Well I noticed that some people read my blog yesterday! woo hoo! So I thought I’d take the time to post yet another entry…I’m trying some new experimental essay-ish writing type stuff on here in the interim of the blog getting a makeover. Rather than “shut down” the blog, my “advisors” have told me to keep it around. The good thing about an experimental blog entry is that if you, the reader, do not like it, it will most likely be a completely different format the next time you read it. That means the next time you log on, there will be something completely different to look at, with a fun new entry and picture! Maybe even a picture of someone in a bikini! So with that said, here we go…
I’ll have these weird pangs for Los Angeles every once in awhile. These pangs usually occur late at night after I’ve consumed entirely too much Red Bull at work, and they come with the sugar crash. I’ve been told that the crash from Red Bull is very similar in a way to coming off of cocaine. Contrary to belief, the only drug I’ve tried has been marijuana, and I had a VERY bad experience with a pot brownie about 5 months ago. I’ve never had the desire to try anything other than pot and booze, and frankly those other drugs scare me for many many reasons. My red bull crashes are so sodium laden, I wake up puffy, cranky, and depressed. In the meantime, in my state of caffeinenation, for some reason my mind travels back to being in Los Angeles, and my debaucherous time I spent there…well it wasn’t THAT debaucherous…but it had it’s moments.
My drugs of choice in LA were the following: food-lots of it, cheapo chocolate Vodka that was always on sale at Ralph’s. Then my favorite Sofia Mini’s in a can…packaging was everything! Most of our nights, Jen-my roommate and I would relax in front of the television sipping some kind of exotic tequila that we had purchased the week before and hidden in a duffel bag back across the border from Tijuana. Sure I had access to a few fancy parties here and there with celebs, movie folk, etc…but I think the moments I cherished most from LA were spending low key time with friends. Then everyone started to grow up and get serious about whatever career they were pursuing, which of course with me was acting…yet I just couldn’t make the cut out there. I soon began to realize that my time in Cali had pushed me into a state of Greta Garbo seclusion. I started to hate leaving the house, other than to go to Ralph’s to get booze, and the occasional trip to my friend’s glass house in the hills of Studio City, where we’d all lounge in their hot tub, binge drink Tequila Rose (eww!) and where I’d consume TWO full boxes of Triscuts as a party trick. Those friends eventually dissipated, one of them moving back to the midwest, tired of the “scene” in Hollywood that seemed to be uncrackable. I made a few more feeble attempts with my acting aspirations, yet…it just didn’t seem to be working.
Actors in Los Angeles….bless their hearts, are a plenty. You have to have that magical, undefinable, combination that makes you stand out from other faces in the crowd…and when your face stands out because it’s too puffy and round (like in my case) it works against you. Was I to stay in LA and give up my apartment in New York? No…I was ready to try my hand back in NYC.
My last few weeks in Los Angeles were odd. I spent time with a friend of an ex. We will call him J. We played drunk scrabble, ate bad 7-11 Chili dogs at 3:00am. He told me about his quasi-sometime-girlfriend, that had died in a car accident a few weeks before. That she was the love of his life…but that he didn’t realize that until it was too late. We both passed out from drinking eventually, fully dressed, in mid conversation, and I’d occasionally wake up and drink my cherry slurpee spiked with vodka, and did so for the rest of the night and following day, until I sobered up enough to drive home with one of the worst hangovers I can remember to date.
Apparantly J was embarassed about how much he had opened up to me, thanks to the alcohol. After that night, I never heard from him again really…and regret not completely remembering what was said during that drunken conversation-on both of our parts.
Now years later I can look back on that night with a clear vivid memory of not being able to remember what was said at all.
My face is no longer the bloated puffy one in the crowd, it’s now slimmer and not so round these days…that is…unless I’m suffering from a Red Bull hangover.
This photo was taken in LA, shortly before I moved back to New York…I look possessed with annoyance and frustration. My life is no longer filled with such angst.