Philosophy for the non-philosophical.

I have fifteen minutes before I am forcing myself to work out. My brain is FULL and I need to write. This happens a lot. I have said amount of free time, and despite my greatest effort to fill it with working out, I find myself enthralled with the discovery of: 2012/Dubai's newest buildings/hulu.com/Family Guy episodes/reorganizing my fridge and beyond. Today, sparked by discussion over pizza and beers with a friend, it is philosophy. Which, mind you, has morphed into the philosophic arguments for and against the existence of God. Not even attempting to go there....

Yet.

All of this has made me want to know the purpose of our existence, and revel in the jaw-dropping statistic of what it takes for us to exist. (Which according to some online resource is: one-one thousandth of one-one trillionth). Mind you, I don't claim to know a lot (about anything beside Rent or Wicked), but isn't our existence as humans based upon what is true?

Is truth also fact? I say no, because it has some degree of relativity in it. So if truth is relative, it changes from person to person and evolves with us. But truth can't change, can it? But isn't truth also absolute? The world is round/I am typing on a keyboard/my coffee mug is blue. But aren't those facts?

I can't help but wonder what this bigger picture of existence is all about; and if what is true to me can be true to you. Or if it is simply a universality that cannot be debated or argued because it is absolute.

I'm sure I probably should have figured this out by now at the ripe age of 25, but I think I am only the brink of discovery. I put this out there in effort to get resources, thoughts, and an open dialogue. Comment or message me or whatever, and lets talk over coffee/dominos/family guy.

It's 70 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, and my 15 minutes are up. Damn you exercise, for getting in my way.

Dolla Dolla Billz : A Pimp Guide to Recession Survival.

Looking for more money sucks. It really does. I have in the meantime found two sites that bring great joy and hope:

Read on my recession partners in crime. We are not alone. Doesn't misery love company...and laughter?

http://www.tempdiaries.com/

http://savetheassistants.com/

Also a ever-so-intriguing interview with Jim Cramer on The Daily Show. How to call someone out and be a bad ass:

http://www.hulu.com/watch/62203/the-daily-show-with-jon-stewart-thu-mar-12-2009

It is survival of the fittest right now! And so, a few tips that have helped me in this journey.

You will be eating hundred dollar bills for breakfast, and then laughing while you frolick in all the extra you saved.

RECESSION SURVIVAL TIPS:

1. Honesty.

Instead of talking yourself up into a flurry put the pride aside and be honest about what you need/want. Most times people want to help. I've found even one strong connection will get you a job quicker than dozens of submissions to strangers.

*Even if it took me 3 years to understand this.

2. Trade.

I need a haircut and highlight. Typically it runs upwards of a hundo. So via craigslist I offered to be a hair model. It doesn't matter what you look like if you have hair, you are good to go!

Free cut/color, bingo bango bongo. Check out the legitimacy of the salon to make sure you're not gonna come out with purple hair. Or, offer to be their 'walking PR' and refer cliental. I did this with my last hair guy for several years.

For clothes, check out Crossroads/Buffalo Exchange. Sell your clothes, get cash or get a larger % in trade.

*Note: SELL @ Buffalo Exchange, they aren't as picky if you want cash. Sometimes you'll find good stuff but you have to really explore the racks.
BUY @ Crossroads (not the one on Melrose, the one on Santa Monica/Sweetzer). Amazing deals on designer garb, esp. jeans.

3. The preparty.

You wanna go out, duh. But don't really feel the need to spend a.) the bucks, or b.) the time to act interested listening to some douche bag gab on just to get a drink.

Cue: the preparty. Go to Trader Joe's rock a bottle of delicious wine under 5 bucks, get 'er done.

4. Negotiation.

I have never really tried much to negotiate with my bills. Until recently.

-Talk to credit card companies and they will lower your interest rate. Lowered one of mine 8%.

-Capital One will cover your minimum payment if you lose a job up to a year. Someone else paying MY bill? Hell to the yes.

-Verizon will take off any overrages if you call and make your sob story. Just had 'em take of $95 bucks. Yes, I'm serious.

- Go into your bank personally if you overdraft. If you chat it up with them, explain what happened they will most always remove the fee.

5. Fashion Ingenuity

The Power of Scissors:

-I shrunk an already-too-tight-red-dress, but I couldn't let it go. So chop chop, I turned it into a shirt.

-A favorite 3/4 length shirt ripped on the armpit. I cut off the sleeve and made it a flowy tank top.

Leggings can change any look. Rock em alone, with heels, under anything you can think of and it's a new outfit. *Note: careful to keep it looking vintage/hip and not 1985 with scrunched socks. Go for leggings that go to the ankle, or cover 'em up with boots.

6. Get baby turtles.

They will make you happy no matter what else is happening.

And so I give you: Troy and Gabriella.


* If these tips don't work for you, I cannot be responsible. B

But if they do work i accept all forms of thank you in cash or checks made out

to Haely White.

Coexistence.

There really is nothing like going to a party during the middle of the afternoon, in a public park with trance/house music.

A Hispanic birthday party blared the thump of Latin drums and trumpets amidst the raving beats of the DJ, as the smell of chorizo filled the air.

A bit behind the family birthday celebration, was a small swing set and play area, in which children and their very pregnant mothers giggled and frolicked on the swings and monkey bars. Just another happy Sunday in the park.

And next to it, literally within 30 feet: a collection of hippies, free spirits, outcasts and ravers, danced on. As if it was 4 in the morning in the middle of the woods. Some with babies on their hip. Top hats and St Patricks day tutus and bedazzlement kept my attention, along with the vibe that each man was for himself. Creating his/her own movements within the music; completely unique to their interpretation of it. Some spinning in circles endlessly, or stomping the ground till exhaustion. I danced and danced and then collapsed. I sat and took some time to take in this odd but somehow beautiful circumstances of coexistence. An introspective moment outside of it all, below:

Life as a Postcard.

After doing data entry for several long boring mind numbing hours today, I got some pictures back and decided to entertain myself seeing that they were so cheesily serious and dramatic. I found that any Meatloaf, Richard Marx or Peter Gabriel lyric can really make a caption.












Coming next:

Recessionista tips : How to live on, well, nothing.

1980 Bouffant Baby.

I had a funny hair experience yesterday and so to indulge my insomnia, I will share. That, and it's much easier to talk about bad hair than it is to about my rising debt.
*Cheers to our economy*

I arrived at Big Boy's in Burbank yesterday morning prior to the shoot, already late @ 5:30 am due to lack of alarm. Did it or did it not go off? Still no idea. But this body was not having it at 3:30am.

As I gaze upon the bacon and ham omelets that I want so badly to consume, I am surprised to learn there are two hair people on for the day. Typically for these types of 'test' shoots they don't pay (well, or at all) so a makeup person will do hair as well.

The other girl sits down with the cute Denmark Hairstylist who begins to make bouncy-perfect-Victoria-Secret-style-runway curls. I gaze, wishing I had hair that could be bouncy perfect too. I go to the African-American stylist. She begins to comb my hair into a ponytail on top of my head. Sure it feels strange, but as she combs, she sprays. A lot. Over and over. I feel the heat of a curling iron, and watch as the sizzle turns into steam extending off my forehead. This process continues for 30 minutes. As I watch the other girl's hair finish, I fear whatever is going on up there, it can't be good. The Denmark Hairstylist looks into my eyes, as I gaze back as to say "Sweet Lord, it isn't as bad as it feels... or is it?"

Her eyes tell me all I need to know. At 40 minutes, my makeup is complete and I raise out of my chair to confront my deepest fear in the mirror.

THIS AND THIS had a baby on my head.


My stylist says she has to leave. My eyes light up and I walk to the photographer in hope he can see what just pooped out on top of my head. He concurs. Denmark Hairstylist does too. In a thick accent, she says, " I saw in your eyes." We begin to rip out pins and brush through my matted hair. It is truly beyond repair. She manages to sweep it over and poof it out on the side. Yeah, it's weird and completely ruined but ANYTHING is better than that 1980's Bouffant Baby.

And the outcome below, so you can laugh at the story behind it all:


And I came home with my back so incredibly sunburned I'm praying it doesn't blister. But man, it was a beautiful day for a bouffant.

Nature Walk.

I'll tell you what you need to do as soon as possible:
Nature Walk.

That's right. 3rd grade style. Ben, my boyfriend, and I ventured on one yesterday and I forgot how gorgeous this city is. A must, however, is music. We hooked up both headphones to the good 'ol iphone and walked to the beats that became the soundtrack. And here I thought LA was only good for smog and celebrities. Apparently, in fact, Griffith Park is the size of Hollywood. I was awe-struck as we strolled over a bridge and through the towering trees and plant life, that this has been around and I have yet to partake.

Forget you, Runyon Canyon, with your dirty slippery hills and panting dogs running amuck. Hello Griffith, my newfound love of Los Angeles.

Happiness Is:

 

The Joy of The World Wide Web.

My eye is twitching again. Perhaps it is because I was wided-eyed and bushy tailed circa 4am. I hustled out of bed round 7am and proceeded to my photoshoot. It's dress up for grownups, really. It's all fun and games 'till I get home and every part of me shuts down from exhaustion and hunger. I was trying to understand why this is, and have decided it is because I can usually schlep by on my bad jokes and one dimple. But when doing this I am hyper aware I need to look cooler than I am. Mask the inner-nerd and shoot fire through my eyes into the camera. And to suck in for theloveofgodsohelpmenow. I found myself in profound pain upon my return 7 hours later, and have now given in to all temptation to stay in tonight.

I should go to bed but I've discovered too many jems online that I cannot resist. The internet is my playground. And I shall embrace it.

(Once I learn photoshop this would have my face cut/pasted in it)
*Note just tried doing it, and I failed and then realized this might be the most unproductive thing I've done all day. Fine, all hour.

First being, James Franco's acting technique. Indulge yourself, and learn a thing or two.

Acting With James Franco Episode 1: "Sense Memory" from James Franco

And then:

Acting with James Franco Episode 2: "Green Screen" from James Franco

And so you are already sitting down so why not:

Acting with James Franco Episode 3: Scene Work from James Franco

Additionally, I have thankfully found REDDIT: http://www.reddit.com/

The deal with Reddit is this: News articles that completely have no relevance, blow your mind, and make you go "seriously?" And then people comment on them. You can vote it to move up to make it viewed and commented on more. The most respectable thing about Reddit is that it's not Us Weekly readers who comment. It's a fine sector of society who are well read, and most importantly: witty. The comments are my very favorite, in fact.

Lastly, I leave you with my Grade A Emotional Catharsis Site: http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

People mail in an anonymous post card with their secret. New ones are posted each Sunday.

I need to work now. I gave myself until 11pm. It is now 11:12pm, and guilt is setting in. I be also doing weekly newscasts in character starting tomorrow. So stay tuned for that. And future moments of "My Webcam and Me."

Masquerade at the Mansion

So, I've debated to blog or not to blog on this one. But I've decided to blog.

Cue up Saturday night:
Several girlfriends and I prepare to go to what is made out to be an epic party. We were invited for free, although tickets had said going price of $1000. I don't care how epic a party is, unless I'm showing up on a camel to party at some ancient Pharoah's pyramid, that is crazy talk. But I'll be more than happy to attend it.

The theme: Masquerade. Masks required. All men in black, and women in, well, 'something hot'. We show up to said location to show our ID's and get wrist bands. From there we board a bus with several other scantily clad women, men in black suits, and head north. Rounding a corner, and pulling up in front of the Playboy Mansion, I see it lit in all its cheesy glory. Blue, purple lights beam upwards, and we get in line which leads us in.

I notice a small man in front of me in a black blazer. I then notice than no man is that small, or none that I have seen. Yes, it is Verne Troyer (a la Mini Me). No doubt this night could go wrong now. As we enter, they have models posed on a red velvet couch. Trying to be still, I can read the boredom behind their eyes. I have been there, I get it.

We enter into a huge tent, lined with cabanas along the wall. A stage at the very front, dance floor, small bar tables lit up, and full premium open bar. Goodness. As it leads outside to the pool, there is a stone walkway which was the death of me by the end of the night in 3' stilettos, and a full buffet. Realizing I am a.) starving but b.) not wanting to show a food baby quite yet, I hold off while I still have will power.

I hit the dance floor, but honestly could not stop looking around. Women in only, ah, spray paint. Since when did paint become a costume? Several times they would blast some Indian "ohh oww ohh" music and carry out a girl on a glorified stretcher. I couldn't help but laugh. This was too funny to be true.

I ventured outside for a bit, in effort to finally see the grotto. And there it was: it all it's Playboy story glory. Heels were killing, so I took a sit and just observed for a bit. It wasn't until 15 minutes in, I realized I was sitting, alone in the bushes, watching people, and it was time to find my friends. By this time, that buffet was calling my name and I couldn't ignore it. Can't quite be clear on the food exactly, but I do recall it was tastier than imagined. And that I regretted eating all of it once I saw there was a sushi bar.

We departed and hailed a cab after the shuttle dropped us off. Here's when it gets good. My friend hails the cab, and as he pulls over, we begin to get in. Out of no where Sassy Girl tells us it was HER cab and how dare we get in. I say point blankly that my friend hailed it, and everyone can see that. She pushed me. So hard I fell down on the concrete. And then went for my friend's hair. Seriously? Girl fight? I retreat inward, emotionally damaged that a girl would push me down. I should of used my jujitsu. She takes our cab. And we are left dumbfounded, did that just happen?

Yup. Welcome to LA. We take the second cab as bystanders acknowledge the absurdity of Sassy Girl's actions. Whew. I leave, without my mask or full arm black silk gloves, but with my story, and a twinkle in my eye for the rocking chair.