'Tis the Season

Ahhh, 'tis the season for holiday decorating, for being broke and buying heaters for one's apartment, for bundling up in sweaters to enjoy a cup of hot cocoas with friends at a potluck, hitting the gym after an overload of pumpkin pie, anticipating and yearning for some time back home with loved ones, and wondering what the coming weeks will bring. I am fairly busy this week, although a longer post is much needed, by both readers and by myself. Working on a few things here and there today, but I will update everyone either today or tomorrow with the latest and greatest in starving artist land. For now, and so I don't forget, below are the upcoming shows to keep an eye out for. :) Also, here are some still shots from 'DEXTER' this past weekend.

"GLORY DAZE" - Season I, Episode 7 - TBS
--> See me as the head cheerleader in the bit with the leprechaun (don't ask, lol), as well as a student in the schoolyard scene.
--> Air date: TBA.

"MAKE IT OR BREAK IT" - Season II, Episode 15 - ABC Family
--> See me as the only blond, Hungarian gymnast (in blue uniforms).
--> Air date: TBA.

"THE PAUL REISER SHOW" - Season I, Episode 6 - NBC
--> See me as a yoga student in the first row. Hurrah for getting paid to do yoga on tv! :)
--> Air date: TBA.

"I'M IN THE BAND" - Season II, Episode 20
--> See me as a 'larper', which means dressed in armor and fighting with a sword (poorly fighting with a sword, which is what we were instructed to do; girl knows how to rock some fierce stage combat skills when needed!). I am also the 'larper' who pushes Izzy on the rocking-horse-thingamajigger at the park.
--> Air date: TBA.

Actorfest LA

My day at Actorfest LA 2010, a huge casting conference and networking opportunity.

The Sprint, Part II

So after a couple of days to catch up on sleep, I have sat down, eyes rested, belly full of delicious pot roast, carrots, and sweet potatoes (an incredibly hearty, perfect-for-fall recipe which my mom used to make), and determined that now is an appropriate time to write until my fingers fall off. While I may not elaborate in the same scope of detail and sentimentality which usually embodies my writing style, I shall at least endeavor to create a concise recollection of the past month, for posterity's sake.

On Wednesday, October 13th, I flew home to that great country (ahem, state.. woops..) of my birth, the mighty Texas. While I do not consider myself to be a guns-blazing, hell-raising defender of the greatest place on earth, I do adore Texas, and she will always hold a comfortable, soothing place in my heart. After my mom picked me up from the airport, noting how 'grown-up' I suddenly appeared (cue mad dash to Walgreen's to purchase anti-wrinkle cream?), I was amazed at how slow traffic now seemed, as well as at the large, open fields, complete with livestock, the flat terrain, and the lack of individuals assuming I was vegan or vegetarian, naturally. My afternoon included a much-dreaded visit to my dentist, Doctor Schellhase.

I should begin by making clear my relationship with this old-school dentist, whose office resembles something between a county prison, with high, gated windows and awful fluorescent lighting spilling yellow mustiness onto the sallow skins of its inmates, and a late 1960s hunting lodge, with cracked, peeling wallpaper and framed, washed-out pictures of ducks, standing menacingly among cattails and swirling skies of heinous pallor. I should then establish the fact that, the last time I went to see the dear doctor, back in December of 2009, for a filling between two teeth, while administering the anesthetic with his absurdly large hands, he hit a blood vessel in my jaw. When this happened, I didn't even have time to register pain - the tears simply gushed out of my eyes as I bolted upright in the dental chair, face pulsing and breath erratic. It took me a good ten minutes to regain enough composure to finish the procedure, the whole while trying not to revert to tears out of sheer terror, and it wasn't until I got to my car and looked in the rearview mirror that I observed a large, white vein popping out of the right side of my face, all the way from my hairline to my jaw. Suffice it to say, I have an unnatural fear of dentists.

Yet on this most glorious afternoon, the dear doctor decided that a mere cleaning would suffice, and I left the office triumphant, after paying for my brother's dental work, on behalf of our parents, and being treated like royalty by the hygienist, who, bless her darling, southern-sounding self, had decided I was the next best thing to Carrie Underwood, after discovering i was living in Los Angeles as an aspiring actress. While 'aspiring actress' reads 'starving and unemployed' to most people, it read glamorous movie star to this giggly woman, and I left the dentist's office - dare I say it - actually smiling. Read: win.

On Thursday, October 14th, I continued my annual health check-ins with an optometry appointment, which I don't believe I had had in over four years. The optometrist, a quiet, softly smiling Filipino woman, did a mostly-good job of hiding her horror at the disclosure of this fact, and a few minutes later, unsurprisingly, I was shuttled into the lobby area, so that the receptionist could assist me in selecting a pair of frames for my new glasses. Having now had the glasses for a couple of weeks, I am still adjusting to having to wear spectacles all the time, but I am getting used to them. Perhaps the sultry, dark frames balance my recently very blond hair, and I am able to come across as still possessing some degree of genuine intelligence. Fingers crossed, if you please.

Speaking of intelligence - or, more appropriately, of wit and cleverness - I was lucky enough to spend the latter part of the day with my darling friend Matt, a wonderful writer and aspiring 'professional blogger' (yes, this is a real profession; yes, this is a fantastic revelation). After a delicious, much-anticipated family dinner night at The Swingin' Door, which makes such good barbeque it was requested to cater for the White House a few years ago, I met up with Matt to go see what Matt had affectionately deemed 'the Owl Movie', also known as 'Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole'. We showed up at the theatre for the 10:30pm showing and actually snagged the entire theatre for ourselves, which led to several hours of verbal critiquing, raucous laughter, and an intense amusement at the solemnity with which the film was able to employ (multiple times) the use of the word 'gizzard', including the catch phrase, 'Use your gizzard', which, I have no doubt, will soon be a popular tee shirt slogan.

Following the movie, and deciding that we had not yet had quite enough tomfoolery for one evening, Matt and I headed to Denny's, seeing as our beloved T.G.I. Friday's was closed. We each got a cup of tea and chattered on and on about life, from relationships to career aspirations, from blogging to the Paleo diet (which Matt is an avid follower of, and which I have now been following for several weeks). Around 3am, admitting that I was exhausted, we parted ways for the time being. Yet as of yesterday, as part of following up on the writing dream in either San Francisco or Los Angeles, Matt booked a one-way ticket to California and will be staying with me for a bit in the new year! This will undoubtedly result in many healthy meals, lengthy discussions at odd hours of the night, continued movie mockery, and lots and lots of writing, all of which leave me ecstatic for what 2011 will bring. After eight long months of living alone, I will get to live with one of my best friends for a good while! All is right in the world.

On Friday, October 15th, I had my third (and final) health-related appointment, the dreaded women's annual fun-day, which was surprisingly quick and simple, praise be to Sugarland Memorial. That afternoon, Stephen and I worked on a photo collage for my grandparents, and then joined my parents and headed to the small town of Weimar, Texas, where Grammy and Popo live.

The first thing I noticed when we arrived at Grammy and Popo's house (after seeing Sassy, the dog, limp down the driveway, and being convinced that Sassy must be the oldest dog known to mankind) was how remarkably Popo's health had turned around. In May, when Popo had come to Pittsburgh for my college graduation, he had been so frail and so slow that even a few steps exhausted him, to the point of needing a chair constantly. His reactions and awareness had lacked that dazzling speed of a man who had spent years and years as an engineer, and Popo had seemed so very melancholy. To see this same man jumping up and down, sheepishly grinning and enthusiastically waving his arms overhead as my family drove up, was nothing short of breathtaking. Popo even made a point of showing me how he could jog in place, and I was so overjoyed to see him back to his normal self. I think a similar sense of joy permeated our extended family, for, as we spent several hours at the Weimar Veteran's Memorial Hall that evening, setting out candles and tulle and hanging (surprisingly tricky) gold garlands and fairy lights about, everyone remained lighthearted and glad to be spending this time in such good, strong company. I even heard a rumor from a certain cousin of mine that Popo stole a drink or two from the keg the next morning, on the drive to the hall with the booze for the party. "Just don't mention anything to your Grammy," he mentioned as he took a sip, that same familiar twinkle from telling Brer Rabbit stories back in his eye.

October 16th, the day of the actual festivities for my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, was no different. We were surrounded by excellent food, loving people, upbeat polkas, laughing family members, and lovely weather on a day meant to celebrate a commitment to love. I could think of no better way to honor my grandparents, and I believe they felt happy and humbled to be blanketed with such joy on their special day.

On Sunday, October 17th, we speedily celebrated my darling Choo's (aka, daddy's) birthday, as he and my mom were headed back to Houston for some pre-arranged dance lessons that afternoon. After lunch, I headed up to Austin with my best friend and beautiful, goofy little sister, Katelyn. Katelyn and I shared a room together for almost our entire childhood, even through high school in London, and we are ridiculously close, as well as with Stephen. We are the sort of siblings who will plan some sibling vacation fifteen years from now, to go skiing or some such nonsense, and then sneak out to the lodge at 3am to have hot cocoa and laugh and play 'Capture the Steve', a brilliant game which includes Stephen frantically running away, and Katelyn and I giddily chasing and capturing him. A simple concept, I know, but it is sheer genius.

At any rate, Katelyn and I got back to Austin not only in time to try out the Doctor Scholl's foot analyzer at HEB - which Katelyn proved can actually be quite difficult to successfully complete - and to purchase multiple sets of $1 and $2 lottery tickets from the gas station attendant, who may or may not have seen us jumping up and down and excitedly screaming, pennies in hand, in Katelyn's car, but also in time for what I am deeming 'Asian Dessert Night'. At around 12:30am, we gathered with Myra and Laura, Katelyn's darling roommates and childhood friends, and made filipino shaved ice, which Myra makes at home with her family. Although this did partially consist of Myra swearing and attempting to bludgeon the shaved-ice machine - much to our approval - the end result of shaved ice topped with fruit jelly, lychees, coconut jelly, condensed milk, and other delicious condiments was well worth the wait. I was also able to meet Ron, the newest addition to the household. Although I am partially convinced that 'Witten', as the stealthy orange kitten has been affectionately named, may secretly be Bunnicula dressed as a cat, he makes up in mischievous cuteness what he lacks in manners.

October 18th was a day which had been anticipated for, quite literally, months, as Cari and I, two relatively well-behaved Southern dames, had registered for - drumrolls-slash-blinders, depending on your perspective, please - a pole dancing class. The idea had first been discussed months earlier, and upon my booking a trip to Texas, became a dream which we realized could not be squashed in the dust of might-have-beens. So that evening, we pulled on our shorts and our tank tops, drove to the little dance studio, and walked back to a mirrored studio in the back. For the next hour, the two of us, as well as one other brave lady, learned the basics of 'the dance', including a routine - with, get this, a spin - as we bumped and bruised our legs and found our deep inner abdominal muscles. I can honestly report that the experience did not feel awkward or trashy in the least; our instructor was a cute, sweet lady who wanted us to feel sexy and to have a good time doing it, which we achieved. It wasn't over-the-top, and my goodness, it was a delicious little workout. So the next time you and a group of girlfriends want to try something new, may I suggest you try out pole dancing. Legitimately. As a fitness enthusiast and a girl, it was a great time. I am definitely storing that one in the piggy bank for my bachelorette party someday.

After our dance class, Cari and I met up with Clint and their friend, Adam. After a couple of drinks and a bit of Monday night football, we headed back to Clint's apartment and chilled out for a while. After Cari, the responsible adult with a day job to get to the following day, headed over to her place to get some sleep, the three of us engaged in one of my favorite close-friend pursuits: tipsy Rock Band at 2am, accompanied by my excitedly discovering frozen Salmon fillets and cooking up two of them by 3am. While I am not a gamer, I must admit that, when I am surrounded by my childhood friends and a few bottles of good vino, I can cover drums, bass, guitar, or vocals with ridiculous enthusiasm and rigor. This proved to be, like all slightly tipsy Rock Band sessions, a phenomenal idea. The salmon was also a phenomenal idea at the time, although it didn't taste nearly us 'unbelievable' the next day at 4pm. What did prove equally phenomenal the following day, while on the drive back from Austin to Houston, was stopping at a roadside Texas store and discovering full-sized, whole pecan pies in their outdoor vending machine. This discovery left me flabbergasted, amazed, and downright thankful; what an ingenious thing to put in a vending machine, however impractical. Cari and I were also able to spend a solid three hours talking about life, love, and everything else under the sun on the trip back to my house, which was lovely.

On October 20th, with my fill of family, barbeque, friends, Rock Band, and general Texan merriment, I got on a plane back to Los Angeles, California. And then there were stunties. :) But that's part three... stay tuned!

Chiraayu Comes to Visit

Former Donner resident and current friend Chiraayu was in town for a job interview, so we met up, along with his friend Tony, for a night out and about. Also featured is a shout-out to our dear, dear friend Brad Miller up at Berkeley, as well as a quick tour of my apartment (Mom, this one's for you!). Enjoy!

San Diego with Amelia (Video)

The Thirty-One-Day, Ten-Hour and Twelve-Minute Sprint

This warm November evening, at precisely 10:13pm, world history was made when an up-and-coming, unkown actress completed the longest-ever sprint to date. The sprint lasted a whopping and insurmountable thirty-one days, ten hours and twelve minutes, at which point the actress' knees gave out and she was forced to sit down to write a blog entry. Friends and family members, who had not seen or heard from the actress in over a month, were deeply relieved to discover that the actress had not, in fact, been sold to the medical community for organ harvesting.

Well, hallelujah. :) Hello, folks.

I have to admit, given all of the texts, emails, facebook messages, and personal threats to my life following my extended absence from the blogging community, I feel a bit like I'm about to release the next installment in the Harry Potter series. While my life is certainly a bizarre one to tell the story of, please be aware ahead of time that, sadly, there are no magic wands, dueling wizards, or even Bertie Bots' Beans. That being said, even if no one reads this entry, it will at least be recorded, due in large part to my personal need to restore sanity and some sort of recollection of my life over the past month plus. For those of you who have heard these stories, or story-morsels, in bits and pieces, I hope this can complete the little world of mischief and mayhem for you.

Roughly a month ago, I began taking a seven-week weekly Improv class through AFTRA. After having discussed this with my commercial agent as a fantastic way to stay fresh and present as an actor, I had been doing some shopping around for an inexpensive class when I got an email about upcoming AFTRA events, including this free workshop series, hosted by "Carnegie Mellon graduate and former casting director Joe Reich.' Clearly, this was a class I was destined to be in, so I submitted an application, as well as a headshot and resume, and found myself registered for the class by its' early October start date. Inevitably, despite the very clear and polite email reminder to 'please be on time, per Joe's request', I was ten minutes late to our first class on October 7th, due to a classmate calling me on my way out the door, having just lost her wallet in West Hollywood and desperately needing someone with a car to help her relocate it. Joe seemed amused at this excuse, as he grinned to finally see 'the Carnegie lady' (as I was affectionately named), and joked that I couldn't have gotten away with being late back in Pittsburgh (he was right).

The little Improv class has two meetings remaining, and has thus far been a fun way to unwind and to refocus my attention on the craft of Acting, by letting go. The best moment so far has to be from this past Thursday's class, when Joe was calling us up in front of the class in pairs to do an exercise where the pair is given a scenario and must then say one line each to create the scene, with the first word of each line beginning with the last letter of the previous line. Two tiny, petite women, one an Asian-American and the other a delicate Afghan woman, were instructed to play out a blind date in this manner. They nodded their heads at the instruction, paused to take a breath, and then the Afghan woman, Laila, calmly stated, "So, I don't know if the agency told you this, but I'm actually blind." This is precisely the type of understated, thigh-slapping cleverness which seems to permeate this class each week, in one brilliant way or another, and I adore it.

On Friday, October 8th, I went on my first 'official' date with Evan, whom I can now officially site as being named Sebastien in all actuality. After not seeing each other at all during the week, Seb claiming it was important for the sake of the first date, we were both geared up for a relaxing night of acoustic music at some random venue. Having had my eyes on a pair of unaffordable Jack Johnson concert tickets for the same evening since moving to Los Angeles in May, and subsequently having moped due to a lack of funds for said tickets, Seb had assured me that we would have a fun evening out anyway. He told me that the venue was a surprise and that he didn't have a clue what music would be playing, but that he had taken his best friend to the venue before, and they had both enjoyed the evening immensely. I enjoy trying out new places, and I love live music, so I wholeheartedly agreed to the plan.

At five o'clock, Seb arrived at my little bungalow, and I opened the door to find him standing on my front porch with a small, dark brown chest. "Open it," he instructed me as he walked into the apartment, grinning his little side smile, a surefire sign of mischief afoot. Trying to hide my blushing cheeks, I unlatched the box and opened the lid. There was a sheet of white tissue paper, which read, "pull me." I lifted the delicate paper to discover an immaculate red rose. I lifted another layer to discover a box of beautiful chocolate-covered strawberries, which Sebastien had made with Swiss chocolate from back home. The next layer revealed a small manilla envelope, on which was written 'Spork', my nickname, as well as the date, 10.08.2010. I asked if I should open the envelope, and after a few moments' consideration, Seb decided that I could open the envelope later in the evening, and casually mentioned that I could bring it along. Unbelievably, a bottle of wine also emerged for the refrigerator, and a new wine opener was presented to me, to replace my sad, $3.99 wannabe from Target.

At this point, I grabbed a jacket, and we headed down to Hollywood to walk around for a while. Most people can attest to the fact that you never do the touristy things in your own city, and Los Angeles is no exception. We walked by the Kodak Theater, enjoyed looking at names on the Walk of Fame below our feet, and laughed at the giant hands and tiny feet immortalized in the concrete squares surrounding Grauman's Chinese Theater. Seb suggested we grab a snack, so we headed to our local favorite grocery store, Fresh & Easy, and bought drinks and two Tomato and Mozzarella sandwiches (tomato and mozzarella anything seems very much to be our thing; no complaints here, mind you). We took our fares and walked along Hollywood Boulevard, enjoying the sunny weather and the lighthearted, summery attitude of Hollywood early on a Friday evening. Thinking we were heading toward a grassy knoll or table somewhere for a spontaneous picnic, it suddenly dawned on me that we were actually walking with lots of other people, all of whom were heading toward the Hollywood Bowl, a famous Los Angeles concert venue. My face lit up in absolute surprise, and I turned to Seb, only able to get out, "Oh my gosh.." before he laughed at me and then told me I could open the envelope.

Sure enough, to my sheer delight and ecstatic squeals of girly joy, inside the envelope were two tickets to the Jack Johnson concert. "You really didn't know?" Sebastien asked, to which I gawked and honestly admitted my complete naivete on the matter. "Well that's a relief," Seb responded. "I spent the last week checking Facebook practically every five minutes, to make sure no one posted anything on my wall about 'having fun at Jack Johnson' or something." Seb also proudly declared that he had not lied at all, as he truly was unsure about the music that would be playing (he had only listened to a bit of Jack Johnson before), and he had enjoyed going to the John Mayer concert at the same venue with his best friend. The concert was lovely and also featured the talents of Zee Avi (whom I quite like, due to her charming simplicity) and G-Love, who was - get this - a combination of New Jersey rap with harmonica. Wine, cheese, and chocolate-covered strawberries once we got back to my apartment wrapped up an incredible first date on a very romantic note. I just want to take a second to say that I am a lucky, lucky lady. Thank you and kudos to the man upstairs. Big-time.

On Sunday, October 10th, I was able to go see my neighbor, Mike, and his band, 'Dead Day Revolution', play at the well-known Viper Room here in Los Angeles, Johnny Depp's own venue for up-and-coming artists. After baking the trio good-luck cookies during the day, it was nice to finally see the band perform that evening. I didn't know anyone else at the venue, but as I mentioned before, I love listening to new music. I also believe that one of the top things artists can do to not only extend and enhance their own body of work, but also to advocate art in a broad sense, is to get out and support fellow artists, whether by attending gallery openings to showcases, to concerts to plays, to anything. I would even love to be part of a flash-mob someday. Just putting that out there. In case someone around me was debating putting a flash mob together, I'll be there, come rain or come shine.

***

At this point in time, not because I am very tired, but because my stomach just may eat itself alive (and I have literally no food in my house), I am going to hit the pause button. Watch the video posts for the time being, as those took a bit of time away from my writing for editing purposes. I am going away for a small surprise getaway with Sebastien tomorrow. HOWEVER, the rest on the sprint will be fully explained on Monday night. Keep on truckin', yinz. Big, big, big love.

Cash, Wine Tastings, Rollerblading, and Hockey.

Why, hello, dearest online diary and small community of friends and family. I have missed thee dearly.

As much as I would like to continue living my life as a transient, Bohemian hippie of the West Hollywood persuasion, I have come to the sad yet honest realization that money is a necessary evil, and that a steady source of money creates infinitely less stress in one's life. After being unemployed for - dare I say it? - nearly a month now, my waning bank account has convinced me to return to the dull conformity of steady employment. While I adore doing personal assistant work like invoicing and cat sitting for Mike the pool guy, who kindly printed up a batch of business cards on my behalf, and while teaching yoga and cardio classes is a lovely way to get to know my community and to stay in shape, and while extra work is a fabulous chance to network and to get a decent meal in (as well as a bag full of stolen produce and bottled waters), none of these options boosts my savings account to new heights of glory. Acknowledging this fact, I have decided that I shall endeavor to find some sort of steady, reliable job which provides me with at least $300 a week upon my return from Houston. In this manner, I shall once again be able to purchase food, instead of coconut water, triscuits, and cans of tuna. Oh wait - my neighbor donated the cans of tuna, which she herself obtained from the local food pantry, because she felt bad for me. Ooops.

In the meantime, let me update you with what has transpired in my little LaLaland over the past several weeks.

Last Thursday, I was invited to attend a wine tasting at the New Zealand Consulate's home by my neighbors, who reside in the front apartment of the little blue bungalow which I now know as home. When my neighbor, a long-time writer whose husband works in production and was involved with ZENA for many years, invited me, I thought it was merely an act of kindness which derived from her potential pity for the new kid on the block. It was not until that afternoon, as I was styling my neighbor's thick, brown hair into loose piles atop her head, that I realized my dear neighbor also felt that this wine tasting could be an excellent networking-slash-dating opportunity for me. However, the night was still mostly delightful. Everyone was dressed in elegant attire, albeit post-work attire for some, as we traipsed through the nicely decorated home and outdoor garden area, pausing to politely introduce ourselves to the other guests or to sip (and subsequently.. spit?) wines from New Zealand and Australia.

Now, I must pause briefly here to state that, while I make a modest living, there is always plenty to eat at my parties and get-togethers. Even if they be potlucks, I make sure to have more than enough food on my table for my guests. This cannot be said of wealthy people. There were literally swarms of people lingering outside of the kitchen, just waiting for the poor server to walk out of the doors with a fresh tray of hors d'oeuvres so that they could viciously swoop down upon whatever lamb chops or sliders lay piping hot before them. The exasperated caterer could no sooner step foot into the chic living room than have to turn right back around; in two hours, I saw her make it across the room to the patio door only once. Perhaps it is because rich people need to be tipsy in order to enjoy each others' company that they limit the food on hand. However, I solemnly swear that, nomatter how far the reaches of my vast empire may one day span, I shall always provide ample nourishment for my guests at wine tastings and other, as my mother would call them, 'floofy' gatherings of the elite and nobility. Hmph.

On Friday, Evan and I went to Soda Pop's, the little sandwich shop where I recently decorated the menu board and outdoor A-frame, for lunch. Dave remembered me and cheerfully said hello when we entered, and our food - an Italian sub sandwich with homemade bacon-and-cheddar potato chips for Evan, and a Nicoise salad pour moi - was nothing short of delectable. I picked the right restaurant to help bring to new artistic heights. After lunch, Dave mentioned that he would be in touch soon for some additional 'design work' (I want an honorary degree.. any takers?), and Evan and I hopped in his car to go test-run my recently acquired, $20 rollerblades from Craigslist.

Rollerblading on the boardwalk along the beach, from Santa Monica to Venice, is one of the purest forms of joy I have yet to experience in California. What does it cost? Some gas, maybe a couple of bucks for parking (ours was free). Yet doing this on Friday was so very lovely. We passed by a group of homeless men, carrying on and having a laugh under a shady gazebo, then paused at the restroom, because that is my second home; we skated past people doing yoga, a group of teenage girls, intent on completing their soccer drills, old men asleep under palm trees, fishermen lingering for hours on the endless pier, surrounded by the sea on one side, and a view of Los Angeles wrapped around the other; we glided past couples playing fetch with their dogs, strong men from the Caribbean doing a street performance, the looming 'tree-man' in all of his green, mossy glory, small, grinning children playing in the sand, body surfers paddling furiously.. we soared over the cement sidewalk, laughing and joking and pushing one another, watching the sun sail down toward the ocean, just touching the horizon as we pulled our skates off on the side of the car.

If you ever find yourself broke and living in California, take my advice: invest in a pair of rollerblades.

On Sunday, Evan took me to my first true hockey game, the final Anaheim Ducks' pre-season game against their rivals, the Los Angeles Kings. I should preface this by saying that Evan is a huge Ducks' fan, and a lover of hockey. He gets together with a group of friends to play a game every Wednesday night, and I usually spend a fair portion of my Wednesday grinning at how excited I know he is about 9pm that evening, when, after driving for an hour, parking, and gearing up for twenty minutes, he will glide onto the ice, smiling and elated and focused and happy. Tonight was no exception; sure enough, at 10:57pm, I got a text which read, "My chest is burning, my legs are killing me, my back is sore, and my head is bumping..... I LOVE IT."

All of this being said, I was nervous about going to a hockey game with such a passionate fan, myself so uneducated about the sport. Despite this fear, we had a blast, and Evan made sure to keep me aware of what was taking place on the ice below us. And although the score was tied at 2-2 when the game ended, putting each of us on the edge of our seats, the Ducks scored in overtime to secure the win, and my first hockey game went down in history as an epic win. After the game, we went back to Evan's apartment, made delicious hamburger patties and scrambled eggs with tomato (using what we had on hand), shared a bottle of red wine as we watched "Without a Paddle", and talked late into the night.

Monday was the first day I saw rain since I moved here on May 18th, which seems unbelievable to me. However, since Monday, the rain has not stopped, and I am beginning to feel like "the rainy season" has hit. Had I known this earlier, I may have endeavored to pack in a few more beach trips, but I'm sure the sun will pop back out eventually. If I had been out, shining with all my boiling glory for three months, I supposed I would be pretty knackered as well. So you take a break, Mister Sun. You deserve it. ;)

As Monday progressed and the unrelenting rain continued to patter on, grateful to be free-falling after months of waiting, I was overjoyed with the gentle rain that tapped and sputtered and danced on my face, on my car windshield, on my bare legs, on my roof. Between administering insulin shots to one cat and shuffling another to the vet, I found myself in a Ralph's parking lot in Santa Monica. Rather than drive home and drive back a few hours later, I bought a salad and some coconut water, as well as a Sharpie and some paper, and camped out in my car. I doodled a doodling book and listened to John West, smiling and sleepy-eyed and loving the rain. Eventually, I grabbed the green fleece blanket from my picnic backpack in the trunk, reclined the driver's seat as far down as it would go, and curled up in a little ball for a two-hour nap. And when I woke up, I didn't mind one bit sitting in the rush-hour traffic on my way back to Reseda, sleepy kitty in tow, even though it was late and dusk was falling. I watched my windshield wipers swish-swishing before the rising city nightlights, and I was content to be sitting in the middle of the rain.

Tuesday evening, my friend Morgan, a sweet darling who attended stunt school with me last fall in Seattle, came by around 8pm to make Asian Chicken Penne and salad with me, and to watch "Double Dare", a documentary about stunt women Zoe Bell and Jeannie Epper. It was relaxing to spend the evening chatting about our busy lives and the often ridiculous aspects of Southern culture (Morgan hails from Tennessee), chopping up mint leaves and shallots and ginger and chicken, and screeching about how excited we are to be stunt women when the film ended and "Top of the World" - affectionately known in my family as "Tupperware World" - blasted through my apartment. Morgan and I are planning to get together again next Tuesday, so that she can introduce me to "fried green tomatoes", which she was shocked I have never tasted, and then Morgan has agreed to graciously drive me to the airport early Wednesday morning. I am Houston-slash-Weimar-slash-Austin bound, to celebrate my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, to celebrate my father's 48th year on this earth, to visit the Swingin' Door, to take my mother to a yoga class, to record some songs with my little brother, to get some bubble tea with my little sister, to try some risque dancing with Cari, to film a fair portion of the music video for "Shaniqua" with Clint, to squeeze in some giddy karaoke, and to sit in a pantry, full of food, and thank God.

Life is grand. :)

A Beach Picnic

Strength

Here I find myself, at 12:55am on Friday morning, sitting under my covers and listening to the song "Tell Me on a Sunday", and longing for sleep to settle in. I have folded my laundry, washed my dishes, swept and mopped my floor, dimmed my lights, drank my tea, washed my face, and arranged my things for my day tomorrow. I am surrounded by me. Sometimes, that single fact is so overwhelming I want to cry. "Me" can be a very lonely place.

I had my first television appearance - which lasted all of two seconds - this Monday night on CHUCK. The amount of enthusiasm and supportive words which came pouring out from friends and family far and wide were touching. Here I was, thinking I had only done some small baby step for my career as an actor, if even a baby step, and those around me were in an uproar over this tremendous personal triumph. And even though I may not have done anything worthy of an Oscar, or solved world hunger, the fact that there were people sitting in living rooms across the United States, gathered with others, taking an hour out of their day to search the screen for my face for a few seconds, meant the world to me. In some way, although I feel alone at times, I am given such strength in knowing that something about this uncertain, terrifying place in my life is inspiring to someone, somewhere. So to those of you who called, texted, wrote, watched - I am deeply humbled and honored to have such fans as yourselves. You are keeping this little silly actress chugging right along.

I spent today doing a variety of busy tasks. I edited a paper for a dear friend. I finally made it to Central Casting, where I updated my status to "Union" (AFTRA). I purchased a red, leather-bound planner for 2011 at Barnes & Noble, because I am constantly dreaming of the future, even as I love the present. I squeezed in a power nap. I folded, stuffed, sealed and stamped together invoices for "Mike the pool guy", who kindly presented me with my very own business cards for "Chelsea's Concierge Service" on Tuesday. I browsed through Borders and then Bed, Bath & Beyond with Evan, who generously insisted on us taking a five-minute detour by Fresh & Easy so that I could quell my screaming belly. I came home.

At this point, around 9:30pm, I finally got to sit down and read the few lines for my audition tomorrow for "MEDIUM", as Charlotte, a "beautiful but disheveled and seemingly homeless young woman with a criminal record and a drug problem." Generally type-cast as the mature, maternal figure or the cute blond, I found myself hungry to immerse myself in this skin. Perhaps this is why I am now feeling utterly lonely.

All actors have their own processes for generating character and for rooting down into something physically beyond themselves, but still very much within the potential range of human behavior and experience. Perhaps my favorite teacher of my entire life used to say that, "you don't have to dirty yourself up to be an actor, but you don't have to clean yourself up to be a human being." Joe urged me and my classmates to be willing to, pardon my French, "swim at the shite end of the swimming pool." I am not an actor because I dream of fame and fortune. Yes, it would be nice to make a living doing what I am passionate about. But at the end of the day, I am an actor because I seek to spread compassion regarding the human condition, and to fully explore the realm of human potential, from the darkest, murkiest hellholes to the exhilarating heights of the cosmos.

In thinking about Charlotte, I found myself thinking back to when I was seventeen. I wasn't worried about bugs in my hair, or finding a McDonald's bag with some stale french fries at dusk, or getting harassed or raped in a dank street corner. I wasn't worried about losing my period due to lack of nourishment, or wondering where I could crash that night, or breaking out in sweat and terror because I couldn't afford a fix. I wasn't wearing baggy, dirty mens' clothes and a hoody, in an effort to disguise my gender. I wasn't wondering if my parents and siblings ever thought of me, or how they had changed since I had left home. I wasn't being spat at or told to "get a damn job", and I wasn't praying to God when I got sick to please, please help my fever break, because I couldn't pay for a doctor or medication. I wasn't watching men being beaten to death, or wondering if I would still be around in three months. I wasn't staring up at the stars at night, freezing under their hollow glow and too exhausted to cry anymore.

Yet, despite all of this, it is my responsibility to let this person inhabit me, because somewhere in the world, right at this exact moment, there really is a seventeen-year-old girl named Charlotte, and she lives this. Her story is my story; we are the human condition. If I can use myself to tell someone her story, and to make them reconsider the world around them, then I can sleep a little better at night.

There is always a story to tell. My craft is my pen, and my strength, and my will.

My "Eat Pray Love" Weekend

Within the scope of the human experience, there are moments in which we must abandon the convention of walking on the solid ground beneath our feet and instead try flying, for one exhilarating, gravity-defying breath. Not everything can feel perfect, nor safe, nor economically feasible, nor should it.

This weekend, I should have worked out, so I could keep working my way down to a smaller size. I should have gone to my yoga studio and taken classes, so I could keep the controlling owner happy. I should have created my online casting profiles, so I could have them ready for greedy casting eyes come Monday morning. I should have saved my money, as I've done all summer, so I could get a steady savings account going soon.

This weekend, I did none of these things. This weekend, I went flying instead. And it was breathtaking.

I have made a very good friend in Los Angeles, even though I have only been here three months, and even though my friend, whom I will call 'Evan', was home in Switzerland for a good portion of the summer. I found my couch and loveseat through his roommate, who could not be at home when my family came by to pick it up, but assured me Evan would be. And when my family showed up an hour early, at nine am on a Saturday, Evan very kindly helped us carry a heavy couch and loveseat down two sets of stairs, sleepy-eyed and messy-haired, sporting black-rimmed glasses and a Ducks' hockey jersey. He never even mentioned his serious tendonitis in his elbows, or the fact that he was trying to take it easy for the sake of his extensive golf career. He simply smiled, looked at my dad, and asked, "which end do you want me to take?"

Over the coming months, Evan kept in touch with me by little texts or facebook messages, just checking in on me now and then, in a very non-invasive way, to see how I was faring in Los Angeles. And when returned to the US in mid-August, he made a point of getting together so that he could catch up with me.

This was just over three weeks ago, and I am still surprised at the uncanny amount of things we share in common. While most of these things are random, happy surprises, like the fact that we both adore huskies, or our admiration of acoustic music, or an appreciation for really good food, we also share the not so painless being recently made single.

On Thursday, I found out that Evan had just broken up with his girlfriend. Aware of the fact that I have been struggling with similar feelings for the past three weeks, Evan asked if he could drive over, and if we could just sit and talk. Needing some company myself, and thinking back to that miserable night for myself, I said of course. By eleven pm, we had driven to Yogurtland, poured ourselves frozen yogurt concoctions, complete with lychee and the trademark neon spoons, and settled into the seats of his black BMW. With the engine off, we sat in the parking lane of a busy LA street, watching cars zoom by and people walking dogs and other yogurt patrons, listening to acoustic music, and talking about the difficulties of life and love. While we were both melancholy, the company made the load a little lighter. After we finished our yogurt, we decided we were both still hungry and drove to Ralph's, where Evan decided that tomato and mozarella (which he pronounced in Italian) would be an excellent post-midnight snack. We split the cost of some sea salt, balsamic vinegar, fresh mozarella, tomatoes, and a cheap bottle of wine, and drove back to my house.

At this point, we put on a dvd of "FRIENDS", and then a very strange thing happened; I was directed to sit down on the couch, while Evan whipped out cutting boards and knives and wine glasses and prepared everything, not letting me lift a finger. We laughed through the entire last season of friends, eating our delicious snack and not glossing over the occasional moments of sadness. At three thirty am, acknowledging that each of us had to head to work - he to host a golf tournament, and myself to teach yoga - a mere three hours later, Evan headed home for what was left of the night. Although I was exhausted Friday morning, I felt somehow more confident and settled as I led my students through down dogs and utkatasanas.

After having raved about the Swedish meatballs at Ikea for weeks, Evan asked if I wanted to go to Ikea in Burbank that afternoon. I had spent the week running around, doing extra work and paying traffic tickets and meeting with industry reps, so I said sure, putting my work aside until later. Evan picked me up around three thirty on Friday afternoon. Forty-six hours later, my new-found friend and I parted ways to get back to our responsible adult duties. We did what Evan calls, "wingin' it", which consisted of visiting spots all over Los Angeles, eating too much rich food, and most likely spending too much of the money I have penny-pinched for weeks. I loved every minute of it.

On Friday, we browsed through Ikea, where we took the time to look at all of the furniture and showrooms and ate Swedish meatballs, discussing the merits of fladbrod and of elderberry soda. We met up with two friends, Eric and Tyler, both of whom work at NASA, to go Rollerblading at Skateland, during which time we were hustled and bustled about by the teenagers there, whom we all swore were much less polite than we were at the age of twelve (though our parents and teachers may disagree). We grabbed more frozen yogurt and discussed space ships and race cars (I listened more than I spoke on these matters, enjoying the three guys revel in their passion for speed and driving and rockets). After this, we parted ways with Eric and Tyler, and we did another Ralph's run for sandwiches, which we greedily gobbled up on the floor in Evan's room as we watched the first episodes of "HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER" and "THE BIG BANG THEORY". We fell asleep late, me on the bed and Evan on the floor, both completely exhausted from a long history of being insomniacs.


On Saturday, we woke up at noon, which I rarely do anymore. After Evan took a shower, and just before we walked out the door, Evan noticed a sea of foam engulfing the kitchen floor. We paused to stop the dishwasher (which was apparently not compatible with the sample soap Evan had received), and we laughed as we mopped up foam from under the refrigerator, the trashcan, and between our toes. We ate hot, Pastrami sandwiches at a hole-in-the-wall spot which I was assured was "worth the thirty-minute drive"; it was. We drove to Venice Beach and walked along the boardwalk, so lovely and charming in its dirty, unapologetic way, and watched people skating in a giant cement bowl, men doing flips and tricks with incredible athletic prowess, a towering tree-man walking amidst the floating crowd, robed people chanting kirtan, drowsy bums slumped over guitars like love affairs, and vendors exhibiting their paintings and jewelry and knick-knacks and pot paraphernalia like proud tokens of a simpler life. We went to Third Street in Santa Monica, where we laughed at random books in Urban Outfitters, sighed approving smiles over the rustic couches and tables, reminiscent of the French provinces, in a furniture store, clapped admirably for the street musicians, whose performances were untouched by the slowly falling fog of the Los Angeles coastline, tried on silly accessories and jackets in H&M, and chatted about music (including the song "Ali in the Jungle", by The Hours, which seems so very fitting for this current, hazy phase in each of our lives). We headed back to my apartment, where we made pesto pasta and drank red wine, watched tv, shared foot massages in a simple, kind way, reminisced about home and friends, had cereal and chips at some ridiculous hour, laughed about life, and eventually fell into another deep slumber until late this afternoon, when we parted ways to go back to our little to-do lists.

I have a feeling the to-do lists will always be around, and that's okay. But sometimes it's not so bad to take that list off of the refrigerator, or to hide your planner under your bed, and to say, "hey, let's just wing it."

Who knew you could live such a life in two days?

Upcoming TV Spots

While I do not currently have the luxury of cable, my mother and sister just might fly out to the state of California and beat me if I do not post a list of my upcoming extra spots. So listed below, in a decent amount of detail, are my upcoming tv spots as an extra or featured extra:

September 20, 2010 - CHUCK (Season 4, Episode 1), on NBC, 8/7C
*Look for me as: Russian bus rider (only blond); woman on airplane (behind Chuck); hands used to stamp passports, slide credit cards, change food plates
September 22, 2010 - CRIMINAL MINDS (Season 6, Episode 1), on CBS, 9pm EST
*Look for me as: the gold Honda in traffic (you probably won't see me as a person)
October 1, 2010 - OUTLAW (Season 1, Episode 3), on NBC, 10/9C
*Look for me as: the girl at the outdoor hotel restaurant scene whom Eddie points out to Lucinda as "his type"
November 7, 2010 - DEXTER (Season 5, Episode 7) on Showtime, 9pm EST
*Look for me as: one of the sex trafficking/ rape victims, handcuffed to the bed (this is intense - be forewarned)
Unknown - SHAKE IT UP! (Season 1, Episode 7), on the Disney Channel
*Look for me as: the blond girl in the karate class and at the cafe; a movie patron in the back row during the scary movie

LA Creepies

This will be a short and sweet post, because I need to vent, or take a shower, or perhaps both.

Apparently, the chef at work who keeps hitting on me, and who occasionally walks me home (as far as my front gate), and who I went out dancing with (with some of his friends) about a month ago - an illegal immigrant who has poured out his heart to me about how much he cares about me, who has tried to kiss me (fail) while I was in a relationship, and who bought me a wilted rose from some woman driving by a few nights ago - GET THIS - is not only married, but also has several children (like, three) with multiple women, the youngest of which is no more than six months old.

Los Angeles, you are quickly teaching me how to be the most suspicious person on the planet.

Needless to say, I was creeped out beyond belief when I found out all of this last night. I found out from the other waitress, who, when she found out I had actually gone out with him and his friends, was horrified and said, in total earnestness, "I really wouldn't have put it past him to have slipped something in your drink." The night we went out, he even had the gall to say to me, "hey, don't mention us going out to anyone at the restaurant. They blah-blah [talk] too much." Oh, okay. Meaning they might mention the fact that you should be spending time with your wife and kids instead of trying to date-rape twenty-two-year-olds. UGHHH.

Tonight at work, said nasty could tell he was on my bad side, and kept trying to talk to me. I flat-out told him, "I have nothing to say to you. Don't talk to me. You need to leave me alone." I don't think I've ever been as direct or, pardon my French, flat-out bitchy with someone. Let's hope he got the message, loud and clear.

Tomorrow begins my quest for bear mace. Goodnight, world.

Addictions and Character

Last summer, as I was preparing to return to CMU for my final year as an RA, our lovely housefellow, whom I adore and look up with the utmost respect and admiration, had each staff member write up a brief essay in the style of the wonderful book This I Believe. If you've never read the book, go buy it on Amazon right now. It will fuel your desire to enact positive change in the world and will leave you with the realization that, while the economy may not always be the best, people are always good, in some fashion, if you dig deep enough. After thinking long and hard about what I believe at the core of my being, I came up with the following phrase: "I believe in judging less and in playing more." Tonight, and this past week in general, brought to mind this aspiration of mine.

In a world where people come from different cultural, political, religious, and fiscal backgrounds, not to mention personal experiences, joys, and catastrophes, judgment is practically ingrained in our kindergarten lunch boxes. I remember feeling embarrassed in grade school because the "cool kids" had things like fruit roll-ups and gushers and lunchables, while I had homemade (read: self-made) turkey-and-mustard sandwiches, generally smushed, and apples, with the occasional bag of fun-pack doritos. Judgment is something which we project onto others, and, often with the longest lasting damage, on ourselves. So tonight, I reiterate the importance of saving the judgment. Put it away on a shelf with the things you don't need. Let it collect dust, and let it be forgotten behind the brighter aspects of your livelihood, like the little trinkets and macaroni art from your children. Instead of judging, get to work playing. We started playing before we started judging, and I am constantly striving to return to that place.

While I may not always understand why that man has to lean on his horn in rush hour traffic, or why that bitter woman wears a scowl as she hurries down the street, I assume only that people have their reasons. Are their actions excusable because of an unfortunate morning or past? No. However, neither is a lack of compassion on my part excusable.

Underneath the seemingly unaffected facade is someone who feels lost and alone, under the strict restaurant manager is an ex-heroine addict who has to run a tight ship because he is grateful for someone giving him a chance, and under the jovial playboy is an illegal immigrant who worries but cannot return home to visit his mother, who is in the hospital with a serious heart condition. Even for myself, under the busybody who stays cheery and optimistic is a five-year-old girl who feels a little like hiding under the covers sometimes. Although it may be faster and easier to assume, take the time to look a little closer. Patience eventually produces understanding, and understanding, in turn, reflects compassion.

The Choice

Life has its little way of throwing curveballs at you when you least expect them. When you're paused to chat with the coach, or on your way to the plate - wham! Life nails you in the shin, sending searing pain throughout your body and taking you out for a few innings. After that comes the swelling, and the ice pack to ease the pain. A week later, you get a nasty bruise that still hurts when you touch it. Then, down the road a ways, you are fine.

Time heals all wounds, and I believe time will treat me no differently. To once again quote Baz Luhrman's subtle yet poignant sunscreen speech, "don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday."

I have been blindsided once this week by the end of a long and, in many ways, wonderful relationship of four years, with a person who knows more about me than virtually anyone else on the planet. I have been blindsided this morning, waking up with nausea and vomiting at 4:30am. The physical experience of each of these events has been much the same. I find myself alone in a still-new city, sick to my stomach and aching. Yet in the same cycle as the inhale comes the exhale; the two are inextricably linked. As you inhale, you receive life. As you exhale, you release fear.

At any given moment, we project either love, or fear. I elect to have a conscious say in this extension of self, to continue reaching skyward and to pull the world up with me. Over the last day, I have received many incredible messages of support from friends and from family. Love has the ultimate say in the great game we play. And although love may be a terrifying thing, in that it requires courage and compassion to extend beyond the self, it is the only way forward.

Baz Luhrman also said, "do one thing every day that scares you." Whether that be singing, or just taking the next step, you are choosing to conquer fear with love.

The light grows and grows and grows, endlessly!

Why I Love Surprises

Just got home from a spontaneous frozen yogurt run to the phenomenal Yogurtland (only thirty cents an ounce! Booyakashah!). Life is momentarily fantastic, even if I had a long day of hard work and hormonal imbalances. I paired my fro-yo with some homemade, flourless and sugarfree (yet still delectable!) apple crisp, and I even have leftovers for tomorrow. Thank you, frozen yogurt goddess. And this time, I didn't get a ticket, so hurray for that as well.

This morning during yoga, I had an epiphany. Well, considering Forest Gump sort of reached the same conclusion, I'll use his words to sum my thought process up: "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." Well spoken, Forest.

What occurred to me in yoga, as I was sweating and contorting for ninety minutes, came to me because I have been irritated due to the feelings of instability I face in my life right now. These same feelings are even imitated on my mat, where my usually solid half moon and warrior three have been shakey and unsteady. On some days, I simply wish I had a road map, and could tell myself, "at this time next year, you will be at point B, earning x amount, and happy." Of course, I will find a way to be happy no matter what, but sometimes those unknowns weigh down on me. Then it occurred to me that life, as it turns out, is like a really great, extraordinarily well-conceived surprise party. Yes, life is like a box of chocolates, due to the assortment of nuts and random fillings from day to day. But life is also like a box of chocolates because it is a phenomenal gift! I love, love, love surprises, from romantic evenings to snail mail and packages to visitors to phone calls from old friends. And I believe that, if I can have patience, I will come to find that the surprises the coming day, week, month, and years have in store for me will amount to even more than I can dream of or hope for right now.

That was my happy shavasana revelation this morning. :) Win. Another surprise win? The album "Grace Potter & The Nocturnals." I heard one song at work ("Low Road") over and over, fell in love with it, and splurged on the $5.99 iTunes album tonight. The album is excellent, and I recommend you check it out for yourself.

Another win??? DONNER WON HOUSE WARS YESTERDAY!!!!!!!!!! Now, while I realize that this most likely means little to those of you who did not attend CMU with me, this was a huge victory that made my little girly heart swell with pride, admiration, and love for everyone in the Big Blue this year and in the past. I was lucky enough to speak with about seven members of the "blue crew" this past Monday, and I sure as heck miss the incredible leaders Donner attracts each year. I am so proud of everyone who is carrying on the legacy of blue, and I have been living vicariously through your house pictures online (sorry to be creepy lol). Win, win, win (and the Carnegie Cup! Take THAT, you big mean Hill!)!

This past week continued to keep me running around frantically, and the next few days seem to have much of the same in store. As usual, I have overextended myself and have zero free time. However, the good news is that my bank account may soon start climbing back out of oblivion and into the green zone, which means I can actually contribute to my extremely neglected savings fund (or start a 401k!) sometime this year. Keep your fingers crossed. Work this week consisted of subbing and teaching yoga (and a boot camp/ yoga blend, which was a blast!), practicing yoga, finishing the menu board and A-frame for "Soda Pop's" restaurant in Hollywood, a modeling shoot for 365 Hangers, working at Zeke's (which is still a hazy future, as far as I know?), keeping an ear to the ground for other work opportunities, running errands, a negative general meeting with Mark Saks (casting director for "Medium" and "The Good Wife", among other great projects) - which is still a positive, in that I at least had the meeting, mailing out headshots and resumes as always, and other small assorted daily life tasks which seem minute but which quickly become overwhelming.

Some random thoughts...

Someone who lives near me - specifically, a young Asian, punky guy with long hair and a black bowler hat - drives a white hearse around as his car. It still unnerves me every time I drive home and spot this unconventional automobile parked under a shady tree or near a sleeping homeless person. I wonder if the owner has little air fresheners and hula dancers in the car? I would also be willing to bet most people avoid having an accident with his car like the plague. I know I would.

I really, really want a puppy, and I really, really want to go see my boy in St Louis. Cash flow, please increase to make my dreams come true! Thank you for being considerate of me in these matters.

There is a tall (6'3"?) black tranny who occasionally stands at the corner of Santa Monica and La Brea, near where I live, and talks to himself with total commitment and animation. The other day, a Hispanic guy passed by on his way somewhere, happened to quickly glance at this absurd sight, and the next thing you know, Miss Thang kicked an empty coke bottle at the passing stranger. While this was absolutely entertaining, it would seem that etiquette school passed our dear friend by.

My little sister bought her first car today... I feel old. I feel like we're turning into aunts, and having visions of us going on lunch dates or shopping runs. My little brother also begins his senior year of high school this week. Since when did life start flying by so quickly?

I made two new friends at work yesterday! One is a personal trainer and boot camp instructor, and the other does special effects and production. I met both guys at Zeke's, and am planning upcoming hikes, movie outings, and lunches now. Let's hope explicitly stating I have a boyfriend from the get-go gets the message across loud and clear, because it sure would be nice to have some friends in this city. My friend from Switzerland also made it back a few days ago, and I'm hoping to reconnect with him soon also. Now where are my ladies at? No offense guys, but I can't exactly have cookie dough and watch "Twenty-Seven Dresses" with you, at least not all the time. ;)

Even though having your debit card compromised is a pain, and the inconsiderate persons responsible for said pain should be forced to do hard labor, I got a much prettier replacement card in the mail today than my original card. Sometimes, big wins come in small packages, like envelopes from Wells Fargo. Who knew?

I am working my first shift as a server at the restaurant tomorrow (as a sub, but this is still exciting for aforementioned cash flow), and should probably get some sleep. Toodles, world. :) Keep on giving that gift. Keep the surprises coming, please!

Casting Directors

I am beginning to realize that casting directors, much like actors, yoga instructors, and people in general, come in many different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some are cheery and hopeful for young prospectives such as myself; some are realists, admitting the climb is treacherous; and some, like the one I met today, seem downright negative. I suppose that, in the end, they all balance each other out in some form or fashion.

On Saturday, I attended my first casting director workshop with the 'House of Actors', starring casting director Scott David, a head CD with April Webster Casting. The session was bizarre, to say the least. Once I parked my car and headed to the second story of the little apartment building, guided by colorful, handmade posters resembling a yard sale or children's birthday party advertisement, I was accosted by no less than five different people, all exclaiming loudly, "It's SO nice to meet you!" and enveloping me in giant bear hugs. At this point, my brain began to nervously question the professionalism of this establishment.

The little room we sat in was filled with pictures of famous actors and actresses, ranging from a collage of Marilyn Monroe to snapshots of James Dean and advertisements with Marlon Brando. There was a small refreshments (or "crafty", aka craft services) table set up in the corner, with slices of homemade cake, a tin pf Planter's peanuts, a jar of candy, and several banana halves, as well as tea, coffee, and hot chocolate packets. There was also a little station with actor-friendly work goodies, like a three-ring hole punch, highlighters, and a stapler. I highlighted the copy of the sides I had brought in for my reader, passed it off to a very cheerful man in his fifties, and found a seat in the middle of the conglomerate of blue plastic chairs.

After Scott arrived, he came in, sat down, and asked us if we had any questions or things we wished to talk about. It was at this point in time that it became clear to me I was surrounded by 'actors' from all backgrounds. A cute girl around age eleven started talking about her pet goldfish, which earned a slight chuckle from the crowd. The adolescent's tale of her carnival fish (which had perished) prompted an adult in the room, wearing a bright red dress and a very enthusiastic demeanor, to profess her unyielding love of her four pet rats, and to then explain rat birthing processes and how lovable rats truly are. Finding this bizarre, I was stunned to hear a woman behind me jump into the conversation with a remark about her anxiety-ridden, prescription-popping cat, who had to be medicated in order to stop peeing in the owner's bed, which the vet had attributed to "separation anxiety." A few actors laughed, a few tried to chime in with their own, "Listen to ME!" stories, and a couple of us - I'm being optimistic that I wasn't the only one in this predicament - began to question our sanity and the validity of this casting workshop.

I then waited for an hour, as people cycled in to meet with Scott, one by one. When it was my turn, I went in, momentarily handed him my headshot and resume (which he couldn't even keep due to some new law), and did my rape victim scene (recommended to me as, "one of Scott's favorites, because it really let's him know if an actress can act or not). Scott liked my interpretation, asked me to do it again with less presence and more haziness, I did so, we smiled, and that was it. I said goodbye to him forty-five minutes later, getting the impression by his Blackberry scanning as he was hustled by a room of twelve actors, that he was ready to get on with his Saturday. Well, here's hoping that $50 at least made a dent somewhere in his mental library about me.

Today I had a general meeting with Mark Saks, the CD whom I had an audition and callback with for "MEDIUM." More to come on this in a bit.....

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