Wish and wish again that I was in Michigan

My parents googled my name with my company's name and came across this blog. I don't really care all that much because I don't write anything in here that I should be embarrassed of. Well, actually I probably write TONS of stuff that I SHOULD be embarrassed of, I'm just not embarrassed. I thought about deleting this whole thing or making it private, but after there's really nothing to hide. I don't do drugs or engage in outrageous sexual escapades (is that a sigh of relief I hear?), so what's there to hide from the parents? Besides, now at least I know that next time I go on a week-long binge of drugs and loose women, I'll be sure not to post it on the internet.

I'm back in Michigan. It's freezing and there's snow on the ground and I absolutely love the fact that I only have to deal with it for a short period of time. Although I do appreciate that people out here know how to make a goddamn left turn. One thing I didn't appreciate was being the one sitting next to the stupid crying baby on my flight. Then again, I did get bumped to first class when I came home for Thanksgiving, so I can't complain. Without the bitter, the sweet just ain't as sweet. Likewise, once you have the sweet, the bitter sucks ass.

A few months ago I interviewed for a new job at my company. I just got the offer before break. Even though pay is the same, I'm going to be assisting in development which I'm really excited about. I'll be organizing things and answering phones and drawing up reports and doing research, none of which sounds all that exciting as I say it, but trust me this is a good move. It will be nice to have my own desk and computer and not be the office bitch anymore. Mike and Jim knew how bad I wanted the job and how much I was suffering through the hardships of being a PA as I waited for word on the new position. To show their support, I was drenched in a champagne celebration on our balcony when I got home that night. It was awesome.

Anyone else wonder why Britney's sister didn't just get an abortion? Would have been a whole lot easier is all I'm saying.

I went to the dentist. I really like going to the dentist. This time I got him to say "them's some healthy chompers!" When I was little I had to get a tooth pulled and asked if I could scream. He didn't take me seriously and said I could scream. You bet your ass I screamed as loud as I could. I've been told that I scared the shit out of several children in the waiting room.

I went back to Vegas last weekend. It was rather impromptu. My friend Brynne (of Twist & Shout and Little Caesar's fame) IM'd me on Wednesday asking if I had a car and wanted to hang out over the weekend. I asked if she was in California. She said no, but that I should go to Vegas for her wedding. Never one to pass up one of life's fun surprises, I took Monday off and made reservations to go on Sunday for the wedding. That night I picked Zach up from the airport. Turns out he and Cam and Amanda were going to Vegas on Saturday night, so I ended up hitching a ride with them and going a day early. We had a blast. Zach and Cam saw Celine Dion, and Amanda and I did an excellent job of entertaining ourselves while we waited for them to get out. The four of us bought those tacky-spring-break-in-South-Pedro half yard margarita glasses and carried them around for a while. When we stumbled back into the hotel around 3am, Zach and I spent the better part of two hours using them as props in some ridiculous game that went on far too long and destroyed my voice. I yell a lot when I drink. I yell a lot more when I drink in Vegas.

So that's the update. I'm home. I got a promotion (of sorts). I went to Vegas. Ummm....so yeah.

Hi I'm here.

I'm going to keep this short because I still haven't watched the Futurama movie (tried to last night but fell asleep at like midnight. Pathetic.) and I want to do that, read, and run today. Since it's only 2:30, you'd think that I have plenty of time to get all of that done and then some, but that's not the case for me. Once you take into account the hours of needless puttering and ridiculous internet searching I do, there's not a lot of time for good, planned fun.

Writing every day never worked out. Nobody blogs anymore. Remember when we were all so addicted to sharing every intimate detail of our lives? No way would we have believed 11 months ago that this was just a fad. I've been staring at those pictures of Baggy with a mustache for weeks now. Dani has updated twice since Halloween, both of them being lackluster To-Do lists. Dangles is most reliable but I skip the Coffee Shop reviews and don't pretend you don't do the same. There really is no excuse for me. I should be writing more, period, whether it's my treatment or a spec script or even some lame ass blog where all I do is talk about how lazy I am. Here's a poll I found. I'm going to use it as a template for the rest of this. It's about 2007.

1) DRINKING BUDDY OF THE YEAR
The roommates, definitely. I basically didn't drink from February until July, but once we moved in together, I quickly made up for lost time.

2) LIFETIME SERVICE AWARD (longest friend)
I met Alicia my Freshman year, and despite me being in LA and her being in China, we're still close.

3) NEWCOMER AWARD - COOLEST NEWEST FRIEND?
I'd have to say Flavin. Even though we were always friends, we weren't that close but now that we live together we are a pair of ridiculous sons of bitches.

3)HIGH POINT OF THE YEAR?
Raising $3,999 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and running the Walt Disney World Half Marathon. Yup, that was 2007.

4) LOW POINT OF THE YEAR?
When both of my Grandpas died within 10 days of each other. Grandpa Ochoa died on the 4th of July and my roommates were too busy getting shitfaced with the neighbors all day to seem to care at all. Went home. On my way to visit my Grandma in the hospital (she couldn't go to her husbands funeral because she had just had open heart surgery) we got a call that Grandpa Balagna had a stroke. I flew back home and two days later got the call that I need to go back to Michigan for a second funeral.

5) BEST HOLIDAY?
My Birthday. I was back in Chicago for graduation, got to see everyone there, then went home to my family, then celebrated turning 23 with a party thrown by Millie, Marisol, and Annie at Midway during my layover.

6) YOUR SONG FOR 2007
"Starlight" by Muse. I listend to it every day on my way to my internships.

7) MOVIE FOR 2007?
"Knocked Up," motherfuckers. "Knocked Up."

10) WHO DID YOU SPEND VALENTINES WITH?
I don't even remember. Was I still in Chicago? Either way, the answer is still no one.

11) BEST RELATIONSHIP?
Next question, please.

12) WHAT WERE YOU FOR HALLOWEEN
A carnie!

13) RESTAURANT OF THE YEAR?
MexiCali. It's walking distance, the food is edible, and the Margaritas are (usually) strong and tasty.

14) KISS OF THE YEAR?
I'm going to say nothing more than it was in January, we almost got murdered that night, and it wins out of sheer ridiculousness, not romance. The other party involved should know exactly what I'm talking about.

15) BEST DECISION MADE THIS YEAR?
Move to LA? I think?

16) MOST INTERESTING DRUNK STORY?
See question 14.

17) TV SHOW OF THE YEAR?
Veronica Mars. Rest in Peace.

18) MOST LOYAL FRIEND?
That's hard. I can't pick one over any others.

19) BIGGEST CHANGE OF THE YEAR?
Moving across the country.

20) NEW YEAR RESOLUTION?
Run a marathon. Keep working on my attitude problems.

I'm home for Christmas in two weeks. Thanksgiving wasn't very relaxing at all (did I ever write about that?) so I'm excited to have eight days to do nothing in particular. I really want to snowboard when I'm home, but will have to rent one since I already brought my board out here and don't feel like lugging it back again. I'm also excited beyond belief to go back to Chicago for New Years. Now that I'm a grown up and doing grown up things, I can't wait to be with my old friends and act like a complete jackass once more.

Hell looks a lot like LA

I had to go pick up one of our producers from a meeting and drive them back to the office (yes, we can now add "/chauffeur" to the constantly growing list of duties in my job description), and we were talking about LA. She's from Chicago too, and we both agreed that we are extraordinarily happy with our lives in LA, we despise the city with every ounce of our beings. I can go on and on about how much I love my apartment, my roommates, my job, my office, my car, our big new TV, and my friends. I could write pages upon pages about how amazing it is living in the entertainment capital of the world all of the exciting things I get to experience on a daily basis. I could rave about the weather until the cows come home. The simple fact is, the city of Los Angeles...how can I put this eloquently...sucks shit-covered donkey balls. The lack of reliable public transportation to most of the city, the traffic congestion, the assholes walking around in $5,000 suits with smug looks of self-entitlement on their faces as they walk into traffic without looking either way, it's ridiculous. I suppose this town could eat me alive if I let it. But that ain't never gonna happen.

There is a roll of about 1,925 extra tickets in my closet from the carny costume. I've decided to make use of them by starting a friendly competition between Mike and Jim. Every time either of them do something that I find exceptionally hilarious or heartwarming, I give them a ticket. Whoever has the most tickets by December 1st gets to accompany me to my office's big Holiday party blowout, where there will be snow machines, multiple bars, and an ice luge. I just gave Jim a ticket for riling up the homeless man shouting out nonsense as he walks along the river outside our apartment. Yeah. I live right on the Los Angeles river. And no, it's not as glamorous as it sounds.

I had a lot that I wanted to get done today, but decided to take a four hour nap instead. Hell, it was a Saturday afternoon. Fuck errands. Errands are CLEARLY a scramble-to-get-them-done-on-Sunday-night-before-work-the-next-day kind of affair. I did go to the grocery store and plug a DVD player into the TV in my room. And I do plan on going for a run after I finish this. So...that's productive enough. It's not like I've been sitting on the couch eating Nutella straight from the jar and watching Law & Order all day.

When I went to the screening with my old boss a few weeks ago, I came back to my car to find a bracelet on the ground right next to my door. It says "Live in Love" on it. I kept it. It seemed like some sort of sign. I don't know what it could be a sign for, aside from some hippie/spiritual bullshit, but I think holding on to it makes me seem sensitive and layered, all the same.

I'm very very passionate about the Writer's Strike. Strange, considering I'm not passionate about anything ever. I'd love to use this as a forum to go on and on about how the studios are being selfish bastards and why those who think the writer's are a bunch of rich people wanting to get richer are sorely misinformed. However, I also recognize that I do, oddly enough, have several readers who could care less about any of this, and have most likely already stopped reading. I proudly support the union. Maybe this is because I'm an aspiring writer and recognize that the things that the WGA is fighting for (to actually make money off of programs played on the internet, since it's common knowledge that the internet is the future) are going to (hopefully) directly affect me in the future. Or maybe I just feel strongly towards unions because my Dad was an auto worker. Hmmm...no. Definitely the first one. Whatever the case may be, the writers are right. And I'll gladly sacrifice all of my beloved shows until they get what they deserve. Anyone pissed off because Grey's Anatomy shut down production can suck it. Regardless, everyone should check out the video below. If you read my blog, it's because I am important to you in some way, shape or form. And this is important to me. Ergo, the least you can do is watch a 4 minute clip.

What are you, like 10?

Today's Crazy is not just a single person. It's a whole family. I went to go pick up Indian food for some of my bosses (despite my protests that I didn't want my care to smell), and was rung up by a boy that could not have been older than ten. The family's decision to shirk child labor laws, however, should not come as that big of a surprise, as I was first greeted by a toddler running around with a toothpick.

This was a good weekend. Friday I saw a short called "Psycho Hillybilly Cabin Massacre!" at the AFI Fest, then went out to a bar in Hollywood. We were sitting on the patio when we noticed a helicopter with a spotlight circling around. When we left, there were police cars all over and the roads were closed. Apparently there had been a robbery. How exciting! On Saturday I went to a party where everyone but me seemed to work for Deal or No Deal. It was actually a TON of fun. My friend Kristin tried valiantly to break open a Pinata, and despite the fact that she was not blindfolded and the Pinata was sitting idly on the ground, she had quite a challenge. It may have been the ten or so shots of Jager that did her in. Who knows. Hard to say. On Sunday I went to Ikea with Zach and his roommate Amanda, where we bought stuff and caused a scene, as usual. When you're already settled into an apartment and have most of the necessities, Ikea certainly does lack magic. It just becomes an exercise in patience and tolerance for slow idiots. Also, the green end table I wanted was sold out. It was called a "lack." So, apparently Ikea not lacks magic, it lacks lacks. After Ikea we met Mike for an AMAZING dinner at this delightful Italian restaurant! The food? To die for! The friends? I'd die for!

Anyone watch Curb Your Enthusiasm? Last night's finale might have been the most satisfying thing I've ever seen on television. And I cried watching My Name is Earl once.

It's been a slow day at work, and despite the fact that I have a script to read, a monologue to write and memorize, and a treatment to revise, I spent every minute dicking around on the internet, thus ensuring that I have a million things to do when I get home. I sent another movie idea to Mike's old work. This one is called "'Til Death Don't Us Part." Enjoy...
---

I have a great idea for a new Adam Sandler comedy! It's Weekend at
Bernie's meets The Wedding Planner, and a surefire hit for one of
comedy's greatest leading men!

In "Til' Death Don't Us Part," Adam Sandler plays Trey Calahan, a man
who seemingly has everything going for him. A great job, a great
apartment, and a great fiancé! Franny (a Jennifer Lopez/Kate Hudson
type), thinks she knows everyone about Trey, but there's one thing he
has yet to mention to her... His sexual attraction to dead bodies!

When Franny's mother, Charlota is raped and murdered in an alley
downtown, tragedy and comedy fornicate and give birth to hilarious
hijinks when Trey finds himself falling for his girlfriend's dead
mother. Now, with the wedding days away, he has to make the ultimate
decision. Stay with the girl he thought he loved, or for once in his
life let love lead the way?

Franny visits Cassiopaea, her psychic, whose crystal ball reveals that
Trey has dug up her mother's corpse and is cheating on her with it.
In a fit of devastation, Franny throws herself off the top of the YMCA
on 7th Street and Rosemont. Trey receives the news and rushes to the
morgue in order to identify the body. When the coroner lifts the sheet
to reveal Franny's bloody, mangled remains, it is like Trey sees her
for the first time. He instantly falls in love with Franny all over
again. He scoops up what he can and moves her into a beautiful
penthouse on the Upper East Side, where they both live happily ever
after.

A Hole for Laura Jane

I'd like to introduce a new segment that I shall call "Today's Crazy," in which I talk about one of the many insane people wandering the streets of downtown Los Angeles. Perhaps I'll even come up with a jingle for it in the future, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Today's Crazy is a man sitting on a bench in the small courtyard near our parking structure. He had one shoe off, and was raising his foot, adorned in a clean pink sock, in the air and shouting "Where's my pinky! There's my pinky!" and giggling incessantly. He really, really, really liked that sock. Like, I mean, he must have fucking loved that sock. For a homeless man to keep their feet clean...that's devotion. True love for the simple things.

Wow I got some good advice on not being afraid to fail and don't be hard on yourself and all that. Thanks guys! Who needs therapy?

Sadly though, this may all be a moot point. I have a second interview on Thursday for that development job that I really, really want. Hopefully they will understand that I've already paid for class and need to leave early on Tuesday's for a few weeks. I'd even come in an hour early in the morning to make up for leaving a half hour early that night. I'm not going to worry about this right now. My focus is mainly on just getting that job and not being a PA anymore. Talk about thankless. Sure, the money is great but doing stuff like draining air conditioners, assembling 40 office chairs, and taking four hours of your day to drive to Hermosa Beach and then getting a parking ticket on top of that...it really starts to wear you down. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Working on that attitude, remember? However, it is only human that as I clean out the fridge after a Coke can exploded, I can't stop thinking about how badly I want that new job.

Mike interned for a company that accepts blind submissions. Essentially this means that any Tom, Dick or Andy is welcome to email them an idea for a movie. If they like the idea, they ask for a full script. This is one of the very few places left in Hollywood that still accepts unsolicited material (scripts not send in from an agent). Mike has developed an alias in which he sends the company ludicrous and offensive material, just for shits and giggles. I decided I wanted in on the fun, and so I sent them this little gem. It's called "A Hole for Laura Jane." Below is the pitch that I sent to the company.

“A Hole For Laura Jane” is a heartwarming Christmas tale in the vein of "The House Without a Christmas Tree," only instead of a house, it is a young girl growing up in a small country town, and instead of a Christmas Tree, it is a vagina.

The story begins when Laura Jane, 12, notices in the locker room that her body is different from the other girls. She asks her parents why she doesn't have a "bajingo." They take Laura Jane to Dr. Gamora, who diagnosis her with acute vaginaloctopi. The only option is a risky surgery, that could result in Laura Jane's death. The family spends their holiday season in each other's arms, as they try to come to terms with Laura Jane's situation. Would it be better for Laura Jane to grow up with no Vagina, or not grow up at all? Laura Jane wakes her parents up on Christmas morning with the news. She has decided that she wants the surgery. The family spends what may turn out to be their last Christmas together with not only quiet and somber reflection, but also hope for the future. The next day, Laura Jane is taken to a walk-in clinic, where the doctors prepare for the major surgery. Only moments before the surgeon's scalpel is to pierce her nether regions, a startling discovery is made. Laura Jane does have a vagina! It just happens to be closed. In a heartfelt climax, the surgeon opens up Laura Jane's vagina. To everyone's surprise, a baby comes out! Laura Jane has been immaculately impregnated, and the son of God is conceived.

Everyday, huh?

I couldn't even make it 48 hours before reneging on the whole writing every day idea. However, in my defense, Tuesdays are too busy for me. I work from 9-6, then go right to Improv. By the time I get home at 11, all I want to do is lay on the couch and fall asleep to South Park reruns. Although, it's not like work was that busy. I sure did find enough time to chat with Jess and Mike online throughout the day, as it was. Class was good, by the way. I'm trying not to be so hard on myself anymore. Typically I would leave class hating myself and questioning why I am hemorrhaging money for something I suck at. However, I am working hard to remind myself that this is just a class and everyone is learning and it's okay not to be incredibly amazing and hilarious every time. As long as I work hard and leave each class feeling like I did better than the week before, then I'm getting my money's worth. Plus I can totally afford this, cause I have a real job and rent is cheap, so suck it.

I was not looking forward to work today, because Rob and I were supposed to clean and organize the office's storage unit. Luckily we got help in the form of our two awesome interns, so everything went smoothly. I like the people I work with a lot. There's always talk about a PA/Intern gathering, but it never comes to fruition. I'll make sure it happens soon. I think the hard part is that when you spend 10 hours a day with people, no one really wants to hang out off the clock. We want to go home and eat tater tots and watch our shows. At least, that's all I'm thinking about when it's time to punch out. But yeah, I'll make sure it happens soon. I'm excited for this weekend because not only do I have a party in Hollywood (how cool is it, by the way, that I get to say "I have a party in Hollywood"), but on Friday night I'm going to a screening of a short at the AFI Fest and then meeting the director. It's hard for me to go into that many details here, because I'm worried that if I mention the name of the movie or the director or why this is encouraging news for me from a professional standpoint, an involved party may find this post via Google, which would be kind of embarrassing. And don't read into this too much. All I said was this is "encouraging" to me. It doesn't mean anything big is happening.

Oh, I solved a mystery today. This is big! I figured out why traffic in Los Angeles is so fucking terrible. Illegal immigrants. No, I'm not being racist. I'm serious. I know this is a whole hot-button issue or whatever, but don't expect me to take a side or start giving informed opinions on the topics. I don't give a shit about illegal immigrants at all. Well, that is, I didn't give a shit about illegal immigrants until I realized the striking similarities between all of the drivers that wait until the light turns red to make a left turn even when there's no oncoming traffic, take a full minute to switch lanes without using a signal, and hold up all of the people behind them by almost coming to a complete stop while pulling into a driveway or parking lot. Don't you see? They can't take Driver's Ed because they're illegal. They don't know what yield means, that pedestrians have the right of the way, or that you can go five over the speed limit. I know I said I wasn't going to get involved in this debate, but the more I think about it, the more I agree that something has to be done. Illegal immigrants should have the right to learn how to drive through state-approved courses. If they did, I guarantee you that the roads in California would run much smoother.

There. I wrote again. Look at me go. Now let's see if tomorrow I can't get some work done on my treatment for Leper High. Oh yeah. Leper High is really happening. It's a top priority at this point.

I solemnly swear

I made a promise to myself to write in this at least once a day. Not for the entertainment of others (although I'm well aware that I deliver that by the barrel full), but because I really should be doing this kind of stuff. Even though I laughed at my Uncle Jim when he looked at me with the utmost serious to say "Steve, writers write," as if that was some golden nugget of knowledge that a college degree never procured for me, I really haven't been been following through.

I'm really excited to go home for Thanksgiving. I probably would have skipped it and saved my money, since I'm going home for Christmas too. However, since my Grandma didn't get to go to Grandpa's funeral, we are having the Memorial Mass the Saturday after Thanksgiving and there's no way I can't be there for her. My aunt Audrey just emailed me the poem they want me to read. This is it:

If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane,
We would walk right up to Heaven and bring you back again.

No farewell words were spoken. No time to say “Goodbye”.
You were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why.

Our hearts still ach with sadness and secret tears still flow.
What it meant to love you – no one can ever know.

But now we know you want us to mourn for you no more;
To remember all the happy times; life still has much in store.

Since you’ll never be forgotten, we pledge to you today,
A hollowed place within our heart is where you’ll always stay.

Obviously, it's very fitting for the situation and will no doubt be hard to get through, but I guess that's what I get for being the charismatic one in the family. Hmmm...I wonder if that caused any moist eyes in the house? If I had to guess I'd say...Dani?

Wow. Somber. This wasn't supposed to be all emotional. I hate that shit. Let's change the subject.

I don't think I got the job I interviewed for, but regardless, work is okay. I guess I'd compare it to Disney World. My opinion of it changes every five minutes. There is no middle ground, I either absolutely love it or swear that I am seriously quitting and that I mean it this time. I think the hard part of it is the fact that I'm a Production Assistant with absolutely NO interest in production. None. At all. I'd rather bag groceries. Unfortunately my options are limited, since I'll probably stumble across the Holy Grail before getting hired as a Writer's Assistant and there are currently no paid listings for "Aspiring Improv Performer." I guess I just need to be happy that my job allows me plenty of time to engage in writing and improv. I'm not bitching. I swear I'm not complaining. I get paid well and work for cool people. Can't complain. I'm REALLY working on the attitude thing. Making an effort.

One of the positives of my job is how rewarding it feels to pay your own rent. Damn. Sure, it's a double-edged sword because paying your own rent means that your hard earned money can't go to beer and pizza, but feeling like an adult is nice. Although I do owe my parents $300. I forgot about that.

On the Los Angeles network page of Facebook, it had the most popular books listed. Harry Potter is obviously number one, while the Bible is number two. Do you capitalize the "the" in the Bible? I'm not sure. I mean you capitalize "Him" when referring to the big G so having to capitalize "The" doesn't seem that out of the question. Anyway, I'm not surprised that Harry Potter beat the good book (or Good Book?) at all. I'm surprised that in a town as Godless as Los Angeles, the second most popular piece of literature listed on Facebook is the Bible. I bet you if the Church decided to claim that a disciple is gay, they'd totally top the list. Just so we're clear, that's a Dumbledore joke, not blaspheming. God knows some crazy people have wondered across my blog (Crazy Disney employees and Jericho fans, I'm looking at you), so I just want to have my butt covered in case someone takes offense.

This has really been all over the place, hasn't it? What a ride. I laughed. I cried. I spell checked.

Halloweens past

I'm not antisocial, we all know this, but I'm also not all that talented when it comes to making new friends. Usually my weekends consist of either staying in and drinking with the roommates, or going out and drinking with the roommates. On some occasions, we do come across a party to attend, but we're definitely not a part of a large group of friends like back in Chicago. So unfortunately, I have no Halloween party to go to tonight, nor did I last night. It's kind of a bummer since I love going out for Halloween a whole bunch super a lot, but the big Halloween in Hollywood party is on Wednesday and we already have plans for that, so at least I have something exciting. I'll make sure that this Halloween continues the trend of me getting even more ridiculous than the year before. Of course, I have to work on Thursday, so this might not be the greatest of ideas. Also, last year was pretty fucking insane, what with the Spider-Man mask, broken iPod costume, Mexican trying to steal twenty dollars, climbing on the construction equipment, saying "I didn't know you were coming tonight!" to everybody I encountered, and asking a girl dressed as Twister if she was a lesbian, so it might be impossible to top. Ever.

As for the heavy drinking on a work night, I should have learned my lesson after this past Thursday. Mike and I went to MexiCali to split a pitcher of margaritas. We didn't get there until about 11:30, so it was already pretty late, but despite the fact that it was after midnight when we finished the pitcher, I insisted that we get a second one. Then we stumbled home at about 2am, and I started drinking beer. Went to bed at 4, woke up at 8. Not feeling great, but not feeling that bad either. However, my hangover caught up with me when I was on the freeway driving to work. I stopped at Vons to throw up (in their pay toilet) then laid down in my car. Later in the afternoon when I was sent out on a run I came back two hours late, claiming that traffic was terrible when in reality I just so happened to pass out in the back seat. At around 7pm I finally stopped feeling like shit. And now that it's been a full 24 hours, I'm once again looking forward to going out on a weeknight.

This is definitely the longest it's ever taken me to come up with a costume. Last year it was planned way in advance, and the year before that was prepared for at least a week. All of this brainstorming made me think of all of my past Halloween costumes, and my experiences with them.

- Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. When you're tall and lanky and have the nickname of "Scooby," it's bound to happen at some point.
- Santa's helper. It was Halloween night and everything was sold out at Target, and they had already put out the Christmas decorations. It was easy. I think I wore a performance fleece vest, as well. Don't know why.
- Murray from Clueless. Alicia and I were stoned and thought it would be hilarious to go as Dion and Murray. No, we didn't paint our faced black.
- Vampire Pirate. I wanted to be a Vampire, but I wanted to be a pirate. Best of both worlds. (This was before Johnny Depp made everyone and their Auntie May want to be a frikkin' pirate).
- Punk Rock Mummy. Another hybrid...I wanted to be a mummy but I also wanted to wear a trucker hat. It was a PBR hat and I believe it was Paul's.
- Mechanic. Saw coveralls at the thrift store and jumped at the opportunity to smear black gunk all over my head.
- Elroy Jetson. This was a long time in the making, since I originally wanted to be Elroy when I was a kid. It finally happened and I'd say about 95% of the people at parties knew who I was. The other people thought I was a train conductor.
- Carny. Usually I toss around a lot of ideas but when I know what I want to be, it hits me. When it feels right, it's right.

The Story So Far

I'm back by popular demand. And by "popular demand" I mean one or two people asking me casually "whatever happened to your blog?" At this point I'm not even sure what to write about. How's about we start with some random facts? I'll throw out some random facts and we'll see what sticks and is worth going into detail.

-Today we watched a really retarded movie that Mike worked on when he was in Chicago. I could go on and on about how bad it sucked, or I could just say "It sucked" and go on.

-I hate when parents use their children in strollers to push their way through crowds. I find that to be deplorable and just a step below using your child as a human shield.

-I saw Frankie Muniz today outside my work. I've also seen Carrie Underwood, Kiefer Sutherland, and some Asian guy that I've seen in a million things but couldn't for the life of me name one right now. Also, on Friday night Zach and I were getting beer at the grocery store for a party and Frank from The Real World Las Vegas was in front of us buying nothing but a bottle of white wine and some Aunt Jemima syrup. He wasn't all that friendly, but in his defense Zach and I can tend to be overwhelmingly annoying. I may be forgetting a few other celebrities, but those were the big ones.

-I was in Rob's digital short. I get killed. It was basically sitting around in make-up for 8 hours in order for me to film two reaction shots and then get hung. It was still pretty fun, though. I'd do it again. It was fun to get stapled in the face.

-I think I have an anxiety disorder. Actually, I know I do. I just choose to ignore it and let things fester.

-There is a large cast of colorful characters whom I see on a regular basis on my way to work downtown. First, there is Stinky. He's the homeless man at the bus stop. We call him Stinky because he smells, but this is not offensive because we are very friendly with him and give him Red Vines and various fruits. Plus, he does smell rank. It's like if someone called me "Blondie." Just pointing out a fact. There's also a lady who doesn't look all that crazy. She dresses rather normal and appears to be on her way to something important. However, as soon as she opened her mouth, got in my face, and shouted 'HI MR. JEFFREY!" I think her true colors started to peak through, just a tad. One of my favorites is probably the old man who smokes a pipe and pushes around a bunny in a stroller. Originally I had thought that this was a once-in-a-lifetime sighting, like Hale-Bopp or something. Thankfully, I've seen him more than once, and my days are all the brighter for that reason.

-I like my job. I really do. Sometimes it's not exactly gratifying (break into a house, go pick up lunch, move four couches), but it pays well and the hours give me the freedom to continue with Improv and writing. That said, a position has opened up in a department that I would very much like to be a part of. We'll see how it goes. I'll be sure to mention it in the next blog. Expect that one to be ready in February of 2012.

-Speaking of writing and Improv, both are going well. As a matter of fact, my boss from Weinstein is now running her own production company, and is very interested in an idea I pitched to her back in Spring. I wrote an outline which she gave me notes on, and now I'm writing her a full screenplay. Sure, this probably won't lead to money or success, but it's awesome to know that a real-life producer wants you to write something for them. Sure, the fact that she was my boss prior to this does cheapen it a little, but I try not to piss on my own parades.

So there you have it. A hodge-podge of new and interesting goings-ons in the life of Steve. I hope you've enjoyed.

Feeling Fiesty

I hate the new iPod Nano commercial and I hate that Fiest song. In general, I hate the sheer magnitude of indie artists who sell their songs to be used in commercials. Now, everyone knows that I am by no means a music purist (the number one most-played song on my iTunes is "Move Along" by All-American Rejects, which has been played a whopping eleven times), and it's not even a question of whether or not I feel that artists are selling out. Shit, I think selling out is just fantastic. If I were a rock star you can guarantee I'd be hawking anything from iPods to dental floss, so long as it made me a buck. No, the whole situation is a matter of smugness to me. I think that too many people who listen to indie rock are smug hipsters. I also think that too many people who use Apple products (save the iPod, since everyone and their Great Aunt Lily know their way around a click wheel) are smug hipsters. Ergo, this combination of indie rock and Apple product endorsement is too much smugness for me to handle. And don't get me started on the Mac vs. PC commercials. I would actually be a big fan of Justin Long, but every time I see him in a movie I just can't help but think of those fucking commercials and his dopey-yet-knowing smile. "Gawsh! I can edit my own movies with programs that come pre-installed on teh MacBook Pro! My tight hooded sweatshirt has patches on the elbows!"

Don't get me wrong, this isn't an anti-Mac iRant. I just hate smugness, which thereby decreases my tolerance for Apple and Indie Rock. Oh, and Lucky Brand Jeans.

I called in sick to work today. I'm feeling pretty crappy. A few double doses of DayQuil have really done the trick, though. I think Sudafed would have better suited my needs, but I forgot my ID when I went to CVS, and seeing as how you practically need to join the registry of sex offenders to purchase Sudafed, I had to settle for the small time. I picked a bad day to get sick, though, since they were shooting 24 in my building. Luckily Keifer and company will be returning tomorrow, so I still get some Hollywood excitement. Speaking of which, CSI: New York shot in my parking structure last week, and I saw Carrie Underwood shooting her new music video too!

In other work news, I still need to work on this whole networking thing. Everyone stresses how important it is to get to know people, since that's the only way you get ahead. My biggest issue here is my lack of desire to get ahead in this field. I want to write and perform comedy, and working as a PA gives me the hours and flexibility to continue with that. I consistently have to push myself to smile and acknowledge important people around me, and desperately struggle to make small talk in the elevators. I also need to continue to remind myself that I have only been in LA for six months, and while things are going well, nothing big is going to happen overnight. I do love my job though. A lot. For the first time EVER I don't care when it's Sunday night because I enjoy going in to my job the next day.

Our Emmy Party was on Sunday. Unfortunately, we lost to Amazing Race, which is apparently nothing new. It's hard to compete with a midget in knight's gear. I suppose the fact that Top Chef got nominated and Survivor is a pretty good accomplishment in and of itself. Also, I really had jack shit to do with the production of either of those shows, so my bout of disappointment consisted of a small shrug and then joining the rest of the crowd in booing the Amazing Race acceptance speech. The party was fun. It was at a super nice place in West Hollywood and so it was cool to be at a real live industry event. I still have no dress shoes, but I probably would have worn black sneakers again regardless. I fucking hate dress shoes more than Apple commercials, I really do.

In other exciting news (I can't believe I saved this for last. I should have opened with something so great), I signed up for Blockbuster Online again and have been getting discs of Prison Break season 2. Sure, that doesn't sound all that exciting, but yesterday my envelope came, and not only did it have Disc 2 inside, it also had The Holiday starring Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet! That's right! A used copy of The Holiday in a paper sleeve to call my very own! And I never have to return it! Sometime this week Mike, Jim, and I are going to go pick up some Haagen Dazs, a few pizzas, watch The Holiday and just PIG OUT!!!

Trip ain't over!

After weeks of hyping it up, the big trip to Vegas finally happened. While it wasn't the outrageous disaster many were anticipating it to be, it was still an incredible (and incredibly hot) time.

Sometimes I get a little bit off track when writing entries (I already deleted an entire paragraph explaining why Mike, Jim and I only by Natural Ice. Why I found that to be relevant to our Vegas trip is unclear), so I'm going to give a day-by-day.

Thursday.
I always knew there was going to be an issue when Jess arrived in LA. Everyone has jobs out here, and she was landing at like 2 in the afternoon. It all worked out, though. I had her take a shuttle to downtown. Of course, I was out of the office when she got there, which meant poor Dangles had to lug a giant suitcase around and fend off the aggressive Mexicans. I told Jess to wait for me at First Cup Cafe (note to Jess: they just filmed CSI: New York at First Cup yesterday), and then when I finally get back downtown, I have no idea what to do with her. So I have her sit at another cafe for a few hours. It was a cool place though. Good atmosphere, even if it was 105 degrees inside. Talk about a scorcher! That night Mike, Jim, Jess and I went out for Margaritas. They were weak. I've had Kool-Aid Popsicles that had higher alcohol content. After two pitchers and a plate of melted cheese, we decide to bounce and take the party home with us, via a thirty pack of Natural Ice (oh, I guess that's where the aforementioned Natural Ice tangent came from). We go to bed somewhat early.

Friday.
I had a half day at work. Went and picked up Mike and Jess. We sit in traffic forever but finally get downtown. I park my car at work to save money, but we soon discover that Union Station is a little bit over a mile away. And it's like 102 degrees out. And we have to cross the freeway. Just so everyone knows, Jess does NOT do well in heat. It was a sweaty, miserable walk. We meet Zach at Union Station, because his roommate dropped him off. Zach gives us TERRIBLE directions on how to get to the bus (long story short, he told us to go all the way to the back of Union Station, when in actuality the bus was parked in the loading dock around the corner from the entrance) We are convinced that we are going to miss the bus. Mike is swearing, Jess is struggling, and I'm mentally preparing a playlist of all the songs to play in the car, since driving to Vegas seems inevitable at this point. Luckily, we finally find an employee who knows what the fuck they are talking about, and we get on the bus. God bless air conditioning. Traffic was a shit show. Apparently everybody in LA drives to Vegas for Labor Day. Who knew? At one point our bus driver stops in the middle of the freeway and gets off. We all laugh nervously. Due to the delay, we get in at about 11 or so. Zach tries to shmooze the lady into giving us a cheap room upgrade, but I get nervous and tell her we don't want one. Our room is in a "Manor" which is just a fancy way of saying "hotel addition circa 1988." To say we were still on the Strip would be a gross embellishment. We went out, anyway. Walked the strip and what not. Mike won a lot of money, while the ATM refused to let me take money out. I used my only dollar on the slots, won five instantly, and bought a beer. Once that was gone, I took it upon myself to find an ATM that would give me money. Long story short, I wandered off for about a half hour. Everyone got mad at me. Mike offered to lend me cash, because apparently he doesn't know me well enough yet to know that I REFUSE help from people. We get drunk, but it's so hot and we walk so much that everyone sobers up. At 4 am we are at Mandalay Bay hanging out with Zach's friends from high school. They are being entirely inappropriate and we decide its time for bed.

Saturday.
Piss the day away with naps, walks, and Notre Dame football. We finally go out at about four. Mike and Jess buy cheap margaritas. We walk to the Venetian. Said margaritas do not do right by Mike and Jess. We eat and decide to start drinking/gambling. Since Mike is wearing a shirt with his name on the back, people find him to be quite approachable. First there's the Asian guy with the giant mug hat that says "Got Beer?" who asks Mike (who REALLY REALLY has to pee, which is why this story tickles me so) where the party is. Mike finally passes the guy over to Zach so he can hightail it to the bathroom. Zach tries to tell the guy about this club called Krave. His accent is thick, I'm drunk, and it sounds like he's saying "Queef." This tickles me also. Mike meets two guys in the bathroom. They are part of some American tour adventure from all over the world, and we decide to combine groups. We walk around and share champagne with people from New Zealand, Australia, England, and Ireland. It's fun at first, but soon the random silliness wears off, people get hot and frustrated, and we find out that three of the guys are 18. That's the end of our collaboration with the United Nations. We go back to O'Sheas, a ghetto dive of a casino and drink more cheap beer and do shots. We eat Burger King. Zach eats enough for a family of four. A cute girl is excited to sit with me. Unfortunately she has braces and is with her parents. It takes forever to find a cab. Some guy in front of us in the cab line is unresponsive and throwing up. He very well might be dead at this point. We get back to the hotel, act silly for about an hour, and pass out.

Sunday.
We get back. Apartment is hot as fuck. Jess and Zach sleep in Jim's room. I don't sleep.

Monday.
Drive Jess to the airport. It's really fucking hot out and I'm in a bad mood all day. In order to escape the hotbox that is our apartment (not joking. Butter was melting in our fridge), Jim and I go see Superbad.



And that was the weekend.

Chapter 11: Part Two. Eleven-one-zero-three Cheat on Him.

I always kind of knew I wouldn't be at Western for four years. I was leaving Kalamazoo knowing full well that I wasn't coming back. It was hard. This was before emotional goodbyes became second nature to me. To really drive home the fact that I didn't belong at WMU anymore, my roommates threw a party on my last night in town. Here's the thing...it was a birthday party for our neighbor. It wasn't until much later that the "/Steve's going away" was hastily tagged onto the end of "Jason's Birthday." That's right, I got second billing in my own house. But that's neither here nor there. My farewell to the 'Zoo was already covered in Chapter 10.

I don’t know if it was a subconscious fear of leaving or just plain laziness, but I really took my time on the packing front. We were supposed to leave for the airport at 4am, and I didn’t even make an attempt to get my stuff together until 2. It’s one thing to wait until the last minute to pack before a trip, but I wasn’t going on some week-long getaway. I was moving. For reals. Here’s the thing about moving, though. You can’t fit your life in two suitcases. Hell, you can barely fit your GameCube. Luckily, these apartments we were living in were fully furnished and came with all of that stuff. That’s right, Disney College Program students got to have

“the opportunity to meet and live with people from all over the country, as well as the world, within the housing complexes. These complexes are diverse in their amenities and floor plans. Each offers the opportunity to meet fellow participants and create a sense of home in a comfortable living community.”

You hear that? Just like home!

And it’s true. You definitely feel at home, especially if your home life consists of:
1. No overnight visitors.
2. Getting written up by security for leaving your patio door open.
3. Scabies.

When I was assigned an apartment, the kind lady asked me if I minded living with people who had arrived shortly before I did, and would move out shortly before me. Thinking this meant they got there a week earlier, I happily agreed and signed my contract for 11103 Chatham Manor Blvd. What a terrible address. All of those 1's. So I show up and move into the new place. Turns out that when the kind lady said the people had arrived "shortly" before me, she meant six months. I can see how six months can be considered a short period of time if you're engaged to be married or are dying of a terminal illness, but when your entire College Program experience is eight months, that's quite a different perspective. Turns out that Phil, Robby, Jeremy, Joe, and Rob had already completed their programs and extended until May. Whereas every other new CP was out exploring Walt Disney World with their new roomies, I sat alone on the couch while mine were at work. That simple act is probably what garnered me the nickname "Guy on Couch" for the first month.

I didn't have a lot of good friends in Florida. I just didn't fit in. I wasn't a big enough badass to run with the renegades, but I was too cool for the Disney freaks. One night, on the bus ride home from Magic Kingdom (yes, I went to Magic Kingdom alone. Ridiculous), I overheard a girl sitting on the bus behind me. She was one of our new Rescue Rangers. I turned around and introduced myself. Her name was Kara. The first thing she said to me was "I haven't started yet, but I hear our boss is a bitch." With those few words, I immediately knew I needed someone like Kara in my life to make it through the second half of the program. Kara and I wasted no time in talking smack about everyone and everything. I taught her a lot of important lessons, like how if you re supposed to be bussing tables at Electric Umbrella, you can just go upstairs and hide and no one will know you're gone. We also had fun playing with astronaut blankets at the Mission:Space gift shop, where our two favorite managers, Lehlee and Joey, worked. Lehlee was a sultry Asian fox who, much like a speeding locomotive, you did now want to get in the way of. This is an actual conversation I had with her:

Steve: I can't wear these sunglasses anymore. They're hurting my eyes.
Lehlee: How many you sell?
Steve: None. I can't see anything and I'm feeling nauseous.
Lehlee: You sell three more.

Joey, on the other hand, was certainly a nice guy. But bless his heart, he had a short-term memory disorder. That's really the only explanation I could give for why every time I worked with Joey, which was frequently, he felt the need to introduce himself and comment on how we had never met. The only time Joey actually did remember me was when he felt inclined to scold me for leaving Test Track one day without asking. Sure, the ride was down. Sure, it was twenty minutes after the time I was scheduled to leave. I'm not exactly sure what purpose I would have served by staying. Maybe Joey was just upset he didn't get to introduce himself for the 14th time that day.

Kara and I had a lot in common, so she called me her Twinkie. I found this nickname to be really gay, so I called her Twigger in return. One of the most memorable moments of the entire program was probably one of my last weekends there. Hurricane Charley. It was me, Kara, and Robby (whom Kara nicknamed "Divalicious"). We watched the news, witnessed trees getting uprooted from the ground right outside our window, and answered phone calls from our worried mothers every fifteen minutes. We were safe, warm, and cozy, until we saw people actually running outside in the middle of it all and thought "That looks fun!" And off we went. Twigger got hit by a falling gutter, which was pretty funny. The rain was coming down so hard it hurt, and the second you stepped out into it you were drenched. We ran around, had our fun, then decided to go back inside. After drying off, we settled back down, all warm and cozy. Until we got bored and decided to go run around outside again. By the end of the night, we had changed our clothes about 5 times (because who wants to put on wet drawers

I lived in Chatham Square Apartments. The other complex was Vista Way. Chatham was nicknamed "Cheat-on-him," while Vista was affectionately dubbed "Vista Lay." Yes, those Disney College Program kids are known to get a little wild. Especially on Thursday nights, when they get into Pleasure Island for free. Legend has it that the hot tub at Vista was even listed in Playboy as one of the best places for a college student to get laid. In general, I think the CP's (that's what we called ourselves) were divided into two groups of people. Hardcore-party-animal-sexaholics...and Mormons. There were a LOT of Mormons in Florida. Nice people. Smiley. And they love to watch "Friends." I wasn't a crazy partier (which is odd, considering the lifestyle I left in Kalamazoo), and I wasn't much of a Mormon either. This made my social life very difficult. I could either go out to dinner at Steak and Shake and be back home and in bed by 8:30pm, or I could go out to Jungle Jim's and watch other people drink, since I was 20.

Every Rescue Ranger had one quality or trait that they became notorious for. Emily always left early. Mary Beth showed up drunk in the morning. Greg couldn't work Sundays because of his Mormon beliefs/laziness. Everyone knew that I was the one who was constantly being put on "light duty" due to my ability to find new and innovative ways to mutilate my face to a point where it was so unsightly that I was asked not to interact with guests. The first time this occurred was when I was assigned to be the greeter at Mission:Space. Basically this job meant making sure kids were tall enough to ride, reciting the words "It's uses centrifugal forces to simulate an actual rocket launch," ad nauseam, and getting second degree burns on my face from standing in the Florida sun for eight hours. I got two days off from work for this one, and when I returned I was sent to a small desk in the corner of the administration offices with a stack of file folders and a label maker, which they had affectionately named Larry. That day consisted of labeling a file folders for eight hours straight and getting told by countless people that I should have worn sunscreen. Like I didn't know what sunscreen was. Surely, had I any knowledge of this miracle lotion I would have applied copious amounts all day! Alas, hindsight is always 20/20. Sunscreen, eh? That's new. Another women kept telling me to put aloe on my increasingly scabby cheeks. Wait...ALOE? ALOE FOR SUNBURN?! I was being overwhelmed with BRAND NEW INFORMATION!

The second head injury occurred on the 4th of July. After watching the fireworks at Epcot and consuming absolutely NO alcohol (the fact that I was stone cold sober makes me come off as an even bigger dumbass), we decided to have a piggyback race backstage. Rachel, a fellow Rescue Ranger, hopped on my back and we took off. Piggyback rides aren't usually dangerous, but when you're racing someone and it's dark out, the stakes are raised exponentially. I stepped down off of a curb and twisted my ankle. Rachel and I both flew forward onto the pavement, and she landed on my head. My first thought was "Oh God what if I just killed Rachel!?" My second thought was "Oh God I hit my head, what if I go retarded!?" After reading a book in fifth grade about a girl who fell off a horse and hit her head, I've always had a fear of sustaining a head injury and "going" retarded. Luckily, Rachel was alive and my mental health was just as good as it ever was, which doesn't say much, considering the fact that competed and fell in a piggyback race. Rachel had quite a gash across her arm, and my head was bleeding profusely. Everyone around us found the entire scene to be hilarious. Luckily we were behind the World Showcase, so all of the things being shouted at Rachel and me were in other languages. It was safe to assume that the fellow castmembers were laughing and shouting things like "Goodness! Are you okay?!" as opposed to something like "What a fucking dumbass!"

With a gash across my forehead, I was once again deemed unsuitable for the eyes of visitors. This time, I was introduced to Larry the labelmaker's close friend, Shelly the shredder. After a few hours of shredding files (I could pretend that they were top secret documents containing classified Disney information, but it was mostly just payroll), I was transferred to a different office, where I met Twigger. Twigger had thrown up in the garbage (or so she said), and requested to spend the rest of the day doing something other than custodial. Or maybe she purposely inhaled chemicals. Either way, she hated custodial and would rather hear her first born child's death rattle than clean up a "protein spill." The two of us were assigned to the most important duty on all of Disney property. Sharpening pencils. This wasn't really a two person job, considering the fact that despite the thousands of pencils, there was only one sharpener. Not to mention the fact that after sharpening three pencils, the piece of garbage would overheat. You'd have to wait about fifteen minutes for it to work again. Two hours and fifteen pencils later, we went back to deployment and begged them to let us go home. Mind-numbing busy work, although quite Zen, is not worth six bucks an hour.

I showed up in January with about 40 other new Rescue Rangers. About a dozen of us made it to the end and graduated.

How's that for a hook?

Stories that sucked at the time but are now funny when I tell them.

I don't write a lot because I only want to post entertaining stories. Sure, I could sign on every day and tell you I bought Aquafresh at the dollar store or that after running my ass sweat turned the white to pink on my checkered boxers, but I'd rather hold off on that stuff and only record moments and anecdotes that mean something. In the words of the Huckabee's girl, "It's not quantity not quality!"

With that said, there is a new Walgreens in North Hollywood that I will never be going to again. On Friday, they called me to tell me that they were out of my prescription and the soonest I could get it would be Monday. Sure sure, that's fine. I can wait. Patience is a virtue, you know, and since I'm not modest, honest, friendly, or good looking, the only way I can get people to like me is if I really hold my fucking horses. So I'm-a gon' wait till Monday. No biggie. Now, Monday after work, I head right over to the CBS Radford lot because Virginia Madsen is meeting with all of the Semester in LA students from 2007 and giving us a little lecture and Q&A time. Pretty cool, huh? She was very nice, totally down to earth, and somewhat inspiring. I use the word "somewhat" because after an entire five-week intensive course of people saying "you can do what you put your mind to! Don't give up! Stay true to yourself and good things will happen!" the whole spiel starts to lose its luster, even if the person saying it did star in "Firewall" with Harrison Ford. All the same, Virginia was very cool. And she looked great.

*Small side note before getting back to the Walgreens story. Consider this a tangent of a tangent, if you will. I was unsure of using the word "luster" and so I was going to check a thesaurus and see if I could find something better, but Stephen King says that any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. Remember that.

Monday night's event doesn't bring about any concern, since it ends at nine and the Walgreens website clearly states that their pharmacy closes at ten. I get there at 9:05, and guess what? Closed. Closedy closed closed closed. I'm pretty perturbed about this. On any other day I would have shrugged, taken a chocolate tootsie pop out of my car's CD holder and sang along to "Oil and Water" by Incubus on the way home, but not this day. You see, Monday morning started off with me taking over two hours to get to work, due to a horrible accident on the 101. Not only was the 101 a parking lot, but every street within two miles was just as bad. I was still walking distance from my apartment 45 minutes after leaving. As I tried to figure out who to bother with my patented "I'm stuck in traffic, entertain me" phone calls, I thought to myself how I really hoped that this terrible morning was not going to be an indicator of the rest of my day. Ohhh, but it was. When I finally got in, I had to go pick up a cake from some dog bakery in Pasadena for our accountant's dog's 1st birthday party, as well as cupcakes for the people to eat. I go get the cake, and stop at PetCo for some birthday presents for Rambo, and then head up the street to the cupcake bakery. Turns out the cupcake bakery only takes Visa and Mastercard. The corporate card we use is American Express. I had to go all the way back to the office, trade the card for petty cash, and go all the way back out to Pasadena. For cupcakes. For a dog's birthday party. The rest of my day was filled with similar debacles that I don't feel like getting into on account of I have a lot more stuff to cover and I still haven't said why I hate this Walgreens.

I hate this Walgreens because when I returned the next morning, half of the parking lot was being taken up by a giant tent, podium, and buffet tables. This was the grand opening ceremony. Are you fucking kidding me?! A grand opening for a Walgreens?! What the fuck is there to celebrate? That this is the sixth one in a two mile radius? Who the fuck needs to speak? Who would even attend this? Am I really going to have to put off getting my prescription a third time because there is nowhere to park due to an OPENING DAY CEREMONY FOR A FUCKING WALGREENS? And the store was open the night before! It wasn't even opening day! From now on, I only shop at pharmacies that don't celebrate.

In case you were wondering, I double parked and ran in. Due to my job, double parking has become second nature. Sometimes I have to deliver something to a place with no lot and nothing available on the street. When that happens, I think that it is my God-given right to park wherever I need to in order to get my job done. As if the police or meter maids are going to accept Manifest Destiny as an acceptable excuse and let me go without a ticket.

Today my boss asked if I wanted to go on a run to Venice to pick up some props for one of our shows. I didn't mine. My Focus gets such good mileage that when they reimburse me for gas money, I actually make a decent profit, so I never turn down a run, especially if it's going to kill a lot of time. A little while later, she receives an email with my instructions. I will now repeat to you exactly what I was told to do in order to procure the props, which were old vinyl records.

"...his place is unlocked. you have to jump the fence via the alley. The alley is behind the house."

So, yeah. I'm basically going to this guys house, jumping a fence and walking right inside. Sounds crazy, right? That's not even the half of it. A few things that they could have mentioned before sending me off to break and enter...

-The guy whose place I'm breaking into? It's not even his property. He rents the guest house. That means I'm climbing into some stranger's yard. This makes me slightly uncomfortable.
-The fence I'm supposed to climb is not some hip-length chain link fence that you can easily jump over. It is taller than me and although it is still chain link, it has wooden boards up against it. These boards were probably attached in order to keep people from seeing into their yard...or...I dunno....CLIMBING?
-I laugh it off and decide to just go for it and climb the damn 7 foot tall fence into a complete strangers back yard. I enter this guys house and find the vinyls. Three tall stacks of them. Now, how the HELL am I supposed to get 100 records over this fence? I ended up sliding them (two by two) through the small crack between the (locked) gate and the fence. It was not ideal. When I got them all through and climbed to the other side, I had to go through and put them all back together into piles.

I finally get back to the office with all of these stupid vinyls, and the guy who was supposed to take them to Ventura has already left.

I wasn't pissed though. It was fun.

Allow me to explain.

A few minutes ago I was looking on facebook for probably the 20th time today. Somebody I barely know who I worked with two years ago had uploaded a new photo album, and I clicked to see the pictures. That's when it dawned on me.

I don't care about this kid's pictures. I don't care what he's up to. I don't about him in general. So why did I feel so inclined to view his latest album?

Then, I went back to the list of updated profiles and scrolled down the rest of the friends.

And honestly, I have no reason to care what 99 percent of those people are up to right now.

I didn't delete my facebook because I am friends with a lot of people on there who I have no other way of contacting. However, I just crossed into a new state of consciousness. A plane of existence that not many other people my age have experienced. It's the place you go when you realize that at the end of the day, Facebook is a gigantic waste of time.

And no, I'm not drunk and feeling rebellious. If you want to know my work info, favorite quotes, or status, then fucking ask me. Don't look it up on a web page.

psych!

First and foremost, the last post was a hoax.

Dangles wasn't sure what to write her blog about, and so I broke out my Writer's Block. It's a small book with over 700 pages of words, quotes, and pictures that are designed to spark the imagination! After I randomly turned to a page and gave her the spark word of "indulgence," I decided to do the same thing. My word was "hitchhiker." With such a specific spark word, my only option was to tell a story about hitchhiking. Since I've never been, my only option was to make one up. Yes, it's true. You've been had.

But let's not dwell!

I got a job as a production assistant at a company that does reality shows. I'll gladly tell you what company and what shows, but I don't want to be posting all my professional biznass on the wide wide world of web.

Today, however, I am a temp assistant at Weinstein again. Just today, and never again. It's an obligation that I made before interviewing, and I needed to fulfill it. Being back, however, as conjured up all of the memories of my life as an intern. Yeah, I'm well aware it was like...a month ago, but it feels like much longer. Mostly because Karen is gone, the other interns are gone, and I don't know anyone. Another thing I've come to realize upon my return to TWC is how my life has come a complete 180 in the past month. I was miserable for a while. I still can't decide if moving in with Mike and Jim made all that better or worse. On the plus side, I was living with friends. Contrariwise, I was working 45 hours a week (for free), then coming home with even more stuff to do, while they explored LA, drank all day, and enjoyed the Honeymoon portion of their arrival to California. I was busy, poor, and depressed, and basically hit rock bottom. But now, things are much better and I'm flyin' high.

For one thing, the roommates have entered the real world as well, so I no longer feel like Old Man Crotchett, going to bed and complaining that those rambunctious little whippersnappers are keeping me up at night. Most importantly, though, is the fact that I GOT A JOB. And I love it. A lot. I get to go on runs and pick up and deliver anything from tweezers to Emmy tickets. I get to work normal hours. I get paid well. I couldn't be happier. Unlike the fancy shmancy Hollywood places I've been interviewing and interning at previously, my job is downtown, in a very old building in a less pristine part of town. It reminds me of the 624 S. Michigan building, only a little shabbier. The who neighborhood has a State Street vibe. Not H&M-and-Nordstrom-Rack State Street, but Wig-Store-and-homeless-people-in-front-of-Beef-and-Brandy State Street. In fact, I still have this feeling in my mind that there is a giant body of water on the other side of my the street. I like being downtown again. Even if it's kinda gross and I saw a city worker smoking a blunt with a homeless lady who had no shoes. My biggest concern with work is that since I'm technically on a trial-run, my boss is going to decide I'm not a keeper and throw me back into the murky dark waters of unemployment. Tomorrow I'm going to go in and impress the crap out of everyone.

So...life in LA is looking up. I had a GREAT weekend because I came out of my shell for once and didn't make half ass excuses as to why I couldn't go out. Positive attitudes are swell.

Oh, and Dangles just bought her tickets to LA. Labor Day weekend.

Here's a recipe for disaster:
Las Vegas.
+Me
+Flavin.
+Krasman.
+Dangles.


It is the worst idea ever, and I can't wait.

The Hitchhikers's Guide to the Valley

I've done some stupid stuff. We all know this. It's kind of what makes me quirky and charming. No doubt it probably knocks several decades off my life expectancy, but let's just focus on quirky and charming.

I ran out of gas on my way home from class yesterday. This moment was a long time coming, since I generally don't put more than five dollars worth of gas in my car at a time, and the gas light is warning me on quite a consistent basis. But here's where the situation gets sticky...

I have to drive over a large hill (I don't know why everyone calls it a "hill," because for all intents and purposes, it's mountain-sized) every day. Going up the hill, when I'm on an incline, the gas light is always on, because of the way the gauge is set up in my tank. On the way downhill, the gauge always says I have more than I do. One may think that these variables are easy to take into consideration and work around, but believe me, sometimes laziness/stupidity will catch up with you. My incompetence came and bit me on the ass halfway up Laurel Canyon, when I finally ran out of gas. What do you do when you run out of gas? Pull over, obviously, but then what? I wanted to call someone and have them come help me, but I would have felt like a huge dumbass. Not like walking all the way over the hill to a gas station and explaining the situation would be any better, but at least the gas station attendant wouldn't make fun of me for the rest of my life like my friends would. If you work at a gas station, you're in no position to judge. Plus I could just mosey on in, smile, say that I've come to purchase some gasoline for my riding lawn mower, and no one's the wiser.

Walking up a mountain when it's 97 degrees out sucks. Yeah, some might say "well at least it's a dry heat!" To them, I say "Fuck you. It's still 97 degrees no matter how you slice it." It always looks so sexy in movies, when people's cars break down and they have to find the nearest service station for help. Toned bodies glisten with sweat in the sun, while miraculously we witness no pit stains or swamp ass.

I don't know what possessed me to do what I did next. Perhaps it was curiosity. Or maybe temporary insanity brought on by dehydration and chafed thighs. Could have been the fact that I feel safe anywhere I go in LA as long as I see a lot of nice cars around. Whatever the reason, I slowly lifted my left arm, held my hand up towards the road...and stuck my thumb out.

Don't worry. I lived to tell the tale. Not only that, but I got a free tank of gas, and had Mojitos with Andrea Barber. (IMDB her if you must.) It's really a fun story that I'll have to get around to telling one day.

I wore black sneakers to my Grandpa's funeral

Now seems like as good of time as any to finally write this. Every time I thought the story was over, something else happened. It's epic, really.

I wasn't in a good mood last Tuesday. Not sure why, but I definitely had my grumpy pants on. I was tired and ornery, and decided to just go to bed early. So I did. I keep a picture of my grandparents on my desk, and I looked at it before I went to bed. Something felt off. Wrong.

I got the phone call at 5 am. My aunt was calling. I knew exactly what it was, but I let the phone ring. If she didn't call right back, then it wasn't anything too important, obviously.

She called right back.

My grandpa died that morning.

My first reaction wasn't shock. It wasn't disbelief. It wasn't tears. There really wasn't a first reaction. My aunt was crying, but I don't know if it was because I was so tired, or just had no idea how to react, but I just stayed quiet and calm. Of course, despite the fact that it was 5am, I couldn't go back to bed. Even if I could have gone back to sleep, it just would have felt wrong to. Like...I find out this terrible news and just go back to bed. I went into the living room and turned on the TV. I watched three episodes of Married With Children and finally fell asleep for a little while. That whole morning is just a blur of sleep and tears. I woke up again at 11 and couldn't believe it was so early. It felt like days had gone by since my aunt called, but it wasn't even lunch time.

Telling people was the hardest. I've never lost anyone before, so I'm just not sure what the appropriate behavior is. I decided sleeping all day was the best coping mechanism. Eventually I had to tell my roommates, which was the first time I had to say it out loud. It was hard.

To complicate matters, my grandma just had open-heart surgery the day before. She was doing well in recovery, but how do you tell her that her husband died when just had such an intense procedure? The worst part was probably coming to the realization that she wouldn't be able to go to Grandpa's funeral. We tried to work it out, but the funeral home couldn't hold on to him forever, and recovery from open surgery can take weeks, if not months. I went to work on Thursday, but about ten minutes into the day, I decided that I couldn't wait for the weekend to go home. I got online, bought tickets for the same flight Millie was flying home on (not having to fly back alone made a BIG difference to me), and by midnight, I was back in Detroit.

It was heartbreaking when we went to visit my grandma, because she still didn't know we were having the funeral without her. There was a lot of hostility within the family as to whether or not this was the right thing to do, but what was the alternative? In the end, she gave us her blessing to proceed with the funeral, and when she's feeling better, we'll have a memorial mass that she can attend.

So...the next few days were filled with typical bereavement. The hugs, the crying, the preparations, etc. Sunday was the first night of visitation at the funeral home. I wondered why they gave immediate family an hour before the rest of the people were invited, but it probably has something to do with how emotional everyone gets when you see the body for the first time. You want to be with your family, not trying to explain to your great aunt who you haven't seen since graduation how a person can get a degree in Television. I've never dealt with death before, so this was a new and most unsavory experience. The worst part was going through all of this while my grandma sat alone in a hospital room. She should have been there, and it hurt us all that she couldn't.

On Monday, we went to go visit Grandma before heading to the funeral home for more visiting. (Eight hours at a funeral home, is that normal? It shouldn't be. You really forget that you're even mourning when you're bored out of your mind and starving). I should also mention that the funeral was held in Bad Axe, Michigan. A very small farm community in the Thumb of the state. They are a different breed up there. They don't drive fancy cars and eat at expensive restaurant. They're simple folk, just as you'd expect a farmer to be.

Which is why I wore black sneakers to my Grandpa's funeral.

On the way to the hospital, we got a phone call that my other grandpa, my mom's dad, had a stroke, and that we should prepare for the worst. After the funeral, I went to see my Grandma one more time, before going back to Novi and seeing my other grandpa. When I said goodbye to him, I knew it was the last time, because at this point we all knew he wasn't going to make it much longer. Despite this, I still flew back to LA. What could I do in Michigan? Sit and wait for him to die? I just buried one of my grandparents. I needed a break. I needed to get back to normal, even if it meant flying back to Michigan a few days later.

Sure enough, I got that phone call on Saturday night. Grandpa B had passed. Time to go back home. This time I didn't take a whole week off. I just couldn't. I came home for two days, just for the funeral and burial. I don't know why, but this time around I wasn't as emotional. I think I was emotionally drained. I didn't have it in me anymore to grieve. Of course, that all changed at the funeral. I was fine for the most of it, but then came the part where all of the grandkids took up a rose and put it in a vase. There we were, all 18 of his grandkids, each one sobbing more than the cousin in front of them. My grandma was crying too, as was everyone else in church, as we all put our pink roses in the vase. At the end of the service, my aunt went up front and asked that we pray for the other relatives we have lost as well, and she mentioned my other grandpa. That's when it really hit me. The funerals were only a week apart. Grandpa Balagna died 10 days after Grandpa Ochoa.

Both were military burials, which I think are 100 times harder than a normal one because they play "Taps" and hand the folded flag to a family member.

It was a rough few weeks, that's for sure. But now I'm back in California, kind of employed, and moving on. Both of my grandfathers were sarcastic, funny, and loved to crack wise, and I know that's where I get it from. They lived long, happy lives, and it was just their time to go. The following poem was on the back of the prayer cards at both of their funerals. And yes, it still hurts when I have to say "both."

God saw that you were getting tired
And a cure was not to be,
So he put his arms around you
and whispered come with me.

With tearful eyes we watched you
and saw you fade away,
Although we love you dearly,
we could not make you stay.

A golden heart stopped beating,
hardworking hands at rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us -
He only takes the best.

I'd LOVE to pay my own rent.

I had a life shattering crisis last week and Mike basically had to put me on suicide watch, but I'm better now. The stress of job searching got the better of me, I suppose. I'm well aware of the fact that in this industry I have to start at the bottom and work my way up, but if I want to write and do improv, then what the hell is the point in taking a job that gives me no time for writing and comedy?

I got a call for a job I really want. This happened Friday. I was away from my desk, and as soon as I got the message, I called the lady back. No answer. Called all day yesterday. No answer. Today? No answer. Perhaps she is out of the office because of the holiday? Let's hope.

I also interviewed at Deal or No Deal, but haven't heard back. I would take the job if I got it, but I'm not going to cry if I don't. Also got a call from a new crossword puzzle game show. Finding a job can take time, and considering the leads and interviews I've gotten in only a few weeks, things are going pretty damn well. However, I'm also broke and need to start working. And I need insurance. I've seriously considered quitting both internships and getting a random job just to make money, but I want to continue my ties at Weinstein, especially with my wonderful boss who is responsible for most of the interviews I've gotten. I'll work a few days a week at Weinstein, quit Offspring, and get a part time job for Thurs-Sun.

Mille and Jeff came this weekend! It was lots of fun. Friday night we went to this awesome little bar in Los Feliz and met our friend Maggie. Saturday I had improv (passed! Got accepted to the next level!) and then we went to a cemetery screening. It's pretty much the coolest thing ever. They play movies on a huge screen, similar to Grant Park, only it's in the Hollywood Forever cemetery. The movie was Roman Holiday. Dani would have LOVED the whole experience.

Sunday was DISNEYLAND!!!!!! Tons of fun. Lots of pictures. We rode everything twice. Except for Finding Nemo, which was far too long of a wait. I wouldn't stand in line for 2 hours to go on a real submarine, so I sure as shit won't do it for a pretend one that doesn't even fully submerge. While we were waiting in line for Indiana Jones (my all time favorite Disney ride at any park ever), some small creature flew into my face. I kinda freaked out, you know, since something flew into my face. It then fell down my chest and got stuck in my shirt. And do you wanna know what it was???

A baby bird. An adorable little chirping birdie.

The people around me in line were pissed that I swatted at it. But I didn't know it was a baby bird! If some strange flying creature flew into your fave, what would you do?

Jeff is gone. Millie is here till Thursday. I'm back at work. It's dead today because every other studio and production company has a half day, so I'm just chillin.

Still no internet at home. Hence, no blogs ever.

Quickly

-In the grand tradition of cable companies being absolute fuck-ups, we won't have cable/internet for quite some time, and I don't have time at work to go blogging.

-Had an interview today to be the production assistant on an actual TV show. A real one. On ABC.

-Got asked today to be the temporary replacement for the assistant to two execs at Dimension Films. Take my word for it, this is a GOOD thing.

-Computer broke.

-5 days left on computer warranty. Thank GOD.

-Moved to Studio City.

-I actually might have a job soon.

I'm mooooooooving

The other day I went to McCambridge park and I took my notebook and some reading material. I read some of Slaughterhouse Five, The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson (for a creative and professional reason, trust me), and then I pulled out my black-cover-red-star notebook that I take with me everywhere in hopes to maintain an appearance of introspectiveness. There's somewhat of a poetic irony in the fact that I go through these lengths to look pensively self-reflective only because I want to appear that way in front of others. Regardless, none of this matters because I feel like I'm rarely actually writing in that book anyway. It's an awesome book, though.

So I pulled out the "LOOK! I'm a writer!!!" book and before I knew it, I had written four full pages. I read it back and it's actually pretty funny. I want to post it in here, but I've never gotten around to it. I was going to do it right now, but it turns out that I already took that book over to the new apartment. I'm not quite sure why I've already started the "process" of moving into the new place. Especially since the "process" is putting all thirteen of my personal effects into the Focus and driving eight miles west. Whatever the reason-

Okay, fuck that. I have a feeling people would rather I talk about the new apartment, as opposed to what I wrote in my journal that I left at said apartment.

It's in Studio City. It's nice. It's a three bedroom with a balcony. The front door is a sliding glass door, but you learn to love it. I just realized we have no fridge, but we each pay $600 a month to live in Studio City so I'm not about to complain if I have to pay for a third of a miniature dorm fridge. We have a pool. It's clean looking. The lounge chairs are decidedly less pristine.

Now that the apartment situation is taken care of (well, HAVING an apartment is taking care of. Filling it with a bed, furniture, fridge, microwave, television, and everything else that apartments need is another issue entirely), I can focus on other things. Namely, job hunting. Karen has said many times she is going to help me get a job. She said last week that she's been putting her feelers out to see what the word on the street is. That's a metaphor, just so you know. She doesn't have real feelers. Well...do hand count? "I'm putting my hands out to find you a job." See, that just doesn't conjur the same vivid imagery. Either way, she said at the end of the month we're gonna sit down and have a serious talk about what it is I want to do and she's going to start really getting serious about finding me employment. So, anyone who always asls me, "Your boss says she's going to find you a job, but is she really?" It looks like she's the real deal.

I love improv class. I'm telling you right now, if I get a job that gets in the way of taking the next course at Groundlings, I'm seriously going to have to reconsider the offer. I look forward to every Saturday just like we used to look forward to weekends in middle school. I say middle school because by the time we hit high school, weekends don't matter because we'll just skip if we don't feel like going. I could go on and on about how much I love class and the stuff we do, but I don't think it makes for a good read. Also, if I say "I want to finish taking all the classes, be part of one of their stage shows, get an agent and become an actor/writer!" I'll feel incredibly stupid five years from now when I'm assistant manager at California Pizza Kitchen and decide to go back and read some of my old entries. I will say this, though. There's an old guy in my class who just informed me that every week he writes down the funny things I say in his notebook. I find that...odd. I'm also scared to mention this incident because it's quite possible that he has googled me and reads this blog.