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I saw this on McGuyver once.
Sep. 27th, 2009 | 04:08 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
cranky
I have spent the last four hours being locked out of the house I am sitting for. It has one of those self-locking locks. The only useless objects I had with me is my locked car and the clothes I slept in, plus two bobby pins and a hair tie. The dogs were on the other side of the glass door, taunting me with their beady eyes. I had to go to a few neighbours' to make phone calls. The only number I know by heart is my parents' line, so I had to play phone tag a bit until I could reach someone who come rescue my sorry ass. My mum's friend who hired me through her biz ended up coming to get me, and we went over to the homeowner's mum's house to get a spare. In this kind of adventure, you learn a few things:
1. Neighbours in nice neighbourhoods are not necessarily neighbourly. I lucked out with one, who gave me some bottled water. This made me have to pee, so when they had to leave, I was screwed.
2. Never leave the house for one minute in the clothes you sleep in.
3. When you step in dog poo, everyone knows it.
4. Memorize phone numbers, or get them tattooed on your skin.
5. There is no use in trying out any kind of intense telekenetic powers, no matter HOW desperate you are.
6. There is also no use in pretending you are McGuyver. He was special and you are not. A hair tie and two bobby pins will NOT unlock a door.
1. Neighbours in nice neighbourhoods are not necessarily neighbourly. I lucked out with one, who gave me some bottled water. This made me have to pee, so when they had to leave, I was screwed.
2. Never leave the house for one minute in the clothes you sleep in.
3. When you step in dog poo, everyone knows it.
4. Memorize phone numbers, or get them tattooed on your skin.
5. There is no use in trying out any kind of intense telekenetic powers, no matter HOW desperate you are.
6. There is also no use in pretending you are McGuyver. He was special and you are not. A hair tie and two bobby pins will NOT unlock a door.
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House-sitting with empty drawers
Sep. 26th, 2009 | 10:01 pm
There's a place: house-sitting
I got a feeling: 
blah
I'm house-sitting at the daughter's of the lady I sometimes sit for, the daughter of the one whose very expensive chair I thought I ruined that one time. Played some pool in the basement, forgot to walk to dogs.
The kitchen has drawers upon drawers, and about 3 of them are being used. In one drawer, she has one spatula. In another, she has an ice cream scoop. I can't find the trash bin or a can opener. I am befuddled. Some people live so strangely. I guess all she eats are pancakes and ice cream, but where does she put the empty carton? I promise, I have looked everywhere except in her walk-in closet, which I will inspect later with all the curiosity of a bored loser. Same with the liqour cabinet. Maybe it will be hiding amonst the summer shoes, or maybe behind the malt scotch.
I am also wondering why she has salt and pepper shakers. This goes right up there with the house-sitting episode where the kitchen was full of packages and thingies of food with unbroken seals. In their drawers: about a thousand unopened dvds. I can't make shit like this up.
The kitchen has drawers upon drawers, and about 3 of them are being used. In one drawer, she has one spatula. In another, she has an ice cream scoop. I can't find the trash bin or a can opener. I am befuddled. Some people live so strangely. I guess all she eats are pancakes and ice cream, but where does she put the empty carton? I promise, I have looked everywhere except in her walk-in closet, which I will inspect later with all the curiosity of a bored loser. Same with the liqour cabinet. Maybe it will be hiding amonst the summer shoes, or maybe behind the malt scotch.
I am also wondering why she has salt and pepper shakers. This goes right up there with the house-sitting episode where the kitchen was full of packages and thingies of food with unbroken seals. In their drawers: about a thousand unopened dvds. I can't make shit like this up.
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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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"It's just my Viagra," Part Deux
Sep. 18th, 2009 | 11:44 am
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: contemplative
Okay, so today I get to volunteer at the veggie assoc. booth at a local festival. I haven't volunteered in awhile, and if I can make it tomorrow, there is 'walk for farm animals.'
I haven't worked on my writing for a long time. It's weird how we get fired up in one area and then we slump in another. I say I have too much going on, but do I really? I can certainly cut out my internet/facebook/youtube time.
My parents are back home and it was lovely having them away. So ready to quit my real estate job. Yesterday I took pics of a really gear house. They had a media room set up to look like a mini-theatre. I want a movie theatre. What I really want to a lot of space for people from out of town can stay with me or people can just crash for days at a time. What is it with people and awesome houses that they don't know how to decorate?
So that rather randy director emailed and said that he wants to put more kissing in this one scene (that someone had previously told him was too much) in this one movie and then he wants his character to "strangle" my character. This is getting really over the top. I DO NOT want to be a part of his strange movies anymore. I don't think he's dangerous or anything. He's getting off on all this. There's no doubt about it. How should I go about telling him no without burning bridges?
So a few nights ago there was a show I attended with a lot of local actors I know and that really annoying chick who wants to be in movies and goes around the local actors and gets their autographs at after parties. I'm serious. After the film fest, she went around the party and got autographs, and everyone was too drunk to really question why she was fawning over them like they were a-list celebs. I wanted to tell her to stop, that she was acting silly, but I was too drunk on martinis.
She knows a casting director who gets me jobs sometimes and she just so happened to be cast as an extra in that pretty big movie I was talking about before. She shows up on set about a half hour late and she was beside herself when she got to sit behind the pretty big actor in this one scene. Throughout the filming, she looked on the verge of an orgasm. She is seriously one of the dumbest girls you'll ever meet, and at the show, she came over to my table and wanted me to cram about 7 years of photography education into her head in that one evening. She doesn't know how to research anything herself, and we started talking about the supernatural and how she thinks she's psychic. Every single weird thing that has happened to her, though, has happened via facebook. She said her mum once saw a ufo flying over her baseketball hoop. I asked her cheekily if her mum had been smoking something, and she said 'probably,' for her mum really enjoys pot. Which explains everything. The girl is a clingy, needy downer drama queen who is constantly putting herself down in order to get you to condridict her. I feel sorry for her, but talking to her is like slowly skewering your head on a rusty wire-hanger.
I haven't worked on my writing for a long time. It's weird how we get fired up in one area and then we slump in another. I say I have too much going on, but do I really? I can certainly cut out my internet/facebook/youtube time.
My parents are back home and it was lovely having them away. So ready to quit my real estate job. Yesterday I took pics of a really gear house. They had a media room set up to look like a mini-theatre. I want a movie theatre. What I really want to a lot of space for people from out of town can stay with me or people can just crash for days at a time. What is it with people and awesome houses that they don't know how to decorate?
So that rather randy director emailed and said that he wants to put more kissing in this one scene (that someone had previously told him was too much) in this one movie and then he wants his character to "strangle" my character. This is getting really over the top. I DO NOT want to be a part of his strange movies anymore. I don't think he's dangerous or anything. He's getting off on all this. There's no doubt about it. How should I go about telling him no without burning bridges?
So a few nights ago there was a show I attended with a lot of local actors I know and that really annoying chick who wants to be in movies and goes around the local actors and gets their autographs at after parties. I'm serious. After the film fest, she went around the party and got autographs, and everyone was too drunk to really question why she was fawning over them like they were a-list celebs. I wanted to tell her to stop, that she was acting silly, but I was too drunk on martinis.
She knows a casting director who gets me jobs sometimes and she just so happened to be cast as an extra in that pretty big movie I was talking about before. She shows up on set about a half hour late and she was beside herself when she got to sit behind the pretty big actor in this one scene. Throughout the filming, she looked on the verge of an orgasm. She is seriously one of the dumbest girls you'll ever meet, and at the show, she came over to my table and wanted me to cram about 7 years of photography education into her head in that one evening. She doesn't know how to research anything herself, and we started talking about the supernatural and how she thinks she's psychic. Every single weird thing that has happened to her, though, has happened via facebook. She said her mum once saw a ufo flying over her baseketball hoop. I asked her cheekily if her mum had been smoking something, and she said 'probably,' for her mum really enjoys pot. Which explains everything. The girl is a clingy, needy downer drama queen who is constantly putting herself down in order to get you to condridict her. I feel sorry for her, but talking to her is like slowly skewering your head on a rusty wire-hanger.
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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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Odd stuff and what happened
Aug. 29th, 2009 | 12:58 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: confused
The crappy thing about not updating in a long time is having to remember the details of all the crappy whining I've saved up till now.
I have found out that even though I made a big ass deposit earlier, I am broke again. I should be more responsible and not go get work clothes at thrift stores so often. I'm pissed because a pair of trousers I got for my birthday DO NOT FIT. They are too short. Imagine that, something too short on ME. There's no fabric to take down. So I either have to wear the trousers sagging on my hips or start walking like a drunk midget. Drunk midget...remind you of anyone??
So I'm trying to get another new job. The last film I auditioned for I didn't get the part, and I was feeling rather discouraged all week, even today when I auditioned for something else. I really hope I get it. I did a commercial the other day and was told I was scheduled to do two more this last week. I think the director died or something, because he hasn't gotten back to me.
So I have three weddings this next month to get me through a few bills, but that will only happen if my employer pays me, and you know how that goes.
I got an email from someone wanting to break into real estate photography. I think my response should be this:
Congratulations on trying to break into the lucrative world of real estate photography! You have a creative, adventurous road ahead of you! You are probably wondering the perks of this profession. First of all, you have to pay for all your equipment, most of it you will never use, and recieve about 1/3 the salary you would normally make on a regular photoshoot. To make things more superfun, if a client doesn't like a certain photo because of, say, CLOUDS in the sky, you get to do the entire order over, or photoshop the clouds away on your own time and dime. This is a very exciting career. You meet lots of people, like picky agents with OCD, suspicious home owners, children and pets who make things even more adventurous by knocking over your equipment, and EVEN COOLER, you get to visit parts of your city and see new kinds of people carrying weapons! You can pretend you are in a movie and walk into condemned buildings with gangs shouting at you! Sometimes the home isn't ready when you get there, so you get to wait while they move their clutter around while inspecting their $500k house. Your right arm gets really strong from carrying your heavy tripod up and down hills, stairs and creaky ladders, and you get to tell cool stories about the bruises you get on the job.
I hope you get a good start at this business, and I wish you the best of luck! It is rewarding, and you can just imagine yourself climbing the ladder of success!
Yeah, I think that's how it should go.
What happened at the commercial I did:
We were marketing this body sculpting thing, and we went through a few shots and one of the directors took me aside and thrust me into a super-tight corset. Now, remember that I'm a borderline anorexic and I have a BMI of almost underweight. She said I wasn't long-waisted enough. I took it in good humour, but it really made me think, afterwards, when I could breath again.
At what price do we DO this? I got a small taste of the viciousness, the manipulativeness of this sick biz. I am pretty fucking thin and it's taken me awhile to control myself into realising this. But according to them, yes, I WAS, but not thin ENOUGH.
And of course I went along with it. I sold just a little piece of my soul; it always starts with just a piece.
I have found out that even though I made a big ass deposit earlier, I am broke again. I should be more responsible and not go get work clothes at thrift stores so often. I'm pissed because a pair of trousers I got for my birthday DO NOT FIT. They are too short. Imagine that, something too short on ME. There's no fabric to take down. So I either have to wear the trousers sagging on my hips or start walking like a drunk midget. Drunk midget...remind you of anyone??
So I'm trying to get another new job. The last film I auditioned for I didn't get the part, and I was feeling rather discouraged all week, even today when I auditioned for something else. I really hope I get it. I did a commercial the other day and was told I was scheduled to do two more this last week. I think the director died or something, because he hasn't gotten back to me.
So I have three weddings this next month to get me through a few bills, but that will only happen if my employer pays me, and you know how that goes.
I got an email from someone wanting to break into real estate photography. I think my response should be this:
Congratulations on trying to break into the lucrative world of real estate photography! You have a creative, adventurous road ahead of you! You are probably wondering the perks of this profession. First of all, you have to pay for all your equipment, most of it you will never use, and recieve about 1/3 the salary you would normally make on a regular photoshoot. To make things more superfun, if a client doesn't like a certain photo because of, say, CLOUDS in the sky, you get to do the entire order over, or photoshop the clouds away on your own time and dime. This is a very exciting career. You meet lots of people, like picky agents with OCD, suspicious home owners, children and pets who make things even more adventurous by knocking over your equipment, and EVEN COOLER, you get to visit parts of your city and see new kinds of people carrying weapons! You can pretend you are in a movie and walk into condemned buildings with gangs shouting at you! Sometimes the home isn't ready when you get there, so you get to wait while they move their clutter around while inspecting their $500k house. Your right arm gets really strong from carrying your heavy tripod up and down hills, stairs and creaky ladders, and you get to tell cool stories about the bruises you get on the job.
I hope you get a good start at this business, and I wish you the best of luck! It is rewarding, and you can just imagine yourself climbing the ladder of success!
Yeah, I think that's how it should go.
What happened at the commercial I did:
We were marketing this body sculpting thing, and we went through a few shots and one of the directors took me aside and thrust me into a super-tight corset. Now, remember that I'm a borderline anorexic and I have a BMI of almost underweight. She said I wasn't long-waisted enough. I took it in good humour, but it really made me think, afterwards, when I could breath again.
At what price do we DO this? I got a small taste of the viciousness, the manipulativeness of this sick biz. I am pretty fucking thin and it's taken me awhile to control myself into realising this. But according to them, yes, I WAS, but not thin ENOUGH.
And of course I went along with it. I sold just a little piece of my soul; it always starts with just a piece.
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Ah, look at all the crazy people
Aug. 9th, 2009 | 11:18 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: 
hopeful
Okay, went for a few-day trip and it was nice. Despite the fact I went swimming and got stung repeatedly by something in the water and my wrist swelled up. I didn't go swimming again after that. All the lifeguards/first aid people were very impressed by it.
Met with that obnoxious, mothering friend of mine's "voice teacher." He's kind of a pimp. He dresses like a pimp, he acts like a pimp. He was with some chick about my age. He scarfed down all these chicken wings while we were talking. He was very touchy-feely. I'm not digging his way of doing things so far. Not to mention the fact that my friend is totally tone deaf. I'm not being mean. She really IS. She actually has a good voice, but it's never on pitch. I might just do some backup with the guy. I get very suspicious when people like that want to know about all the projects you're in, and seem really interested in what you do. I like to get hired and keep that part of my life professional until I actually get to KNOW the people.
And I should mention the fact that she wants to rent a freaking billboard (YES, BILLboard) with her (my) photo of her on it so I can "generate revenue." Oh. Lord. Now, there's being a friend. And there is BEING a FRIEND. Does this seem a little odd to you? It does me.
Thursday I shoot for a second day on a pretty effing big movie. The only hint I'll give you all is this: one of the people who was in GI JOE is in it. I've never seen GI JOE, I'm not going to see it, I don't go to the movies and I'm not impressed with "celebs." But I'm super happy this movie is going to be bigger than the stuff I've been doing lately. It's time to kiss some serious director/producer/casting director ASS. I'm good at that. At least I think I am. There's such a fine line between kissing ass the right way, and kissing ass obnoxiously.
I have huge blisters on my feet from these new shoes I got. I walked around and in about ten minutes, I couldn't walk anymore. They're nice leather and everything. I'm trying to stretch them out. Bastards. Tomorrow another real estate shoot. I HOPE I don't have to photoshop the clouds out. I mean, really? Who DOESN'T like clouds? I'll tell you: Al Quida.
Met with that obnoxious, mothering friend of mine's "voice teacher." He's kind of a pimp. He dresses like a pimp, he acts like a pimp. He was with some chick about my age. He scarfed down all these chicken wings while we were talking. He was very touchy-feely. I'm not digging his way of doing things so far. Not to mention the fact that my friend is totally tone deaf. I'm not being mean. She really IS. She actually has a good voice, but it's never on pitch. I might just do some backup with the guy. I get very suspicious when people like that want to know about all the projects you're in, and seem really interested in what you do. I like to get hired and keep that part of my life professional until I actually get to KNOW the people.
And I should mention the fact that she wants to rent a freaking billboard (YES, BILLboard) with her (my) photo of her on it so I can "generate revenue." Oh. Lord. Now, there's being a friend. And there is BEING a FRIEND. Does this seem a little odd to you? It does me.
Thursday I shoot for a second day on a pretty effing big movie. The only hint I'll give you all is this: one of the people who was in GI JOE is in it. I've never seen GI JOE, I'm not going to see it, I don't go to the movies and I'm not impressed with "celebs." But I'm super happy this movie is going to be bigger than the stuff I've been doing lately. It's time to kiss some serious director/producer/casting director ASS. I'm good at that. At least I think I am. There's such a fine line between kissing ass the right way, and kissing ass obnoxiously.
I have huge blisters on my feet from these new shoes I got. I walked around and in about ten minutes, I couldn't walk anymore. They're nice leather and everything. I'm trying to stretch them out. Bastards. Tomorrow another real estate shoot. I HOPE I don't have to photoshop the clouds out. I mean, really? Who DOESN'T like clouds? I'll tell you: Al Quida.
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Sunday Bloody Sunday
Jul. 26th, 2009 | 05:50 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: irritated
So all I really did today was just sit in front of my computer. Mum is terribly pissed off at me because I didn't "re-inform her" of the film I was in playing in the theatre a few days ago. She interprets this as my attempt to alienate her from my life. I'm glad I don't take my birthday seriously, cause it's been a shitty day because of her, haha! But I absolutely REFUSE to let her dramatic, overreacting self affect me like my grandma used to. She's becoming gran to a tee. Gran used to pull shit like this all the time: "you don't love me, you don't want me in your life, etc." Mum actually said to me today, in front of a bunch of people when she found out, "you really couldn't have done anything worse." Which was so ridiculous, it didn't deserve a retort. I think, well, unplanned pregancy, hitting a pedestrian, jail, manslaughter...I'm glad she walked away in a huff so I could laugh without getting in trouble.
For God's sake, I'm 28. I think it's just like that when someone's an only child. I'm her entire life. I can understand that, but she is THE QUEEN of overreacting and drama. Silly mum. She's been crying all day, slamming doors and yelling. I told everyone I wasn't feeling so well just so I wouldn't have to contend with her, not like I had anything planned anyway. I refuse to be manipulated. Although, she HAS manipulated me and is doing so as we speak. Or as I type, rather.
And so it's high time I moved out permanently.
Incidently, how much is too much when it comes to story twists? I'm awfully fond of them. My neighbour gave me some fruit. She's going to Cape Cod. It's time to take a walk and get some jawbreakers hurled at me.
For God's sake, I'm 28. I think it's just like that when someone's an only child. I'm her entire life. I can understand that, but she is THE QUEEN of overreacting and drama. Silly mum. She's been crying all day, slamming doors and yelling. I told everyone I wasn't feeling so well just so I wouldn't have to contend with her, not like I had anything planned anyway. I refuse to be manipulated. Although, she HAS manipulated me and is doing so as we speak. Or as I type, rather.
And so it's high time I moved out permanently.
Incidently, how much is too much when it comes to story twists? I'm awfully fond of them. My neighbour gave me some fruit. She's going to Cape Cod. It's time to take a walk and get some jawbreakers hurled at me.
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Last night was *not* an Oscar party
Jul. 24th, 2009 | 01:47 pm
There's a place: cafe
I got a feeling: amused
So last night I went to the filmmaker's party and everyone got shitfaced. I logged into facebook and saw the standard "sorry, I was drunk" messages. I thought I would know more people, but instead I met some new people, one of which I stumped throughout the night with useless Beatles trivia, an old guy who kept trying to get me to go home with him (when I said I want to meet someone a little older, I meant someone like Craig and not a guy who looks like my grandpa), a guy who was toasted off his ass who is in a pretty big movie here, who insisted we be a power couple for the rest of the night. I suggested we'd emulate Ivana and Donald Trump. I ended up walking with him and his friend all over town after I consumed a glass of straight vodka (he was buying people drinks all night) and just got slightly buzzed. Does this make sense? How come vodka doesn't get me drunker? It was an effing fun night.
I made my way back to my car a little sloshed, just a bit, while the cops watched me drive away (I managed to walk fairly steady, amazingly so, because I was wearing heels), and back to the house where I'm sitting for. I hit my head on the car door, almost fell in the lawn across the street, got stuck in the mud in the driveway they're repaving, and was almost attacked by the dog who smelled the vodka and probably wanted some himself.
Oh, must tell you about one of the obnoxious girls I'm 'friends' with. She knows everyone in the acting industry here, but she's not involved herself. She is very interested in photography, and she'll say soemthing on the grounds of 'teach me about taking photos,' like I can explain the fundamentals of photography in a half hour. Last night she came up and swooned over the drunk ass guy, saying how wonderful he was in the "big" movie he was in and proceeded to get autographs from everyone in the room, who were all too trashed to even understand what was going on. The girl is weird. This girl leaves comments on your facebook wall that look like this:
"Ohmygod, you are in a movie again?? What movie it is? Is so and so in it? I know him! What are you doing? Where are you going? Who is going with you? What time are you going? Are you still going to teach me about photography? I suck at it! Ohmygod! Message me about it! Thank you! I know we're going to be best friends forever!!! OMGWTFBBQ!"
And so on. She is the kind of friend I try to keep at arm's length. I was just staring at her in my slight vodka-y haze while she went around the room star struck (you would think she was at the bleeding oscars), just drooling and exclaiming. I think I laughed at her. She's in her thirties.
I guess I'm pretty intolerant, which sucks cause I hate intolerance and people who are judgemental and nosy. It's just so easy to become tiresome and exhausted.
I cannot hack into the internet at the house I'm sitting for, so I'm in a cafe, using my two-hour parking time wisely.
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Who are the freaky in your neighbourhood?
Jul. 1st, 2009 | 06:37 pm
There's a place: my desk
I got a feeling: amused
When I powerwalk the neighbourhood, I see a lot of weird shit. I do not live in the most respectable part of town. Down the street is the prostitute, and next to her, the people with the meth lab. Across the street lives the family whose daughter (a friend of mine) yesterday was commited.
I walk down the main road; one house belongs to a former child-sex-offender. Down from him is the man with the little dog who yaps at me constantly. I get to the end of the street to the house that's condemned; the children who used to live it often peed in the yard. I turn the corner and there is the family who's always out on their porch. Yesterday one of them threw jawbreakers at me. I pass the house with the toilet seat in the yard, I pass the park where the cops are usually patroling, which has a history of being used to conduct black masses during the Halloween season, across the street is a couple who is always yelling out in their yard (the other day, the cops were called). I make a left, then another, go past the house with the huge, fake, makeshift black horse strung with christmas lights. I turn the corner, making a right, and I go back towards my house where I have seen, twice, the lady who used to have no face, but now has the face of a demon. If the kids at the house on the corner do not harass me, I walk straight home. I am not making any of this up.
My neighbourhood is a freak show.
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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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No day trip
May. 25th, 2009 | 01:23 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: 
bored
So it's raining like mad and I actually wanted to go to a park or a river today for memorial day. I guess I should just content myself with writing and some coffee. I was hoping to bring a bottle out and just lie in the grass or find a bike to ride off somewhere, as if I lived someplace where I could actually DO that without being killed.
So Mr. Stabby contacted my friend and my friend very diplomatically told him our issues and Mr. Stabby was okay with it. Unless he's plotting some sadistic method of slowly stalking us, bidding his time until we fall into his clutches, where he hacks offf our heads and uses our corpses in his barbershop, where everyone who comes in will just think we're a couple of mannequins. Ooh, that would be a cool plot to a movie. I should start working on it.
Actually, in response to a day on set last week and the Mr. Stabby episode, I have been half-assedly writing a mockumentary that might just be feasable. When I have enough sufficiant material, I'll have some people read it and we'll collaberate. As for my novel...completely stuck and kind of bored with it.
The real reason I might be so bored with it is that I've gone over what I've written so many times, and I found out that's not a good writing menthod. I thought it would help me think of new ideas, but now I'm just bored. They say to just write it out and not change anything until you have the whole thing written out, and THEN revise it. I guess they tell you that for a reason.
I really don't want to spend the whole damn day looking at my computer screen. Tomorrow is the patient programme where I'll be playing a patient with syatica. I have to start memorizing.
So Mr. Stabby contacted my friend and my friend very diplomatically told him our issues and Mr. Stabby was okay with it. Unless he's plotting some sadistic method of slowly stalking us, bidding his time until we fall into his clutches, where he hacks offf our heads and uses our corpses in his barbershop, where everyone who comes in will just think we're a couple of mannequins. Ooh, that would be a cool plot to a movie. I should start working on it.
Actually, in response to a day on set last week and the Mr. Stabby episode, I have been half-assedly writing a mockumentary that might just be feasable. When I have enough sufficiant material, I'll have some people read it and we'll collaberate. As for my novel...completely stuck and kind of bored with it.
The real reason I might be so bored with it is that I've gone over what I've written so many times, and I found out that's not a good writing menthod. I thought it would help me think of new ideas, but now I'm just bored. They say to just write it out and not change anything until you have the whole thing written out, and THEN revise it. I guess they tell you that for a reason.
I really don't want to spend the whole damn day looking at my computer screen. Tomorrow is the patient programme where I'll be playing a patient with syatica. I have to start memorizing.
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Wine in the afternoon again
May. 22nd, 2009 | 06:19 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: complacent
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.
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.
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Some very weird crap
May. 19th, 2009 | 05:12 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: amused
When you're in the entertainment business, you're bound to see some weird shit.
This last weekend, an actor friend of mine gave me a contact with this guy who's directing a movie.
Right away, I find out this director is the most pompous, narcisstic self-indulgent person I've ever talked to. Beyond rude, goes beyond just taking the piss. He won't let you off the phone, for he loves talking about himself so much. Oh well, I think. I'll play the part anyway...
So me and my actor friend head out to his place today, about 40 minutes away for the go-see, and we walk into the scuzziest, dirtiest barbershop. Surrounding us are these decapitated manniquins with fake blood, custumes, skulls, dolls, etc. No biggie, seen 'em before...
The guy is about 500 pounds with three rings in his nose, covered in tattoos, wifebeater on. Eh, seen it, no biggie...he hands us the scripts, hand-written on looseleaf paper. The script is nothing but shock-value diolouge with a few hundred racist terms. The paper is dirty, with, I am NOT kidding, some red smears.
He proceeds to tell us all about himself, how he thinks his movie is going to the greatest thing ever, even though he's never done a movie before, and what he hates and likes about society, people and films. He tells us how he stabbed his friend in the leg when the friend said a cliche, which he hates, and brings out this knife which he waves in our faces. Throughout this time, these young girls are coming in and out, kissing him, he's painting their toenails and rolling joints. He mentions he does some other things on the side besides cutting hair and stabbing people. Me and my friend are looking at each other like this is a comedy, trying not to laugh our asses off, while I'm looking at the door, wanting more than anything to bolt before he kills us.
No, I'm not doing the movie. I didn't want to tell him that there, or else he might've decided to use his threeblades or the spikes on chains which he demonstrated earlier.
I want to take a shower.
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Pathetic, thy name is Astrid
Apr. 7th, 2009 | 06:19 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: amused
LP at the moment: Romantic shit
Okay, I know I'm sick as shit because I was thinking lately about getting married, and if I were to get married, he would have to be the coolest, most brilliant and talented and funny guy, who would blow my mind with his awesomeness and humour...
THEN I was thinking, WHY would I want to saddle such a cool guy like that with ME and WHY would I want to bring a kid in this world with MY chromosones but then deny a cool guy like that the chance to reproduce...and living the rest of my life worried something horrible could happen to the love of my life, and thinking I might have to watch him die someday, and I don't think I could stand that.
So I think I'd rather NOT be in love with someone. I don't think it's worth it.
So the whole "it is better to love and lost than to have never loved at all" is bullshit.
I know it's a very sick, negative way of looking at things. But I'm a rather morbid person.
And I've had WAY too much coffee today. And I've been listening to WAY too many romantically pathetic songs, which might explain things.
THEN I was thinking, WHY would I want to saddle such a cool guy like that with ME and WHY would I want to bring a kid in this world with MY chromosones but then deny a cool guy like that the chance to reproduce...and living the rest of my life worried something horrible could happen to the love of my life, and thinking I might have to watch him die someday, and I don't think I could stand that.
So I think I'd rather NOT be in love with someone. I don't think it's worth it.
So the whole "it is better to love and lost than to have never loved at all" is bullshit.
I know it's a very sick, negative way of looking at things. But I'm a rather morbid person.
And I've had WAY too much coffee today. And I've been listening to WAY too many romantically pathetic songs, which might explain things.
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More daytripping
Mar. 16th, 2009 | 07:28 pm
There's a place: my bed
I got a feeling: 
accomplished
LP at the moment: Jimi Hendrix
Today I had a real estate photoshoot about 45 minutes away. Before I left I downed a bunch of meds along with my wonky antibiotic from that was manufactured in India. I was fine until I started my shoot. The side effects of this sucker are weird. You start having weird hot and cold flashes and general stoned-feelings, and also weird pains and feelings of slight vertigo. The guy who owned the fabulous house had this 70s station on and let me tell you, I had more fun. Doing sexy dances with my tripod to Aerosmith (I don't think the guy saw me), singing out loud to every song that came on. We talked about his hearing loss from being a drummer and the pros and cons of new England. I was thinking the whole time, 'I hope I'm shooting all this stuff right, cause right now I don't care.'
Let me give you advice: don't work and drive under the influence of wonky foreign antibiotics and strong cold medications.
The 45 minutes back I spent being lost for about 15 minutes in the subdivision, ridding myself of most of my clothes because I was so effing HOT (it was a NICE day), arguing with Suzie my GPS, and tripping out, thinking I was lost, being amused at everything, the colours were more vivid than usual. I don't know how I got home without getting in a wreck. After that, I came home, ate, did some computer crap and passed out.
I had really vivid dreams. I dreamt I was being attacked by the supernatural (I HATE dreaming about that), but they weren't really ATTACKING me, just fucking with me, having a converstation with someone and their face suddenly turning really evil and knowing then I was dreaming, and I knew I was going to start thinking of every scary picture or story I've heard or seen or experienced and knew I was going to conjure them up in the dream and I didn't want to do that, so I starting forcing myself to wake up and that took me awhile, cause I would start waking up and then I'd get dragged back in the dream again. I was eventually successful (or I'd not be writing this) with a song in my head which I thought about writing down but it turns out I'm too lazy, so instead I sat up, turned on some Jimi Hendrix and logged into facebook. That's what I get for sleeping with my window open. It DOES strange things to your dreams. I think everything today was very amusing and blog-worthy.
I'm telling ya, those Indians sure know how to party.
Let me give you advice: don't work and drive under the influence of wonky foreign antibiotics and strong cold medications.
The 45 minutes back I spent being lost for about 15 minutes in the subdivision, ridding myself of most of my clothes because I was so effing HOT (it was a NICE day), arguing with Suzie my GPS, and tripping out, thinking I was lost, being amused at everything, the colours were more vivid than usual. I don't know how I got home without getting in a wreck. After that, I came home, ate, did some computer crap and passed out.
I had really vivid dreams. I dreamt I was being attacked by the supernatural (I HATE dreaming about that), but they weren't really ATTACKING me, just fucking with me, having a converstation with someone and their face suddenly turning really evil and knowing then I was dreaming, and I knew I was going to start thinking of every scary picture or story I've heard or seen or experienced and knew I was going to conjure them up in the dream and I didn't want to do that, so I starting forcing myself to wake up and that took me awhile, cause I would start waking up and then I'd get dragged back in the dream again. I was eventually successful (or I'd not be writing this) with a song in my head which I thought about writing down but it turns out I'm too lazy, so instead I sat up, turned on some Jimi Hendrix and logged into facebook. That's what I get for sleeping with my window open. It DOES strange things to your dreams. I think everything today was very amusing and blog-worthy.
I'm telling ya, those Indians sure know how to party.
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Dreams and schemes and abductions
Jan. 22nd, 2009 | 07:14 pm
There's a place: my beddy
I got a feeling: 
sleepy
Okay, so one of the reasons I dislike the reality of moving back in with my parents is the fact I have to contend with two adults who are so fixed in their ways, they can't even change the bloody wallpaper or furniture around once since they've taken residency. And mum buys all this fattening rubbish to eat and to tempt me with so my anorexic tendencies shut down temporarily whilst I sneak a few bicsuits and thus feel horribly gulity ten seconds later. So I counteract it with vinegar pills and water and moves that would make Richard Simmons proud.
I've read that fibroids cause fatigue. I am a borderline insomniac. It doesn't help the fact that I try to consume my daily 64 oz of water 15 minutes before bedtime. This might account for my fatigue.
Last night I had weird dreams. I usually only have vivid dreams when I rearrange my furniture or I'm in a hotel or hostel. I dreamt I was rooting around inside my nose (grotty, right?) and I found some foreign objects previously left by an unknown, alien entity. I assumed I had been abducted by the little green nose-men. What the hell does this mean? And why the hell can't I EVER have a good sex dream? Probably because my dream-men get turned-off by my curious nose-inspecting.
I named my gps Suzie. Because she has this girl-next-door American accent and she just sounds like a Suzie. But Suzie is pretty bad at rerouting with all the freeway construction going on. Silly Suzie.
Ever have instant recall? Where you'll hear part of a phrase or song and find yourself finishing it, and you haven't heard it for years and years? Like those old advert jingles of the 80s? I can still sing them. It is very sad that the portions of my brain that could've been used for medicine, law or physics are instead crammed full of 80s jingles and sitcoms.
I've read that fibroids cause fatigue. I am a borderline insomniac. It doesn't help the fact that I try to consume my daily 64 oz of water 15 minutes before bedtime. This might account for my fatigue.
Last night I had weird dreams. I usually only have vivid dreams when I rearrange my furniture or I'm in a hotel or hostel. I dreamt I was rooting around inside my nose (grotty, right?) and I found some foreign objects previously left by an unknown, alien entity. I assumed I had been abducted by the little green nose-men. What the hell does this mean? And why the hell can't I EVER have a good sex dream? Probably because my dream-men get turned-off by my curious nose-inspecting.
I named my gps Suzie. Because she has this girl-next-door American accent and she just sounds like a Suzie. But Suzie is pretty bad at rerouting with all the freeway construction going on. Silly Suzie.
Ever have instant recall? Where you'll hear part of a phrase or song and find yourself finishing it, and you haven't heard it for years and years? Like those old advert jingles of the 80s? I can still sing them. It is very sad that the portions of my brain that could've been used for medicine, law or physics are instead crammed full of 80s jingles and sitcoms.
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An interesting night of frollick
Jan. 9th, 2009 | 02:01 am
There's a place: my very comfy bed
I got a feeling: 
tired
It's much too late to write coherently.
Went out tonight for this lame-ass exhibit downtown. I was thinking of staying home with my tea and slippers like the old fogey I am becoming at the cantankerous age of 27, but I needed some "what I did today" pictures to post on my own lame-ass "look at my superfuncreative life" blog.
There I sussed out a middleaged photographer who steered me into his darkroom where I thought he might just try to either rape me or make me assist him, but he did neither. Then I was greeted by a homeless looking guy (this was in a rather dodgy neighbourhood) who shook my hand and then tried to eat it, whereas I managed to retrieve my hand in time for a nice glass of complimentary wine which makes faux pas much more endurable.
Before the homeless guy could try again, I decided to leave, hoping my car wasn't stolen. I love having a junky car. I really recommend it. You never have to worry about people hijacking it or stealing anything out of it. I also love gps. I talk to my gps. I get lonely like that.
I know why I'm an island now. It is because people let me down and blow me off. Like my friend this last week. She and her husband are not doing well financially, she can't go anywhere because she's down to one car, etc. I told her we could go out, I would PICK HER UP, I would treat her to coffee somewhere, I got an effing starbucks gift card...I knit her a nice, warm present for her birthday, but she had to cancel her get together. I understand, it happens. I tell her "oh crap, I stayed up late making your present, too!" Turns out, she later spends her birthday evening hanging out with friends. I gave her birthday present to another friend for christmas.
Like a friend I had when I was about 16. We were in theatre together. She was pretty overweight, wore glasses, kinda nerdy, no one liked her, but I liked her and she was one of my best friends. Then she went on a diet, slimmed down a bit, lost the glasses and proceeded to think she was the dishiest. Suddenly, everyone liked her and she blew me off. Honestly, it really hurt but I think it's funny now. I lost touch with her and I hope she got fat again. I know it's mean, but damn. Instant karma, man.
It's not like all people are like that. For some reason though, my good friends turn out to be jerks.
And my photographer friend is avoiding me. I have a feeling he's embarrassed about being so randy the other night on facebook. I already told him I'm not insulted. Amused, yes. Insulted, nay. Or else he knows I won't just up and come over to his flat and he's now lost interest. What is it with people?
Went out tonight for this lame-ass exhibit downtown. I was thinking of staying home with my tea and slippers like the old fogey I am becoming at the cantankerous age of 27, but I needed some "what I did today" pictures to post on my own lame-ass "look at my superfuncreative life" blog.
There I sussed out a middleaged photographer who steered me into his darkroom where I thought he might just try to either rape me or make me assist him, but he did neither. Then I was greeted by a homeless looking guy (this was in a rather dodgy neighbourhood) who shook my hand and then tried to eat it, whereas I managed to retrieve my hand in time for a nice glass of complimentary wine which makes faux pas much more endurable.
Before the homeless guy could try again, I decided to leave, hoping my car wasn't stolen. I love having a junky car. I really recommend it. You never have to worry about people hijacking it or stealing anything out of it. I also love gps. I talk to my gps. I get lonely like that.
I know why I'm an island now. It is because people let me down and blow me off. Like my friend this last week. She and her husband are not doing well financially, she can't go anywhere because she's down to one car, etc. I told her we could go out, I would PICK HER UP, I would treat her to coffee somewhere, I got an effing starbucks gift card...I knit her a nice, warm present for her birthday, but she had to cancel her get together. I understand, it happens. I tell her "oh crap, I stayed up late making your present, too!" Turns out, she later spends her birthday evening hanging out with friends. I gave her birthday present to another friend for christmas.
Like a friend I had when I was about 16. We were in theatre together. She was pretty overweight, wore glasses, kinda nerdy, no one liked her, but I liked her and she was one of my best friends. Then she went on a diet, slimmed down a bit, lost the glasses and proceeded to think she was the dishiest. Suddenly, everyone liked her and she blew me off. Honestly, it really hurt but I think it's funny now. I lost touch with her and I hope she got fat again. I know it's mean, but damn. Instant karma, man.
It's not like all people are like that. For some reason though, my good friends turn out to be jerks.
And my photographer friend is avoiding me. I have a feeling he's embarrassed about being so randy the other night on facebook. I already told him I'm not insulted. Amused, yes. Insulted, nay. Or else he knows I won't just up and come over to his flat and he's now lost interest. What is it with people?