Thursday, February 26, 2009


um...yeah. Didnt go to class. Didnt talk to Mr. Carnegie. Went to my boyfriend's house and Ross with my sister and bothered the crap out of both by constantly (involuntarily) sighing due to anxiety.

Should have gone. Should have fought the man harder.

I fought the law and the law won.

I have had a hard week. I have run exactly FIVE days this week so far and tomorrow will be the sixth. I have done well. One step a week. Thats what I say.

Failure. Failure is where the sighs come from. Should have...should have...should have. I am a different person when I am in this mode. This self deprecating person. Idiot, should become a teacher. Maybe I would be happier. Maybe I would feel like I gave up. Maybe both. As long as I get out of Los Angeles, who cares?

And I have Bob* tomorrow. At least I get to wear my own clothes. Clothes to dump piss. Clothes to acquiesce in. I hate Bob* because he is miserable and he reminds me of my own misery. How dare he?

I will run tomorrow. At least I have done that. That and got a huge driving ticket. Im really screwed on that one. Oh man. Here comes the sighing again. Ok. Bath and sleeping pills and bed. I wake up in the middle of the night frustrated. Frustrated for sleep and angry at my stupid self for being so lame. I woke up an hour before my alarm this morning and stared at my ceiling. I am awake another day. I am wasting my life.

Totally preventable failure number one.

Step 2

Beginning today with the plan of not letting this "ticket" thing get me down I am going to go Playhouse West, audit the beginning class, and talk the teacher into letting me back in after a year.

The whole thing is a little terrifying. Mr. Carnegie scares me, but I am NOT a pansy. I am Emma. I am strong. I can do this. I WILL do this. I need to go back to class and fight again! Activities and doors here I come. I will prepare. I will be brave. No more being a PANSY!!

No. I dont want to do this. I want to do nothing today until my shift tonight. I want to maybe work for Bob* and then have all of tomorrow off. I dont want to go to class. I want to go see He's Just Not That into You. I want to sit on my gazankus and be sorry that I ruined my life by getting caught by the cops. Oh man. I reeeeeeally do not want to audit class and talk to Mr. Carnegie.

We'll you are going. I am going. Just like I forced myself to run today.

It's called discipline.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Setback #3 - The Moving Violation

I got a ticket today.

It sucks.

It’s really easy to think that the world is against you and why me when I hear people speeding by my f**ing house every darn day. What the hell? I am a good person! I drive safely!

I wasn’t even speeding.

Something about an unsafe left turn.

The truth is I almost got into a HUGE accident, and if I were the police I would have pulled me over too. I didn’t see the car coming for me and swerved and missed it and another car also. Someone is watching out for me. Someone who probably feels pretty damn unappreciated right now. Do you know how BAD this could have been??

I still cried uncontrollably for about two hours. I still called my boyfriend and made it his problem while he was working a sixteen hour day. Let’s try not to think about the fact that I got another ticket less than eighteen months ago so it’s going on my record and my insurance will probably go up AGAIN, when it’s already over $300 a month.

But here’s the DEAL: when I move to NEW YORK, I won’t need a car and I won’t need insurance or points or anything. So there. F-you Los Angeles. You can’t beat me.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Running = new label

Ran again today. Booyah!

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Day One

Yes. Yes I completed my three and a half mile workout. It was great. I am powerful. I am strong. I can do this. I can do anything!

This is why I NEED to be running. Get rid of the anxiety! Get rid of five pounds. Get rid of all the thinking and moaning and feeling shitty. Go for it. Be a fighter.

Fighter. I should put that on my workout list. Ok. On to the rest of the day. I just wanted to assure everyone that I did ONE thing I wanted to do today.

Today Im doing a screenplay reading for a friend who quit, moved back to the town where we went to college and has recently renewed his passion. Good for him. Maybe he started running...

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Steps 4 and 7

...Start tomorrow. Like they always do.

NO! But tomorrow Im really going to run. Im doing it. I am.

Its so hard when you wake up and you feel all cozy and you know its the best feeling you're going to have all day and you dont want to get running shoes on and then have the worst feeling you're going to have all day. I can just do it tomorrow. Or tomorrow. Creeps in this petty pace from day to day... yes. I am an actor. I must look like one. I will run tomorrow. I will. Tomorrow.

I even mapped out a route for myself on this awesome website. 3.5 miles. I have my running shoes and shorts and my ipod all ready. I just have to do this tomorrow. I have also decided to reward myself if I run six days this week.

Ok. Im doing it. Im changing my life. Im moving to New York and tomorrow...I am going to start running.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Why Actresses Wait Tables

In Los Angeles, and I hope in New York City too, there is an entire subculture of actors who wait tables. They are sometimes considered the loathsome, lost artists who are clearly NOT making it. I'm not about to say that waiting tables is an art, but there are so many things that benefit an artists soul in working at a restaurant.

Last night was an awkward example. I was in the front section, which means I am the last to leave. So at 9:30 when I am sat THREE tables I am already slightly annoyed. Three couples.

One couple orders drinks and dinner quickly. They seem upbeat and into each other. A long relationship. Another couple orders a diet coke and water. Lame. Who doesn’t drink at dinner? They seemed slightly awkward, but they took a picture together. I kinda thought they were a new couple until then. Digressing...

The last table is an attractive thirty-something woman and an older man, say forty-five or so. They are in heated, hushed discussion. They take awhile to look the menu, whispering points between glances. When I go over there, CLEARLY interrupting them (but come ON its 9:45 by now. All the other waiters are leaving), I hear things like "I just don’t feel like you listen to me," and, "I do everything I can yeah were ready. Ill have the Steak Frites..." and they order. I leave them the hell alone for the rest of their meal. Forty-five minutes later the argument has escalated. I have to go home. It’s freaking late. They are still picking at their dinner and whispering frequently. At the first appropriate moments, I take their plates and ask, tentatively, if they want dessert. No, thank God. Tea and coffee. Ok. Done. I go back to drop the check and they're really into it by now. She is attacking him about something. He is looking all defeated. (See, that is the first problem. If he was a tough guy, the kind of guy this strong-type woman clearly needs, he wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. Dr. Laura is wrong. Men emasculate themselves...) I have to tell them that we need to close so hurry the hell up and pay. They nod. They’re not listening. I go back when the basketball game is finished, Utah wins, and there is money all over the table. Crumpled. He clearly pulled it out of his wallet and threw it in his rage. Child. He deserves this. I am left to pick up all the little bills and of course drop some, while he is tearfully telling her that "All I want is to make you happy." And I am out of there. Don't ask them if they want change. They owe me.

My point is that when you wait tables you are the fly on the wall that the audience is in the theatre. People don’t care what the measly waitress thinks about them. Who is she? The failed actress. Nobody. Well, yeah they’re right, for now, but in the meantime I get to work with a bunch of beautiful people and get paid to watch theatre.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Steps (a table of contents)

Six and a half months until I venture across this wide country for the other side. I keep thinking of things I need to do before then. I have to tie up loose ends on this life before beginning to unravel another.

There are things I want to do in Los Angeles before I leave. Aren’t there? I have an ex-boyfriend who personifies everything that is good about this place. (Yes it all fits into one person). Every time I think about exploring Los Angeles I think of him. Stupid girl to date him. I really miss his friendship which is all I really wanted in the first place. When he asked me to be exclusive I had an anxiety attack. I often find myself in situations that I am too scared to get out of. Anyway I digress...or am I being too poignant?

1. Tell acting teacher and quit acting class. Step one: Accomplished

2. Go back to Playhouse and brush up.

3. Get out of debt. (I think I’m about $3000 in the hole to BofA and Wells Fargo)

4. Lose five pounds

5. Stock up on headshots (or get new headshots. Not sure 3. and 5. go together)

6. Complete The Artist's Way (which I have tried to do about sixty times. Do you think I can start where I left off?)

7. Get into the habit of RUNNING EVERY DAY!!! (this is a near impossibility, but it would probably make me ten times the person I am now)

8. Meet with manager and agent and end things cordially

9. Quit being such a freaking pansy.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Setback #2

I woke up this morning homesick. I am homesick for the Bay Area. I miss my family.

It is so much easier to be upset that they are jerks because that makes me less sad to miss them.

They're not jerks. I'm a pansy.

It's going to become my main problem.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


Bob* is one of the reasons I know I have to get out of Los Angeles.

He is a sixty-year-old once VERY successful actor who had terrible knee injuries which led to nine surgeries, six months in the hospital, and virtual removal from Hollywood existence. You would recognize him if you saw him. He was on at least twelve very popular television shows as a recurring character. He did forty big budget movies, two of which you will have heard of. He knew so many people. I have seen the pictures. They don’t return his calls.

He sent a gumball machine to Jean Smart and Christina Applegate on Samantha Who? The card said: "To Jean: From your first onscreen kiss. To Christina: From your first onscreen clown. Call me and thank me. - Bob." We saw Jean Smart at a recent memorial for Milton Katselas, a well-loved acting teacher. She mentioned that the machine was near Craft Services. They never sent him a thank you.

You have to get pretty freaking famous in this town for anyone to remember you when tragedy happens. It is so easy to slip into oblivion.

He is a mess now. He sits in an easy chair in his dark house, watches television all day, and pees into a jug, which I remove and pour into the toilet. I know you don’t want a visual, but sometimes I’m not there the whole weekend and the stuff sits.

Monday jugs have chunks.

He is not trying to act again. He talks about it sometimes. He talks about making millions of dollars with network marketing and starting his theatre company up again. I want to ask him, why not just get in a wheelchair and go to auditions? If he wanted to act, he COULD. He is famous. He is a "name." People would cast him just for the comeback story. But he doesn’t. He sits in his chair and barks orders at me. He could make millions just doing a couple damn commercials for drug companies. I am honestly not sure why he doesn’t make more of an effort. Maybe it’s just too scary.

I am his assistant. I work with him two days a week dumping pee, doing laundry, cooking, cleaning and trying to keep my sanity while I help him with a network marketing thing he's doing.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Setback #1

My parents came into town this weekend. Not so supportive of the move. Not so supportive of acting really. Waiting for me to bite the bullet and get my teaching credential so I can teach second grade at Burton Valley Elementary School in Lafayette. My dad even referred to me as the "stupid daughter who is moving to Brooklyn." He took it back, a little drunk, a little sad. "Im just going to miss you. I am afraid I wont see you as much." He should have just left it at stupid daughter. That I knew he didnt mean. That I wont see him is what hurts, is whats dissappointing.

What am I supposed to do? Stay here and rot in Los Angeles? Stay here while the hot sun bakes my brain and fries my soul?

I don't want to do this. I want to stay here and try to be in film and movies and live with my sister forever and never get married because I'm never going to be happy anyway and Im always going to want more so whats the point? If I move to New York, I lose the only things that are keeping me out of bed. Why am I taking that chance?

I feel like Im being dramatic again. I get so annoyed with myself. Why cant I be someone else where things are more clear? Why couldnt I just have my path chosen for me somehow so I wouldnt always have to wonder if I am going the right way.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. Im not good at this. Im not good at writing. Shut up.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Step one: Accomplished.

It was harder than I thought it would be because I underestimated Sam's kindness and strength of character. I forgot that he is a wonderful coach and a really caring person. He loves actors and understands us. He sees our blocks and fears. He really thinks I am a good artist. He keeps telling me that I "dont know how good I am." Oh man. I remained strong. He definitely didnt give me as much crap as I thought he would. He even supported the move to New York. I am becoming less of a wimp, I swear!

As far as acting technique, I know I need a little more work. I know I want to go back to Playhouse and chisel the corners some more. Torture myself. "You cannot have mercy on yourself as an actor," my teacher there once told me.

So I am going back to my difficult Meisner study so I can become a better vessel of truth.

Oh my God. I am really moving to New York.

By the way, sometimes I get a little dramatic.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Seven Months

So I spent my break between shifts fantasizing about the apartments I found on Craigslist. I was sitting right next to the heater before it turned off by itself for no reason. It’s cold here. It’s not raining or cloudy or anything. It’s probably not even that cold but Los Angeles has thinned my blood and drained my soul. So back to fantasizing. There are so many beautiful pictures of beautiful, affordable apartments in Brooklyn. I even found a neat website on how to move to New York. So that was it. That is where we are right now. Just fantasizing.

Supposedly I am moving to New York City in seven months.

To be honest with you, I'm not sure that I have the courage.