about having to remind people to pay me. I'm growing balls, people. And they get bigger every day.
My car was in the shop today so I have to go to the audition I had planned today tomorrow instead. This weekend will hopefully be full of shooting for a film, directed by someone I have already worked with, so my chances are good; just waiting for the "you're in" call...
My car was in the shop today so I have to go to the audition I had planned today tomorrow instead. This weekend will hopefully be full of shooting for a film, directed by someone I have already worked with, so my chances are good; just waiting for the "you're in" call...
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.
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Messing with the med students
May. 28th, 2009 | 06:03 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: peaceful
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?
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?
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"Broccoli three times a week will kill you."
May. 26th, 2009 | 08:17 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: 
sick
So today I did the patient programme, and I have to be there tomorrow at 7:30am; bleah. Good thing: I get $30/hour. Last night I applied for an agency and I got an acceptance email back. They've already sent me about three different auditions; too bad all three I actually found out about earler that evening. Maybe I should set up my own agency, don't you agree? That one lady from that one agency saying I couldn't make it without her and I couldn't find my own jobs was full of shit.
A house I shot for has sold before I could upload the pics. I wonder if I'll get paid for it. My employer is waiting to cut us a cheque when HE'S paid by a bride. Whatever. I don't like the fact he likes to condense a fucking two months salary into one paycheque just to save paper (?) and make it easy on himself. I have decided I don't get a rat's ass about saving trees. I want my fucking paycheque NOW.
Anyroad, I ate dinner too fast and now I'm seriously hurting because I tried to powerwalk it off. Walking around my neighbourhood is always interesting. I get barked at by yucky little dogs that probably have rabies, almost run over with bikes by yucky little brats who probably have rabies, also...and every once in awhile I DO pass by a honeysuckle bush that serves to remind me that there IS a God, even though where I live is probably level 6 in Dante's Inferno.
This old actor today told me he only ate meat, and veggies and beans would kill me. He's one of those guys where you're not exactly sure if he's being cheeky or dead serious. He made sure to show us all his boxer shorts and I could have lived without the image.
A house I shot for has sold before I could upload the pics. I wonder if I'll get paid for it. My employer is waiting to cut us a cheque when HE'S paid by a bride. Whatever. I don't like the fact he likes to condense a fucking two months salary into one paycheque just to save paper (?) and make it easy on himself. I have decided I don't get a rat's ass about saving trees. I want my fucking paycheque NOW.
Anyroad, I ate dinner too fast and now I'm seriously hurting because I tried to powerwalk it off. Walking around my neighbourhood is always interesting. I get barked at by yucky little dogs that probably have rabies, almost run over with bikes by yucky little brats who probably have rabies, also...and every once in awhile I DO pass by a honeysuckle bush that serves to remind me that there IS a God, even though where I live is probably level 6 in Dante's Inferno.
This old actor today told me he only ate meat, and veggies and beans would kill me. He's one of those guys where you're not exactly sure if he's being cheeky or dead serious. He made sure to show us all his boxer shorts and I could have lived without the image.
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Bitchfest
May. 13th, 2009 | 12:52 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: pissed off
It seems like every month I'm hanging on from one late paycheck to another. My employer owes me again, and I still have $7.75 in my account. I have a lot coming from him, plus $100 from Holiday Inn and about $200 from housesitting next week. I can't buy food so I'm living on black beans and some fig newtons mum bought, which is not good. Reducing food consumption is good, though. The real estate people want me to shoot about 40 miles away, and since I can't get gas, I don't know what to tell them. Oh yeah, I do. How does this sound: "You people need to pay me more. You think I'm doing this because it's FUN for me? I'm a bloody professional, and you don't know how to do your job. Just because you can pay amateurs pittance to take pictures of houses, that doesn't mean you can take advantage of them or me. I spend a lot of time doing these jobs and I put a lot of miles on my car, and I could be doing the same work independently for three times more. Thank you and have a good day." That's what I want to say.
And I know what to say to some other people, too: "Pay me on time or I'll leave you high and dry. Would you like that? You think you have it harder just because you have kids? You don't know anything about me." I'm way too fucking nice.
This is how the business works: a company/magazine/event what-have-you needs your skills but cannot afford to pay for them. They try to find students or photographers who are hard up for some kind of work, and the company/magazine/event what-have-you has your balls in the meat grinder. They tell you the experience is compensation, and you know you need whatever work you can get, even if you have to sacrifice for the experience. That's how the acting biz is, also. Sometimes you cannot afford be to paid as much as you deserve, if that makes any sense.
Now excuse me while I go make a big hole in a big body of water.
*Edit* (Bitchfest, take 2)
No, I didn't end it all; instead I went over to gran's house with mum to try to sort through stuff before we have the estate sale, which God knows when that's going to be or how it's going to happen.
I don't know why I'm having a bit of a breakdown today, maybe the combo of stress, fear, panic, resentment, sadness at the sight of gran's house being stuffy and dark when I spent so many years of my life visiting her in it, living in it, sleeping over, playing, all these stupid things that are still there, worthless and stuff, but was around my entire childhood. And how in a way I'm happy I spent 9 months taking care of her and having everything in that house no longer carrying a happy memory and instead replaced with a frustrated feeling. If I only had happy memories, it would be so much worse, and having negative feelings connected with that house now, it's easier in a way.
I think I'm just majorly PMSing.
I decided to do that stupid estate shoot 45 minutes away. I also got a part in this film that's shooting in June. The script is full of sex and murder.
The scary thing about everything I do is that I'm so close to saying "fuck it" and getting a real job that I hate just because I can HAVE a real job, make some money instead of struggling, trying to "make it big." That's my biggest fear. When I will give it all up.
And I know what to say to some other people, too: "Pay me on time or I'll leave you high and dry. Would you like that? You think you have it harder just because you have kids? You don't know anything about me." I'm way too fucking nice.
This is how the business works: a company/magazine/event what-have-you needs your skills but cannot afford to pay for them. They try to find students or photographers who are hard up for some kind of work, and the company/magazine/event what-have-you has your balls in the meat grinder. They tell you the experience is compensation, and you know you need whatever work you can get, even if you have to sacrifice for the experience. That's how the acting biz is, also. Sometimes you cannot afford be to paid as much as you deserve, if that makes any sense.
Now excuse me while I go make a big hole in a big body of water.
*Edit* (Bitchfest, take 2)
No, I didn't end it all; instead I went over to gran's house with mum to try to sort through stuff before we have the estate sale, which God knows when that's going to be or how it's going to happen.
I don't know why I'm having a bit of a breakdown today, maybe the combo of stress, fear, panic, resentment, sadness at the sight of gran's house being stuffy and dark when I spent so many years of my life visiting her in it, living in it, sleeping over, playing, all these stupid things that are still there, worthless and stuff, but was around my entire childhood. And how in a way I'm happy I spent 9 months taking care of her and having everything in that house no longer carrying a happy memory and instead replaced with a frustrated feeling. If I only had happy memories, it would be so much worse, and having negative feelings connected with that house now, it's easier in a way.
I think I'm just majorly PMSing.
I decided to do that stupid estate shoot 45 minutes away. I also got a part in this film that's shooting in June. The script is full of sex and murder.
The scary thing about everything I do is that I'm so close to saying "fuck it" and getting a real job that I hate just because I can HAVE a real job, make some money instead of struggling, trying to "make it big." That's my biggest fear. When I will give it all up.
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A long-arse day
May. 2nd, 2009 | 10:52 pm
There's a place: my very nice bed
I got a feeling: exhausted
Okay, first off, I skipped the audition yesterday and instead went to Starbucks. Today I worked 13 fucking straight hours without food, water or peeing. Or sitting down very often. I had some drinky and hershey kisses at the wedding so I wouldn't pass out. I am so effing tired and I hate shooting weddings. My employer basically threw his back out, so I was next in line. He came along, but basically left a lot of the hard stuff to me and the second shooter. It's okay, cause I need the money. I have to pay for the glass I broke, my friend's lens I scratched (she didn't have a filter on it, so I don't really feel it's completely my fault) and a few some odd bills I'm late on. I'm housesitting in two weeks for the same Dick Clark woman from way back (the one whose chair I thought I ripped). I am seriously a jinx lately. Today during the ceremony, the priest passed out, or fell down, I don't know, AND I saw this fish swimming in this glass thing at the reception, and I walked over to it and it fucking stopped moving. It just floated there. I thought I killed the fish by LOOKING at it.
Later on, though, he started moving a bit again. Maybe he's just dying. And my lens tonight was acting all funky. I swear, it's one thing after another, and each day that goes by, I do more damage and owe more money. I need to spend a few days in bed with the covers pulled over my head and hope it passed.
In other news, I got a "new" purse at the thrift store; a lovely, heavy duty throw-everything-into-it shoulder bag that might just be usable as an overnight bag, but I can definetely get use out of it with books, scripts, clothes and crap. Plus, it had pockets. Everything is going to hell, but at least I have a gear bag.
Later on, though, he started moving a bit again. Maybe he's just dying. And my lens tonight was acting all funky. I swear, it's one thing after another, and each day that goes by, I do more damage and owe more money. I need to spend a few days in bed with the covers pulled over my head and hope it passed.
In other news, I got a "new" purse at the thrift store; a lovely, heavy duty throw-everything-into-it shoulder bag that might just be usable as an overnight bag, but I can definetely get use out of it with books, scripts, clothes and crap. Plus, it had pockets. Everything is going to hell, but at least I have a gear bag.
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Yesterday...and today
Apr. 26th, 2009 | 08:24 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: sick
Okay, so yesterday was the first wedding I shot of the year. Yadayadayada. So the ceremony is doing it's thing, and I'm standing there by this table with all these glasses, taking pictures of the alter, and my elbow bumps one of the glasses and I hear it wobble. I turn around to straighten it and I knock one of the other glasses off the damn table and it breaks, right in the middle of the quiet ceremony. I hear a couple people gasp and other people turned to see what the noise was, and I just stood there like it never happened, trying not to laugh. Yeah. So I broke a glass. I am so destructive. I said it before and I say it now. During the reception the mother of the bride comes over and tells me it's okay, it was just an accident, HOWEVER, it was the ONLY fucking glass on the table that was worth anything, it was handmade, blahblahblah. So I have to pay for it, which will be according to her, around $50. It could've been worse, it could've been $5,000...I just don't have a cent to spare. It's just my effing luck.
So today I did the audition and it went well, and then I headed over to the park where all this earth day stuff was going on. I let myself go wild and actually got FOOD (a veggie burger and some veggie chilli, good for me to be at the only event all year where they'll accomodate vegetarians). Walked around a lot and got my stress level tested by a dianetics guy. He said mine was around the middle, and this was during a peaceful day.
After THAT, I headed up the hill to where we were meeting as a "bridal party" for a photographer who hired us so he can build a portfolio. I saw a few people I've met on sets, and nobody noticed my slightly stained, very wrinkly dress. I got sunburned AND I'm coming down with dad's cold. AND I had forgotten my phone at home this morning so I had to be without it ALL DAY LONG. I know. When I don't have my phone on me my world ends.
Now it's time for tea.
Inspired by someone on LJ, I am reminded that a guy I used to fancy, thought I was in LOVE with when I was about 16, FRIENDED me on facebook. He's married now and might have a kid. I really don't know what I saw in him, really. I was just mad for him, and he was a moron then and I'm sure he's a moron now. He was really funny and he liked me as a friend, but he liked to play all the girls and was a bit snarky. And he would only shop at the poshest stores, too.
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I have to remember to pay my ticket...
Apr. 13th, 2009 | 10:45 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: groggy
Okay, so the fam thing kinda sucked, but what sucked more was when mum had her little tantums before they arrived, which she does like clockwork before any kind of holiday. I spent the day cleaning and she still wasn't happy, because she's never happy unless she's bitching, stressed for no reason and bossing everyone around...and then my dad started in on me for no reason. He basically reprimanded me (I'm 27).
SO I took my keys and left. I went to get coffee and relaxed for about an hour and a half. I think it freaked them out a bit. I have never just walked out like that, and I'm glad. I'm not letting them run my life. I had a rather lovely time at Starbucks, where I got a lovely regular coffee.
It was a good thing my little "neice" was there; she makes the fam thing much better now that she's here. We had an egg hunt in my backyard. My bean soup turned out very good.
So I'm working a lot on my "novel;" I think it's a good sign when you kill someone off and you cry afterwards. Or if you write a really scary scene and it freaks you out. I have absolutely no idea where to go with it anymore.
Tomorrow I'm going to a lecture from a photographer who works for National Geographic. Whoot!
Today I submitted an application to be a baby photographer at a hospital. I know now I am desperate.
And oh shit, I have another overdue library book. I owe like, $10 in fines already. I don't think there's ever a time when I don't have a library fine.
SO I took my keys and left. I went to get coffee and relaxed for about an hour and a half. I think it freaked them out a bit. I have never just walked out like that, and I'm glad. I'm not letting them run my life. I had a rather lovely time at Starbucks, where I got a lovely regular coffee.
It was a good thing my little "neice" was there; she makes the fam thing much better now that she's here. We had an egg hunt in my backyard. My bean soup turned out very good.
So I'm working a lot on my "novel;" I think it's a good sign when you kill someone off and you cry afterwards. Or if you write a really scary scene and it freaks you out. I have absolutely no idea where to go with it anymore.
Tomorrow I'm going to a lecture from a photographer who works for National Geographic. Whoot!
Today I submitted an application to be a baby photographer at a hospital. I know now I am desperate.
And oh shit, I have another overdue library book. I owe like, $10 in fines already. I don't think there's ever a time when I don't have a library fine.