Where do we go from here?

I guess I am new to blogging.

I recently joined this cool website and am reading all these amazing blogs. I mean, these people really know how to WRITE. These writers have all these beautiful nuances, and funny quips in their writing that I simply don't know how to do.

Why am I always discouraged by the successes of others? lame.

Beyond that, they seem to have a lot of anonymity going on. That would probably help me. Or I could start over and talk about all of the real feelings and nutcase escapades I am embarking on.

Facebook is the main problem. Or maybe Ill start over.

But I dont WANT to start over. This is a STORY.

But I want to talk about my breakup and other wanton adventures.

But that wont be good for anyone involved but me.

oh yeah.

Maybe time to start over?

Or maybe start a writing journal?

Maybe make new friends who you can TALK to?

Or maybe who the hell cares?

Maybe I'll just un-post my blog from facebook.

P.S. Hit 60 miles today. Booyah.

My own empty subway car. I swung around all the poles and felt very free.

Eighteen Days

I just got back from home again with my car. I didn't mention that I didn't sell it and then thought it was a brilliant idea to fix it. I think maybe that was a mistake. I had to split the $3,300 fee on two credit accounts. I am in debt again and I something makes me think that I wont be able to sell my car. Fiddlesticks.

Eighteen days. I am hungover and extremely anxious. Work party last night. Kind of a goodbye, kind of not. Drank too much and acted bad. "Aren't you excited?? I am so excited for you." um...yeah. Excited. Why am I not more excited?

I am starting to freak out about all the money. Where am I going to find the money? I need to learn to pray I guess. Dear God, please may I have some money? Amen.

Sorry for the rant. I am off to work a double.

Old Car

New Car.

Wanna buy it?

46 Days

So I am getting very nervous about leaving. I still haven't told my boss (though I thought 30 days notice would be WAY more than enough, right?) I am really enjoying my acting class, and I am scared to go in and tell my managers and agents.

What I am saying is this: I haven't made any changes that I can't undo. Even the rental truck reservation isn't binding.

I need to be bold. A bold woman would act.

Who is bold? Who can I look to for help? Oprah? Martha?

Class today was all about facing your fears. Not facing them, but RIDDING yourself of them. I am afraid. I am very afraid. I am so fucking afraid that it paralyzes me.

Ok that's enough

Do Yourself a Favor

So I have been working my gazankus off at Bizou this week. I am so damn sick of that place that I could scream. I am sick of the customers, of my co-workers, my boss, the bar, the kitchen, just everything. I work in the morning and am done at 3. Then I have to go back at six. This is my break. On my break I read people's blogs and try to make myself disappear.

You know how they tell you that only you can make yourself happy and you have to will things to happen and yadda yadda? How the HELL does anyone actually do that? I mean, I know they are right, but I am so sick of just being downright miz. Is New York going to help this?

I'll tell you what has helped today. This AMAZING blog. Do yourself a favor and read this gloriousness.

Afterwards, if you have time and your eyes don't hurt because you couldn't take them away from the page, read this blog too.

You are welcome.

I'm off to make myself happy.

One Thousand Dollars

Somehow my PARENTS in Northern California got the letter from the Los Angeles Police Department about my "unsafe left turn" ticket.

Fine. Send it to me. Right?

No. Of course my dad opens it (rips it open) and reads it. They proceed to call me and tell me that this little mistake of mine is going to cost me upwards of a thousand dollars. I am shocked. There is NO way I can afford a thousand dollar ticket. Okay, I reason, they will take some off when I show them I DO actually have insurance. Then my dad proceeds to nag me about how irresponsible I am. I proceed to tell him that its none of his business. That's when the fight begins.

First of all let me explain that I have been completely financially independent for almost three years. Meaning, I have been out of college and paying my own rent etc for three years. How dare he tell me that I am not doing a good job taking care of myself?? Most of my girlfriends from high school and college are still getting SOME help from their parents. (Many of whom I have somehow ceased to relate, I must admit.)

How dare they open my mail? What the hell? They do nothing but tell me that acting is a ridiculous profession and that I am "stupid" for moving to New York. Not ONCE have they said ANYTHING positive about how I am living my life.

This all might have been less of a big deal if there wasn't a thousand dollars involved. How am I going to move to New York with this kind of drag on my budget? No. I'm not going there. Actually I am going to fight this ticket, because I am a big girl even though my parents refuse to see it.

I know how to fight my own battles.

New York "Thing"

Me...less defeated.

This New York thing might be my last chance.

I am a non-working actor in Los Angeles. I am disgruntled to say the least. It isn’t happening. I love acting. I love theatre. I think it is important, but somehow this business has not opened up to me in almost three years and I am tired. I do not want to schmooze agents and managers. I feel fake, which I cannot STAND.

I watch all these bridal showers and baby showers on the weekend. People get married. I want that so badly. My twenty-six-year-old heart and body wants CHILDREN and to make a HOME. And I am sitting in it thinking, "And what? You’re going to give all this up?" This WHAT??? This "professional waitress"ing like the horrible woman at trivia was so keen to tell me I am. I am not acting. I don’t even want to go to class. I don’t want to audition. I don’t want to do Los Angeles anymore.

Ha. Also my old acting teacher emailed me to remind me that I promised I would do a scene. I’m a big fat liar and a cheat and I’m a quitter and this sucks.

I feel like Alexander who had The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day. He was sure everything would be fine if he moved to Australia. Or am I Kate Winslet and Leo in Revolutionary Road? If I don't go to France... (trying not to spoil the movie)...bad things will happen? If you’ve seen it you REALLY know what I mean.

I have to go to New York. I have to give this thing one last shot. I can go for it in theatre there. I know that game much better.

But what if I fail? Worse...what if or how or when do I give up?

What if I could be really happy doing something totally normal and safe?

When You Go Out to Eat

I have worked at over ten restaurants in my day. That’s a lot. I have worked at California Pizza Kitchen for two years, Denny’s, IHOP, Tokyo Cafe, Schlotzskys, and Bizou (among others). And when I say that people don’t know how to act when they go to a restaurant, I know what I am talking about.

Here is a little list of rules (dare I say COMMANDMENTS) that people should follow should they ever decide to set foot in any kind of restaurant, respectable or otherwise. I may add more later. This is a very important issue.

1. The bread you get at the beginning is free. No one gets tipped on it. Don’t ask for more. Don’t ask for it toasted. Don’t ask if there is any more "nut bread" because there isn’t. No one has time for this petty request.

2. When the corkage is 2$ that means I don’t have to pour it for you. Sorry.

3. When the waiter comes to your table to check to see if you need anything, that’s your chance to tell him or her if you need anything. You do not get to say "Lemons!" and when he or she comes back say, "More nut bread." You get one chance. That is all.

4. Do not bring your children out to a nice restaurant if they do not know how to act. They must sit in the chair provided for them and not get up unless chaperoned to the restroom. There are no kids’ menus at fine dining restaurants. Do not ask for one. Do not expect one. Get your kid the chicken, and do not mess with the recipe. Your kid does NOT get to wander. Get a babysitter. We are in a recession. Anyone will do it!

5. When ordering: look at the menu. Do not order the pork tenderloin and then ask what it comes with. It’s on the GD menu. Read the menu. That’s what it’s for.

6. If you don’t like what you ordered because of the ingredients that are clearly on the menu that you didn’t read, you have to eat it. No sending it back. Ever.

7. If you DO change the menu you eat what you ordered. Say the sesame coated salmon comes with burgundy wine sauce and potato pancakes. You decide to get lemon cream sauce and saffron shrimp risotto. You have ruined the dish. When it doesn’t taste right, it is your fault. Do not send it back. You are not a chef. Get what is on the menu or go to Burger King. This isn’t "have it your way" This isn’t hamburgers, it’s a recipe slaved over and tested and approved. You are an idiot if you think you know better than a chef who owns THE most popular restaurant on Ventura Blvd.

8. Pay attention to the time. If the restaurant closes at 10pm. Pay your bill before that. Under no circumstances should you order a dessert after 10pm. It will be spit in.

10. Do not question the waiter. You may think that a restaurant has escargot. If the waiter says, "No we have never had escargot." Do not ask him or her to go check in the kitchen. They do not have escargot. You are an idiot. The waiter is there every day with the same food. You are thinking of another place.

11. If you tip even a penny less than 15% your will be cursed and bad luck will come to you. The standard is now 18-20%. If the service is good, any less is beyond shameful.

12. NEVER make the waitress decide who gets to pay the bill. This is very uncomfortable and she knows her tip is at stake. If there is going to be a fight about who gets to pay, leave it between you and your party, do not put it on the person who has ten other tables and has been on her feet for six hours already. It’s disgusting.

Anyway, I have been working since 10:45 this morning and am not looking forward to another double tomorrow. I’m a little bitter.

Anyone know some other rules I may have missed?

setback

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.

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.

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 to...um 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.