It’s gettin’ weird over here.

As you probably figured out, I can NOT seem to hold down a real job due to the bipolar stuff.  So what I think I’m going to do, if you don’t mind, is review records here.  I can burn them, take them to the gym, listen while I work out, take notes and boom - a review.  “How many beers is it worth?”

Yeah, I gotta get back into shape re: acting.  No one wants to hire a gorgeous overweight chick.  Plus a friend of mine has encouraged me (sort of) to purchase a small bass amp and I’m going to work on my bass playing.  Maybe if I get halfway decent enough (and thin enough), I can join a band and go on the road and get the fuck outta here for a while….

A girl can dream, can’t she?  Yeah, it’s pretty obvious I can’t sleep.  I’m watching Day 3 of “24″ and I’m on the edge of my seat.  Kiefer Sutherland is DREAMY.  He should call me.  We have alot of lushy things in common, I hear through my LA grapevine…

The Zombie Movie.

I got my copy of the zombie movie I did today.  My bits are ok.  Otherwise it’s total crap.  I need to figure out a way to grab the best 10 or 15 seconds of my reporter (reporting) and start a “reel”.  I’ve got some sort of moviemaker on this machine, however, every DVD I’ve dubbed of some wicked British comedy to send to a comedian friend who is not funny hasn’t played on my video recorder dvd player.  I’m so behind the times, even though this computer is not even 6 months old…

However, this film got me another film, shooting this month, which is cool.

Zilch.

I don’t really have anything to say today.  I’m detoxing my body through a juice-type cleanse and I can’t snack like I like to and I feel awful from all of the toxins being released from my bod and I’ve been on the toilet the entire day.  And guess what?  I’m not sleepy.  I can’t sleep.  When I do it’s dreamless and not restful.  And it’s REALLY pissing me off. 

That is all.

“Things you own end up owning you”–Chuck Palahniuk

I’ve never been a big fan of Chuck’s books.  I tried reading one once and it was so grewsome and jumpy aroundy that I couldn’t get through it.   Meanwhile, I can’t sleep and have decided to watch Fight Club.  And I think Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt’s character) is right when he eschews materialism.  Note the title of this post.

I have alot of stuff.  I need to hire a gaggle of interns to help me ebay it.  Literally.  I have clothes that don’t fit, but are so cool that SOMEDAY they MIGHT just fit.  It’s the actress in me.  The eating disorder.  The wannabe fashionista that doesn’t leave the house.

However, if I was to release myself from “stuff”.  Would that make me happy?  Would it make it easier for me to move to a new city with only two suitcases and a futon?  This is my dilemma.  This is what I think about every day.  I love art, I collect it.  But will it end up owning me or is it an investment?  I don’t know.  This is something I need to explore further.

An open letter to Ben Affleck (re: Gone Baby Gone):

Dear Mr. Affleck,

Gone Baby Gone is quite possibly one of the best things you’ve ever done.  The screenplay is brilliant.  The use of locals in the actual cast is brilliant.  The direction was awesome.  Your brother has shown that he has way more acting chops than I or anyone else ever thought he did.  The entire cast was wicked awesome.  South Boston (Dorchester?) is amazing; it’s a character in the film.  I’d go visit if I wasn’t shot instantly.   But that would be a hell of a Beer & Beauty tour, eh?

I don’t usually go to the movies, so I am a bit behind the times - I rent DVDs because I don’t like to leave the house.  Therefore, please excuse the lateness of this review/mash note.  Long story short, I wept.  And then I went on to watch it twice in a row.  What a movie.  I think I owe you another couple of bucks.  Seriously, someday I hope to be involved in a film of this prestige.

p.s.

QUIT SPAMMING MY COMMENT QUEUE, PEOPLE!!  I have fabulous health insurance, car insurance, life insurance, rich parents and no tolerance for assholes.  Oh–did I mention I had an awesome spam filter?  Fuckwads.

I mean, if you have a comment.  Comment.  I dig comments.  But only if you’re NOT a robot, ok?  Cool.

Sleep is nice.

So where were we?  I got fired.  I went to sleep.  Unfortunately, I live with my parents so the sleep was short lived.  I only got a bullshit $300 Shrub Stimulus check - and I was expecting $600.  That put a bit of a damper on my day.  I had that money budgeted for beauty products and office supplies.  Fuckers.

Truthfully, I’ve become an independent consultant for a Swiss certified vegan, no mineral oil, ph correct, really fabulous health and beauty company.  I can’t tell you which one as it kills the anoniminity, but if you are really interested you can email me.  So far I’ve made about $150 which is very cool.  I’m going to go back onto that detox plan from the Swiss and get my hair done tomorrow and jump head first back into acting.

I’ve stopped taking my psycho meds and feel great actually.  I’m nearly ready to face the world. xoBeauty

You can’t fire me because I quit, incompetent freaks.

So I passive-aggressively ditched the job.  I “felt under the weather and worked from home” for a couple of half days, which really pissed the company off and then they called the agency complaining that they said I couldn’t do that and that shouldn’t I be calling the agency not the company and the agency called me in a panic.

“They need the work.”
“Do they want me back?”
“Yes.  Tomorrow.  8:30am.”
“Uh.  Okay.”

I hang up.  Think for a second - do I really want to walk back into an atmosphere where they’re gonna fire me anyway once they get the work?  Do I really want to walk back into an environment that is negative?  So I call the girl back.

“Hey.  You know what?  I’m done.  I’m not going back.”
“Then you need to drive to my office and drop off the work at 8am tomorrow so I can get it to the company at 830.”  (note: the agency is at least 45 minutes away during rush hour)
“Why don’t I drop it off myself, now.”
“Great!”

So I drive over to the company.  Drop off an 8 1/2 by 11 envelope, covered with instructions in hot pink sharpie at the front desk.  Even sign the guest register, even though I wasn’t staying as PROOF I was there.  The guy at the desk calls my (now former) manager and leaves her a message.  I hang out for like 4 minutes and I go home.  I did my thing.  Signed, sealed, delivered.

This morning.  9:30am.  I get the call.  It’s, you guessed it, the agency:

“They didn’t get it.  Did you drop it off?”
“Yep.  And I signed the guest register.  And I heard the front desk guy call and leave a message with the manager and I did everything you told me to do.”
“Oh.  OK.”

And that’s that.  Am sure I’ll be hearing from her again how they’re not going to pay me for my measley 16 hours this week and then she’ll be hearing from my lawyer. 

The people there weren’t so bad.  And I’m kinda sorry I fucked with them.  But you know, I can’t let that fuck with my frame of mind.  My face was breaking out from the stress.  I was ready to self mutilate and even called the shrink the other night at 11:45 during Conan.  And today I had a glorious #2.  For the first time in weeks.

Now I’m off to find a good acting class to fill my time.  Yoga too.  Maybe even do a 7 day detox and get ready for auditions next week.  Now that’s a plan.  Plus, added bonus:  we can talk about how much that sucks while I’m doing it.

Which reminds me…

…one dead in O-hi-o.  That cat never showed up.  No biggie.  It tornadoed, rained, hailed, beered; I got shitfaced and the band were unimpressive for the first time in, like, 15 years or whenever I first saw them.

Tell me why….

Ugg.  Monday.  Can’t stand it.  Didn’t sleep at all.  Up every hour, even though was drugged to the gills.  Had an awesome “beauty” get-together for relatives and friends of my sister and it seemed to be a hit.  I sold 350 worth of product which got me 350 for free.  Not bad for an afternoon of body washes and lipsticks.

This is probably going to be my last week at work.  Why?  Because I feel it to be so.  I don’t even want to go in today.   I’m up already, took my pills, may as well…

The married artist keeps on flirting.  Does he realize he’s doing it?  I’m not sure.  And I can’t trust my gut because it’s been so long.  I almost want him to tell me, “I’ve kicked out the wife, she took the kid; and by the way…why don’t you come out and stay with me for a while?”  Considering we’re both pretty nuts, that could actually happen.  We are both legally insane.   Him more than me, but I’d drop out of society to be a part of that scene.  Really.

(Pre-Sir) Bob Geldof and his Boomtown Rats ring in my head today, reminding me that:
a) I don’t like mondays
b) they were really good on SCTV.