blah la land

2006-01-31T22:58:00.000-08:00

I have a new life now, and it's not in LA--most of the time. As such, this domain isn't jiving anymore, and I've got a new one:

www.onbeingetc.blogspot.com

Til then.

2005-11-02T22:08:00.000-08:00

I’ve been back East for a month, nearly. I had to look up the dates; time has concurrently flown by and crawled and because of it I don’t know midnight from noon or Saturday from Tuesday. Not things to be proud of, I know.

The first weeks back were the lamest, by far. I would use the guise of jet lag to sleep until 1 or 2 p.m., swapping my bed for the couch to watch Law & Order and Lifetime movies. I wasn’t all sloth—I’d take the dog out a few times in there, get dressed in time for mom to come home from work. I’d help with dinner and head upstairs for a nap, where I’d stay up until 4 a.m. looking for jobs online, book-marking many and applying for none. Eventually I would give up and fall asleep with all the lights on. Wake, repeat. It was disgusting.

So I jumped ship. I caught a ride to Charlottesville, arriving in the middle of the night during birthday festivities. I stayed three days, checking in with all of my favorite people. Yes, they all still were breathing fine, ticking along. And check, my life there was gone. Glad that was settled. In my head—paradise. In reality—get me out of here, it’s been played. I said my hellos, skipped the goodbyes and headed north.

After a night in DC, I hopped a bus to NYC. When I was in LA, I was sure that New York was where I really wanted to be, my “ideal.” New York is fantastic, fabulous, lovely. I spent my days wandering around the city by myself and my nights with good friends. I wish I could say I did a lot of soul searching when I traipsed around the city, but I didn’t. Frankly I don’t know what I thought about. I looked at people’s faces. Enjoyed the nice weather and the grand old buildings. Got lost. Not a bad way to spend free time. Not productive, but not necessarily counter-productive.

This morning I woke up and came home. A young woman of questionable decisiveness comes of age, take three.

2005-10-11T21:23:00.000-07:00

It was one week, yesterday, since I arrived in Virginia, and I have yet to unpack. My suitcases are no longer full, to be certain, but my clothes, books—the possessions that I deemed important enough not to leave behind in the huge bags that went to the goodwill—are strewn around the room, wrinkled, dirty, piled high. My room sits just at the top of the stairs, and my mother says the mess is making her crazy and that I must remedy it. I’d like to. Really, I would. But somehow packing those clothes away into drawers means I’m staying for the long haul, and I am just not ready to accept that yet. Certainly, clothes in drawers are no contract, no precursor for signing one’s life away. But when I’m transient, I act it, and don’t pretend to set-up “home away from home” by folding my clothes and arranging my things in nice little piles; I never use the drawers in hotels. Granted my house here is less a hotel than home primo, but really, at this point, out of college, I want it to be a stopping point, not a final destination. And even though all parties agree that I am only here until I regroup and get a job somewhere else, the fact that this could be months from now makes me a little bit crazy, and a little bit scared.

Tonight at dinner there was a showdown: mom and dad think I am disrespecting the way they run things (I am), and are offended by what they perceive as ingratitude about staying here (it is). It’s true: I don’t want to be here. But I have no money, no job, and no health insurance, so this has to be the place, at least for awhile. I am having a revelation here. I am living at home out of necessity, not because I am lame. And this doesn’t have to be a horrible thing: it offers things like free food, a bed, a puppy, and medical care should I have an accident while eating chocolate-covered almonds. And, though I hate, hate, hate to admit it, it offers another chance to hang with my parents, and to learn from them, because it seems that maybe, at least sometimes, they are right.

2005-10-09T21:32:00.000-07:00

I didn’t end up going to NYC, but stayed the weekend in Northern Virginia with an old friend. A lot of quality television and bad football was watched during the day while at night we went out and met up with friends from school who are now saving the world—or making a fortune—in DC. Was somewhat the antithesis of a weekend I would have had in LA: I recognized people wherever we went (and because I knew them, not because they once guest-starred on Felicity or similar) and it rained—nay, poured—all weekend.

I walked around the city by myself on Friday in the rain, and decided whatever dreams I had for public transportation and walking were ridiculous and convoluted and that I really have no interest in ever taking a metro ever, ever again. And that walking is nice until it’s pouring and you’re soaked. I went to the Museum of the American Indian but promptly left when I remembered that I don’t have the attention span for museums.

Anyway, weekend was fun and fine, and I don’t think I want to live in DC, though I didn’t think I wanted to live in DC before this weekend, so really, as far as developing life plans, etc. this weekend was pointless.

This week I will: Apply for a lot of jobs. In a lot of cities. And a lot of fields. And if I get one, I will know that all this time I really just wanted that job, in that place. Yes. So this is the plan.

2005-10-06T22:04:00.000-07:00

Am home. First night was all, um, I’ve made a huge mistake. But now has been some days and I’m happy to be here in my lovely, (relatively) clean city with family and puppy and, perhaps most notably, bed.

Have spent past few days waking late, watching movies on TV, and half-heartedly searching for jobs in as-of-yet-undetermined fields and locales. Tonight I met a friend for coffee. She is in grad school and is getting married. We’re in very different places, obviously, but she is good evidence that there are indeed creatures my age who are adults.

While she is on track, I have brought my chronic state of indecision down to the most micro level, forgoing meals for not knowing whether I prefer soup or PBJ, going barefoot because there is no real winner between flip-flops and slippers. I’m about to stay home this weekend and watch more marathons of Law and Order, etc. if I don’t get my act together and figure out what I want to do. The initial plan was to take home-friend group trip to NYC this weekend, but as various participants had to drop-out due to collegial obligations (pshaw), groupness of group-trip was suspended. I told my friend in the city that I was going to come anyway; then reneged due to laziness in face of the journey; then flopped again and said would come; then chose just to go to DC, not NYC; then decided, yes, shall go to NYC; then read of bomb threat and decided against trip; then realized if I didn’t go for that reason, terrorists had won, so now I am bloody going.

So. Goals of trip are:

Catch-up with old friend

Have fun/be active/get out of daytime-TV-watching funk

Connive friend into providing analysis of my talents, perhaps also my goals, perfect career, etc

Not get blown up

Eat a cupcake from Magnolia Bakery

This is, of course, assuming I don’t change my mind again by morning. And this isn’t just a cute ending, because I probably will.

2005-10-03T20:39:00.000-07:00

Soon after discovering I wanted nothing to do with movies and television except to watch and talk smack about them, I accepted that there was little reason for me to stay here. Certainly I have lovely friends here, but just as friends couldn’t be reason enough to hang around home after grad, they cannot be reason enough to stay here.

When one dreams of writing screenplays or acting on camera, it’s easy to justify retail jobs and sleeping on the floor. But when one has no such dreams, if one has about as much an idea about the direction they want to take as they did when five years old, then perhaps LA isn’t the place to be finding oneself. Certainly, there are lots of opportunities here. But there is also lots of ugliness, lots of sprawl, and lots and lots of city. It is whelming.

So. I have sold my car. And finished up my work at the store. And given notice at my internship. And, once again, bought a one-way plane ticket. And maybe not quite as spontaneously as I decided to come out here, I have decided head back.

2005-09-20T01:12:00.000-07:00

When one lives in Los Angeles, one inevitably spends a lot of time in transit. This is an unfortunate aspect of life in a city of sprawl, but it has its perks. Whether walking (which no one does, by the way. I used to walk to work from my old place in Hollywood, a 30 minute walk, and people were incredulous), driving, or bussing, time rather stops during the journey from point A to point B. I spend my transit time thinking about the city, which is interesting since I spend most of my other time—while working, eating, laughing, sleeping—thinking about whether or not to leave it. But while in transit—these days, in the car—I reflect on LA a lot. Mostly with how huge it is, but also how full of possibility it is.

There is a lot of room for dreams in this city. Certainly, there are the big ones—those who want to make their money and their fame making movies and music, but for every kid with stars in her eyes is one who is here to make a life. I haven’t figured out my dream LA scenario yet, but I like to try them on. Am I Canyon girl, hiking down to market for a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine? A West Hollywood groupie, spending my evenings on the sidewalk cafes of the center of the queer community in LA? A lazy Santa Monican, jogging on the beach and enjoying heaping brunches on Main Street? Or am I a Valley girl, embracing the relative peace and quiet and easy living of life over the mountain? Or might I be more at home in Silverlake with the cool kids and hipsters? Or in Westwood, the artificial college town that UCLA calls home? None of the above is the real answer, but somehow in LA, a choice must be made. Each neighborhood is different, and the city is so large and traffic so bad, that adopting multiple neighborhoods seems logistically impossible. Right now I have no home base. Valley doesn’t quite fit, but Hollywood wasn’t perfect either. I like Westwood, but don’t feel at home there. Santa Monica is nice, but too far away from everyone else. And Silverlake’s hipsters—not my style. In the car, driving through these different neighborhoods, I can picture myself in all of them, and yet picture myself in none of them. So instead of choosing, I live the scenarios in my head and put off decisions until later. Which really is why I’m still sleeping on the floor. I would move, but moving requires picking a neighborhood, and picking a neighborhood requires picking an identity—and right now, that’s out of the question. I’ll drive around and think about it. In which direction is anyone’s guess.

2005-09-15T00:47:00.000-07:00

So I have moved out of the boys' place and moved in with my friend from university. I do thank the boys' for their hospitality, but it was time to move on to a new couch. The new place is in the valley, which I thought I was anti but am actually not. It is actually quite peaceful and nice.

We just ate some Club crackers and once you chew them up they taste like a biscuit. Heather is terrorizing the cat. Cats are alright. I prefer dogs. Like my one in Virginia. Speaking of Virginia--what a great state. Much better than California. Grumpier Old Men is on the television. It's funny. I love Jack Lemmon and Walter Matheau. Too bad I don't want to have anything to do with movies anymore except watch them. Is funny, how you can love love love something but hate hate hate all that goes into making it. Have I mentioned that yet? The entertainment industry is blahhhhhhh. I am glad I figured this out now instead of living in some city and harboring dreams of being a television writer my whole life. No way. I am not willing to sacrifice all my time for something as ridiculous as a TV show, even though I am more than willing to devote hours each week to savoring said TV shows.

Sigh. I'm out.

2005-09-05T23:55:00.000-07:00

Our lease is up. The boys have moved out of the Hollywood apartment and have settled into their new pad across town. I, too, have packed up and shipped out, also to the boys’ new place, though my things are still packed up and stashed in a corner, awaiting a final destination, and I am crashing on their couch.

I have spent the past weeks in various degrees of self-loathing and self-pity. I have no home, a car that barely works, a job that doesn’t pay and is rotting my brain, and no plan or dream for the future. I am paralyzed by indecision. This is unfortunate and upsetting. On the other hand, I have a job, friends to stay with, means to fix my car, and, not to get too cliché, but let’s go there, my life and that of my friends and family intact. I’ve been playing the relativity game this week, flashing back from a browser opened to pictures of the newly homeless in mass shelters to one listing apartments that I can’t afford.

I am taking myself too seriously, and I don’t know how to get out of my funk—I feel like I need to do something for someone—volunteer in a hospital or tutor kids or work in a shelter, something that isn’t about me. But then I pause, and try to figure out what I’d like to do, who I’d like to help, and it’s a whole new existential crisis. It’s cumbersome, and I’m over it. A few days ago, I was up and ready to head to the Gulf States to help out—though with no skills specific to healing bodies, repairing shattered lives, or rebuilding devastated towns, the extra mouth to feed most certainly wouldn’t be worth it for the agencies helping out. So here, I suppose, is a manifesto for myself, published here so that I might not forget about it in the morning. I am going to make some changes. I am going to find a place to stay, even if just temporarily to get me off the boys’ couch. I am going to chill out. And, I am going to start keeping a proper blog.

In our first issue: gather knowledge and give out money. The Washington Post ran a really upsetting but insightful article-- "A Nation's Castaways"—analyzing the class and race issues that are perpetuating the devastation from the hurricane. Check it out. And Amazon makes it easy to donate to the Red Cross’s Hurricane Relief Efforts. I’m donating the bounty from giving up my $4 a day coffee habit.

2005-08-23T21:06:00.000-07:00

Pyung has just informed me that we need to be out of the apartment by the 28th, not the 31st, which really isn’t very many days different but sort of is. I think I am going to have to move out of here and into the boys’ place in the barrio. A late night anxiety attack sort of shut down my Santa Monica option when I briefly decided to move back home and felt that it was necessary to send the obligatory “uh, I’m not moving in with you” email ASAP. Future roomie was cool and understanding, though when I wrote her back the next day trying to renege on my renege, she was understandably freaked and I have yet to hear from her. So it looks like that’s a bust. My endearing eccentricities just haven’t sunk in yet, I’m sure.

Tonight I ate pasta salad that I made the other day in preparation of the night like tonight when I would come home and be hungry. It was delicious. I am a forward-planning adult.

In other news, heather just got here and we are going to go get gelato and listen to one of the backstock boy’s bands sing. Farewell.

2005-08-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

Today was my first day off in awhile. I’d been looking forward to it all week, planning on filling it with a healthy combination of doing nothing in exotic places (park, beach, pool) and doing lots of things in a short amount of time (clean apt, buy groceries, bake cupcakes). Instead, I woke up at 11, went out to breakfast, (pumpkin pancakes, mmm), and promptly came home and slept the rest of the day.

I’m awake now, and talking to a friend back East who is trying to get a job as a sports writer. He is brilliant, funny, an excellent writer, and very insightful—he’s beating out all the other applicants and getting interviews at top places. But everything sort of falls through—nothing is a perfect match. This saddens me. I want him to be happy and get a job, and I know he will. But man, following dreams is hard. Good thing I don’t have any, really. I just want to never have to have a real job and get paid to sit at home and write some things. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

2005-08-15T02:15:00.000-07:00

Somehow, in a huge city of millions of people, I have fallen into a self-centered slump. I suppose it is to be expected--trying to figure out who you are and what you want to do and where you want to live is sort of a inward-centric process, but geez am I ready to be over myself already.

At work today, while folding the men's leisure shirts, I realized my mind is generally obsessed with one of four things.

1. should i break agreement with santa monica probable-future roomie? do i want to live in santa monica? where do i want to live? should i ignore my second-guessing of earlier decision? maybe should move in with the boys, or actress friend. or maybe just go home.
2. why am i working at clothing store
3. what kind of life job do i want
4. what kind of now job do i want
5. why am i in LA
6. what time is it? time to go?
7. i need to workout

Actually, I never think that I should be working out, but somehow that seemed like a natural addition to this list. Hmm. This is obviously a sign of what LA and its superficial view of all peoples has done to my psyche. Good thing I've taken to reading feminist pop-zines to help me realize the problem and counteract.

As car is dead, am riding bus to work tomorrow, so perhaps should go to bed in preperation for my journey. Godspeed.

2005-08-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

A friend from home has been visiting for the past few days, and now that he's gone, depression abounds. That's not really true. But I miss being around a best friend and talking about home and home people and all things wonderful.

Past few nights has been lots of bars and fun and life and love and pursuit of happiness. Also, shopping. I bought a necklace made out of big blue and turquoise beads. I like it. My friend bought designer jeans and a designer bag and some sunglasses and one of everything in the store where I work. We took a lot of pictures and drove around the mountains with one of the roomies and went to a museum called the Getty and it was wonderful and lovely. Friend hates LA--thinks it's trash, minus the fab shops. His visit has thrown me for a loop, as now am harboring inner wishes to flee city and go home. Though I suppose these haven't been completely foreign thoughts--it's hard not to wonder what life would be like one the other coast when things here are so unstable and unsure.

Am trying not to think about things, as have no tools yet to figure them out.

Oh, and in other news, car doesn't start again. Universe is on my side, obvi.

2005-08-06T23:08:00.000-07:00

Today was highlighter promotion day at le store. We all wore stuff from a new line that features clothes that are bright as highlighters, as the name implies. It was fun, especially when half of us ended up on break at the same time and were sitting out back attracting stares from passerby.

Whatever.

I helped some people buy some things. Lets see, what else. I folded a lot of tshirts and put them in bags. Folding is a very theraputic activity. I think I might like it.

Enough of that.

This morning I went by the Santa Monica Apartment to meet potential new roomie and see potential new apartment. The place is small. The door from outside opens into a living room, and shooting off from that is a pretty big kitchen with room for a table and chairs and a dead end hallway with a closet at the end and the bedroom and bathroom on each side. I would be living in the living room, which would mean no privacy, really. Would basically be like a railroad apartment--not so unlike the set-up I had at university. Rent is about 500 USD, all inclusive.

Earlier today this seemed like a big decision but now I think I'll take it. Is nice person and nice house in nice area near beach. Just have to run it by fam. But is in safe, quiet location but within walking distance to lots of good places, including the beach, and that is fab.

Lalala, hurrah!

2005-08-04T22:54:00.000-07:00

Today was my first day off since last Wednesday. I slept in and breakfasted in my underwear while looking at the city and took a shower and went with the boys to sign their lease and ate a baja fish taco. It was pretty much fantastic. When our lease is up, the boys are moving into this apartment that is southwest of where we are now. It'll be good for them--more central to where they are working now. The landlord man was nice--I think he was Russian. He told the guys that if they are going to buy drugs, not to do it in the neighborhood, but to go to Hollywood. He says it's best to stay away from the neighbors. It's a working class neighborhood, which in LA means black and hispanic, so who knows if it's actually a rough neighborhood or if that's just prejudice at work. Anyway, the boys promised not to buy drugs from the neighbors, but the only people I saw around were little kids on trikes and roller skates, and somehow I don't think they'll be a problem. The apartment is big. Right now it's dirty because the last tenants just up and left. They left a lot of stuff there. Walking through it made me feel like I was in an episode of CSI--I kept waiting to stumble upon the body. Anyway, I won't be visiting again until it's clean, or at least not strewn with old washclothes and stuffed animals.

My own housing hunt is progressing fairly well. I think I might have found something in Santa Monica. I'm going to meet the girl this weekend, hopefully, and we'll see. Today I was talking to a friend back home about money and rent and adult things and we were trying to work on a budget for me. He said that if I stay at the store and don't get another gig, that the most I could spend on housing would be like 450 USD, and that would only leave me with 1.15 USD a day for food, budgeting, of course, for my monthly impoundment.

Yesterday I had fun at work--helped a lot of people, sold a lot of stuff, talked to some Australians. Slater from Saved by the Bell came in--Mario Lopez. A friend of mine was helping him, and he would be like, do you like this one--and then rip his shirt off--or this one. She rolled her eyes. I laughed. That Slater, he's hilarious.

2005-08-02T22:47:00.000-07:00

Rent was due today. I didn't pay anything because my account is basically empty because my car got impounded again on friday because it broke down and I freaked out and left it in a parking lot overnight, which apparantly, is a big no-no and costs 287 USD plus approx four hours spent sitting on a curb in the sketchy part of Atwater and warding off scary men who approach claiming to be "dee autoritee" and asking about all the people living in the world. Sigh.

Good thing I have a job now to pay all my towing expenses. I worked everyday last week at the t-shirt store. All the standing and folding hurts my body. And all the skinny girls in hot shorts hurt my self-esteem. And the mindless work hurts my soul. The people I work with are super fantastico, though. So that's nice. Upside of job is money and people and free/cheap clothes. Downside is that it makes my life hurt and requires mundane tasks and zero-to-few brain cells. However, has made me appreciate my college education, which, until now, I had written off as obligatory and unhelpful in my future life. Boy was I wrong. To think that I could be folding shirts for life--shudder. Am lucky lady.

In other news, shopping for apartments is cumbersome. I heard back from a couple people last week, but missed my window because couldn't do anything because of work. I did go see one place--I loved the apartment and the girl who was offering up the room, but I didn't dig the location. Was in a purely residential neighborhood, removed from things--I want to be closer to the action, not further away. Last thing I need is another excuse never to leave my house. As if bed and Law and Order isn't enough.

Job situation has been getting me down lately and also money situation and--because I am an emotional eater--body situation also is blowing up (ha!). So basically, life right now is a cycle of buying cookies and fattening coffee drinks to comfort myself because am poor and fat, but the remedy is the poison, making le problems--money, tummy--worse. Lavender Mint iced tea, however, is delicious. Also, chocolate chip cookies the size of dinner plates.

I was going to quit my internship yesterday because I'm overwhelmed with working all the time and not having the fabulous time 24sev that I expected of early almost-adulthood. I reconsidered, however, because, duh, if I want to be a writer that's where I need to be. I did ask to cut down to one day, though. Need at least one day off in life. So I guess I half quit. Boss man is cool with decision. Understands all things.

I saw Mike White--Schneebly from School of Rock--at the movies last night. He was wearing a white shirt with some blue stripes and looked like he was, I don't know, twelve. I was barely starstruck. YES. Hollywooood.

2005-07-28T18:31:00.000-07:00

I want to write a TV show. Or a movie. Or something. I think I'll do that when I get home.
Right now, I am at work. Dying a slow and horrible death from boredom. It's pathetic, really, but I can't do it. I think I need more adventure in my life. Plus, my tailbone hurts from sitting in this chair all day.

Whomp.

Today I woke up on time and washed my face and brushed my teeth and prepared a lunch of yogurt with sliced peaches and frozen blueberries and high-protein cereal to bring with. During lunch I sat at desk and worked on style thing and ate my conglomeration and felt like I was in a commericial. The voiceover was saying that I was going to be able to fit into my bikini this weekend and that I'd be more energized this afternoon. Two things: the energy thing was a lie, and the bikini thing, really, who can't fit into a bikini. The part that might not fit over a swollen stomach doesn't exist, so there's plentry of room for it to all hang out.

Pshaw.

Last night all roomies and friend from school who just moved out here to be an actress went to see a sneak screening of RED EYE, new Wes Craven movie starring Rachel McAdams. I like her. Wes Craven is sort of lame, but she made the movie. She rocks. Moving on, Wedding Crashers is also fantastic and all people should see it. Very funny. Vince Vaughn is a winner on screen--off, I've heard he is le lame. Oh, well. Also, a long time ago, I wrote a long spiel about how celebrities are just people, whatever, blahblahblah. I would like to amend that statement by pointing out that there is a difference between, say, Brad Pitt the person and Brad Pitt the celebrity. Brad Pitt the person is attractive, yes, but he is just a guy. Brad Pitt the celebrity, though, is an idea, and that idea sells. I would imagine the happiest celebs are the ones that embrace the fact that there is a character they have to play publicly in some sense, in order to keep the real them private. Basically what I am saying is that Tom Cruise is actually a smart, compassionate, compelling, sane person.

2005-07-25T23:55:00.000-07:00

As lease with the boys ends 1 Sept, have been perusing Craig's List for new housing options. Today there was a post looking for a "hip chick" to share an apt in west LA. I think it's pretty safe to say I fit the description. Here is what I wrote them:

merlngavn@whatever.bah

merlin:

this is what i shall call you even if it does not turn out to be your real name, fyi.

i moved to california in june after graduating from the university of virginia.

in my life right now i:
--work at a t-shirt store
--intern at a prod company in santa monica
--search for some trends sometimes for this lady i met on craigs list
--watch a lot of law and order: svu, as it's on 24sev

right now i am living in hollywood with three guys, one from high school, two i just met. living with guys is a-okay. i'm down. living with girls is also okay, especially one who is hip and is also down with living with guys.

i can be clean or messy, whatever you want. first roommate in college was a wreck, i was down. second roommate was neat freak, i was also down. am naturally somewhere in the middle. so messy is fine. i don't really like dirty. right now we have fruit flies in our kitchen. i do not like.

i like to abbrev a lot, so there's that.

also i have attached some pictures because i'm vain. and because i find them useful in life.

i think that is all. i am easy going and stuff. and i'll probably try to be your friends because i just moved here.

oh and sometimes i pretend to cook, on poor days.

lalala pick me,
logan

I think this email couldn't be any better. Hopefully it will bring me success in life.

In other news, today was my first day at work. I had training for some time and then worked a full shift. Have never worked retail, and after 7 hours, here is what I have to say:

1. Metal hangers DO look better than wood hangers. It's a good thing I spent 5 hours swapping them out.
2. I am never going to unfold or try on anything that I am not at least 63.4 percent sure I'm going to buy ever, ever again.
3. My legs hurt.
4. Getting paid is fun.

The store is a neato one with neato people and neato clothes and all things. I like it a lot thus far. Am working again tomorrow. Okay. After long day at work going to read Harry Potter while listening to roomies watching Arrested Development. Ah, life.

2005-07-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

After a zillion revisions, have finally emailed style report to boss lady. Have never really revised anything before. Am progressing as a human being.

In other news, car won't start again but as is parked up in hills in a non-tow-away zone, I'm not going to deal with it right now. I'll think about it tomorrow. Like Scarlett O'Hara. Though I'm dealing with a Lemon, not Reconstruction. Hm.

Yesterday in the grocerystore to buy ingredients for my healthy lifestyle, I wore my new sunglasses. I am basically positive that someone thought I was Mary Kate. Or at least Nicky Hilton.

I met a little girl in the cereal isle. She was four, and when I asked where her Mommy was, she said she had no Mommy and no Daddy either. Then her mom walked up and said earlier she told someone her baby brother was dead, and she'd never had a baby brother. She is fantastic. I want to be her friend. I expect big things.

Right now the roommates are reading the trades and discussing the weekend's box office figures. I really don't know why this is interesting to them, but it is. They are movie nerds. Other roomie has a long-distance girlfriends still on the East Coast, and he just ran into his room to talk to her again. He's going to get a tumor; he's talked to her for six hours today. Maybe I should purchase him an earpiece and offer a lesson on electromagnetic waves and cancer-prevention. I think it would be a nice thing.

Ugh now roomies are having in depth conversation about comic books. I have just started blaring Janis Joplin. They are ignoring. Now blaring Alabama. Also, no rise. I give up. I'm leaving.

2005-07-22T15:48:00.000-07:00

After an extended stay home, I am back in LA and ready to get myself into gear. I got back to the city late last night after plane troubles. I thought I was coming back on Wednesday, but I had actually bought my ticket to come back on Tuesday, so when I realized this on Wednesday, I booked a ticket to come home one Thursday. Two things might be inferred from this. One: I am ditzy. I don't like this one. Or, two, I was meant to stay home with fam, friends, and puppy for more days, and thus all things worked out. I like to go with the latter.

Everyone is at work now. I'm sitting in the apartment. It's hot but I'm in front of the window, so there's a breeze. The place is a wreck, but I am not going to clean it because it is not my wreck and I don't want to condition these boys into thinking that someone will always clean up after them--especially a woman.

I have little else going on in my life right now. Style report and coverage for internship all due today--need to get on it. Have training monday at store. Am one step closer to being gainfully employed, which is excellent, because while I was home, I finally "got" the direness of the money situation. Better late than never. I'm not worried though--will just have to give up new pretty things for awhile. Also, Starbucks is off off off limits. No more. No fraps, no cheese plates, no chocolate chunk scones, no passion teas. The end. I think it will cut my expenses in half. At least.

2005-07-17T09:50:00.000-07:00

I had an interview at a hip t-shirt store on Friday, and I got the job. Am delighted to have a position in a company that is both socially conscious and vertically integrated. Jury is still out on whether or not company is sexist or just not apologetic about the fact that sex does indeed sell. Lalala.

In other news, after getting the job I decided that my days of having nothing to do might be over, so I bought a plane ticket and decided to come home for a few days while I still could. So I am back on the East Coast. The humidity is a doozie--but it's home. Puppy and Parents and Brother and all people happy to see me. This is obviously why we move to far-away cities: the homecomings rock.

2005-07-15T09:42:00.000-07:00

Wednesday I met le style boss lady at her house. We hung out, talked trends, and then headed to Barney's to scope the sale and check out the new offerings. Barney's is delightful. Really, all people must go. Most of the stuff is fancy shmancy--that is, not-tanks-and-jeans--but is still fun to look. After purusing, we had lunch in the restaurant upstairs. We sat on the patio overlooking the hills, an Los Angeles almost looked pretty. At the table next to us were two women with the largest collogened lips I've ever seen.

Oh, and as for what's hip for fall: burnt orange and rich turquoise. You're welcome.

2005-07-12T21:26:00.000-07:00

Today I swung by Kitson, a boutique of kitsch and cool frequented by celebs and touted to be cutting edge. I needed to do some more research for my style report since it is due in the morning. Though the store was cool, the visit was less than stellar, mostly because I kept getting the same feeling in the pit of my stomach when I would be in the stacks at the library looking for sources the night before a paper was due. Collleeeeege.

Kitson was basically like Fred Segal--filled with overpriced things you'd have to be crazy--or crazy rich--to buy. Hmm, should I pay my rent or buy this $400 distressed cotton hoodie? Life decisions are difficult. There was a tanktop with a cupcake on it that I was really tempted by, but it was $85. Kitson also had a variety of cupcake candles and two kinds of cupcake books. So there you have it: new trend is cupcakes. I've been onto that one for a lonnnng time. Maybe I am hip after all.

2005-07-11T01:11:00.000-07:00

I think I shall move to San Francisco. I had a night flight back to LA, so I got to spend another sunny day with my cousin. We went to a birthday party at a pub in Marin. It is twenty minutes from the city but felt like worlds away because it was so secluded. We had to take this windy, hilly road through a nature preserve to get there. We listened to Jewel and other pretty things. I felt like I was in a car commercial. Later we went a party in the city at a house with a view and the whole back wall was glass panels that folded and opened like a European restaurant. Then we had pedicures and ate basil tofu at a Thai restaurant. I bought a necklace with huge pink beads. It matches my toes. Basically, today was completely fantastic. I love the Bay area. Love Love Love. Perhaps I will move there and have a dreamy life in the fog.

In other news, we just watched American Psycho. It was gross. And bizarre. I did not like.

2005-07-09T21:30:00.000-07:00

I am now back in San Francisco, crashing with my cousin for one more night before I fly back to LA. After ten days of roaming San Francisco and flittering around Tahoe with friends from home, I am ready to get back .

My sojourn from Hollywood has been somewhat exhausting. When I am in the city, part of me recognizes that my being there is absurd, but another part of me looks around and every lifestyle decision that I am making is reinforced by everyone I meet. All my friends have degrees but are working for nothing, living with money they don't have, counting on a break in the future.

Detached from this culture, "I'm unemployed and sleeping on a mattress in Hollywood" doesn't sound so acceptable. In SF, my cousin qualified my brief explanation to her friends with "because she graduated from college early and her parents are letting her freeload for a couple months on the left coast." It sounds more real--but so much less impressive--when put that way.

Anyway, at the wedding I didn't have lovely family members to tell people how it really is, so I had to improvise--and fabricate, though just enough so people would like me.

Interior, reception hall. ATTRACTIVE ASPIRING ACTOR and OUR PROTAGONIST are engaged in conversation.

"So you are acting in New York? That's great. Well , I am in LA, working for a production company."
"Oh, wow, that is awesome. Do you read a lot of scripts?"
"Er, some. No, yes, lots. Lots and lots. Loads. There's a lot of crap out there. But when you come across a good one--"
"Have you?"
"No."
"Oh."
"You know, I have a LOT of friends at talent agencies, so, uh, when you're ready, forward me your headshots and I'll pass them on. You'll be the next Tom Hanks, no problem."

CUT TO: LATER THAT DAY
OUR PROTAGONIST is being quizzed by a DISTINGUISHED ADULT-TYPE PERSON

"So why did you leave your wonderful, steady life back home full of friends and stability, etc. to move to Los Angeles?"
"Well, I am a writer, so I am spending some time in LA feeling out the business to see if screenwriting is something I want to pursue."
"So you're writing screenplays."
"Not exactly."
"Oh."
"But I am working at a literary management company, reading scripts."
"And that pays?"
"Er, no. But I am doing a lot of freelance work."
"Really. Where?"
"Some magazines... and some newspapers...and stuff like that."
"Which papers? That sounds great."
"Oh, look! Cake! Lovely talking to you. Bye."

CUT TO: OUR PROTAGONIST being quizzed by ANOTHER ADULT-TYPE PERSON

"So I hear you are in LA."
"Yes, indeed. I have an internship where I answer the phone for nine hours a day. I have no income and am apparently not qualified to sell sweatshop-made clothes to preteen girls with cellphones and glitter mascara. I am literally living off of my credit card and am now in debt for no reason except that it seemed fun to move across the country."
"So it's working out? You're happy?"
"Yes. Fantastic. Best thing I've ever done."

Scene.

2005-07-02T22:42:00.000-07:00

After one month in Los Angeles, I have fled to northern California. I am in San Francisco visiting my cousin before I go to Tahoe for a friend's wedding, and I have a small suspicion that I may have up and moved to the wrong city.

San Francisco, as any Full House fan can attest, is beautiful. We spent the morning across the Bay in a neighborhood called Rockridge. While my cousin ran errands, I was tempted by the offerings in a toy store that rivaled Duncan's Toy Chest of Home Alone II fame (sans bad guys), talked to a little girl who was keeping charge of a fluffy black dog the size of a horse, and tried to figure out how I could adopt one of the kittens being showcased on the corner by the animal rescue league and get it back to LA. I think the perfection of the morning had gone to my head by that point--I don't even like cats.

Back in the city, we went to a going-away picnic in the Mission District. In a park at the foot of a steep hill covered in huge fallen stumps and dense, green trees, a group of young thirty-somethings and their toddlers gathered to say goodbye to three of their brood who were moving back East. The parents sipped beer and wine and the children nibbled on french bread slices and watermelon while they wandered around the park, jumping in the wildflower patch, wearing out the slide, chasing the birds. It was a wonderful, chill group of people with beautiful children and kind hearts. I claimed a square of blanket and stared at the sky as the fog was pulled in to the area just above the treeline and dissipated as the sun hit it. I had a small urge to talk about life and the sky as a metaphor for change, but I snapped out of it and opted to explain to my cousin the intricacies of today's slang.

2005-07-01T01:49:00.000-07:00

I applied to a Craig's List ad recruiting a "hip, trendy writer" for an occasional gig, figuring one out of three wasn't bad. The woman who posted the ad does field and group-based research for consumer research groups and companies, among a myriad of other things. We met for breakfast on Sunday and she explained who she was and what she was looking for over pumpkin pancakes at this great breakfast place called The Griddle. Basically, she is a fantastic person who does wonderful things. She owns a company and she dabbles in everything from consumer research to writing to advertising. She just finished a stint as a pastry chef at the beach. She's heading to the Northwest to chill out for awhile in a month.

My first project with her is to compile a Los Angeles "style report," which is more or less an ethnography of hip twenty-somethings in LA: what they are wearing, where they are eating, where they go for fun, what they drink, what they are listening to, etc. She has been doing the LA section for six years and is looking to move on.

Armed with this new mission--seek the cool--I have found myself a patron of places I would have shyed away from before. On Tuesday I dragged Doug and Pyung to Giant Robot, which Pyung described as an anime store, but is basically a boutique filled with awesome art, magazines, books, tshirts, and the coolest imports from the far East. The boys enjoyed the underground comics, I was enamored with the design books. I noted that long bangs and Chucks are still hip, and we moved on to dinner.

Yesterday I went to Fred Segal to scope out what the cool of cool (and rich of rich) were wearing. Fred Segal is one of these "it" stores--many argue it is THE "it" store--that always shows up on the pages of In Style and Vogue and all those magazines that housewives and students puruse so they can know what knock-offs to buy at TJ Maxx. It is an intimidating, maze-like store with intimidating, exorbitant pricetags, but there are smiling young salespeople in excellent clothes. In the cosmetics section a lovely woman gave me a quick superficial collagen facial. The $150 starter kit is very affordable, I am told. My face felt so lovely that I wanted it badly, but I forewent. I did, however, add it to my growing list of things to buy as soon as I am gainfully employed, a list which includes, but is not limited to, a new car, a puppy, and a cupcake from Sprinkles, which I hear is the LA counterpart to the world-famous Magnolia Bakery in Greenwich Village.

2005-06-27T17:44:00.000-07:00

I missed work today because my car is still being held hostage by the LAPD.

Greg and I took a fieldtrip downtown to the UPS so we could pick up a package. It took thirty minutes to get there and then another thirty once we got there, but the prize at the end was an iPod case surprise from Sidnia. It is green and has a dinosaur on it and says "STEGOSAURUS." It's basically fantastic, and reminds me that, in reality, I am eight.

On the drive home, Greg saw a DeLorean on the 101. Greg is a Back to the Future Fanatic (no, really, I think he is a registered member), so he instinctively chased it like a puppy after a marrowbone. Luckily, we caught up to it before it reached 88 MPH, and Greg is now the owner of a blurry picture of the taillights of a DeLorean. I don't think he's ever been more proud.

2005-06-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I woke up uncharacteristically late and then spent a lot of time laying around and eating frosted mini wheats. Eventually, I'd had enough, and I insisted that we get out of the apartment and do something. I even offered to drive.

So there we were, walking down the hill towards my car, the sun was shining, the smell of urine was in the air. Life was glorious. But my car wasn't there. A little further, I thought. No. Greg insisted we must have parked it elsewhere, but that was bullshit. Pyung had been with me the last time I drove it, and both of us aren't stupid.

There were two options, then. Either it was stolen or it had been towed. If it was stolen, that was fine--was insured, not the end of the world. Might even have been lucky, preferable. If it was towed, well that would suck.

Finally, a red mustang drove up and the dudes, noticing our perplexed faces, were like, are you looking for a little red car? Like I'd lost my puppy or something. Yes, yes we are. We saw them tow it a few hours ago, the cops were out here and everything.

At this point, I wasn't worried. I hadn't done anything wrong. It was all a huge misunderstanding. The street was free-for-all, and I was 99 percent sure that I hadn't parked on a red curb or in front of a fire hydrant or another driveway. Pyung concurred. I had done no wrong. Then why did they tow me?

Then it hit me. Or I had hit it--or someone, rather. I must have accidentally run over someone and not noticed and then they got my plates and tracked my car down and were just waiting for me to come claim it so they could book me. Either that or Noah, dude I'd bought the car from, was a drug dealer and some drug dogs had found some narcotics in the trunk. Or, dear god, even worse, illegal immigrants.

I was hung up on the hit and run scenario. I came back and called the LAPD and inquired about my car. I gave the plates and was put on hold forever. I was scared they were tracing my call so they could come book me for impaling a bmw or whatever it was I--or Noah--did. Eventually, policeman came back on the phone. Turns out car had not been registered for six months. Stupid, stupid Noah. I hate you. A plague on your house.

We went to the police station to try to get a release form but the "detectives" were out and pretty frontdesk officer said there was nothing he could do. So I have to go back Monday and try to get this all straightened out and tell them that my registration papers are being processed, blahblah. In the meantime, car is at Hollywood Tow, and I am paying like, I don't know, $100 a day for parking.

2005-06-25T14:22:00.000-07:00

The pervasive theme of the past few days has been, uh, what am I doing here.

I like going to the office where I intern and feeling like I am helping out, etc, but I don't really see it as any sort of means to an end, so it doesn't seem a reason to justify my move here. The job search is lame. I went to this shopping area called The Grove yesterday and finally applied for the Gap and Banana Republic and Jcrew. I have a group interview next week. I was given a preview when the manager at the Gap asked me to tell him what integrity means to me, and what I thought the meaning of customer service is. Good thing I majored in bullshit.

Whatever. Last night Greg invited a bunch of peeps over to feast on homemade sushi. I ate a tofu bologna sandwich because raw fish seems suspect enough when it hasn't been prepared in a kitchen used primarily by three guys with unsavory hygiene habits. Our neighbors from across the hall came over. One is a musician, the other an actor. I dug. They are cool. Hopefully they aren't food poisoned by sushi. I feel like that would start off our friendship in a not good way.

2005-06-22T12:49:00.000-07:00

Praveen, friend from back East (ha!) arranged for his bff Matt, who lives in LA, to teach me how to drive. This was very nice of Matt to agree to, and very nice of Prav to set up, though I would like to point out that he arranged driving 101 for me not because he was concerned for the physical well being of myself and others or the state of my mental health in light of of the events of the past week, but because he was sick of hearing me whine. You know, fyi.

I was an hour late meeting Matt because one, I couldn't drive, and two, I got lost. I think he was only like, 64% pissed. Whatever. He still taught me about life and cars and the friction point and releasing the clutch and rpm and all things having to do with not killing yourself or others while operating a motor vehicle. Basically, I can now go from a complete stop on a hill to driving withiout rolling back very far and also without using my emergency brake, which, coincidently, does not work. So, I am a master driver now, and now the life of fabulous in LA can continue without interruption.

2005-06-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

The other night Mark brought his friend Jen over. She has a baby puppy named Elvis that goes all places with her. Like Paris' Tinkerbell. When he arrived he was wearing a camo tshirt--very chic--but soon tired of it and went naked. He peed on our floor twice, but as he weighs about as much as an iPod, we were able to clean up with a single square of TP. We had to be gentle around Elvis because he just got out of the hospital after major surgery stemming from an unfortunate foray into some KFC.

I bring this up now because I just saw a puppy on the street, and if he had jumped into his owner's car just two seconds later, I am fairly certain he would have already been in my purse and wearing my sunglasses. By now he would be eating peanut butter out of a tea saucer, and I would call him Mr. Darcy.

2005-06-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

As soon as I walked out the door at work today, my teeth started chattering. By the time I reached my car, my entire body was trembling. This did not bode well for the ride home.

I was jumpy and scared the whole time, and though I didn't stall once, I did freak myself and others out with rumblings and screeches about 924 times. When I drive, some part of me hopes that something will happen to the car--nothing drastic or dangerous or my fault--so that I don't have to drive it anymore.

Three times I've had cops behind me, and I keep imagining that someone has called-in a horrible driver and that the cops are trailing me, waiting for me to mess up so they can pull me over and arrest me. I'm always disappointed when they turn or pass me. I kind of hope they'll take away my license.

Once again, I got home and I was soaked. I bought a shirt today during lunch and changed into it in the Starbucks bathroom because I was feeling frumpy. It is white and flowy and lovely. And now covered in sweat stains because I am a nervous freak.

This car is ruining my life. I am going to quit Hollywood just so I can move back home and have an excuse to sell it.

2005-06-20T17:13:00.000-07:00

I was always best at school during the first week. I would be interested in my courses, excited to do my homework, attentive in lecture. I would do all of the reading, take notes on the reading, take notes from my notes and tell all people delightful trivia about the colonization of Papua New Guinea or James Baldwin's thoughts on race.

In the back of my mind I would acknowledge that yes, this same unbridled enthusiasm tended to show up year after year and fizzle out after a few days. But each semester, I really believed that this time it was for real. I didn't know what had changed in my life, but it was making me a student and a hardworker instead of just some kid who went to school.

Of course, four or five or six days later, I'd wake up as myself and not some bizarre Type-A wannabe. I'd go back to sleep, skipping class, my library date, and the office hours I had intended to crash. Class time became nap time, library time became TV time, and all other time was squandered with friends. It was an okay life. I didn't mind it.

BUT MAN if I didn't get seduced by the work bug again. The first few days of this internship, I was totally diggin' making copies and answering the phones. In between I would read scripts and ask questions. I was eager to learn. But now, in my third week, instead of reading scripts or doing anything remotely productive for the company, I am talking online and googling people and reading blogs filled with celebrity gossip. Basically, I'm going to be a slacker my whole life except for brief weeklong periods whenever I start a new project. Sigh.

Oh, and I might have accidentally let le boss see me blogging. And might have accidentally told him he could find this blog if he googled me. Which, of course, means I might be accidentally getting myself fired. .

2005-06-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

Saturday was pretty much the most boring day of my life. I can't think of a single thing that I did that was worth getting up for. I went to the grocery store and bought polenta and tofu, both of which require cooking and recipes and stuff and therefore offered no immediate satisfaction.

At night, we went to a party at USC, and after we stopped by the grocery again and I bought some chocolate doughnuts. I ate three in the car on the way home. I think it was in defiance of the rail-thin bodies at the party. The boys didn't partake because they are watching their figures. Got to stay hot for the ladies.

2005-06-18T09:26:00.000-07:00

I have spent the past three days in the fetal position in the corner of my room, suffering from some sort of stress disorder stemming from trying to drive a stick in LA. Even thinking about it now makes me hypervenilate--in two days, I stalled 6 times, almost rolled back into a Ferrari, ran four red lights, and inadvertantly caused one fenderbender.

Stupid car is now parked on the street. Everytime we drive by it, I hold my breath, expecting it to have somehow dislodged and rolled down the hill into a BMW or similar. I am a horrible driver. I think this means I have to move, which is unfortunate, because I am starting to like LA.

2005-06-15T23:05:00.000-07:00

I've been hiding the fact that I am now a card-carrying member of a fitness club. I joined last week. I go about every other day. I purchased new workout clothes because apparantly in LA, old tshirts and gym shorts are a bit, how do you say, passe.

Pre-LA I was no athlete, but pre-college I was. I wanted to keep it up--I liked being healthy--but I also like sleeping, watching TV, and eating sprinkles, so my lifestyles weren't jiving and running and working out lost. I did lament not having that outlet (and that body) all through college, though, and I always knew it would take me getting out to really change things. I generally need new beginnings--new year, new semester, new season, new week--to change my behavior, so when I got to LA, I figured that nothing would make this change more effective than to prepay for it. So I plopped down some dolla-bills in the hope that I would be guilted into heading to the gym. It's working.

I really hate gyms, though I didn't remember this until after I had signed up and paid and I showed up and walked around for ten minutes and decided I didn't feel like doing any of those fake machines and left. I came back with the roomies (who also joined) the next day and we did a hip-hop class and then some weights. Hip-hop was awesome, and hard. Basically, any dreams I had of being a back-up dancer in a Missy music video were shot. I was a little bit devestated. But we came back tonight and rocked out and were better and now my dreams are building up again.

Afterwards, Pyung and Doug wanted to lift some, but I was done. I bought a $5 protein/veggie/fruit/all things smoothie and went outside. I plopped on the sidewalk and stretched my hamstrings and quads and other muscles like a pro. One of the Olsen twins walked by, leaving a movie. I think she was impressed with my form.

2005-06-14T22:33:00.000-07:00

Today I got my car back from the auto man. That was fun. It needed new brakes. Auto man was all, so you're selling this, yes? And I was all, no, I'm driving it. Well, when I learn at least.

I think he thought this was a bad move. But whatever. It might be an old import, but I have confidence that the car will last me at least until I have a steady income and can make rent. Whenever that will be.

I spent the day applying and following up to various jobs. The idea of having a full-time job makes me a little bit ill, so I think the plan in life will have to be to find a lot of really good part time jobs that pay me lots of money and then set up own health insurance and retirement, etc. Is that how life works? I have no idea.

In other news, today Doug and I saw a girl get hit by a car. She and her friend were running across Hollywood Blvd. at the same time that a lot of cars were driving very fast down Hollywood Blvd. Bad combo. Doug slammed on brakes so not to kill them, but girl kept running and got whacked to the ground by the rear view mirror a car in the next lane. If she had been slightly faster and had made it to the front of the car, she'd have been in trouble. Also, a pancake. She got up and tried to laugh it off but, hello, she just got hit by a car. Police people with guns came and escorted her away to the land of stupid people who jaywalk at inopportune times. Or maybe that was just to the sidewalk to make sure she really was alright.

So, kids, don't run in front of moving vehicles. And also, probably not such a hot idea to buy really old cars. That's my LA advice for the day.

2005-06-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

Today was another fantastic day at the office. It's a long day of answering phones and organizing scripts, but I like it. It's fun. I still mess up a lot. Picking up the wrong calls. Cutting in on conference calls. Asking for callers names and immediately forgetting them. Telling an exec that "a someone sa-somthing-majam from somebody's office?" is one line one. When I really mean line two. And it's actually his mother.

Basically, work shouldn't be fun. But it is. And I think it's because I am not getting paid. Because I don't get a check, all things I do above the bare minimum--and really, this means all things I do--are somehow above and beyond the call of duty, thus giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. If I was getting paid, all the stuff I do now "voluntarily" would be requisite, and then where would I be? Getting paid, certainly. But fulfilled? Prob not. I also probably wouldn't be doing half the things I am doing now voluntarily, but that is only speculation.

I shall ponder this. And continue being unemployed. And living off of my credit card.

2005-06-12T23:57:00.000-07:00

Today Greg and his friend Mark hosted a networking mixer for all of the young kids they know out here trying to make it. About 15 people showed up to the USC frat house where Mark is staying. He assures us that there are closer to 100 on the list. It's going to be big, he says, with bi-monthly meetings and a website--"Junior Hollywood." Tomorrow's players today.

I got chided by Mark and Greg for not networking with the other interns (and two paid assistants everyone was falling over themselves to talk to). These people are going to be able to help me out one day, they said. Making friends for the sole reason of getting something in the end--at least so explicitly--seems unnatural and wrong.

Doug and I found some Mike and Ikes and Sun Chips and considered the event a success. I left without any new friends but with a huge desire to go find some indie kids and fire up the Smiths and have a discussion about nuclear proliferation or the eradication of world hunger or the ethics of biology. Or maybe I just wanted to sit on the beach and flip through magazines and talk about how pretty the ocean is, not my (non-existant) five-year-plan.

2005-06-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

I had a date tonight.

I met John, we'll call him, at the after-party at the premiere. I approached him because all night I had kept mistaking him for Dave Matthews, and after a few trips to the bar, it seemed like a good idea to tell him that.

So I did. He apparently had not heard this and was charmed, I'm sure, by my observation. Also, my wit and humor.

After learning that I just moved here, John offered me his business card from one of the studio lots and said that now I had a friend in LA. He was nice and had a baby face. I took it. Friendless and with nothing to lose, I emailed him the next day. He called me. We agreed to meet up.

John is 27. He works in a studio. He seems like he's moving up the ladder. We walked around this outdoor shopping area and got some sushi. He talked about himself the whole time and about stars he knows. I kept laughing because he so stereotypical and self-centered. He didn't notice.

He paid. He name dropped. He told me his wallet cost $100. He said he loved his car about 12 times. He mentioned New Years spent in Dublin and stays in San Francisco at the W and acted like not doing valet was somehow slumming it.

He dropped me off with an invitation to call him. Right. He also offered to send my resume around. It was tempting, but I declined.

Next.

2005-06-10T18:08:00.000-07:00

I just remembered more hilarity from haircut on street:

1. Haircutter man said that I should tell him all the things that upset me and he would get rid of the bad energy through the hair.
2. He said he could sense that I would be excellent at cutting my own hair. I used to cut Barbie's hair. I know this isn't true.
3. We get along because our signs line up.

The end.

2005-06-10T15:30:00.000-07:00

Today I wanted to do two things:

1. apply for a job, any job
2. get my haircut

I wasn't hopeful, as list has been same, basically, since I got out here. But, I applied to a job at a cool t-shirt shop on Hollywood Blvd, which is an excellent sustainable clothes company selling brandless clothing and making all things here in LA (with ac!), not in some sweatshop somewhere. The girl who took my resume was super cool, and also an anth major, and i think she'll put in a good word. liiiiife.

After I dropped off my rez, I kept walking with Pyung and Dougtastic down Hollywood Blvd. in search of other places to work and also an anonymous haircut place that might not charge us $100.

We passed this guy sitting outside of a coffee shop reading a German phrasebook. I was drawn to him. Not in a "let's make babies way," but in a "i think this person is interesting and he's learning German and I want to talk to him" way. Also, he has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Like a cat. Meow.

Anyway. Doug and Pyung said I should follow my instinct becuase he could be producer and make me famous or something. So i got got an ice tea, sat in the table next to him, and turned and and asked him, " ach, lernst du Deutsch?"

He did. He was studying so he wouldn't forget it after he learned when he was in Germany for a year two years ago modeling. We started talking about Germany when he stops, looks at me, and says: "You have good hair. I could make it great with a cut right now for $20."

Life is glorious.

Saul, "the hair cowboy," as he is called here, whipped out a cape for me to wear and we stood on the sidewalk on hollywood blvd and he cut my hair. He calls it hair sculpting, keeping your length but going with your natural waves. Or whatever. My hair looks rockin.

Also, Saul is something of a fortune teller/astrologist/spiritual man, and while he was cutting he told me that we are kindred spirits, basically, and that this is a wacko town, but he's sure I'll be fine. He can sense it. Whatev. He started to tell me about himself, but said he didn't know why, bc he knew i could already "see into him."

So basically, I'm alright. Also, a mind reader. Life is hilarious.

2005-06-08T20:32:00.000-07:00

I bought a car today. From the first dude I called on Craig's List. It's an 89 Audi. It'll get me through the summer or whatever. It was $1250. Now I'm literally and seriously broke. Whatever, ain't no thing, that's life, right? Sweet debt I love you.

Also, it's a stick. So I can't drive it. Sweeeet.

2005-06-08T13:35:00.000-07:00

Last night Greg and I rolled up to the premiere of Mr. and Mrs. Smith at the Fox Theatre in Westwood. We didn't have tickets. But Greg had connections, and soon enough we were being ushered down the red carpet. That part was alright. Angelina and Adam Brody were talking to some fans. David Hasselhoff was talking on his cell phone. Some chick from Desperate Houswives was posing for the camz in the most ridiculous over the top way ev. Basically, it was hilarious. But also fun. I was wearing my high wedges which by default make me strut and also jeans and and a wife beater and a black blazer and unwashed hair. It's not what you wear but how you wear it. F.Y.I.

So we walked down the carpet which was like, whatever, because no one is looking at you if they haven't seen you in US Weekly. In the theatre all the seats are markedwith peeps' names except for the first five rows which are for the nobodies, which in Hollywood apparantly means the visual effects supervisor for the film that was sitting beside us and the two industry producers in front. Oh, and also Carrie Fisher, who is a nut, btw. She was raving around flailing her arms and wondering why the FUCK she was in the front effing row. Didn't even recognize her--none of us did--but I saw her eyes and was like aww man, I think that's Princess Lea. She be crazy.

The movie was fun. People clapped a lot. That was nice. And then like, half the people dipped as soon as it was over, which surprised me. I figured if ANYONE stayed for the credits, it'd be that crowd, but whatever. Also, as we left, there was more trash (from the free popcorn and drinks--millionaires don't need to be paying $10 for popcorn, sheesh.)

After we went to the after party, which was hott. There were two bars made of ice and booze aplenty and delicious macaroni and cheese and strawberries and sushi and other meat things. I talked to a woman who was there on a blind date with a man whose son works at Regency. Also, an agent from UTA. Also, a few aspiring screenwriters/actors/people in H.wood. Also, Adam Brody. Holla. Was talking to these kids because they were the only ones in jeans therefore I thought they would be cool? They were aight. But also friends of Adam Brody who came over and introduced himself. He's pretty. And charming. But after a few min his agent or manager or whatevvv came over and was like, "This is ridicious, Adam is the only actor in this movie who is still here. This is unacceptable. We have to leave NOW."

I spent most of the time wandering around the party listening to people's conversations and feeling superior for not being so vapid. I'm not an insider and I'm not out here to try to be an insider. Yes, I'm interning at this place in the biz, but really, that's just to have something to do and learn some things. Everyone at that party wanted something--you could tell. It wasn't a relaxed atmosphere. These people were working.

I thought a lot about celebrity, too, since there were familiar faces all over. I read People. I know all about Ben and Jen and Nick and Jessica and all things, really. But everyone does. It is part of pop culture. Yes, there are people who might not know that Meg Ryan left Dennis Quaid for Russell Crowe, but hello, this is part of the fabric of American culture, and even though I don't actually know these people or actually care who or what they are doing, I would say that to really know what's going on in all things you need to know this stuff. It's not important, but it's part of our society. Deal.

But back to the afterparty. Brad and Angelina entered, did a once-through and left. As soon as each came in they were surrounded by people yielding digicams and others trying to talk to them and congratulate them, I guess. And these were industry people, not the teenieboppers outside who were crying at the sight of them earlier in the evening. Others were whispering that they are apparantly together now. Blah. I know that is the life they chose, blahblahblah, but jesus, they are just people. Once Brad Pitt is standing two feet away from you, he's just a dude. Next.

2005-06-06T20:39:00.000-07:00

Just finished first day of work. Was fun. Enjoyed immensely. Until about 4, when I started wanting to peace out. Stayed til 7 though, like a champ.

Drive to work was fun. Took an hour and 15 minutes and the freeway was a parking lot, basically. At first I was thinking, oh hellll no, there is no way I'm doing this everyday. But turns out there was a bad accident blocking two lanes of traffic. WHEW. Listened to the Sounds CD the whole way, which I ganked from Greg. It was aight. I would've preferred Amelie or similar, but really, who wouldn't?

So yes. Got to work. Late on first day but said there was accident and that seemed acceptable excuse. Answered phones all day. Only messed up like a lot. Not, really. No, really. But was fine. One other asst said I was rocking the phones. So. I think the people in the office like me. There are 4 boss people and three assistants and me and one other intern, Ruth. She's cool. She gave me a reeses cup. It was delicious. Read some scripts. Copied some stuff. Copied some more stuff. Bound and unbound stuff. Just another day at the office, basically. Earning my keep. But wait! I'm not. Lunch was fun. I got a crepe and then went into Anthropologie which is basically me in retail form and looked around at all the beautiful things that I can't afford. Whatev.

Roomies are all out crashing the Batman Begins premiere. They had to go like 3 hours before I got home, those bastards. Whatever. Is nice to have place to myself.
That is a lie. It's not nice. Is now apparant that know no one except quasi-stranger roomies in this city. Perhaps must fix this. Yes. Is fine though. Will make friends with all people. And meet Topher. And all things will work out.

2005-06-06T07:32:00.000-07:00

Sweet jesus is it early. Doesn't look early though. The sun rises here at like 5 a.m. I am off to my first day of work. In eagerness not to suck, woke up 45 minutes before needed to leave, forgetting it takes me approx 3-7 min to take shower, wash face, brush teeth, and dress. Am wearing grey banana pants and racerback white tank and pumas, fyi. Friday all those peeps were dressed super office casual so I don't want to go in and be the lame intern who thinks this is a REAL job and rocks dress clothes. Life is complicated.

In other news, last night we watched In Good Company, and it was pretty much fantastic. I have a huge huge huge crush on Topher Grace. Good thing im in LA and will probably run into him today at Starbucks.

2005-06-05T20:49:00.000-07:00

Greg and I took a drive. We took Sunset to Beverley Hills. Manohman. Even at the stretch, where the celebrity hangouts and posh bars abound, there is still a distinct air of city trash around. As soon as you pass into B.hills, it's gone. Man alive are those houses huge. Of course, for the most part I am just assuming this based on the huge fences and hedges in front that block all view of the homes. We did see Ozzy's house though. It was big.

After that we went to Westwood, which basically a mini college town in LA. We went to this icecream place called Diddy Riese and got ice cream sandwiches made with cookies for a dollar. It was basically totally awesome. I want to go hang out there more. And get fat.

On the way home we saw some leather couches on the side the road. We pulled over. One was torn up, and a homeless person was sitting on one of the couches. He got up and offered it to us, but man, we assured him that they wouldn't fit in our car...or our apartment in the Hills. Vom. I hate myself. We did get this half-chaise-lounge mammerjammer. I'm convinced it's drenched in cat piss, but whatev. It was free. Best part was putting it in Greg's hatchback, tying a headphone cord to the trunk hood, and sitting in the front seat holding onto the cord for dear effing life so it didn't fly up and let the effing sofa fly out. That was fun. I felt cool.

Oh, check it. Rewind. When we were leaving, we walked in the elevator and joined a rockstar with surfer hair (from product, I'm sure) and low-rise jeans and his accessory gf in a trucker hat, tube top, gold spiked heels, and mini-skirt. Also, a bad dye-job. So dude is counting his money--crisp fifties--and chick is putting on lipstick and asking if so-and-so is going to be there ("oh, you mean my drummer, babe?"). Basically, it was all I could of hoped for and more.

2005-06-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

It's 5 p.m. I just got dressed. Accomplished today: hung up clothes, organized belongings into a pile, helped Greg put up some posters, ate a tofu hotdog. That's about it. Yesterday I walked down Hollywood Blvd. and back up Sunset and picked up apps so I can make money sometimes by hawking clothes or coffee or books or whatever. Did Gap, Banana, Borders, Starbucks, Amoeba Music, hip t-shirt shop. Have decided really want t-shirt shop gig as is socially conscious and will help my indie cred. I think I could get the music store job but I don't know how long I could keep it because I actually know nothing about anything.

After job hunt went to Target with roomies to buy things for apt. Was stressful and wrong. Boys know no things about style or life or anything. Rejected all of my suggestions so now im sitting on an $8 black folding chair and typing on a card table. Vom. Will have to go back alone and buy nice things. With clean lines. And fresh colors. And also maybe a plant.

2005-06-04T17:18:00.000-07:00

I had an interview Friday. It went well. I start Monday. I'll be interning--working for free--at a literary production/management company. I am not sure what they do. It seemed inappropriate to ask after I had just spent ten minutes going on and on about how much I wanted to work for them and what a good fit it seemed. Whatever, it is something to do with writing, which I can do, and movies, which I like. So I'm sure all things will work out.

Best part of job is that it is in Santa Monica, two blocks from beach and surrounded by lovely stores. Worst part of job is that it is in Santa Monica, two blocks from beach and surrounded by lovely stores. As I flew out here, and also totalled my car last November, I am without transport, so this might be tricky. As for the stores, really, I'm poor, and it's sad. Anyway so weekend has been spent trying to figure out how will get to "work."

Options:
1. borrow car of roomie
2. taxi
3. public transport
4. rental car
5. purchase car

I'm going for number five as seems easiest and most stress free. Additionally, options 3 - 4 would require money and in the end I'd have nothing but an empty bank account, but at least with option 5 I'll have a car and an empty bank account. Am not sure where this money will come yet, but I guess if you aren't going to be in debt when you're young, when will you, eh?

So yes. A car in LA is a crucial thing. Well, that isn't true because there are thousands of people in this city who don't have them, but what I am sayin is, this is no New York. Apparantly there is a metro but it is only useful for going downtown, which is a pocket of skyscrapers in the distance that, no matter, where we go, we never seem to approach. I assume it's unimportant. There are buses, but as far as I can tell, people only use them if they have to.

Blahblahblah I'm done with this boring post. I'm usually witty and fantastic. I don't know what has happened. LA has eaten my soul.

2005-06-04T01:56:00.000-07:00

I am 21 years old. Two weeks ago, I walked across some steps in Virginia and was handed a diploma. Two days ago, I walked across a terminal in Virginia and got on a plane that landed at LAX.

How romantic, I know.

My friend Greg wants to make it in the biz. You know, THE biz. Hollywood. He's been out in LA the past few summers making movie execs coffee, and now he's back again for good for a final stint as an unpaid minion before he takes over the world and earns a star on Hollywood Blvd, etc. etc. Homeboy wants to be a director. But shh don't tell anyone that because everyone and their mother wants to direct, apparantly, and he's got to set himself apart. Along with for the move to the coast are Pyung, econ major and aspiring sitcom writer, and Doug, english/business major and aspiring actor/writer/voice-over man/advertising exec/stay-at-home mom.

How I got here: One night I am reading through some old articles I had written for a school pub and I realized that my best stuff was about TV. Curb Your Enthusiasm. Arrested Development. I had some passion for this stuff. So at 2:39 a.m. on some anonymous morning, I decided that I loved TV, wanted to write for TV, and that would be my life. The end.

The next day Greg IM'd me and asked if I wanted to move to LA. I had been to LA only once before, for one day with my family and I had thought it was, how should I say, god-awful, horrendous, and disgusting. A glorifed traffic jam. Nevertheless, I bought a one-way ticket a week later and here I am, sitting on the floor of a sublet apartment that is lacking a desk, a bed, a chair, a table, or an overturned milk crate. But it's okay. I'm in the city of glitz and glam and blue skies and ocean sunsets. And ruthless businesspeople and social climbers and poverty and racial tension. But whatever. What's good enough for Rachel Bilson is good enough for me.