happy weekend
m'loves, riddle me your plans of weekend treat.
i will be working the whole way through.
{giant, dramatic, lea michele sigh}
i hope you're getting a giggle from these silhouettes.
designer, wilhelm stahaele, handcuts these vintage silhouettes,
and then adds his own tasty dash of naughty and quip.
each had me chuckling louder than the next.
{ill advised when sitting alone, attempting to maintain that grunge, frustrated writer, coffee house look.but now that i think of it, my extra shiny penny loafers and cotton candy pink ribbon bracelet ridiculed any angst image i was trying to create}
who am i kidding? i'm a preppy poser at heart.
according to wilhelm's website, when he's not frightening small children with his disfiguring looks he schleps his works for profit.
i've saved my favorite for last.
shitstorm is a pet and prized term in our household.
we use it like mustard. and we put mustard on EVERYTHING.
{last night i had a touch of egg salad with my mustard}
happy weekend dears.
a white blank page
white blank page.
clean slate.
excuse me miss, but do you sell disinfectant for my brain?
something to comet and pine sol the doubt and bitten lip memories loitering in my head.
rejections of ...... the way life used to be.
the jolly and jolt of acting is losing its luster with each no and not right.
telephone silence slashing and slicing into my ever diminishing kettle of pluck and nerve.
BUT
don’t mistake me for dreary or bleak; the opposite rather.
yesterday was a task in wrangling my inappropriate giggle fits.
and each hour i'm given moments so hallmark it's amazing i don't walk around in a 24 hour cycle of blubbering ado.
a phone call with my aunt char, edith piaf at a cafe', a sparkly beret on ella, bird of paradise in morning yoga, a woo-hoo from one of my spin students, feeding the hungry, twirling, howling beasts, texts from my dad, dinner with my 'family', a kiss goodnite from my hunkiest.
a deluge of delights flooding my life.
shame on me if i choose not to recognize them.
so for now i've scoured the deep cornices of my cerebral cortex.
clogs, snags, hindrances begone!
at least until tomorrow....{a girl knows her limits}.
click image for source
happy weekend
good morning m'dears.
i'm still trying to soak warm back into my cells.
yesterday, i was shooting a short film that had me clad scantily in a 43 degree cemetery for most of the day.
at one point my earlobes started to shiver, and i started to envy those underground.
today is a different project.
this afternoon i get to run down the streets of l.a., screaming for my life.
alas, only to get stabbed to death in the end.
how are you gettin' into the spirit?
so the saying goes.....
when one door closes.......
the other door didn't just open, the hinges flew off and new dry wall had to be cut.
a new corridor practically.
i thought i was done with my tears.
i'm thankfully not.
goldfish bowls i fill of happy, grateful blubbering from the support i've been receiving.
one door definitely closed.
smack in my face.
but a grand new door, a door oozing with love and kindness opened instead.
thank you so much dear friends.
thirsty?
because i definitely could have filled your glasses last week.
the tears.
they. would. not. stop.
last wednesday marked my biggest audition to date.
a soap.
a soap i had watched as i child with my mom, characters that were an integral part of my adolescence (my body image/self-esteem/formulation of marital relationships). it's no wonder i'm on the couch once a week.
for auditions, usually i give myself an extra 45 minutes of time to allow for traffic, but for this one i padded an hour.
cut to the 405 freeway, 4 accidents, and 2 hours and 51 minutes later.
screeching my way onto the lot, i parked my car, and did my best chi-sprint through the studio {even though they wanted me camera ready glamour puss}.
i raced pass two big time stars lighting up prime time.
{i secretly hoped they'll soon be saying hi to me in the halls}
i got up to the 3rd floor, anaerobic, folded in half catching my breath.
looking in the mirror:
the run actually has done nice things for my cheeks, and given my pretty wind-blown hair.
score!
with a breathy voice (not fake fortunately) i walked into reception, gave them my name and character i'm reading for.
right away my stomach sinks. the sweet receptionist gives me the look the farmer's hand gives the pig right before the sow goes to slaughter.
giant footsteps come up behind me and mr casting director comes out from the office.
what time was your appointment? he asks {the tone so bitter you couldn't even sugar it up with a semi sweet chocolate chip).
9:45 i answer and then pathetically offer up my headshot and resume.
yeah, well it's 9:52? you should have been here no later than 9:45. we're already done.
and with that he spins around on his $400 converse sneaker, leaving my headshot in my outstretched beggar hand, and slams the office door.
if i wanted to be in the movies; this certainly felt like one.
so i did what the rejected actress would do in this scene:
i cried.
i cried, and cried, and cried.
i cried in starbucks. i cried in my car. i cried at The Grove. i cried in Nordstrom (although i always cry at Nordstrom-that place makes me crazy).
i cried in yoga.
i cried in the arms of my dear hunky hubby who said all the right supportive and encouraging things.
i've had the sweetest support around me, and i'm not discouraged (well maybe a little).
i know the whole when one door closes (and boy did it ever..right in my face) another one opens.
today i'm working on opening that next door.
i just have to get rid of these puffy eyes first.
clarification
although my inner molly jensen is save to correct some of you in yesterday's condolences;
i cannot, in good conscience, allow those of you to still falsely believe yesterday's toothless photograph is me.
i am shocked and flattered (even if she is missing a front tooth) that anyone of you would actually think that was me.
c'mon, it's demi moore. i'll take ANY comparison i can get, even if it is her twin, meth addicted sister.
nancy meyers? i'm smelling a script??!??!?
but alas, twas not me.
my vanity did not allow a camera within a 6 mile radius whilst my tooth was amiss.
preparation
this week i find myself loitering in the terminal.
i'm hesitant to board.
my parcels feel a bit under-packed.
study and schooling will cure this current self stammer.
soon, i will descend those steps confidently to my gate.
first class ticket in hand;
toting my toolbox teemed with craft and command.
non-stop voyage to art.
up a size...or two...
blech.
someone had herself one too many mr. goodbar's this weekend.
my triple xxl robe from men's: husky and high even feels snug this morning.
HD friendly i am not.
rather, stick an apple in my mouth and fire-pit me up luau style.
i can't go on another day feeling like such a slug.
plus, i'm out of mr. goodbars.
making do
the metal folding chairs at the starbucks on gower and sunset blvd provide a surprisingly comfy structure for napping.
tell me to use their restroom though, and i'd have to give you my kidney instead.
yesterday i had to drive to l.a. twice.
i saw a man lose his red angel's baseball cap on the 5 freeway at 10am.
on round two it was still on the side of the road, except a deep filthy brown.
all this movin and shakin will die down {i think} come tuesday.
till then, i've got a central line going of ethiopian nekisse.
the highs and the low, low, lows.....
yesterday, i booked a job on an upcoming court show.
fueled by the euphoric fumes of a successful audition i cartwheeled my way into acting class; only to hiroshima the shit out of my drunk driving monologue.
what was supposed to be a moving, heartfelt plea against alcoholism most likely drove my fellow actors to become alcoholics, themselves, just to get through my performance bomb.
carrying on.