Thursday, November 21, 2013

On Lofts and Very Sad Montages

Published 11/ 21/2013

So last weekend I found myself at the birthday party of a friend of a friend. That in itself wasn’t an extraordinary occasion, but after three seconds of walking into this soiree, I knew that something was intrinsically and wildly different from all of the gatherings of actors and industry folks that I’ve previously attended. The difference was that this girl, this woman really, who had a wig-themed birthday shindig wasn’t struggling as a waitress and juggling sketchy auditions in El Segundo, but she wasn’t a household name either. She has somehow managed to become the elusive working actress and is living the adult life that I’ve been striving for.

So can I please just take a moment to marvel at her place? I mean, I’ve seen cute apartments but this, this was something entirely different. I love love love modern architecture and open spaces so I pretty much had an arrhythmia over her two-story loft. Brick walls? Check? Ambiguous bedrooms? Check. Uber high-tech kitchen? Yep, all that happened. And then on top of that there was the d├ęcor. I’m really convinced she inceptioned my mind and came out with what I can only imagine people would accessorize with years after they’ve worked at Urban Outfitters and gotten jobs at cool tech companies with names like Spark or something. I mean what kind of person has On the Road and Brief Interviews With Hideous Men as loo reading, or newsprint-covered zebra heads on their walls? My kind of person, that’s who. She proved to me that a non-annoying, meat-eating hipster does in fact exist.

Now on one hand, I should be encouraged to see that the career I’ve been chasing is attainable, but on the other, I’m forced to ask myself: “what the hell am I doing with my life?” The voices of my civilian friends who question my artistic aspirations are starting to get louder and they’re starting to make more sense. I have two part-time jobs and duct tape on my car, and I don’t even want to talk about how long it’s been since my uninsured ass went to the dentist! If I was anything else other than an actress, this would be totally unacceptable. I know I’ve chosen to gamble by living the life of a thespian instead of just being sensible and going to law school, but umm, seriously?

It occurred to me the other day that the last three years of my life have been like the beginning montage of a movie where some plucky girl moves to a big city, promises herself that her crappy job will only be a six-month necessity, only to end the montage as “Three years later” scrolls across the screen. She’s still at the crappy job and the opening credits have just finished rolling.  #fail

So assuming the end of my montage is near, when are the quotable lines and predictable meet-cutes and inciting incidents going to begin? How long should I wait for someone else to yell action before I can really begin to do what I moved here to do? And if I decided to assume the seat in the director’s chair, will the other players fall in line? As a writer I’m constantly waiting for a greenlight and as an actress a callback, and for all the web series and shorts I can shoot and headshot mailings and casting director workshops I can attend, the answer still appears to be that I must wait for a go ahead from the powers that be. I know I signed up for this, but still, I wish there was a way that I could fast forward.  #emo #starvingartist #help!

Friday, November 1, 2013

The One Where I Was a Bridesmaid Yet Again

Published 11/1/2013

It seems that suddenly all of my friends are getting engaged or married. Literally all of them. And the ones who aren’t are those couples: the ones who disappeared from the face of the earth shortly after meeting their significant others and whose idea of fun is strictly limited to staying home and watching Netflix, going to Ikea on Saturday mornings, creating Pinterest boards for their future weddings even though they haven't been proposed to yet,  and going to brunch and/or wine tastings with other couples. Also, they like to invite me along and try to not-so-subtly hook me up with their single friends. Stop it guys, I’m on to you!

Anywho, I recently found myself as a bridesmaid in yet another wedding.  That brings the total of unusable floor-length dresses in my closet to three, with more on the horizon. Oddly enough, I was actually looking forward to this blessed event because I didn’t have to deal with a bridezilla, and because I’ve reached the point that any time I get to leave Los Angeles for any reason, it’s a bonus.

Needless to say, I got more than I bargained for because the wedding was in DC and I came pretty close to dying from exposure. It may or may not have only been in the 50s, but living in California has made me soft. Don’t judge. I quickly realized that the flimsy west coast layers that I brought would do me absolutely no good at all. There was frost on the car windows in the morning! I forgot that even existed.  Like what was even happening?!

So these nuptials marked many firsts in my bridesmaid journey- first Catholic wedding (lovely), having to walk down the aisle first (why me?), carrying a feather bouquet (yep) and putting out a literal fire (that actually happened), which made wearing shoes that were two sizes too big in the ceremony seem trivial in comparison. Yes, there were mishaps my friends, but despite the fashion emergencies, fire hazards and frostbite, I learned that a Mardi Gras themed wedding has a lot of perks. My only regret is that I didn’t have enough time to sightsee/ walk around the capital pretending to be Olivia Pope. Maybe next time.


Venue:  5
Alcohol Situation: 3
Bouquets Caught: 0 (Bitches be crazy when bouquets are on the line!)
Personal Victory/Dignity Retained: 5 (No drunken bridesmaid episodes for this girl.)
Atmosphere: #winning (but also cold as hell)