Lucy's 51

Uh! This didn't come out!!! Maybe you can see this?
It's of a man and a woman in their 40's wasted and "grinding" on each other to Mumford and Sons.

I was taking pictures and videos of all the sad old people who were divorced and/or hadn't had sex with anyone in a very long time (you could tell) drunkenly hitting on each other at the end of the night at a singing place called "Lucy's 51."

If ever you're in the mood for a sexy cocktail when you're in sexy, sexy Burbank. Go. Here.
It smells really bad (but not in a good dive bar way... in like...okay... I'm just gonna say it... in a vagina way.... like... vaginas all hanging out in a box and they're all wearing a ton of perfume...), the people are all SO SAD, there's generally live music played by a man that looks EXACTLY like Perd Haply from "Parks and Recreations," and the decorum is... retro, because there's red lighting?... No, it's sexy, because there is leopard print fur everywhere?...No, that's not it... It's a kitch... because there are frogs glued to the ceiling? I'm a Seagull? No, that's not it....

This is a repulsive place I'm never going back to except for probably every week.

See!?!?!? Perd.

"Psychosis 101 - Episode 2"

This one might be my favorite. Simply because I love Craig Cackowski ("Community") and Josh DuBose (King 10) and I can't believe they let me play with them while a camera was rolling.

Food and Asians

I tell everyone I knew from college and beyond that I was a fat kid in high school. That's not true, though. I wasn't really a fat kid. Finally, I'm fessing-up to the one million people reading this. I wasn't The Fat Kid. 

But comparatively, I kinda was. A little. Sort of. 

My high school was 85% percent Asian, so even though I would have been regular-sized had I gone to  a school where they don't believe in Evolution (ha! I capitalized it, pro-lifers! Take that!)... in MY school, comparatively, I was morbidly obese. 

More on how it sucks to be a white girl going through puberty only around Asian girls later. It sucks. They just get more skinny and beautiful... stupid Asian girls!

No one ever asked me out or liked me or wha wha whatever. So I always wanted to eat because why the fuck not? Not impressing anyone anyways! Enter ten years of my life being sad I was fat and then eating those sad, sad feelings. I don't want to get into this because 1. It's dull, and 2. Literally every girl in the world could write a novel on this subject. I'm not interested. Unless it's one of those anorexic diaries where they do really weird shit like eat cotton balls. I would read about that.

Anyway,

I got mono-kinda last year from extreme work-writing-trying-to-make-my-way-in-this-world! stress, and suddenly... I'm never hungry. Ever. EVER! And even when I am hungry, eating seems like a chore.  It's amazing. How did this happen? I feel like I cheated. I've lost 10 pounds in the last year (I'm 5 feet tall, that's a lot) from not doing anything! I never work out! I'm cheating! 

I feel like I made some Faustian pact I don't remember. And I'm gonna get really hot, and then go to hell. 

Eh. 

Worth it. 

(Pictured Above: An average dinner. And yes, that is a vegan Smart Dog that is not cooked.)

Psychosis 101 - Episode One

I wrote/produced/mediocre-acted-in a web series called "Psychosis 101."
It took me a very long time to do all six of these episodes.
I only almost have 500 views on YouTube.
But I also have no desire/vehemently hate promoting myself. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. And you can't promote yourself sarcastically because it doesn't make sense.
So this has been a challenge.
Ed Begley Jr. is the most wonderful man in the world.
Please enjoy.

And click on the rest to follow Blane Blaney's journey into the depths of the human mind....

.... No one is watching this!!

Every time I see this movie poster, I feel so bad for the spouses of these actors. Having to watch these guys "find their character" for like two years.... 

"Honny! I think I've found Grimbald's iconic snarl!!!!!"

Buck List

Number 1.
To say this in an interview at one point in my life:

Me (old, wiser, in a blazer): Well, actually, a lot of people don't know this, but that was never in the script. I know! What would the film be without that moment? Honestly, we were just goofing around and apparently the director was like, roll the cameras, we have to get this. And she just shot it and we didn't even know! God... we had fun....

This is the Greatest Picture Ever Taken

I know I said (I didn't say. I only talk to myself. I'm aware no one in the world is reading this) that this blog wasn't going to be about re-posting shit and commenting on it stupidly.  No blanket statements that 4000000 billion have already made; "How cool!" Or "Awwws!" Or "About TIME!:) XOXox!!" Nope! None of that on THIS blog. But this images surpasses all posible interesting life moments I could  ever conceivably be twirling around in my head.

Because this the greatest picture I've ever taken.

Improvisation

I am on an Improv team called "ADULTS." We play about 2-3 times a week and rehearse once. That's a lot of improv. I hate when I tell people that I do a lot of improv, because I know what kind of a person they imagine. Generally they are right.
I really want to write a beautiful little excerpt on applying the rules of improv to your own life, but Tina Fey already did that. God damn Tina Fey.
I'll do it a little bit anyway:

My team and I play so often with one another that I think we subconsciously use our on stage training in our not-on-stage relationships. We get off the stage where we have just been listening like crazy to every thing that has been said, or unsaid, and then we go directly into 'hang out' mode with that same mind set. I have learned that that makes for very, very good friendships.

This is me bothering Dan Torson and grossing out Bryan Rogers. Can you tell I'm playing a blind person that no one likes? Classic Yeager. 

Fashion 1

Manikins usually make one feel bad about oneself. Women, I'm sure you find yourself saying things like, "That will NEVER look that good on me!" Or "That blue dress is just going to make my body look even MORE like a people-Lego's."

That's why you should start following my fashion advice. Fashion Rule #1:
Only shop at stores that have manikins shaped like this.
"Now I can look that good, too!"
Self. Esteem. Intact.

Ahhh... The Holidays in Pasadena

It's that time of year again. Time to gather the kids around the fire to roast marshmallows  drink hot coco, sing Christmas carols, and watch the Mexicans put the lights up on your house for you. 

God I love this country. 

Now get. The. Fuck. Out. 

Airport 2

This is the man I'm sitting next to on the plane! I'm getting really confident with this clandestine picture-taking-from-one-foot-away-from-my-subject thing. Now I know how Jane Goodall feels...

This man fucking stinks. He smells like a burning mass of barley and hay. And inside the fiery pile, is a huge human poop. That is what this man smells like.


And I'm NOT being a mean person right now. I'm being JUST. Because his stupid, fat, German arm is like, completely fat-ing all over on me. It's in my Personal Space, and he doesn't have the right to put his body in my Personal Space!! I've been to camp!!!

The whole ride I was seething, concocting different plans for ways to move his Turkish Delighty elbow out of my face.

I decided to tell him the simplest way; by explaining that as a child, my rib was broken in two, and it hurts me every time he jabs me in the side. But then I realized he'd PROBABLY assume I broke it because I am a gymnast.
And I there's one thing I hate, is when people assume I'm a stupid gymnast.

Airport

Watching old men very, very slowly take off their belts in the airport security line makes me extremely uncomfortable. It makes me think of all the young women in the course of history that have also watched this repulsive act unfold right before they get raped.

Housing Works Bookshop & Cafe

Still in New York and trying to finish the first draft of a kid's movie before I get on the plane. Ideally, I have a shitty first draft to scribble all over and spill my gin and tonic and smudge my salty fingers on. I do not think this will be the case.
I was on a roll, almost done with it, then I remembered, "hey, wait a minute.... I tooootally forgot I hate myself!" And then stopped. These kid characters are way better than me, they deserve something better than this stupid story. It's either too simple, or too complex. No, it's never too simple; scratch that. It's too easy, I should say. Nothing is ever simple!!!

Delaney The Sister took me to her favorite place to write this morning. I was pumped, but then realized we were in a bookstore. I can't write in a bookstore!!! Even this super cool, altruistic one.
Every time I look up from the stupid blank page (yeah.... I write free hand... So retro... Jealous?) there are all these people I know. "Omg! Herman Hesse! Totally haven't seen you since I was like, 16 and deep into existentialism! This? Oh, this is just a screenplay I'm writing. For kids. You're right, there ISN'T meaning in life! I'll put this pen down this minute, pick you up, and spin in circles till I puke. Because why the F not!?! Dude, you so get me. Am I high?"
Coffee or no coffee, I can not write in bookstores.

Black Lung

I'm dating a guy that quotes "Zoolander." A lot.
One step further away from giving birth.

I Miss My Old Boss

I moved  to Los Angeles because the man on the right gave me a job that usually takes kids years and years and years of awful PA-work to reach. This is Craig Wright. I first read one of his plays in school, ("Lady") and I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever read, simply because of its simplicity (redundant).

I write completely differently now because of him. Or, better, I write the exact same way, except I think through (and harder) about the story I'm trying to tell. Differently.

When I see this picture, I become incredibly sad. They all represent the most important moments in my life, and  taught me how fleeting those moments will always be.

The guy on the left I auditioned for when I was 17 and still in high school.  He made me cry my entire flight home from Chicago to LA because after my monologue he said, "You really don't understand what you are doing at all, do you?" to me after my monologue, and I thought that meant I was the worst 17 year-old actor in the world. Then he accepted me into this incredible school that made me such a better person (though, he still tells me I need to work on my vulnerability on stage... I'll get to that).
The due in the middle represents Chicago theatre, which, for those couple hundred of you that are enmeshed in it, understand how it's an untenable world to articulate; both sweet and sad and intense and simple. Maybe because I'm not in it anymore I'm glorifying it more than it should be, but I don't think so.
And the other taught me how to tell a story. All of them represented these intense moments in my life that vanished within a day. I graduated, I moved, the job was over.

I'm just realizing this now, but I think most of my emotional life is spent convincing myself I'm not affected by things. Because if I didn't do that, I would just cry all day long. I let things that don't have anything to do with me personally affect me.... I don't mind that I cry every time I turn on NPR on my drive home. But things about myself... you HAVE to create this wall, because if you don't, how do you wake up every morning? I guess other adults just aren't affected this much by things ending. Specifically (like these three above), extremely personal and emotional things ending.

The last time I saw Craig, at the MTV premiere of his show that I worked on, I was teary-eyed and wanted so badly to convey this to him. But he always thinks I'm joking. Because 9 times out of 10 I am. Okay, 10 times out of 10 I am. I was raised by emotionally stunted comedians, so sue me. I was so frustrated that he wasn't listening that I put my tongue on his neck as he hurriedly tried to leave/get away from me. I thought that would stop him. That's the universal sign for trying to get someone's attention while hugging you goodbye, right? Sticking your tongue on their neck/ear? I'm sorry, Craig, it was instinctual. Dexter told me to be instinctual.

But that didn't work. So I'm destined to see images like this that boil up a myriad sweet emotions, and patiently wait until 5:30 when I'm on the 101 listening to Lakshmi Singh discussing the children living in the Gaza strip, to let them out.





*Picture is (from L to R) of: Dexter Bullard, one of my favorite teachers from acting college, Michael Shannon, a company member at the first theatre I worked at in Chicago - A Red Orchid Theatre-, and Craig. Dexter is directing Craig's play "Grace," which is on Broadway now starring Michael.

Writers' Room

The back of the heads of a lot of very, very funny men in their 40s. I really wish I could take a real picture of the men I work with, but that would be embarrassing. I feel like I'd ask, there'd be a silent beat, then everyone would go back to talking.

This is the second writers' room I've worked in. The first was Underemployed on MTV. I wish I had a picture of those writers as well. Or a secret picture, like this. I really like writing jokes for television.

I'm trying hard to write interesting blog posts, but I am very tired from staying up until 2 AM the last few nights doing re-writes for a children's show. So my interesting world view is dwindled down to "I like this job. I like TV. I like pizza." "I don't like bugs. I don't like meanness."
AKA This is not good writing. Maybe with some more years doing this, and a couple shades of balding, I will get better.

LIL' P-NUT

Is the coolest kid in the world.
He is an actor on the Nickelodeon show I am working on, and usually you'd call a child actor an "actor" but this kid is a fucking Actor. He's incredible. And this is his first show! And he's not a stage kid! He's a rapper from Memphis. And. He's. Amazing.

It's like... you give him a joke, and he can get three separate laughs out of that one joke. He reacts to everything, even when he knows the camera isn't even on him.

And when he wraps a scene.... he does a back flip.

Lil P-Nut is the coolest kid in the world.

His conversation is amazing as well

What are these guys up to....

Father and son... matching Indian Jones hats.... going into Ralphs in the middle of the day... something fishy is going on....

My Gym

Is disgusting.

Last week, an old man came up to me when I was on the stationary bike to let me know he recently, "Got a yeast infection off THAT VERY bike."
And this woman:

Cornered me in the locker room
(fully, completely, terrifyingly naked) (you can't tell from this picture, but she's like 90 and was wearing what seemed to be, 1940's Call Girl stage makeup)

and told me she was An Artist. 
"Oh yeah... cool... great..."
"You look like a young girl that likes art."
"Okay."
"Would you like to go with me to my car?"
"What?"
"My name is Rusty."
"I'm sure it is."
"I have a truck full of BEAUTIFUL hair clips I make because I'm an artist that I would like to show you."
"Oh... I don't wear hair clips..."
"Maybe your friends wear hair clips?"
"No... I don't... have any friends..."
"They are a reasonable price."
"No, no I think I'm fine."
"I would really like for you to come to my car to look at my artistic hair clips."
"Look, Rusty, I don't want any hair clips."

I didn't say that, but I hope sometime in my life, I get to say something as cool as that. I also could have said that not half an hour ago, I had surreptitiously taken a picture of her on the treadmill, trying to get a picture of her outfit and more specifically, the nutty hair clip she was wearing!!
It was like a rose the size of my fist with an equally large butterfly sitting on it. To the gym?

90% of me almost went with her to her car so I could take pictures of said hair clips. But then she might have told me even more about her life, and I just don't care.

American Federation of Muscians: Part III

After about a month, the Head Hancho sat me down and asked me what my intentions were with his daughter (company). It was so weird, because I'd just been used to making fun of this super, super silly place. Writing down wacky things the old people were saying... taking pictures of them when they weren't looking... making sure I was documenting some of the work they were having me do... such as when Dick's partner in crime, a great-grandmother who is OBSESSED with David Boreanaz, asked me to file some of her recent work.
Evidence:

(I LOST THIS PICTURE. IT WAS A BUNCH OF SHIT IN A PILE. THERE WERE NAPKINS, MAGAZINES, AND POST-ITS WITH SCRATCHES ON THEM, AS IN SOMEONE WAS OBVIOUSLY TRYING TO TEST A PEN'S INK OUT. I UNDERSTAND THAT THIS POST IS NEITHER FUNNY, NOR INTERESTING BC I LOST THIS PICTURE. BUT I BELIEVE IT AN IMPORTANT  STORY TO BE REMEMBERED. MOSTLY FOR THE HUMAN RACE.)


What, did she want me to make a file folder labeled "used napkins?" "Scribbles?" "Extremely old hair magazines that I don't know what you do with because you don't have any hair?"
Ay-yi-yi.
In conclusion, this is a good example of the "work" I was doing at this place. I.E. try to sift through chaos. At first it's funny, but then it's just terribly sad. It would be so incredibly hard to be in the work force right now as an older person. Everything you know about life has been changed instantly. I just feel so bad that I try my best to help, and try not to sound patronizing. And by trying my best to help, I mean I take pictures of them and make fun of them on The Internet.
But it's okay, because, like a 9th grade English paper, I end of whole bunch of shit with one empathetic comment, and somehow that makes everything slightly okay.
I feel so, so bad for them. 

The American Federation of Musicians Part II

So I moved up the ranks real quick here. I went from researcher (Loser posish-) to the Head Hancho's personal assistant. Which was a really rewarding experience, because he is 90 years-old and wears a fedora every day.  And he says things like,

Dick: "Mackenzie, will you order me some tortellini? Some good tortellini?"
Me: "Yeah, sure, Dick. From where?"
Dick:"Eh, I dunno. Look some places up in the phone book."
Wow. Phone book. How fun is this?!
Things got better from there.

Dick would ask me into his office, close the door, and speak in a hushed voice about this... business we had to take care of. Like he was suddenly Robert DeNiro in those flashback scenes from The Godfather Part II. And he'd talk about all the lawyers ("the weasels!") that we were gonna "stick it to." These lawyers' names were always equally as bizarre as everything else surrounding me. They were like "Zucky" or "Birdie."

What we were exactly doing in these secret, DeNiro-meetings was trying to catch the evil, twisty-mustached lawyers that, say, ran the MTV Music Video Awards and found loop-holes in the contracts in order to not pay the show's musicians their union wage. And the sad thing is, is that these evil MTV lawyers usually get away with it... because the only people in charge of catching these bad guys... were me and this guy:

Aw. Dick. I miss him.
Goddam MTV and really, everyone else in showbusiness who tries to pull one over on this guy who's been in the business before you were in dipers!!! He JUST wants some tortellini, god damnit.

Don't you think this guy deserves his fucking union wage for playing behind Rhiana for 300 screaming children!?!?

This is literally a headshot of one of the musicians in our office. I fucking love this job. 

The American Federation of Musicians: Part I

Oh, you've never heard of the American Federation of Musicians? Well, that's funny! It's exactly like SAG for actors. Or the WGA for writers! The AFM is for musicians. But why have you never heard of it? Oh, I'll tell you why. Over a series of blog posts.

This was my most recent temp assignment I performed in. And I was amazing at it. Like my usual temp work. Within two months there I moved up the ranks faster than Monica Luenski ran up... uh, shut up, Mackenzie. I just did it real fast. Because, apparently, I'm an amazing temp. I've been fired from many a job: waitress, hostess, personal assistant, intern, student, girlfriend... but I'm an AMAZING temp. I think it's because, now that I've seen the insides of a temp agency, I can safely say that most of these mousy people have been abused at some point. They're just so quiet and scared and wear weird shoes... I think someone must have hit them. Which is sad.... but... no one hit me, so I'm like, REALLY well liked.

Last night I had a dream that I had testicular cancer. 

That is all.

Some Things You Probably Didn't Know About French Weddings

• They last until 5:00 AM. 
• At 5:00 AM, to revive you from all the dancing, you are brought french onion soup. This is, apparently, the norm. 
• THERE IS NO CRYING IN WEDDINGS. Like, no tears. Don't get too moved by the love being celebrated before you, because the French will all think there is something wrong with you. 
• The wedding party are not bridesmaids and groomsmen, but witnesses. 
• No one has to dress alike. 
• Not a priest, but the Mayor weds you. And he gives you a present from all in the city!
• There is a good hour in between each event (i.e. the ceremony, the cocktails, the dinner) in order for people to stand around and smoke and chat. Americas should be warned to chill the fuck out. Because there is going to be a lot of standing around and being French and loving life. (See picture above of the (very) French guy lounging with his lover.)  There's no rush, you American bastarts. 
• You're not really supposed to "catch" the bouquet. You're supposed to pretend to want to, but then move out of the way in order for it to fall on the floor. Wherein you then all politely smile at it, and someone (preferably the rude American that is annoyed at how polite everyone is being) picks it up and yells triumphantly. 
• After the dancing at 5:00 you go stay in a castle. What? A castle? Yes. A castle. And no one will tell you that you're staying in a castle. They'll just say, "Yeah, there's a room for you the night of the wedding." And they fail to mention that it's in a beautiful CASTLE. 
• You are called to the dinner table not by the over excited bride's mother yelling over everyone, but by the adorableness running around that is this :

• POWER POINTS. The French LOVE power points at weddings. There are generally at least 3. All of which start with the bride or groom "as babies," and the guests are told the story of their life through pictures accompanied with bizarre half-joking talk bubbles.
• There is not a full, gluttonous bar where you can get any alcoholic beverage you want. There is champagne. FROM the region of champagne. Only champagne. What else would you drink at a wedding? 
• Little French boys wear top hats. 

Note to self: Fall in love with a French guy so you can have little French boy babies that wear top hats.

Andy Dick Lives Across the Hall From Me

At first I just thought he had friends that lived there. Then I started to see him at all times of the day. Then I heard him talking about renting the newly opened two bedroom. So he definitely is there. We make eye contact when I'm sitting on my porch that looks directly at his porch. Outside my bedroom that looks directly into his bedroom. And vice versa. I should be used to it by now, but still, every time I see him I start shaking like a toy dog that is made to guest star on a talk show. Just like, little tiny, quick, terrifying shakes that give you a stomach ache. 

See what I mean.....?

Eh. My tummy.

A Joke I Wrote Got On A Funny Website Made For Funny Things!

CLICK THIS TO GO TO THE WEBSITE AND THE JOKE I WROTE WILL POP UP, WAIT, I THINK EVERYONE KNOWS HOW THAT WHEN YOU CLICK A LINK IT WILL TAKE YOU TO WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I EVER REALIZED YOU CAN TYPE A DIFFERENT THING IN THIS SPACE AND IT WILL STILL TAKE YOU TO THE WEBSITE I AM TALKING ABOUT. LEARNING! OH, MAN. IF I WAS A 5TH GRADE TEACHER, MY CATCH PHRASE WOULD BE "LEARNING!" LIKE CHARLIE SHEEN'S "WINNING!" MAN... NEXT LIFE, YEAGER. NEXT LIFE.

Has anyone ever tried to Blackface a dog...?

Historical Houses

This is the living room in the historical landmark, The Boddy House, nestled in Descanso Gardens; a beautiful, botanical garden (do NOT call it a park!) in the hills of La Canada.
I'm a temp now. And I am temping at said garden.
One of the many, difficult tasks a temp does on an average day at the garden is "man the Boddy House." Which means we are in charge of standing in the tiny house and making sure no one steals stuff. It's like a security guard position, but you are only a temp security guard, so it is just that much sadder. OH! And I temp alongside high school girls who are doing this just to get hours for their very rich, white charity organization. So I'm a fake security guard whose co-workers talk about the illusive nature of a hand job.

Here is what I do not understand about "historical landmarks" like this... everything. All the full-time workers here treat it like the original copy of The Constitution, and I totally understand that, except for the fact that there is absolutely nothing remarkable about this place. When I was given my first tour I had to force "oohs!" and "wooww what a nice sofa!" because everyone was treating it like it really was a magnificent place? But it isn't! Look at this picture! Those are ugly satin drapes one would see in the home of a widowed Egyptian living in Pasadena! And this room is REALLY photogenic. It is really small. Like the size of my studio small. It honestly looks like every living room in San Marino. Except for the fact the owner was rich and bought 160 acres of mountain land in La Canyada. We are supposed to memorize lots of facts about the house for the visitors. I go, "Okay! Time to brush up!" and they leave and I throw the binder in the closet... cut to.."Insane in the membrane! Insane in the brain!" (imagine the birthday party scene that is the straw that breaks Sally Feild's back in Mrs. Doubtfire). That's me in the Boddy house.
It's just so stupid!!! The facts are not interesting at all!! Who puts time into this!!?!?! Wait, me.

Dad Braff

AHahaaha

The best add for a Memorial Day Clothing Sale I have ever scene. Can you imagine the guy that owns this place choosing his single 2 x 4 picture to promote his store. "Yes. This in the one. Edgy. Yet... with the flag... classic. To the press!!"

Please, vote for a kind world. She's begging you.

What The Hell?

This is my first/only real boyfriend's new girlfriend. What the Hell, world!? I assumed this guy would be alone for the rest of his life. Not because there is anything wrong with him (maybe a little) (he likes to perform as Elvis), but because... what the hell! You're not supposed to be dating a gorgeous model!? You're supposed to be dating a teacher you meet while visiting home in Ohio, then realize the big city of Chicago is too rough and tumble for you and stay with her to raise five, nice, God-fearing children. NOT be kissing this:

And the worst part is (no, the worst part is that she's a model), is that she MUST be nice. Girls this hot are usually mean, but a mean girl would never like Jason. It just wouldn't work. He wouldn't like a mean girl.
And don't worry, I'm NOT sad. We ended on the most perfect, post-graduation terms. It was clean. So I'm NOT actually upset by this. I'm just confused with the Gods. I always try to pull off these shirts and can't for the life of me!

Fucking stomach girlfriend. I'm going to start dressing in burlap sacks to my temp job (that I don't have yet). THAT will show... someone. Maybe me? Who cares. 

Temp Agency: The Interview

"I want to be a temp. I always have." The robust woman was not buying it. Her eyes squinted and she looked at me suspiciously. I immediately respected her.

"I'm not joking. I really want to be a temp right now. Preferably in the lowest level position possible. Like, I'll listen to the boss as he tells me about this family trip to Maui and laugh at all his jokes. And use the copier."
The woman sighed. "I know a couple of places that would like you."
"Sweet!""
"Use your indoor voice."
"Sorry.... (whisper) sweeeeeet." She acted like she didn't hear that joke. Goddam, I believe in this woman.

I was at a temp agency, I won't name it for security's sake (Apple One in Pasadena), trying to become "one of the people." "Honestly, I'll work at the must dull job possible by day, preferably at companies with a high suicide rate (I didn't say that), then by night, write the great American Novel!!"
She stamped my packet and asked me to follow her. I'm in.

We passed several desks with a (I guess instigated?) plaque above each with the same quote from "The Secret" until we got to "The Learning Station." Here I had to listen to a (fucking) 20 minute video and then take a test on it. My favorite questions:

- True or False: If there is an oil spill, should you step in it?

- If you are at the computer and your eyes start to hurt, you should:
B. Get even closer to it and cross your eyes.


So much to learn here! I was sent home with some tests I had to complete online. They're to make sure I am as proficient as I said I was in my application at Microsoph excel, power point, ect. I laughed. Please, I'm a Yeager. Like this is going to be difficult.
At home I was all set to zing through these babies when I realized they were kind of hard and I got my score of 43%. (Shaking fist) Acting school....

I'm going to take the rest of the tests tomorrow after my pride has scabbed over. And to add insult to injury, the test website is called ProveIt!.com.... Really? What an asshole-y website? You even need an exclamation mark? Jesus. I think I'm about to discover the mean, nasty, violent, tough-skinned underbelly of the United States of America...

PSYCHOSIS 101

So excited! My pilot/webisode is almost done! Shooting the last scene this weekend. Then editing to make sure (a.k.a. force it to) make sense. Here are two stills:

This is Josh Dubose (Award winning improv team "King Ten") and Craig Cackowski ("Community, " "Workaholics") as cops. Tickling each other. With a feather.

I love them.

If the Protagonist in the Movie "Yes Man" was a Woman:

She would just be raped over and over. Think about it.


"Hey, Henry, you know Mrs. Miller down the street?"
"Kinda hot?"
"Yeah-yeah. Well, she has some magic spell cast over her where she has to say 'yes.' To. Everything. Always. Dude, I don't know why but I'm not going to think about it. Yesterday we boned like TWO times! And like, it's consentual, because she keeps saying yes, even though her eyes tell me no."
"No way!? I wish I could get my bone on! Too bad Debbie is kinda my wife and the mother of my children..."
"Nah, Bro, here's the beauty of it. You just say, 'and don't say anything to anyone,' and she's like (eyes dead) 'yes.'"
"This is the best thing to happen to men EVER!"
"I know, man. If only she was 13."
They high-five.
Yes Girl.

Talking to a Comedian:

Comic: So, I was doing my set last night, and like no one was laughing. The material was over their heads.
Me: What was the material?
Comic: Oh, I made some pretty good jokes about like, The O.C., and Gilmore Girls.

I didn't say this, but it prompted me to say
In My Head: Can you use the phrase "over one's head" when it's something as dumb as information regarding Gilmore Girls? Or something else equally inane? Is it truly "over your head?" Or is the phrasing more accurate if you said, "It was to the side of everyone's head. The jokes were like, coming at their head, then hit a barrier and just... scooted past the side."

Now I'm contemplating how to get everyone to start saying this... but now I'm deciding it will always sound like a joke on a joke, instead of a real concept we desperately need in our language. Desperately.

PS. I didn't know what picture to use for this "post" so I googled myself and I found this picture. I'm the one on the bottom in the extremely large men's leather jacket. I feel like my expression represents how vehemently into this argument I am.

I Went on a Walk and Saw TRIM SPA on the Ground

They were in a package and it looked like the pills had been run over by a car or two because they were cracked and in the middle of the road. I wondered how this opened package of trim spa got there. Because it was definitely opened, yet not of them had been consumed. I very much hoped that they weren't accidentally dropped, because
1. That would suck because I bet they're expensive

2. The story of her boyfriend driving her and she's in the passenger's seat opening them up and he's like, "hey baby, what's that... shit, is that some diet pill shit!? WTF are you doing! You know I love you the way you ARE, baby! I don't want NUTHIN to change about you, girl." And she softly starts to cry and he takes her face and kisses her and VIOLENTLY THROWS THEM OUT THE WINDOW- is much better to picture, and
3. If that was a larger woman who bought them, and she happened to accidentally drop them because she was walking down the street and FACE PLANTED, and all her shit went everywhere including her trim spa, and she was fat, that would be really sad. I hope no one laughed at her.

I went on a walk and these were things in my head:

An idea for a movie:
All the men in the whole world die. Women start realizing they don't understand how to define themselves and experiment with walking around naked and it seems really existential until someone finds Ryan Gossling... ALIVE. He had been cryogenically frozen. And because all the scientists are women now, science gets really good and goes really fast. So human cloning is created in a couple short months. Ryan Gossling is cloned so every woman who wants one gets one. Sometimes a group of Gosslings get together and write some songs that are really good and really sexy. It's called "The World According to Gossling."

Another idea for a movie:
Girl: I just want a boyfriend who I can watch TV with, and read at his house naked and chill out with and not have to talk. My ex came over once and was like "what are we gonna do" and I was like, chill, I just wanna file some files in my filing cabinets" and he like sighed. WAIT A MINUTE! I'M GONNA START A BLOG, (or something like that) EXPOSING AN EXPERIMENT I JUST INVENTED!
Then the girl tries living in this way that's like... she adds up how many hours a couple talks on their first date, second date, ect. And adds up how much a couple talks when they like, live together or are really close. And she decides that's just an inordinate amount of time talking and not saying anything worth saying.
So only goes on dates where she and her date are not allowed to talk. It starts something like this:
Girl: So I told him sure, I'll go to that Beck concert, but I don't want to talk to you the whole night.
Friend: omg that's retarded!
Girl: First of all, it's not retarded. Second of all, please don't say retarded, it's offensive and lazy. Third of all, I really love the word retarded. It's a great word with fun, hard consonants. But why does it have to mean people with down syndrome? Can't we collectively as a society decide it does NOT refer to the mentally handicapped? Like... I bet some of our modern words went through that progression... like I bet "being jipped" was originally something really offensive to someone. I'm just guessing. The other day I heard the word "picnic" was originated from fun outdoor galls where people would chose a slave to buy. Then enslave. Let's do that with "retarded."
I think the "Friend" probably left by now.
Anyway, everyone realizes if they talk A LOT less than they usually do, the world is a better place, and you can tell your chemistry with someone better and faster.
Movie. Idea.

VEGAS

On May 5, 2011, seven young women went to a prominent Vegas hotel to attend a pool party aptly named, "Surrender." When entering the vicinity, their purses were meticulously investigated by the security guards. Coin purses searched, advil bottles opened and dug through, cad berry eggs confiscated (choco-crackdown!)
Curious, one woman asked, "What are you looking for? What's the most common illegal substance smuggled in?" She was assuming something like ecstasy, thinking it would be easy to hide... it's a small pill? Or maybe it's powder stuck on some tape? Who knows; she assumed it was a smallish thing. The security woman looked at her dully, "Date Rape drugs. This place hosts a LOT of date rape." The woman asking the question was stunned and revolted, but her friends shrugged off the faint warning and barreled in, ready to "Surrender."

If you have never been to a hotel sponsored "Pool Party"in Vegas, conjure up this in your mind: the most violent display of flesh, lower back tattoos, and beefy, unattractive men leering at every leg that walks by in a "wedge," searching for the most unsteady legs. "Mmm, that girl in the gold bikini is about to fall down she's so drunk. I can't wait to go over and ask her what her name is and where she's from. Then maybe she'll fuck me. Or I'll drug her. Same thing."
Imagine a haven of rape. A pool, teeming with cultures of yeast infections and anal warts, floating innocently down the murky pool, awaiting its inevitable contact with a vagina and/or butthole. Guys. Vegas is so much fun.

The cluster of women went to the snack bar to get something to eat on May 5, 2011 at 1:00 PM. Things were slightly more expensive, because it's Vegas, but nothing too alarming. Until they spotted a "Chocolate Cookie." It was a slightly larger cookie, about a day old, wrapped in faded plastic. There was nothing too shocking about this meager cookie, until the eyes of the women tumbled down the hill of shock when noticing the price stated smugly on the right. $8. For one. Medium sized. Cookie. Baked and sold at the most filthy place on the planet.
This prompted one woman to think... WHO thought this was an honest price for a simple cookie? Mitt Romney? Hey-O!
(Note: This blog tries to steer clear of current, pop culture references because it believes itself timeless. When people read this blog in 20 years, they will understand and have emotional connections to each piece of genius commentary on one girl's life. However, the Mitt Romey joke stated above was just TOO FUNNY and highly original that it COULDN'T be tossed aside. And for those MackBlogMack purists, I am deeply sorry).

Guy in Line at Walgreens

There was something about this man's face. Then I saw what he was purchasing: Dark Chocolate Almonds. Not almonds dipped in dark chocolate, almonds that were chocolate flavored. Now look at his face again. Now think about chocolate flavored almonds. Now think about going to Walgreens specifically to get them. Now look at his face again. Sometimes, everything in the world makes sense.

I went to a play for the first time in Los Angels in a long time. And THIS was in the theatre's parking lot. Ah, I tried.

My Doctor Wears Gold Jewelry

He has slicked, jet black hair that he coifs into an Elvis twirl at the front. He's also Asian. There are two gold chains around his neck and a thick, linked, gold bracelet on his right wrist. The minute he walked into my room, I could tell he found himself to be very handsome. Don't believe me? Think I'm making this up to be "funny?" Ask for an appointment with Dr. Tay at the USC Medical Center. THEN we'll see who's laughing. (It will probably be both of us). I've been sick for about three months. The first time I went to Dr. Tay was about a month ago, when I was just a child. Unused to the ways of the sick, the downtrodden, and the "left-behinds" (as I like to call my new invalid-ed self). Doctor: It looks like strep throat, but I won't be able to tell because we ran out of strep tests. Okay. He gave me some penicillin. I go back a month later with inflammation everywhere, nowhere near cured. Doctor: I see. It looks like the penicillin gave you a bladder and/or kidney infection. SEE. He strolls over and sits next to me, legs spread and slouched down in his seat, like how a sophomore in high school would sit next to his lady right before laying on her that he just got drafted into JV. Doctor: See this strip of paper? Now, there are chemicals on it. See the colors? That means there is lots of blood in your system where it shouldn't be. What? His pager goes off for the 5th time. It's as loud as a car alarm. Like, it literally STARTLES him each time it goes off. (then turn down your fucking pager!?) He relaxes next to me again, his gold chains clinking softly as he scoots down further in the chair. Doctor: Uh, my pager. It's so crazy. The number one reason I wanted to become a doctor... was because I wanted to have a pager. Now I'm the only guy in the world with one! hahaha! I give him a mean look that doesn't effect him in the least bit. I'm sure the next bit I will get wrong, so I will not quote the man so pointedly. Basically, he was filling out the form so I could go get my blood drawn, and all he has to do is check off boxes for things so I was like "what do you say about checking off that AIDS box?" And he's like, "You think you have AIDS? Naaaaaaah." This made me FURIOUS! You don't know anything about me! I came VERY close to making up a lot of shit right after that. Every bone in my body wanted to be like, "No, I don't think I have AIDS, but I have been having a lot of unprotected sex with different men, so yeah, you shouldn't just assume because I'm a young, relatively clean white girl that I'm having safe sex." I didn't say that. All I said was "No, I don't think so." And he LAUGHED and said, "Oooh, you put sore throat in a search engine and AIDS popped up on some silly website written by random people, didn't you?" I just nodded, not giving him the benefit of knowing the things I was thinking in my head that would later be written on a blog. "That's so silly. You can't trust those things. You DON'T have AIDS because you have a sore throat!" (Once again, I never said any of those things). My anger was re-routed by the blast of STARTLING RINGING coming from his pocket. He pulled, now, a phone out of his pocket that had also been ringing and beeping the entire time. A constant flow of friendly messenger noises began, and he had to acknowledge it (Or face looking uncool, apparently, a doctor's worst fear). He takes out his phone, starts checking his messages, and goes Doctor: Ha, my old buddy. Look at this. He keeps sending me pictures of horses! And he showed me some pictures of horses. Needless to say, it's been hard to track down this illusive Dr. Tay to get my test results back.

Pinterest

I just don't understand it.

I Went to See This

*SPOILER ALERT!*: It's retarded. This is how I assume the writing process of this film went down: Writer 1: Okay best bud, I have a really cool idea. I'm going to say two words, then I'm going to hold my breath for as long as I possibly can. DURING which, you have to come up with an entire plot for a major motion picture based on those two words. Got it? Writer 2: Got it. You're my best friend. Writer 1: Okay- American REUNION GO!!! (he sucks in air) Writer 2: Oh OH OKAY- Um, there's a 16 year old on a beach who takes her shirt off, no wait, back up, I mean, keep that yeah. Okay, we open on Jim and he's masterbating like CRAZY to some real gross online porn we DEFINITELY SHOW. And his kid comes in and is like Daddy? And he's like SHIT, and closes the computer really fast ON HIS PENIS!! HAHA, I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe! Oh, you're almost gonna pass out? Okay, don't worry, almost done. They all go to the reunion. And all the girls in their class still have boobs. (Writer 1 exhales) Writer 1: That... was... HYSTERICAL. Writer 2: Yeah? Does it need anything else? Some tweaking- Writer 1: NO!.... No. (He puts his hand on his friend's shoulder) Writer 1: We've done it.

Coachella Mom!!!

When you're unemployed and you take the time to put a stamp on a letter, walk to the mailbox, and drop it in, that is something you DID today. I'm going to start training myself to feel the same

sense of accomplishment when I hit "POST" on this blog. This blog that is basically the same thing as me writing in a journal and then throwing it under my bed. God, nothing like desperately trying to figure out people you could be emailing on a Monday morning to make you feel worthless. Something in my room smells weird. This sad post deserves a picture of my dog. Begley.

There is this very specific feeling I get once in a while. I've explained it the same way for years, yet I've never known anyone to say, "Yes. I have that too. I get it." The best way to describe it is when you were little, at your very first sleep overs. And you are trying to sleep, and it's REALLY late, like eleven o'clock. And you don't want to be there. But it's not like your SCARED. Or you fear anything that's tangible. It's just this feeling of, "I shouldn't be here right now." But it's not how it sounds: it's not foreboding, it's not a feeling like "something bad is going to happen." It's simply "this is wrong. I shouldn't be here." Similar to De Ja Vu. Or memories of "Labyrinth" that scared the shit out of you. It makes no sense: I get that feeling sometimes sitting in my own room. Or walking my dog around the block. Or driving to the store. "I SHOULDN'T BE HERE." The most common time I feel it, I've realized, is when I'm getting ready to go out, and I'm trying to look pretty/sexy. I get that bad, bad feeling a lot then. But it's not about the future. It's not like "I have a bad feeling about tonight..." It's just a bad feeling. I've said the same thing over and over. I think I've gotten the point across. I have it right now, and it's sad and it hurts my tummy. I'm going to go to a bar by myself. Mack Out.

Idea #2

A colic human. Not baby. Just a 30 year old who suddenly becomes colic. Picture it.