Well 2012 draws closer and I still have yet to sell a script, I haven’t gotten a new development job, I haven’t managed to derail the relationship of Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes and subsequently marry Ryan Gosling, and I am as yet not a go-go dancer. (Incidentally, a few people close to me have strongly advised against that, saying that “a go-go dancer is just a stripper with no balls” and they’ve thoughtfully suggested that I try porn instead. Anywho, As I have yet to realize the Hollywood dream of becoming rich, adopting a foreign baby and checking into rehab, I must continue my ill-fated attempts to network. Sigh.
It’s Saturday and as per usual I have tried to convince several people to venture out into the world with me, but as per usual I was unsuccessful. I would muster up some of my usually endless don’t-give-a-fuckitness, but today it’s just too damn cold. Lonely I can do, but cold and lonely together- uh uh. I even considered going out in “downtown” Burbank because it’s close, but one and a half streets of scattered bars does not a nightlife scene make. A friend and I explored this so-called downtown area once and we both felt like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. I mean people were wearing cutoff denim and flipflops! At night! It was disturbing in a way that only a place that appears to cling to Midwestern values can be. Needless to say I ruled that out, and then another option occurred to me: I could go to a party in the hills! That would be a great idea, had I any influential friends or associates who had houses in the hills in which to have parties.
One of the last house parties I went to was costume themed, and I remember leaving my house in my high school cheerleading outfit with a bottle of wine in my hand. That sounds like the beginning of a bad Lifetime movie doesn’t it, but unfortunately for me, no lecherous older man (producer) made any untoward advances towards me. Just as in life, there are many important milestones in a girl’s life in Hollywood: the first time you curse out a tourist, the first time a stranger offers you illicit drugs in a bathroom, the first time you catch yourself driving like an asshole and realize you belong in LA, and the first time someone in the industry suggests you trade sex for career advancement. I have yet to receive that offer, not that I would take it, but I’d at least like the chance to say that “so-and-so told me that if I slept with him he would shoot my pilot,” so that I could then say “ of course I said no!” Because everyone knows that integrity is more important than getting rich by sleazy means in Hollywood… okay, it’s really, really not.
So in the absence of friends willing to leave the house, and friends with house parties that may see the likes of Bryan Lourd, Kevin Huvane, Ari Emanuel, or anyone who looks like they could have inspired one of the characters in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang I decided to stay home and be productive. Re-watching Nine and rewinding every scene to learn the choreography is productive, right? (Who does that? Am I in ninth grade?) Okay so maybe this evening is not going to get any of my scripts sold, but by the morning I will know all the steps to Cinema Italiano, though Fellini will be turning in his grave. #failing
Venue: 5 (Well I live here so, I guess..)
Alcohol Situation: 3 ( I think there’s some leftover Strawberry Smirnoff in my freezer and there’s bound to be a bottle of Two Buck Chuck around here somewhere.)
Actual Beneficial Networking Achieved:0 ( Does talking to my neighbor count?)
Personal Victory/Dignity Retained: 1.5 (I’m mimicking Kate Hudson’s dance steps as we speak. Do you really have to ask?)
Atmosphere: #meh (I should really buy a space heater.)