Restless rock-a-bye

So I'm a bit picky about how I decorate my place. I'm a diva. Did you really think otherwise? Right. So, with that in mind, I would rather sleep on an air mattress than buy a bed that's ugly. And believe it or not? I absolutely do. Air mattress diva. It's weird how wanting something when you don't have it motivates you. Practical diva. So when friends come over there's no where to really… hangout yet, as I am going through a re-furnishing process. No shame in my couch game. And the look on your face right now is the same one everyone else gives me when they see it smack in the middle of the floor. But do I give a poo? Nope. Because unless you're going to buy it for me, you'll appreciate my air mattress, you furniture snob. 

So, now that you've accepted my ratchet choice, now you'll have another obstacle to overcome. Did you put air in this thing? No, I haven't put any air in the damn thing. Not since it was first blown up and thrown on the floor. As I dance around the room with pride, you're faced with a fight or flight response. It's entertaining, you'll stay. Because its freaking awesome. Which, gets acknowledged, any and every time, someone visits. There is a method to my madness. I want the prettiest bed I've ever seen, DUH. But, I need to save up for it. Responsible diva. I've let the air slowly seep out. And I don't like firm mattresses. I don't want to feel like I'm sleeping on the floor. But you are. So as the ballon bed has acclimated to my body, it's airlessness is part of the reason that cozy plastic sleeper and I are meant to temporarily be…  So zip it. Its squishy. Loving diva. I've disappeared into the cloudy softness type of mattress I yearn to dream. So if you have restless leg syndrome and you're shaking away... Knock it off. The whole thing bounces when you twitch. This blow up bed does not have the adaptability of movement absorption like a temper-pedic. It's more of a luxurious puff of air sleepery that any camper would blissfully be grateful. 

Predictability Factor

#bts #photoshoot

I love being spontaneously driven to do what I want. Wind in my hair. When I want. No underwear. I love that about myself! ...But sometimes, having a routine, would just fits the bill. And wearing underwear. The predictibility factor of waking everyday, at the same time, with the same a.m. routine, eating the same breakfast... Wait. Groundhog Day Coffee? With the same routes to work. No detours? Stop. Enjoying the simplicity of seeing the same people every day. No scenic routes? Putting my hands up like a traffic policeman. Hold up. Knowing that tomorrow will be just like yesterday. Crap... I'm wearing the same navy blazer. Did I shower last night? Whispering to myself... Please stop talking. Planning your travel according to your predictable schedule. Sure, we'll get to Cancun... After three years of saving up vacation time. Shaking my head. No more. I... Can't... I just... 

I'm not about that life.

 I think I just talked myself out of this daily predictibility. Whew! That was a close one. But I do drink a cup of joe every single morning. Expectedly. I wanted routine yesterday... What happened?! Pigeon-hole-ing. And I write this daily -somewhat predictably for you guys- look, I'll tell you what happened. Well, ok I won't lie, I write this daily for myself too. I got more than a thousand words in my head. And we all know I'd spew it all at an innocent bank teller. Or grocery bagger. Or sales girl. Wait, let me check... Nope, no tree outside with falling leaves every time I open my trap. It would be difficult to put duct tape on my mouth, I would've fought it just like Eddie Murphy in that movie too. . Back to the point. This ought to be good. Or a cluster-fuck. The thought of predictably knowing my daily routine without nary a hiccup would never work for me. Although it would for a time. Confusing much? I'm sure you forecasted that. I don't know how folks do it day after day though. Somehow Id rather be held by my feet on the ledge of the Capitol Records building. 

The oxymoronic thing about predictability is that I am an adventurous workaholic. If you know me well, the answer to "wyd" is almost always... Sigh. I'm Working. So, in essence, I actually do the same thing(s), plural, every day but because I could be on a set one day and in the studio the next, I guess that's where the unpredictable, predictability... Comes... From? Maybe cutting back on my daily coffee would.... Oh screw it. Just don't put me in the same cubicle every day and I will be fine.

HAMBONE

I noticed an adorable couple today, while a friend of mine and I were driving. Wait. You were both driving at the same time? Yes. Only monkeys can drive in tandem. Pay attention. He was taking pictures of her -with a really nice camera- while she was using her cell phone as a prop. That's funny because the last time I had my phone on set, I kept it hidden in my bra/corset. No, we weren't filming porn, perverts. It was a music video… get your minds out of the gutter. And the director, who was amazing, put out his hand and confiscated it from me. Dammit. Busted. I collected it later after class. I looked at her, while he clicked away, and she smiled. I smiled. Then we were giggling. Why do we girls do that? He turns around and pretends to shoot a picture of me... Well, never the one to take over someone else's photo shoot.... Of course I smiled and gave a warning that I don't play, I'm a ham. And.... I will absolutely start posing. Oh yeah? Yup. He starts snapping away -crap, I'm wearing my glasses- and I'm making goofy faces. Hambone photo bomb! Keep making that face and it will stick that way. I hope so. I don't even think I've showered today actually. Hashtag, no makeup. Hashtag, no soap. Hair knotted on top of my head. Everyone's laughing. Next thing I know… my friend, who's been driving, shouts out of the window… "she costs money, you gotta pay, bro." Wait. What? Did you just... Like a... Oh my Lord. You sound like a pimp. That just happened. 

First of all, I make friends everywhere I go. I can't help it. I'm like-able. I like others. Sometimes. I'm

chatty. All of the time. My heart is on my sleeve. Most of the time. Duh, that's why y'all keep coming back. It's entertaining to watch a chimp in her environment. I'm just darn friendly and have no weird jealousy with other people-especially women- so I'm fairly approachable all the time. And ironically, Im not a fan of people. Overall. If I were a monkey, I'd throw poo all the time. Weird. Just kidding, people are great. Oops, you got poo in the eye. Wonder where that came from…. But, my hambone? Hmm.. I Have no idea where the poo flew from either… *whistling while I slowing back up into the shadows. Now that's a cheesy side of me?  I just can't put a lid on. Monkeys don't belong in a barrel. Photobombing, unsuspecting photo shoots throughout the city. But, then again, who'd stop a monkey swinging into your shot by way of vine anyway?

Orange Flier Movie

Pre-Screenings are a way of life here in the city of angels. They kinda make movies here. Pretty normal for production studios to test out their movies on the public - Or, what I like to call the fake public- before it goes to a full fledge release. And, while I've only been to one pre-screening last year, that was an invite only, it was a fun experience. But, maybe it was because I was in good company. Sorry… no name dropping. So, what happens on the regular pre screenings is, you'll see people standing around with these half sheets of paper that you can just grab. Usually, they're standing outside the theatre ready to attack you with their speech. Or they're out on Hollywood Blvd, just pushing the pages in your face. I happened to be leaving a theatre. And I had a Buddy The Elf moment and was like ooooh, I want one! They hand them out asking if you want to see a free movie. Yeah, sure. Ok, so now you need register online to reserve your spot. So you do. Check the box for no future spam. Ok, don't need any prescriptions pushed in my inbox. Offering to heal one thing while next thing you know, your anal rectum is bleeding. Then when you get there. Which, mind you, I'm too busy working on my own shit and clawing my own way through this business than to go to any of these things. But, I had some available time, I took a friend. Poor thing. We had drinks first and honestly, I thought it would be a cool thing to do. Something different… Cue horror music.  

It was a freaking nightmare. We get there and there's tons of people in a long ass line. Drones. So we get into it like the lady with the clipboard instructs us to do and some pompous little woman who looks like she's partied a little too hard in her life turns around and says the end of the line is way back there. And you don't have this little white business card and you have to get one to get in line here,… Blah, blah blah. Um, no. The clipboard weeny told us to go here. And I'm already reserved online and she said my orange tickets are fine. And third, mind your business, nosey. What do you care if we have the wrong tickets or where we are in line? So, just to make sure this nosey heffa was wrong I went back and talked to another clipboard hall monitor. And she said, no, your fine as long as you reserved online. Ok, thanks, I thought so. So I went back to our spot in line and haggard looking lady turns around and I said, we are fine. And we are in the right place. So, she runs her suck off some more, apparently thinking we wouldn't talk back. We have been here since 5:00... If you know me, a deaf/mute, I am not. Why would you come so early? Don't you have a life? Oh wait, no. This is the highlight of your year... Being used by a studio to give feedback on a film before its release so you can, maybe, get... Discovered? Or, most likely, a black eye? Hmmm... I'm pretty sure that's not how it works; but, okie dokie. Bob and weave, bitch. Bob. And. Weave. And, by the way, they aren't paying you for your time either so as far as I'm concerned, there should be no headaches involved here. Here, have a shot, relax a bit. So far I have scouted at least three. Three headaches. I don't know what this wench's problem was but I can definitely tell you, I don't have a filter here, so I wasn't going to have one there either. Shocker. And I looked pretty hot that night too. I was feelin myself and she was trying to shit on it. Some hippos are just mad they can't walk the tight rope I guess. Apparently she just was so annoyed that the people behind us were so friendly with us and we were all laughing and having a good time while we waited. Next thing we see... she scurried off hastily to the clipboard queen that I had last spoken to… Who returns on the heels of Ms. Pain in the Ass with a new rule. She says you guys need to move to the back of the line now. Your orange tickets require it. We said, what?! I just talked to you and you said to go here and we registered online and we are good to go. But crabby patty goes to you and talks shit about us and now it's a different story? Wow. Bi-polar, making up new rules as we go, clipboard lady. So, she won't admit that hostile lady in front of us just had such a disdain for our company that we voluntarily leave the line and think about it for a second. This experience hasn't been fun. AT ALL. People have been rude. Disrespectful. Nosey. Annoying. There's a lot of disorder. And now the staff -whom, by the way, doesn't know dick about what's going on, on their left hand when they look at their right hand- hassles us? You know, the community colleges offer people classes for neanderthals. We decide abruptly that this is too much of a headache for a freebie movie and went shopping. I wonder how much the studio knows how poorly we were treated and how much chaos was going on. I doubt they care. But either way, I urge no one to endure this. The nightmare, far outweighed the good time it could have been. Why is that lady screaming and running around the movie theatre naked? Oh, they tried to give her an orange flier too… 

Crispy Polo

Ditch that f***ing polo shirt… 

If you've had a polo shirt for too long, it will either wither away until the fabric cannot hold itself together anymore OR it will get this weird crunchy feel to it. Potato chip-like feel is always romantic, so no girl, EVER. How does it get that way to begin with? I'm befuddled. I don't know which is worse because on the one hand, if it's hanging on by a thread… I'm going to see your hairy nipple. Yes, men, this is for you. Unless a lady nearby has a hairy nipple. And it's showing. And there's more than two. I would so instagram that. Anyway, on the other hand, if it's got a rough-like texture like you used every can of starch in America, then that isn't going to wear well either. Step AWAY... From the starch perp and no one gets hurt. Why do you gents hang onto shirts that have, clearly, been used and abused? Stop it. Let it go. Just a little note, we don't like that. No girl loves the feeling more, than trying to keep your shirt from scratching the hell out of her while she hugs you. Hi, thanks for the itchy rash. Appreciate you. Keep your wardrobe updated. Rid yourself from that crispy polo and feel compelled to add a trendy scarf to your trendy beard. And maybe a new Ralph Lauren loin cloth. Or a shirt. Or remain the same, continuing a chick-repellent legacy for years to come. Let's just agree, to free, the crusty tunic from its obligations to fulfill bigger dreams. Like... In the city dump. 

Do I make a left to find Madagascar? #zebralife

Which brings me to my hair. Huh? Yup. No Segway. Just totally committed to this unstrung, flitting thought. Over the past few months, my hair has gotten drier and crispier itself. Cockatoo bangs are all the rage. I didn't know if it was a sign of cervical cancer or I just needed a blowout. So I did some investigating and while, yes, the unneeded -and undeserving-stress I have been under could be a culprit, I cannot very well commit to that because I'm a believer of the "live. love. laugh." variety. I have a picture frame that says it to prove it. I brush dirt off with a tiny flick of the wrist. And anti-bacterial wipes. And I don't let shit get under my skin too often because I know how karma works. Like a bitch. In case you didn't know. That being said, I had a light bulb moment. Highlights. No, not the kids magazine. Not a highlighter marker, to quickly identify subject matter in a large body of text. Freaking, hair highlights. At the beginning of summer, I went and had highlights done. The hairdresser put toner (fancy word for you won't get green or orange hair) on the blonde but not the brown, which gave me an orangey tint as opposed to the hints copper and caramel I was going for. Or orange. Which, I have had before, by the way. Not the Orange problem. So this wasn't an 'ohhhhh, I'll give this tilt a whirl' moment... This was a drop in the proverbial bucket. Or so I thought. Sorry guys, all this nonsense just means she gave me orange hair with stripy white highlights. Kind of like a zebra. With orange and white stripes. I showed her a picture of what I wanted. Tada. Seemed simple. It was the same picture I used with my hair guy that I had committed to, ONLY, let touch my hair for nine years. He retired. Good for him.... Argh. I. Hope. He's. Happy. Mental note: Egg his house on the way home. Then I showed this broad a picture of ME, with the final result of the initial picture. Right. Seems well thought out. Voilà! Is, tangerine, a hair shade? Well planned. I even had photos for her to reference. With my own hair. On MY head. Post highlights, years prior. I swear, she had no iota of a clue, how to do hair. Maybe she was color blind? I could forgive that. So now I'm doing damage control. Run your fingers through my hair and you'll take a bunch of it with you. Waited two months or so before going back to my regular hair color. Torturous. Using deep conditioners from salons. No luck. Home hair solutions to put moisture back. Didn't happen. Sadly, that chick over processed my hair... And I've gotta wait this out. Mayonnaise just isn't going to fix this mess. 

Single In Salem

Relationships are a fucked up thing. A person won't admit their wrong until what they didn't want to happen... Well, happens. He really did think riding a pony into a restaurant would've been received without panic. Our reality is the product our own perception. He was taken away for trespassing. The horse was set free after doing community service. What a beautiful, movie-style ending…. Romantic comedies have screwed everybody up. Bad kissers are a reason to dump him at the curb, right? In my opinion, the biggest reason is that it plants seeds in everyone's brains that you're going to want someone to go overboard and chase after you. Looking over my shoulder. And speed walking. With mase in tow. Nothing is more comforting than feeling like somebody's watching you. Singing: It always feels like, somebody's watching me! Why is that song in my head on replay? Pay attention, incessantly texting you, calling you or showing up unannounced at your doorstep, trying to fix something that went terribly wrong. But, the flaw in that… is that in real life, that translates to some pretty, clearly written, textbook stalkeratzi behavior. Uh, hi… 911? Yeah, I have a stage five clinger lurking in my bushes. 

I feel like people are the best version of themselves the first three-six months of a relationship. Bless me
father, for its been… uh, one… two? Oh fuck it, three months since my last confession. Last time I was here he told me that a panoramic photograph of a rhino, in a tutu, was completely normal. On their best behavior. And please, Bless me father for I have… seen crazy, unbottle itself. Again. Or, at least, the pretend version of who they were portraying anyway. Bye, Thanks for playing, wasn't Bob Barker great? Most people aren't who they present themselves to be, and when you find out, it's usually too late. Trains won't stop, so wait to cross people. Mostly, because folks just move too damn fast in relationships to gage the red flags they're ignoring. Omg, I met him last week and now we are getting married. I. Am. Totally... Excited. What… Aren't you on you're 6th husband? Did we not use the last five as learning lessons? It's similar to someone who checks their Facebook every day, scrolling through posts in obsessive continuum; But, have only two posts for 2014. We're in October annnnd.... You have two profile pic changes? 10 months? 2 posts? Hmmmm… That's suspect. Fake account much? Next thing you know, her face shows up on an amber alert. 

I'll play all day if I want to… #setlife #modellife

Listen, nobody is perfect and obviously, everyone is trying to find the one screwed up person that's right for them with flaws that they can  tolerate. Ok, I'll marry you and your psoriasis infected toe. But, with chick lit books out there trying to convince us that a guy who flips his phone upside down and deletes every incoming text as he responds is nothing Im willing to scoff  at. Ha. Ha. Scoff. And I'm not even going to check off the fact that as he replies to said deleted messages, he turns the phone at an odd angle so you can't even catch of glimpse of what's going on in that screen. That glare just blinded me thanks for pointing out your shadiness so blatantly. Nor will I add the fact that,  if I'm was being asked who the fuck I'm talking to all the time? It's completely a sign of guilt on aforementioned party. No thanks, I don't want to play this kiddie game. Or end up on a milk carton. As I get older, I put up with less and less… And I'm thinking Taylor Swift might just have the right modern attitude women should have about life. A happy, successful -seemingly well adjusted- single girl! Suck it co-dependency! You don't get burned at the steak anymore for being a spinster. Damn Salem witch trials. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of us single gals will just elongate the "Im Hot" phase of our lives because we took care of ourselves and didn't have to 'mother' a spouse over forty. 

Movie Killers

Probably why you missed me in this scene
Get off your phone.

Ssshhh, I'm watching a damn movie. Jabber jaws. Get off your phone. Text technology, ever hear of it? Besides, there is plenty of time to be on your phone… the other 22 hours of the day. Why the hell are you people looking at your phones during a movie anyway? $20 per person for a movie, you'd think you'd want to see your investment at work. Nope, the phone that no one is texting you on is more important. I see your screen. Maybe, don't… utilize text technology. Brightest setting ever. I tend to notice everything. It's a sickness. I'm detail oriented. It's annoying to me too. I'm the worst to take to a movie because I can lose interest so quickly if the story doesn't grab me or the actor loses character. Holier than thou complex. Shrugs. So, while at a movie over the weekend, I couldn't stop seeing people pick up their phones throughout the entire film. Hello… Denzel said something foreshadowing a further event. And now I missed it. How annoying can you be? Yep, I went there. 

Or this scene…
Get off your phone.

If you don't have time to see a movie because you're worried your going to miss a Facebook update then get the hell out of the theatre. Opt for the rental selection at Red Box instead. Click on HBO and watch movies on the comfort of your tablets. Some of us actually go to movies to watch them. Not watch our phones. Or yours, for that matter. It was completely distracting. Condescendingly berating. The addiction to our phones are real and disgusting. And believe me, I'm no exception either. I'm ALWAYS on my phone. I blog, photo bomb  post, share and sometimes take an occasional phone call. Hello?  It's always strange to hear someone's voice and in my head I always think, we could've accomplished this via email. Or text. Which, doesn't change the fact that I'm still multi-tasking while on the phone with whomever. Yes mom I heard what you last said... Oh really? What did I say? Gurgle, gurgle… uh,  elephants and Tiffany lamps or something? Yes, you like Tiffany lamps with elephants on them. What? No?  You didn't hear a word I said. Oh… You need to go to the store to find batteries. Dammit. 





Whatever… turn your phones off at the movie theatres, movie killers.