Free At Last !

Ahh! Last time I blogged was July 21st? BALLS. It's time I get to it. If anyone is out there, I will be on top of this more! I got caught up, uh, "working". Okay, not really...if you go back to a previous post, I lamented on the fact I sold my Mac on Craigslist.

Cue music : 'It's hard out here for a pimp.'

So I'll go ahead and make it the computer's fault. I managed to get an"interim" from my younger brother (you know you're kicking ass when...) which overheats after roughly 15 minutes of solid internet usage. Alas, a new and shiny Mac is in my future. And mindless rants on a webcam await! And I promise not to go all ijustine on you, and talk just to talk. If you don't know who she is- google, man. And remember that anyone...yes anyone can put web videos up and attract a following because they have boobs.

So, to catch you up on the stories of a starving artist- I think this is a good segway to talk about my most recent "JOB" in the world of entertainment pursuits. As some of you know, and don't know, I got a Real Job. No auditions, no freelance, like I'm in a desk everyday on someone else's watch, job. I liked the idea of making waves in the production world, wearing stilletos to meetings at Morton's, and a paycheck that happily showed up in my hand week to week. So, as the industry slowed I ventured into the corporate world feeling confident, ready for a change of pace and blazers with shoulder pads.

After my second interview with Emilio Ferrari outside his over spacious Hollywood Hills home, I was still a leetle hesistant. He needed an assistant, and clearly a better name, but it seemed promising with talk of big films in production and names being dropped like it was hawt. To give you a better idea of Emilio Ferrari, it's important you get the proper visual.

Think 5'6, mushroom shaped, beady eyes hidden behind shaded glasses (always worn indoors) with a face that resembled a baby turtle, with a Napoleon complex.

See: http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/ for an idea. Here's an idea, more glammed up though....

These are just facts people. Now, put him in a big cold empty home with two large spastic, jumpy, smelly dogs, a talking parrot, two piranhas and a resident rat. And the goldfish if you want to include them, as I was under instruction to feed the piranha 50 of them every Monday/Thursday. Side note: owning piranha in California is illegal, not to mention, incredibly creepy.

Thus, the Stilleto Wearing Powerhouse making deals with EP's over filet mignon was far from the truth of my situation. Emilio's voice would boom down the hall, forcing both his other assistant and myself into fearful action. The entire day would be filled with him raging out to some victim on the end of the phone line, as we would distinguish who it was directed to and how to cope with the aftermath. The energy of the house began to seep into my soul.

I eventually come to find out, Emilio Ferrari, well- wasn't.

His name was in fact made up (gasp), along with his origin of descent/race, friends, and everything else I came to find out. If you're going to make up your name, shouldn't you at least make it sound...well, like it wasn't made up? I suppose the irony of all this was that he was making deals, pushing big numbers around, and had respected people call him. How was this possible? Hello Hollywood: you glamorous facade you.

Into week 4, and suffering yet another pirhana feeding, my boyfriend tells me he is leaving for the most epic music festival in Yosemite National Park. We had agreed I wouldn't be going because of work, but as he was entering land-o-bliss, I realized I had to make this happen. Leaving the office at 6pm after birthing puppies (what? of course it's true), I was in my car by 8pm headed to find one person within 5,000 individuals. With no cell phone service. Go team.

Through his obsessive directions and "front porch lamp" shining bright outside of the tent, I was united him. And so I entered a world of people from all walks, all places jamming out together under the stars to a variety of 800 odd DJs. It was heaven. A lake that glowed blue green was centered next to one of the stages in between the towering trees, while men and women frolicked, jumping off the shores, giggling, skipping along and relaxing in a sea of love......

My fears melted, my heart soared and I felt what it was to LIVE. I couldn't tear myself away from the fun until 8pm that Sunday evening, and a trip that should have taken 6 hours to return to LA, took about 14 hours. Suppose that is what happens after 48 hours of dance and no sleep. A shredded tire, dead battery (twice) and a long nap in the AM/PM parking lot (because I am classy like that), resulted in me barely returning on time for Monday's workday.

(Sophia poor thing, ran over something she didn't like on the highway, and it hurt her tire very badly- see above right, and above center, before I tried to drive home with no sleep or shower to speak of).

So I was running late. Emilio was pissed. Rightfully so. Probably because he would never know the greatness that I experienced and because the piranha were left to have a late lunch. So, to make a long story short: the skies opened up, and I saw my future!! Naw, I'm dramatic, but I realized it wasn't the right fit (duh), and I knew what was all along. Why have I ever questioned my gut instincts? They always turn out right. This is getting very After-School-Special-y.

(nice wheels, maaaan)

So my dear friends, the job is no longer and I am pursuing my own goals, not someone else's. I've never felt better, or been more happy, as the music festival magic opened my eyes. And I'll never feed another goldfish to a Piranha as long as I live so help me God.

(Imagine feeding live goldfish to him. This (was) my life.)

ps- My new Mac is coming TOMORROW. GET ready for insanity web videos. Or just me being bored and putting weird shananigans on my blog for you to watch. Either way, it'll be a good time.

Go forth and be happy!