Lame, lame and lame again!

Metrocities has its firewall back up and running. Which means no MySpace. Poop.

I'm practically bursting with excitement for the new DK show! I don't even know what to do with myself, I'm so stoked. I can't eat, sleep and breathe DK because that will pay no bills. Sadly. That gets me thinking though...

Why don't my skills pay the bills? Isn't that what they're supposed to do? How is it that the only skill of mine that pays bills is my ability to talk to people as if I like them? The other day I was rambling to Greg about my latest cooking project and he asks, "Why don't you do something with that?" Like what? I don't care to make food at a restaurant, I want to create my own recipes. The only ways I could see "doing something" with my recent cooking obsession is a) culinary school (not gonna happen), b) go on one of those crappy cooking reality shows (also not gonna happen; I'm a glutton but not for punishment), or wait until I become successful enough in something else to be able to afford luxury time in which I just freaking come up with crazy recipe ideas and cook. None of these are too logical. Damn.

One of these days, I'm going to have a job that makes me money that I actually enjoy and look forward to doing. I swear. It'll happen. One of these days.

Matt was right. Everybody hates!

Before delving into my blog, I implore you first to read this article.

For those of you too lazy to do so, I'll summarize. The article basically discusses how everybody shits on LA and how Angelinos are looked upon as vapid, soul-less cretins. For which part, most are. And I agree with a good deal of what the writer says. Except for one thing.

The way she talks, it's like LA is looked at as the bottom of America's societal barrel. The worst of the worst, the back of the short bus, the last kid picked for kick-ball. There's no one for our types left to pick on since everyone looks down on us.

Are you freaking kidding me? Have we forgotten about the Midwest???

The only thing Midwesterners are looked upon for favorably are strong work ethics, good crop production and the city of Chicago. Other than that, our folks in the forgotten area between coasts are looked at basically as red-state bumpkins who set the "middle America" curve and made Larry the Cable Guy famous. And also for providing a steady stream of morons into LA.

But as a representative and refugee from the Midwest, I'm here to say that we still have a group to make fun of while huddled drinking beer in our barns: Southerners. We still see them as slow, inbred hicks who are less socially enlightened than we are.

See! Everyone in America has a group they see as dumber-than-them! And while New Yorkers can defame us and our hippy-dippy attitudes, we can at least take solace in having a higher population of people than pigs. Suck it, Iowa!

Go cram Christmas!

So I've been in denial of the fact that Christmas is advancing due to the fact that society has been cramming holiday cheer down my cram-hole (up my cram-hole?) for the last... well shit, since right after Halloween really. And because of this, I've been suspended in a "it's so far away it can't touch me" kind of state.

Until today when I looked at my planner and realized that I leave for Illinois 2 weeks from tomorrow. Yikes.

It's not that I'm worried about getting Christmas shopping done or any of that crap.

It's not that I'm dreading going home.

I'm not even as worried as I should be about missing 2 weeks of work.

The year is ending. Again.
This was a good year as far as years go. 2006 was really good. 2005 was OK but 2004 was pretty damn rough. And some self-proclaimed psychic named Sandra on Sunset Blvd. stopped me on the street to tell me that she noticed my aura and said I was going to have a terrific career year so... maybe it's just cause I look like a sucker, but I'd like to think I've got Sandra on my side here.

Next year looks promising.
Now let's see how the end of this one goes...

Search for the cure

I'm looking for a cure for irrational paranoia.

Anyone?
Anyone?

On a side note, DK 2.0 is SO en route to being a real living breathing show! The biggest problem now is... well, being in a DK show is kind of like being in Fight Club. In that you can't talk about it. I mean, I can talk it up and tell people to go see it (and I do!) but dang, I can't wait until that show opens.

And back to my first thought, the cure to irrational paranoia is not coffee. Sadly.

Ah well.

Did I miss a memo?

Did I glaze over a note on my calendar?
Miss a chain e-mail?

How was I not warned that today was National Act-Like-A-Prick Day?
Is this one of those informal holidays, like Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day?

I am literally on the verge of homicide. The only reason that I haven't killed yet today is because all of the people pissing me off are a safe phone-call away. But believe you me, the day that I figure out how to send an electrical shock through the phone lines will be a joyous one. For me. Not for those getting electro-ear-bolts. But they brought it on themselves.

Seriously though! I don't know what's gotten into people today but every other person calling in here is being a rabid, foaming cunt. I guess it must be that holiday spirit that everybody's talking about, what with the 90 degree weather and the early arrival of... CHRISTMAS MUSIC. Yup, it started already. I remember when that shit didn't start until the day after Thanksgiving. Now it's the week of Thanksgiving. Dear god.

But hey! On the upside I only have... 4 hours left in my day.
Really?
Really?

All I have to do is dream... and cook.

I was supposed to do this last night. I didn't. I don't know what I was thinking.

So this morning I woke up after having one of my stupid, pointless dreams in which seemingly meaningless things happen to me. Only this time, I believe that my dreams had great things planned for me.

In my dream, I was in a fast food restaurant. Probably because I had been watching the trailer for Fast Food Nation earlier in the day, but nevermind. A certain burger caught my eye.

"What's on that burger?" I asked the girl at the counter.

"It's a beef patty with spaghetti on it and--"

I cut her off because I had heard enough. "I'll take it," I said hastily.

Then I woke up. Never to experience my exotic find.
Or so I thought.

I decided last night that I would make my dreams a reality and make this Spaghetti Burger. And I did. And it was fucking awesome as my roommate can attest.

However, upon sharing the news of my culinary creation, Greg asked if I had taken a picture of it. I told him "No". The truth of it was that I could barely contain myself by the time I had it assembled. Poor little guy never stood a chance. Neither did the second one. So I have made an artistic rendering of this well-loved sandwich to share with all.



(Yes, I realize now that I spelled "spaghetti" wrong. Shut up.)

Recreate with caution and beware-- spaghetti and burgers apparently tend to do battle when in a stomach at the same time.

But it's fucking worth it.

Sick in the head. Every last part of it.

I'm getting a cold.
Dammit.

I don't want to get sick! I just got a bunch of free time back! I don't want to spend it laying around and being sick!

Is this karmic payback for the deadly sins I committed on Saturday?
(Just the fun ones, no worries.)

Anyhow, ever since my birthday I've been telling myself that this year, THIS YEAR, I was going to break a whole bunch of my old emotionally-destructive habits that have plagued me for the last 13 years of my life. Habits that have nothing to do with anyone other than myself in all truth and un-dealt-with issues from the past and have only been holding me back from being truly happy.

Apparently, I'm a well-established creature of habit.
And the old ones certainly die hard.
All I can do is sit around second guessing things, everything around me, for no reason whasoever. No catalyst, no trigger, no rationale I can come up with to justify anything that I've been thinking/worrying/obsessing about. Just my head, spewing out toxic waste to make me feel bad inside and out.

Why can't I trust anyone? Why can't I take anything anyone says at face value? Why am I convinced that everyone has ulterior motives and all of it revolves around the fact that I'm not worth telling the truth to?

Ugh.
I need a tissue.

Fear and loathing and fear and loathing...

My play goes up tonight.

Ordinarily, this would have me in a frenzy of self-promotion and bubbly exuberance from my love of performing.

This show is different.

Hear me out:
We've been in rehearsals for this play we'll just call "Shamlet" (subtle) since August. Every role save a few have been cast at least twice (including mine). Two weeks before our intended opening date, we were informed that due to a clerical error (read: fuck-up) on the part of the Gardner Stages scheduling personnel, our little play was gonna have to wait. We've dealt with guitar music that interrupts our rehearsal regularly, never having all our actors for a full run and diva-tudes that would make Whitney Houston blush.

I want the fucking thing over.

Not to say that it hasn't been fun and a good experience. Not to say that I'm not grateful to have finally appeared in a fully-mounted Shakespeare production. Not to say that the experience hasn't taught me things and made me better and stronger and all that jazz.

But enough already.

It's opening night.
Let's knock this shit out.


If you want to see the show, here's the info.

Hamlet
Gardner Stages
1501 N. Gardner St.
Hollywood, CA 90046

Nov. 3,4,10,11,17,18 at 8pm
Nov. 12 at 7pm
Nov. 18 at 1:30pm

Tickets $15

The longest Halloween ever

Alright, so by the end of today, I will have celebrated Halloween in costume 3 seperate times. I will add more of my Halloween pictures once I have at-home internet again. For now, here is my Saturday costume.



Pictured above: Myself as Mia Wallace, post-OD; Matt DeNoto as geriatric Harry Potter or something. Or Old Emo Guy.

My limited internet access

At least it still extends here!

I don't have internet in my new apartment yet. I won't for another week. This is disturbing to me because while at work, I have very little time online AND what time I have is restricted. No MySpace. It's blocked. Can't use it.

Those bitches.

Anyhow, I've discovered that I can still get on here and that is a minor solace to me. But not that much.

WHOOO! Halloween/birthday weekend! Generally my favorite weekend of the year as it combining two things I like: getting presents and dressing funny. And there will be a lot of dressing funny. Oh yes. I'm currently made up to look like I have a pencil jammed through my head. Good times are just around the corner.

Only 3.5 hours left until the weekend. HELL yeah!

Oom Pah, Oom Pah, Oom Pah Pah!

Does anyone else remember the animated movie "Tubby the Tuba"? It does exist, I swear to god, and I used to have a videotape of it that I watched a LOT as a child. Every once in a while, the songs from that movie sneak into my consciousness. And then I sing them. And it confuses everyone.

Anyhow...

It had just been a while since I had written anything since I had been spending so much time (brace yourself!) actually doing things and going places and having a hell of a time. Plus, in between all that "fun" time and "work" time, there's also been an inordinate amount of "scoping out apartments" time, which will need to be drawing to a close relatively soon as I need to be out of my present apartment in exactly a week. Hmph. Hopefully, everything works out well.

It'll be fine.
It has to be.
Life is good.
Life just a good.

Man, I've gone and caught optimism.
May it be incurable!
I'm so happy, I don't even care that I might be homeless in a week.
There must be someone I can blame for this.
Hmmm....

What am I doing?

...on my first night free and alone for a while?
Sitting around at the computer, dicking around, having a couple drinks.
Fucking pathetic.

(Oh, on a side note, I swear to god I'm going to buy this figurine one of these days. )

I could be doing anything.
Anything in the world.
I could be using my time productively!
I'm not.
I'm blogging.

I had all these big plans for this evening. I was going to go to the bank, go to the store, make a bad-ass dinner, read a book (for once not on my lunch break at work), maybe meet up with a friend later on and go to the burlesque show she's been trying to get me out to for months.

Instead, I'm here.

First, I got lazy and didn't go to the bank. Then, my roommate said he wanted to hang out and, as I feel like I've been ignoring him lately, I decided that was a good idea. Turns out though that his job blows donkeys and keeps him late. Now, I had been holding off on making dinner until he got back so now, I've got 2 glasses of wine in me, no dinner soon in sight and a night spent sitting in front of a glowing screen. Because of course I didn't read. That would require focus that I frankly don't have.

I have to pee.

Perception: (noun) Something I don't have.

Anyone who tells you that they're good at reading people is a) full of shit, b) full of themselves, c) creepy, d) a prime candidate to give me lessons, because I fucking can't read anyone.

I'm so sick of bouncing thoughts around in my head, trying to guess what someone else is thinking because I'm too chicken to actually come out and ask. All I can do is presume what someone thinks of me, a presumption that seems to change by the hour in the hyperactive annals of my underworked, overactive imagination.

I'm retarded.

A good week.

Whaaat? It was!

OK, maybe there might have been an inordinate amount of bitching about work and my neck and money and such things. And fellow employees who don't show up and printers trying to shake themselves to pieces. And apartment searches and rampant emotions and the sun.

But aside from those things, good week.

I mean, there was Labor Day which meant no labor. Sweet. I got a parking pass for the Galleria, so anyone who wants to go can go hang out at the Galleria with me for over 2 hours and not have to worry about whether validation will cover it. Then again, finding reasons to spend that long there may be a bigger problem. Hmm... I made a bad ass quesadilla! That was neat. Super proud of that. Got a friend hooked on Brownie Batter ice cream, which makes me giggle. Saw a couple NoHo shows (hooray for local artists!). Made some headway on my Ophelia stuff and confronted my fear of singing in front of people yet again (I hate doing that). And plus, there was fun time spent hanging about and quoting with an individual whom I fancy. Well done there. I like, is niiice.

Now comes tomorrow: day of getting stuff done!
Finding apartments!
Going to rehearsals!
Taking publicity shots!
And... trivia games? OK, that'll be fun.
I hope.

... That was only 2 fucking days???

ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

That was the longest 2 goddamn days that I've had in a long while!
In all honesty, if I had to guess, I would say it had to be at least 4. Which is odd, since I slept until mid-afternoon yesterday.

Where is my time going?
However, I had a bad-ass rehearsal today and love my Hamlet cast more today than yesterday. It's going to be fantastically fun and eventually... *sigh* I'll have to start harrassing people about me new show. OK, fine, I already have started this evening.

New revelation: I don't have to be wasted to act like an 8 year old!
(Well, I was mildly intoxicated but despite my better efforts, not drunk.)
I had a fantastic evening chasing my friends (yes, real live friends) around with water-balloons and squirt-guns and, in all honesty, I had a fucking blast. I don't remember the last time I had a serious water fight, but it was probably somewhere around 4th grade. Or senior year of high school. Or college if you count the snow fight... you know, never mind!
_____________________________________________

Ugh.
Never get interested in a person with a blog.
I reiterate.
It will only give you too much information and fill you with self-doubt.
Fuck.

Serenity now!

I think I've got it.
Or figured it out.
My problem that is.
And I'm working on it.
And speaking in sentence fragments apparently! That's gotta stop. But if I have got things as together as I think I might have them, then I might be on the road to possible happiness. Sounds like a sure thing to me!

Now if only I could convince myself that I'm going to make a halfway-decent Ophelia, I'd really have my shit together. At least I'm coming off a tasty dinner. Oh, my lovely eggy-veggie dish! Hooray for my cooking skills! Bite me, Rachael Ray! (You cracked-out, giggling, acronym-using, artery-clogging wench of a chef!)

I'm off to be tragic.
Eggs, don't fail me now!

Can I call in "annoyed" to work?

... well, why not?!

You know, I'm thinking of telling people, "If you really want your heart broken good, move to LA." I mean really, we're the reconstructive surgery capital of the world! At least we'll be able to find you a new one.
(And some snazzy knockers to go over it!)
Actually, LA's probably not the reconstructive surgery capital of the world. It's probably somewhere in Sweden or something, but I doubt Sweden is nearly as soul-crushing and doesn't make nearly as good of a metaphor.
(Is that really a metaphor? I don't think it is. Way to mix up your lit terms, Dana.)

I know that's not the spirit I should be embracing right now but, feh. Since when was I any good at optimism? I wish I could be. Not in that blind, giddy, naive and, you know, obnoxious way. A way in which I could be confident in myself and not put myself down at every misstep, faulting myself for being "so typically Dana" that I ruin everything I come across. A way in which I didn't second-guess every thought streaking through my head, wondering if what I want is really what I need or whatever. It's no fun. Frankly, it's exhausting. I'm sick of it. I need to pull my shit together! Yeah! Go team Dana!

Ah, shit. Optimism is exhausting too.
___________________________________________

(This line means I hate posting multiple times in the same day.)

PS: Never fall for a person with a blog. It'll turn you into a stalker.
___________________________________________

Where is the line between doing something for someone else's good and doing something because you're scared to do something for yourself?
___________________________________________

I was going to write something else and my music pushed it out of my head.
Stupid music.

What am I, twelve?

I need to grow the fuck up.
I need to stop obsessing over nothing.
I need to stop being my own worst enemy.
I need to accept myself.
I need to respect my feelings and not immediately dismiss them as invalid.

Note to self: grow a spine