Sealing Ties Together Flannel

I'm not sure what's happening to me right now but I kind of feel like I'm having a heart attack. I am sitting perfectly still in my apartment, minding my own business reading and running amuck on the internet and out of no where my heart starts pounding out of my chest. I can feel it in my ears. My head is starting to ache. Ever since my health insurance ran out in January i've waited for this moment. The moment my heart would explode or my leg would actually break or my asthma would pummel my lungs, or a bus would hit me. Because that'll be the moment I really regret. And i think it may be right now. Maybe. Or maybe there's just a ghost in the room and only my heart knows it.

I read 'The Old Man and the Sea' the other day. I think it may be my new favorite. I've been mulling over why it struck me so. I can't figure it out. It is so simple. The structure the phrasing the diction. all so simple. But from the beginning all i could do was pray, literally pray to god, that this old man would bring home that fish. And when he didn't. I cried. But what was so fantastic was that really, he hadn't failed. He had won. Great success was found in his ultimate failure. And could one ever hope for anything more? Great success found in success is typical, to be found a success because of a grand failure. That is legendary. That is where truth is found.

I am working on a play. I like my role. I like what I have done with it. I have taken great strides in my personal work ethic in acting and have spent a great deal of time working with the script on my own. I am proud of what I am accomplishing. I am not proud of the show. I am almost torn telling people to come see it, because despite my work, my effort I do not want to be associated with a bad show and at this point I can't see how it won't be. Because to put it bluntly one of the four actors in it sucks. Sucks worse than virgin on prom night. And it is sad. Because I want to not be annoyed. I want to not be a diva. I want to not be a bitch. But lets face it, i'm a bitch and i'm annoyed. And in this moment i'm going to whine like a diva. Why, on not only my Minneapolis debut but also my professinal debut in acting do I have to be working with idiots? Why do idiots even exist in this field? I have worked my ass off everyday since I was 12 years old to get into a good college where I could be rigourously trained in my profession in order to work professionally with other well trained people. WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE IDIOTS?! And why must they flock to me? Always?!

And Scene. No more diva bitching... today.

An Aside:

My new favorite quote is as follows...

"all life is just a progression toward and then recession from, one phrase - "I love you"" from one of Fitzgerald's short stories.

A Summing Up:

I love life right now. I wonder if that's why my heart is beating so fast. I think love is the only reason it should ever beat this way.

Lake Balloon Hydrogen

The irony of life is that as soon as you demand something to not happen it does. At least in my life anyway.

The amount of decent guys I have met in the last 4 weeks since arriving here in the middle of the country is starting to get ridiculous. It's unfair really. Because I just don't care. Well, I obviously care enough to write about it, but I don't care enough to pick up the phone.

I am now working on three play projects. One short goes up on Valentines Day at the annual LOVE BITES festival, the other at the end of February and the last is 9x9x9 in April. 

I am working on two film projects. One the episodic sitcom web series where I will be playing a heightened and much more ridiculous version of myself (if possible). The other a local film maker's thesis project "God is Good." Which he plans on submitting to a few festivals before making the move to LA. Hopefully both will end up being awesome and good enough to start building a better reel... go me attempting to actually pursue my craft.

I'm also meeting with two photographers this week about modeling gigs. I also work every morning at a coffee shop. And start my 2nd job as a beer bitch tomorrow night. Life just got crazy busy. 

Perfect...

It was beautiful here on Saturday. A toasty above freezing 33 degrees. But seriously i took off my hat and gloves unzipped my jacket and basked in the sun for a good 45 minutes before rehearsal reading and getting my face tan on. It was beautiful watching everything melt and rain around me only to watch it freeze again 24 hours later. That's when I fell down for the first time. Rachel fell down and went splat. 

Saturday night was the infamous THE OFFICE themed party Lacey & I had been planning. A glorious night. A night of total commitment to costumes, character and obliterating drunkness. First off I looked like a man, a really unsexy man. I went so far as to cut some of my bangs super short just so I could gel them down in the reverse horn direction that Dwight does so nicely every Thursday from 9 to 930pm. And then I proceeded to obliterate myself like I had never done before. Pushing myself across that point of no return around 1am-ish with a "one of everything" in honor of Michael, Meredith & the Moroccan Christmas. About 20 minutes after this was when I started making inapproriate texts and phone calls, throwing up in beds that were not mine then proceeding to burst into tears and call my Mama. Who I later had to convince of the fact that I had not been rufied. Oh Mama, you think so much more of me than you should. 

Woops. The worst and possibly best part of this entire situation was basically all of the people who I had invited based on one maybe two times meets had shown up and proceeded to stay until the puking portion of our evening. Ugh. Today one them (who plays my husband in play #2) said, well think of it this way. We've seen you at your worst there's only one way to go from here. Thanks honey.

The pictures though. I have to say are fabulous. I am going to send them to Dwight at the OFFICE. And hopefully he'll be my friend. Or they'll invite me on for a guest spot. You know. Whatever. I'm not typically that kind of fan, but after seeing the pictures I don't know how I can't show them to him. He deserves it. I'd want someone to show me if I were him and someone cut their bangs to look like me.

Yep. 

Updated. 

Liquified Catacombs Combust

I have a previous entry I am working on. More of a short story of a moment in my life rather than an update or quickie. (http://sleepinducedinsomnia.blogspot.com/2009/01/tactile-kaleidoscopes.html)

I can cross something off my LIFE TO DO list. I have thrown a drink in a boy's face. Granted it was water. Granted it was during a murder mystery party game. Granted I wasn't myself I was Penelope Hughes, his wife. BUT nonetheless I did it. FOUR times. HA. One day... one day I'll really do it and it will be grand. GRAND I tell you. Like a nice piano.

I met with the leader of the sitcom today. He is very adorable. Young & wide eyed. I love to see hope & promise, even if it is only a few years younger than me and untainted by hollywood. I actually love to see anything untainted by Hollywood.

I've realized I adapt quickly. The first week here it was -30 degrees at night. Now it averages 20 degrees and I can walk around with my coat unzipped. I like my adaptability. Being raised by a group who's motto was 'show no weakness' may have had something to do with that.

A boy hugged me goodbye tonight and while doing so picked me up. I like being picked up by boys.

The LOST season premiere. Mildly disappointing. Was not a premiere. It was...informative but not riveting. It didn't leave me craving the next episode. I mean, I'll watch it, I'll always watch it...but. Let's step it up J.J..

There are nights when I wake up desperately hanging on to the fleeting moments of my dreams while simultaneously dreaming I had never slept sound enough to create them.

I'm going to learn to kick box.

I'm bored.

I think I need a partner in crime.

Or at least someone to hold my hand.

Tactile Kaleidoscopes

JANUARY 23, 2009

I met a boy.

Wednesday I went to Liquor Lyles. Alone. I went to a bar alone. Here is the question. Am I awesome because I was able to go sit alone and have a good time. Or am I an alcoholic? For now I'm going to believe I'm just awesome.

Sitting at the bar drinking my 2 for 1 alcoholic cider a guy starts talking to me from a few seats away. The problem is, I couldn't hear him. I think he may have actually started talking to me much earlier but his voice hadn't quite dropped yet. Finally I respond with a high volumed 'What'? After which he finally raises his voice high enough to hear. Ugh. I make friendly conversation until another guy sits down next to me. A much needed distraction from trying my best to hear what guy #1 has to say about making clothes in his friend's garage, I'm already a little deaf people come on. Ever wondered why I talk so loud, I blame it on theatre & projection, nope. Just a little bit hard of hearing. I'm going to be a great old person.

#2 Sits down & orders up "the cheapest beer" which I mock inside my head. But apparently louder than normal because he turns to me & says what. Then I think, maybe guy #1 hadn't been trying to talk to me, maybe he was mocking me under his breath. Hmmmm.

#1 Attempts to not so nonchalantly gets annoyed at the beginnings of my convo with #2. I pretend to not notice. He begins to talk louder. Finally. I see what it takes. It doesn't take me, it takes a sword fight.

Out of no where #1 has a friend appear. His friend, #3, who belongs to the garage in which he makes clothes! He is what some people refer to as a wingman. He was a little late. If they had been flying the nazis definitely would have shot them down. Although, in this scenario I'd gage them more on the nazi side of the situation. Snoopy would have got them for sure.

Here is where the game begins. The game. As in that which boys play with girls & against each other. Someone wrote about it in a book. It's called the Game. Inventive. Thank you male species for all you do.

#1 continues to talk to me. I continue to nod because I can't understand the words coming out of his mouth. Occasionally I say. OMG. It adds a certain, i care what you're saying quality that nodding alone doesn't. #2 continues to talk to me. My mind does not function on this many levels. Especially having only had 1 round of 2:4:1s. Then it gets complicated, because #1 begins to talk to #2.

#1 has on a hat. It says Sabor. The name of his clothing line he makes in his friend, #3's, garage. #2 says, "cool. i love his work." #1 says, "thanks. made it myself." #2 says "ummm. I meant Sabor. The artist." #1 says "who?" #2 says "the famous graffiti artist. he has world records and shit." (#2 was a little ghetto. but in a white community college way.). #3 jumps in - "no man that's our clothing line." #2 "well you better get on google because that name is taken, yo." Swords collide!

A VISUAL:

The set up is like so:

#2 ME #1 #3

Like Jeff Goldbloom* in Jurassic Park, i stay perfectly still. And when they are distracted by each others pheromones i slowly back away. Literally. I leave. I go to the bathroom. I slowly reapproach because despite the idea of having to face #1, #3 I did enjoy the company & mildly witty banter of #2. I arrive and find my seat next to #2 occupied by #3. They are talking business. Garage clothing copywrite name stealing business. They welcome me back. Well #3 doesn't. #1 does. I think. I couldn't hear him. And #2 thanks me with his eyes. I lean into the bartender and request my check because even for a swf on a Wednesday night alone at a bar this has become a little too much. I peace/'SC fight sign #1, #3 who may have said goodbye but A. Only dogs could hear it and B. I was walking away. #2 follows me out and walks me to my door. Which is next door. It was a short walk. We hug. I get his phone number. That order may have been reversed. And as I go to save his number I realize something. I realize I have no idea what his name is. And let me tell you. It is way too late to ask. There's a time period during which it is ok to reask someone's name, but after all he & I had been through tonight sword fighting #1 & #3, the proverbial parrying we had each performed for the other. It was too late. Thus he became known & will henceforth be referred to as Graffiti. No Last Name.

Conclusion:

Drinking alone at a bar. Ok. As long as you know how to sword fight. And mock people silently in your head. Not silently in the way that you think you aren't saying it out loud but you actually are. Unless of course you're mocking someone cute. Who can graffiti your name on a cocktail napkin.

AN UPDATE:

Graffiti and I met up the next day for coffee. I went in nameless & used every tactic I could to get him to say his name. Including talking about myself in the third person so he'd know it was ok to do the same.

About 45 minutes he became known as SBrandt. Last name: Graffiti.

*(ok. fine. it was Sam Neill. Jeff Goldbloom wasn't even in the scene. But his name has greater dramatic effect.)