Happy New Year, and Beware of Drunk Texting!!

While every other blogger is sharing the obligatory resolutions post with you, this New Years I decided to write something a little different.  I want to give you a New Year tale of what NOT to do.  You see, the beauty of being anonymous is that I can share embarrassing moments with you and still preserve my cool-status amongst those I know.  (Who am I kidding? I don't have a "cool status" to protect.  All my friends already know this story.)

I just spent the last 10 minutes deleting the couple of numbers in my phone that could be dangerous on a night like tonight.  Let's just say the ghost of New Years past visited me earlier today and reminded me of what happened last year...

It was late summer of 2010, I met a guy at a big industry event.  He worked on the production side and looked just like Steve McQueen.  Over the course of the next couple of months, we went out on a number of great dates.  You know, the usual: dinners, movies, paint-balling, plans to bungee jump.  It was all there... the mutual interest, similar senses of adventure, great conversation... and the chemistry.  There was definitely chemistry.  On one of these dates, we went out and it happened to be Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.  Though everyone around us stared as if we were crazy, we walked around shouting "Happy New Year" and celebrated as if it were December 31st.  Complete with a big ol' kiss at midnight.  It was great.

Then, it just ended.  Very abruptly, in fact.  At the beginning of October, and when I was just about to drag him back to my apartment for the first time... he never called me back.  At the end of a text exchange, he said he'd call me the next day, but then never did.  Absolute radio silence.  And I never called him to find out why.

Okay.  I'm not so arrogant to think that I'm everyone's dream girl, I'm not delusional.  But I usually get my calls returned, especially after a guy has invested two months.  So yeah, I was a bit confused.  And I'll admit it, disappointed.  I was pretty into him.  But fortunately, I don't dwell on things too much, so I just moved on, half-expecting to hear from him at some point.  But when the real New Years came around and I still hadn't, my curiosity got the better of me and I emailed him.

"While making my New Years plans, I realized it it's the second time I've celebrated this year, and I thought of you.  Where did you go?"  He responded with an apology and saying he felt like such a jerk, but long story short, his ex came back in the picture.

Alright, that's a bummer (if it's even true).  But I'll take it, even if it's a white lie.  So I answered back with a very cool and collected, "Not to worry.  I'll always remember you covered in paint."  I thought to myself, there.  Good job.  Now my curiosity is satisfied, and should we ever bump into each other again and circumstances are different, he won't be worried that I've harbored any resentment.  I'm the cool girl who could be chill when she got passed over.  (And hey, if I'm lucky, maybe he'll even wonder why I wasn't all torn up about it.  That can't hurt my cause.)  Brilliant, I thought.  You never know what will happen down the road.

Well, excellent exits are only as good as your will power to leave them alone.  Flash forward to New Years Eve later that week, I had way too much champagne.  I was having a riot of a time.  Mr. McQueen was on my mind, and in my drunken stupor, I decided to text flirt with him.  I woke up the next day to the horror of reading the following sequence of text messages in my phone.  All from me.  All about ten minutes to midnight.

"Haapfhy Nw

Haf;

Shit, Im drink.

Happy roshashahsna

Hopea ur girlfend is goods ta yoou n u getsa ggod kiss tinight!

Happy HPyyp New Year."

He didn't respond.  Oh. My. God.  The shame!!!  In my drunken stupor, I thought I was being cute and flirtatious.  Let this be a lesson to all of you to not trust your own judgement when you're drunk.  You're probably wrong.

What I had hoped would be cute and flirty ended up reading very angry and bitter (not to mention horribly drunk and misspelled).  In a ten-minute stretch, I had no doubt ruined my non-crazy girl label.  If I tried to explain that I was trying to be funny, or that I really hadn't been obsessing over him these last few months, that he was just on  my mind because of the emails, I would have just buried myself deeper in the crazy-girl pit.  I realized there was little to do to clean up the damage from these texts.  In fact, probably nothing I could do.  I sent one more text message that morning:

"Sorry about that.  This year's resolution: try not to be an idiot."

So today, I had to eliminate the temptation.  I deleted a couple numbers from my phone that have the potential to be dangerous.  I wrote them down on a piece of paper I'll leave at home so I can reenter them tomorrow, once the hangover subsides.  You would be wise to do the same if there is a number or two  in your book belonging to someone whom you would rather they not know you think of them at midnight on New Years Eve.

Happy New Years Eve, everyone!!  And for god's sake, be safe... Please don't drink and text!!!

Violet Beauregarde

They're going to have to roll me home after this.  In my mind, for some reason, vacation translates to blatant disregard for healthy eating.  Oompa loompa...

Home is Where the Heart Is

For the one percent of you who were born and raised in Los Angeles or the generally surrounding area, this may not have much meaning for you.  You may be better entertained by watching Seinfeld reruns.

But for the other 99% of us...

There is nothing quite like going  home, is there?  Driving through the streets you first raced down as a kid on your bike, then later in your first car as a snobby teenager.  With every turn, a different memory resurfaces from wherever they lay dormant while you're fighting LA traffic or stapling resumes to headshots.  As I pull out of my parents' street, I see flashbacks of hiding right there in the ditch when I would sneak out and wait for my ride to the post-football game party.  I drive by the houses along the street... I used to roller-blade in that basement.  The boy who was my first kiss lived in that house over there.  Another friend would climb up on her rooftop there and call me, and if I climbed up on mine we could just see each other.  We'd talk like that for hours.  

As I continue, I drive by the high school.  There's the football field where I ran under the bleachers as an elementary kid and later did push-ups on the track as a cheerleader when our team scored a touchdown.  There's the little cafe where my girlfriends and I would have lunch when we were old enough to have a car to drive to it and allowances to pay for it.

As much as I love the city and the amazing life I've created for myself there, coming home reminds me that much of who I am today was built right here, back home in the fields where I played flashlight tag until my parents flashed the porch lights when it was time to come home. 

It's also pretty entertaining to see who we've all become since we wore a gown and threw a tasseled cap into the air.  Some have moved, most have stayed, many are married with kids, some have even divorced.  My closest friends teasingly refer to me as "Hollywood" as we rehash the highlights of high school... like when I brought a tape recorder into freshman science class and defiantly told the teacher that I didn't have to pay attention because I was going to take notes at home later.  (True story.)  Or when I was sent to Saturday detention for sneaking through the off-limits storage area to knock on the door to the boys' locker room.  (Oooh, bad girl.)  I guess I've never been one to conform to traditional rules and authority. 

But that's a good thing, because traditional rules and authority would say that it's a mistake to pack up and move to Hollywood in pursuit of this career.  Well-intentioned adults would have suggested that I maybe create a backup plan or be something different altogether.  Many of my hometown folks wonder why I haven't yet "settled down" with a nice boy to start a family. 

There's a LOT more to do before this one "settles down."

In fact, I'm just getting warmed up.

Merry Christmas!!

 

Wishing you a very merry, snow-covered Christmas from the country.  This picture is not my hometown, but it may as well be.  I'll be heading into two days up at that cabin... where there is no internet access or cell reception.  

Yes.  Those places still exist.

Happy Christmas To All, And To All A Good Night!

Some say seeing is believing.  Those are the same people who can't see much beyond the tip of their nose.  The same people who toss out unused headshots, pack up their suitcase and get on the next Greyhound headed back to podunk Michigan.  Or actually, they're probably the people who never made the trek out west in the first place.  They may buy into a dream for a hot minute, but eventually when the initial excitement wears off, they can only see that which is right in front of them.  Put something ten feet away, or ten minutes into the future, and they act as if it doesn't really exist.  What those poor souls don't realize, is that the big things in life are all based on believing in what you can't see. 

This Christmas Eve, I'm still writing to you from Los Angeles.  I'm not flying home until tomorrow morning.  While most of you are opening your gifts and having eggs and coffee with your families, I'll be en route to mine.  One of the unfortunate things about being from such a small town is the limited flights back home... and I had to book the one on early morning Christmas day.  (If I'm on Santa's nice list, Starbucks will be open, and at 6am.)  Kind of annoying, but ultimately not a big deal.  I'm still headed back to my ol' stompin' grounds to spend a solid week with my family and high school buddies.  Life is good.

When discussing travel plans, a few of my LA friends made it out like such a tragedy that I'd be alone on Christmas Eve, "Won't you feel lonely and sad?"

Why on Earth would I feel like that?  Yeah, I may not be surrounded by my family and friends on December 24th, but that doesn't mean they're not out there, loving me just as much as if I were tossing back eggnog with them.  I can understand that the Scrooges of the world would be miserable on Christmas because they actually don't have any loved ones to turn to, but I'm a betting woman, and my money says those people are lonely and unhappy the other 364 days of the year as well.  Fortunately, I've never been called a Scrooge.

But then I started thinking... even if you're no Ebenezer, you could dwell on this situation and forget that which we can't see.  Some people may not see love unless it's in the same room.  But for me, and hopefully you, knowing my family's love and support exists is not a question of logistics.  It is not dictated by airlines nor calendar days nor mileage on google maps.  It's not even contingent upon my success as an actress in Los Angeles.  It is with me every day, unconditionally.

Kind of like my confidence in my success at this racket called Hollywood.  I don't need to see it to believe that it's real, that it's possible.  I don't need to have constant reassurance from those in the industry to know that I have what it takes.  If I did need that, I probably would have caught a flight back to my hometown a long time ago.  

No one ever started the climb of Mount Everest with a crystal clear view of the summit.  Columbus had no idea what he'd find out in that great ocean.  Who knew what it would really be like to land on the moon?  It may be difficult, but you have to learn to trust in what is not right in front of you.  Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there, or that it's not possible.  

I'd like to think that if you can believe it.. you can see it.

Now go dream of sugarplums, Santa's on his way...

You're My First Christmas Present This Year

Boy, I thought this week was going to be low key.  I thought work would be slow, both in acting and at the office.  That, however, was not the reality.  As far as dead weeks go... this one was alive and kicking.  The office was so busy, I ended up having to work overtime and at double speed to get everything finished before I walked out the door.  And somehow I still managed to squeeze in a five hour rehearsal, a film audition, a meeting with someone who is referring me to his agent, a meeting with the stage alliance on how to produce my play, a fantastic night of baking my signature holiday gifting bread with one of my best friends, and my last minute Christmas shopping.  I haven't even had a chance to take care of the mounting laundry pile that is threatening to overtake my room.

But don't think for a minute that I forgot about you.  In fact, I kept emailing myself with ideas of what I planned to write to you next.  Though I knew the week got away from me, I thought, "They'll not miss me too much, they're all taking a break with their friends and families."

But you're not.  You're still here.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart. This is my first and only blog, and you are my first readers.  And though I'll never really know who you are, nor will I be able to distinguish you from those who join us down the road, you'll always have a special place in my heart because you're the first. You're out there and you're reading these silly words I'm writing.  You come back, even when I haven't written for days.  You're my saving grace as my poor friends tire of my incessant chatter about my "plans" and "strategies." You keep me searching for the meaning and humor in every move I make all day long.  And for that, I can't thank you enough.

You keep coming back... Then so will I.

How Do You Spend Your Extra Change?

Today was a little change of pace at the ol' day job.  Normally, I'm sitting in my office from about nine to six.  Well... apart from the times when I wander into other peoples' offices and blab about my most recent audition, or an almost daily ritual walk to the coffee shop with my co-workers.  And aside from the days when I leave the business world of suits that are worn with ties to audition in my suit that I wear with, well, my smile.  (Hold on there, you!  I mean bathing suit, not birthday suit!)  Yeah, I guess I really don't have what most people would call "normal" days at work. 

But this one was really out there.  I was paid to sit and work from a client's house to supervise as five people from a cleaning company literally scrubbed the place from floor to ceiling.  It took them seven hours because it was a giant house up on Mulholland Drive in the Hollywood Hills.  Huge, extravagant, and totally not my style.  

I went to the restroom and was startled when the toilet opened by itself, as if it were cheerfully greeting me to just relax and have a seat.  My first thought was, "Really?  You have so much money that you're too lazy to lift up you're damn toilet seat??"  I rolled my eyes and proceeded with my business.

...Um, it had a heated toilet seat... now that's something that's worth a few extra bucks.  I highly encourage you all to try it.

Welcome to the Big Leagues

There are few moments in life that actually leave me speechless.  I know, you're all thinking that I seem like the quiet type... maybe words aren't my thing... (HA!)  Let's just say that my family once ganged up on me and put duck-tape over my mouth because I couldn't keep it shut myself.  I also never won at that stupid "I'll give you a quarter if you can be quiet for ten minutes" game.  I still maintain it wasn't that I was incapable of staying quiet, it was more that a quarter simply wasn't a big enough incentive.  Throw a nine year old fifty dollars, it may have been a different story. 

But this week, I did find myself at a loss for words two times. 

The first was as I was leaving a holiday party and causally chatting with another guest while we were waiting for the valet.  She was pretty blasted.  This girl was certainly not short on holiday cheer or eggnog.  My car arrived, I leaned in for a quick goodbye hug and said, "It was great seeing you again, happy holidays."  But just then, Miss Three-Sheets-to-the-Wind looked at her girlfriend (yep, girlfriend girlfriend) and said,"Honey, you're great, but this girl may have you beat." 

I didn't know her well enough to know if that was her sense of humor talking or just her champagne-drowned lack of inhibitions.  The poor girlfriend had to be annoyed already and slightly mortified at having to babysit her swaying other half at the end of the night.  But I was a bit stunned.  I quickly made some joke that it was no contest, the girlfriend would beat me every time... then basically ran to my car and rushed off.  Naturally, I found out earlier that evening that the girlfriend was a talent agent.  Hope that one doesn't come back to haunt me down the road... 

But for my second speechless moment this week, I was by myself.  Today, a letter arrived with my SAG card.  My SAG card.  Oh my god, I have a SAG card.  I'm a card-carrying member of the Screen Actors Guild. 

Holy shit, it feels really good to say that. 

I keep taking it out of my wallet and looking at it.  Maybe I'm double checking that it's still there and it's still real.  Making sure that it's actually my name printed on the front.  It's been a bit of a road to get here; the reality of it hasn't quite set in yet. 

And I know this card doesn't guarantee success or money or fame.  But it does mean that no casting director will rule me out merely because I am more paperwork.  It means that when I tell people I'm an actress and they ask if I'm union, I no longer have to sigh and say, "Not yet."  I don't have to pretend like I don't see the look of judgment on their face, like I'm not a real actor or have no talent if I'm non-union.  Having this card with my name stamped on the front means that when this name becomes a household phrase, it will be because I took it there.  No other actor will have a career with this name.

Here's to the next phase of my career, perfectly coinciding with the new year.  Here's to jumping in the deep end of the big pond, going to the show, joining the big-boys and making a name for myself. 

To much of Hollywood, I'm still pretty invisible.  Here's to making them open their eyes.

Little Hooch

When I was a kid, age barely in the double digits, my family went on a gigantic road trip to visit distant relatives all across the country.  One of the stops along the way led us to a big water adventure park.  It had more water slides than an eleven year old girl could dream up, and a slow moving river that looped the entire park called the "Little Hooch."  Inevitably during the day, the adults in the group would vote to float down the Little Hooch a while for a break.  I liked it for about five minutes, then I desperately wanted to head to the big slides again.

Right now this town feels like one big Little Hooch.  (Wow.  I'm sure there's an inappropriate joke somewhere in that sentence.)  At the end of December, Hollywood is one lazy river with very little excitement or action.  I'm fresh off six months of snowballing momentum, the most I've had since I started this climb, but this drastic drop in auditions and activity has me feeling much like my eleven year old self on the Little Hooch when all the adults were telling us to just take a moment to relax... and all I wanted to do was head to the Geronimo slide.  

I know, some of you snooty actors out there may be sneering, "It only slows down for newbies, some of us working actors are as busy as ever, especially with commercials."  You just remember that you were once at my level too.  And while you're busy trying to make me and other newer talent out there feel bad and convince us of how big-time you are, we're going to snag that national spot out from under your upturned nose.

Random Acts of Evil

If you're in Los Angeles, and maybe even if you aren't, you've heard about the shooting near Sunset and Vine on Friday.  At 10:30 am, a twenty-six year old man pulled out a gun and fired twenty bullets at innocent pedestrians and drivers with a motive that seems to be nothing more than depression after a bad break-up.  Most bystanders walked away with emotional wounds, but fortunately, minimal physical ones.

Except for one man.  A man who was just driving down the street on a Friday morning when he was shot in the face by someone he never met.

I called a new industry contact today to follow up on a coffee meeting we had scheduled this week.  We won't be able to keep the meeting because he has been sitting in the hospital for the last three days by the side of his good friend... the man who was at the wrong place and wrong time on a Friday morning.  A man who is now in a coma lost his life with bullets lodged in his brain.  Bullets that were fired by someone who released his anger on the world and destroyed more lives than just those walking on Sunset Boulevard that morning.  Wives, children, mothers, fathers, siblings, friends... countless people who's lives will be permanently damaged because one man thought the answer to his pain was to create pain in the world.

I didn't know it happened until yesterday.  And since then, I haven't stopped thanking my lucky stars that I took my family, who was visiting this weekend, to within two blocks of the crime Friday evening instead of Friday morning. 

I will never understand why this type of random, pointless evil exists in the world.  It is out there and it is very real.  But despite it's presence, I refuse to live in fear of it.  This awful tragedy reminds me to keep living with purpose and meaning.  Each minute is a precious gift, and though it could be taken away merely because I decided to take Pico instead of Olympic, I won't lock myself in my apartment out of fear.  If it is my fate to someday be at the wrong place at the wrong time, then so be it.  I'd rather be somewhere, living my life, than nowhere, hiding from it.

My heart goes out to everyone affected.  Be strong for yourself and for others.

Someone's Feeling Festive...

I wish the lights wrapped around the cargo rack were on.  I bet it's glorious.

Dear SAG, Please Take My Money!!

Immediately after moving to Los Angeles, I learned how important it is to be union; that it’s the first big milestone when becoming a professional actor.  In my naivety in those first few months, I actually went berserk one day when I booked a SAG student film.  Thinking, "Wow, everyone talks about how hard it is to get become eligible, and yet here I am, mere weeks in Los Angeles, and on one of my first jobs I’m lucky enough to get it!"  …Um, no.  They don’t give it to you for that. 

The disappointment sent me on an obsessive mission to secure this elusive accomplishment.  I wanted it.  I wanted it bad.  I wanted it more than I wanted the sun to rise in the morning.  And yet, four years later, it still had evaded me.  It was infuriating.  How the hell can the “first” big milestone not have happened in four years?  It was even more frustrating to have to resist the temptation to slap all those no-talent smart-asses who make a point to flash their cards and mock you by asking, “What’s the big deal?  It was the eeeeeasiest thing in the world for meee.”  Just shut the fuck up.

This year, I resigned to the age-old advice: when it’s the right time, it will happen.  I just focused on setting up a business, making connections, hustling roles and doing the best work I possibly could.  Then it honestly just fell in my lap.  I was sitting at home one Sunday evening, eating fro-yo and watching Jeopardy.  (My two guilty pleasures.  And, yes, I DVR Jeopardy.  Don’t judge.).  I got a phone call…

“Hi Anony, this is producer so-and-so.  I’ve seen you at a workshop and I like your work.  I want to offer you a small role in an upcoming production of mine.  Oh and it’s SAG, so we’ll have to Taft Hartley you.  Congrats.”

I was stunned.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  This is how it happened?  And without an audition?!  Somehow when I imagine all the big moments of my future, I’m always fabulously dressed with an amazing back drop.  Didn’t exactly play out that way for this big moment, I was in sweats and no makeup.  No fan-fare and without warning, SAG caught up to me while I was dressed as a couch potato.  (But I did go berserk again.)

I may be crazy, but since it was pretty unlikely that I’d be cast in another SAG project in the couple weeks it would take for my paperwork to process, I went ahead and sent out sixty-some announcement cards that I’d just joined.  Hey, I might as well start marketing it now!  Then I called the SAG office to set up an appointment to come in and join this week as soon as my eligibility was finalized.  They apologized, saying it can sometimes take up to three to four months to process the paperwork.  Uh, what?!?! 

*Sigh*…Does nothing run smoothly in this industry?  Must every step an actor take be a battle?  I had sixty handwritten announcements sitting in mailboxes all over town proudly announcing that I was already a member.  Also in somewhat of a ballsy move, I submitted to an agent who was only looking for union talent thinking I would be union in just a matter of days... and yep, I signed with that agent.  I started to worry that I’d counted my chicks before they’d hatched.  Not to mention mad!  Call me crazy again, but I have every intention of booking another job or two in those three to four months!!

But after taking a moment to think about it, I figured SAG would want my two grand if I begged them to take it, so I started calling around.  After two transfers, two unreturned phone calls and an email to my producer, I finally reached the business rep in charge of my production: 

“I’m so sorry, I tried to be as informed as possible and thought I’d be able to join this week.  Is there any way you could help me out and expedite the paperwork process?”

“Oh sure.  We can always bump you to the front if you’re looking to join right away.  We have all your paperwork here; we’ll get it done this afternoon.” 

Just as I thought… SAG ain’t no fool.  Cash can always get you in the door.  All should be said and done any minute now.

Do you remember the end of The Social Network when Zuckerberg keeps hitting refresh on his Facebook page, waiting for his friend request to be accepted?  That's me for the last two days, maniacally checking my eligibility on the SAG website.  It keeps coming up the same… not eligible.

Seriously?!  Do I need to walk into the SAG office with the $2300 in cash to light a fire under someone’s ass??  Despite the fact that I’ve already waited over four years, somehow these last few days feel like a lifetime.  For someone who notoriously wants things yesterday, being at the mercy of the data entry clerk at the SAG office who doesn’t give two cents about my career is the exact definition of living hell.  Ugh!!

Breath, Anony.  I should go do some yoga. 

Anchors Aweigh

I finally made the leap.  I jumped from one ship to another.  I hesitated because I thought I saw a bigger and stronger ship approaching on the horizon and I feel it's always better to make one ship-jump rather than two whenever possible.  (Otherwise people might start to call you a ship jumper, and rightfully so if you've made a habit of it.)  But because I never want to be caught waiting for a ship to come in, I jumped to the one that's here right now and still sailing in the direction I want to go.  If that big ol' ship does end up coming my way, I'll be ready for her and deal with it then.

Would you like me to translate that from nautical metaphor into plain English?  I switched commercial agents this week!  I still have some wheels in motion that could lead to offers from some others in the near future, but I didn't want to miss out on this opportunity to be rid of these guys in case those wheels fall out of motion.  I generally try to avoid this rapid trading-up situation, but timing isn't always perfect, so I'll have to work with what I'm given.  (Someone told me this is also called monkey barring, as defined here, with a reader comment that couldn't have illustrated my opening paragraph better than if I had written it myself... Oops, I probably just lost that reader!  Well, it was just a matter of time before I offended someone anyway.)

So my new agent and I are about to embark on a new journey, the length of which is not entirely clear at the moment.  But one thing is for sure... I will book, and in new territory.  I've already been on television for several commercials.  At one point, I had three running at the same time.  But thus far, they've all been non-union.  

Time to get serious about all this.  Let's make some waves. 

Okay, I'm a Nerd

I was a little excited when a check arrived this week.  Well, very excited... Okay, I did the running man for fifteen solid seconds while my roommates stared at me like I was insane.

It wasn't because of the money, though that's certainly reason to party, but because it was a union gig and one of my first EP checks.  Kind of like the difference between the pay stub for your first real job, and the handwritten personal check for five dollars your grandmother sends for your birthday every year.

Sorry grandma, this is so much better.

It Was Mine (Until It Wasn't)

I've been on my A-game recently.  I've hustled and seen the inside of the casting room for some really good projects and I've brought some really good work to the table.  I've been more focused, confident, and at ease than I have ever been before in my career.  I've walked away from recent auditions knowing I nailed them.  I've been called back for the same roles, called in by the same casting directors for different roles, great feedback, promising emails, encouraging coaches, excited associates...

But I haven't booked in what seems like a hundred years.  Really, it's only been a couple of months, but that feels like a hundred years.  I've been walking away thinking my work was solid, that some of these were mine.  But I guess they weren't.  Or so I thought... Yesterday a friend called me confused why I hadn't called him with the great news.  

What great news?  

He had been involved with the pilot I auditioned for a few weeks back.  My friend at the production company had reached out to him to scout his house as a possible location for the shoot.  They didn't end up going with his house, but over the course of a few location meetings, he had heard from two separate producers that I had booked it.  The role was mine.

"Um, nope.  They never called me and I know they've already wrapped, so it definitely went to someone else."

"That's weird," he said, "they told me it was yours... that's Hollywood, I guess." 

Yes, yes it is. *sigh...  Still, it's kind of nice to know that it was mine (until it wasn't).  Just a little reminder that I'm on the right track, I'm putting myself out there, and I'm doing what I need to do.

Success is not a question.  It's just a matter of time.

Monkey Barring

I’ve been called a lot of things in my twenty-some years.  Some good, some not, some true, some false.  Generally I believe that the names people call you, particularly when it comes to the negative kind, are more a reflection on them and their issues than they are on you.  I make every effort to live my life with honesty, integrity and compassion.  Any sleep I lose at night is only because my mind has an off switch that has been known to break down on me from time to time.  So those negative names don’t really bother me anymore; it can actually be entertaining. 

A couple months ago, I gave my number to someone I wasn’t really that interested in.  A friend of mine always teases me for doing this, but I always adamantly reply that people can surprise you if you give them a chance.  Well unfortunately, this guy wasn’t one of those people.  He didn’t surprise me.  In fact, he just started to annoy me. 

The poor guy’s first mistake was to text me to invite me out for a drink.  Come on guys!!  You should be ashamed at how often this happens.  Respect a girl enough to pick up the phone and call.  (Which he did.. after I said I don’t accept invitations over text message, but that he was welcome to call me and ask.) 

Then, we were having trouble lining up our schedules to grab a drink, so we had to pick a day that was over a week in advance.  Great.  Done.  See ya then.  

…But then he kept texting me!  Every. Single. Day.  “How was your day?  How was your weekend?  What did you do, who did you see?  What’s your plan tomorrow??”

Sigh... I get it.  You don’t want to lose momentum.  A text or two, I can deal with.  But seriously, every day??!  This was  a week before our first date!  Buddy, I don’t know you yet.  I’m saving all my dynamic conversation for this drink-thing we’re having next week.  In my humble opinion, you have to resist the temptation to have your first conversation via text.  Some people may not mind, but I am not interested in getting to know someone over text messages.  I’m just not that kind of girl.

More than anything, I started to realize that I just wasn’t looking forward to this drink-thing.  I kept thinking I could be using that evening for a million other things on my list.  Plus, it’s just not fair to Mr. Texter to waste his evening on something I already know is a dead end.  So I decided to call the guy and break the plans.  I chickened out from telling him the real reason and instead used this lame yet classic cop-out:

“I’m so sorry.  I was seeing someone, and it wasn’t totally official, but now it just got official.  I won’t be able to make it next week, but I wish you all the luck in the world.”

“That’s cool.  So you’re a monkey-bar-er,” he said, half-joking, (which also means half-serious).

“Huh?  A what?”

“You monkey-bar from one thing to the next, always looking for the next wrung, and don’t let go of the last one until you get there.”

Humpf.  I hadn’t heard that one before.  I said “Touché, fair enough” and we both had a little chuckle, me mostly because I had no way to deny it.

Ironically, I realized later that he wasn’t completely wrong.  I guess I am sort of a “monkey-bar-er.”  I currently have Agent A that I’m using while I swing myself to a better one.  I got an offer from another small (but better) Agent B, but I’m sitting on it because I was certain that I’d be able to reach a little higher to Agent C at my commercial showcase next week.  But I just found out the showcase was postponed until January.  I doubt Agent B will wait for me to get back to them in two months, so I’m actually debating on seeing how we work together until the showcase… and then, who knows?

  

Despite that Mr. Texter thinks differently because of my little white lie, I’m not a dating monkey-bar-er.  But in Hollywood?  I guess I am a little guilty. 

But there’s a key difference here.  This is Hollywood and it ain't personal.  It’s business.