Romantic Prelude

Romantic Prelude

I was at Bogie’s tonight.

This place held a special memory in my heart, considering I had met an extraordinary man there, whom I ended up falling in love with throughout the months we dated. (Yes, yes, I know it’s the place where cougars and divorced—or not-so divorced—men try to, ahem, “hook up.”) In any case, when that relationship disappeared into distant memory, I continued to Bogie’s to prove to myself I could go there without “the man” in mind, and to also prove to myself that I liked the place after all. I created Girls’ Nights and occasions to attend the casual Westlake lounge.

There was a bartender, charming and generous. He treated us girls with affection and unlimited alcoholic beverages. I liked him. Not because of the free drinks in a place where a martini would cost 14 dollars. I liked him because of the sparkle in his eyes; because of the slow, scoundrel-like smile that spread across his Italian, yet baby-face expression; because of how relaxed I could feel around him when he closed his arms around me in a warm, soft embrace and then the gentle kiss on my cheek, and the murmur he would say to me, “Please come back and I’ll buy you dinner.”

I liked him.

But I would never go there alone. The idea seemed embarrassing, even though I had in the past gone out to dinner by myself. But this was purely to see a man, FOR a man, to attract a man. Every time I imagined showing up to the bar by myself to see the handsome and charming bartender, I foresaw other beautiful girls sitting by themselves all waiting for the attention of the same young, Italian, baby-faced man. And, every time, I would convince myself that this man would never want me out of all the other beautiful options.

After all, I am a nerd. I am not the typical woman. I spend my off times either reading, writing Star Wars, or watching Star Trek episodes in order (or any science-fiction in that respect). I am an obsessive person. I discover things I like, or dislike, and obsess over them until there is nothing left to obsess about.

For approximately eight months, I have had random acquaintance with this enchanting young bartender. Sometimes at his work, sometimes at mine, and he even had the off-chance of meeting my father, spurring a BMW conversation while Dad was waiting for me to finish one of my shows. How one interacts with my parents is HUGE to me, and apparently the young bartender did reasonably well at the time, enough to be logged into my father’s memory. That’s a good bartender, Dad must’ve thought.

And as much as my crush compelled me to want him, I did not pursue. In the past, I had experienced negative results anytime I had pursued a man. They always disappeared. So I was tentative and rather discouraged to even show this young man that I was even interested in him.

Then, came the whimming itch. My whimming itch usually occurs when I feel ultimately down in life, discouraged in everything I do, and the feeling of “nothing to lose” comes to play.

I had been feeling this way for the past month, since the start of the new year. Somehow, my positive streak had dived down into negative, and I went sour. I worked non-stop and auditioned with no luck. Everything felt like crap. Then, one day at work, after months of not seeing The Bartender, or even thinking of him, he appeared. He had wrapped his arms around me and said, “Did you ever get my message? I had called your work to find you. To tell you not to come in when I had asked you to because I wouldn’t have been there. They switched my days. Did you ever get it?”

“I did,” I said, “and I texted you to say that it was okay, but I never got a response. I assumed it was the wrong number.”

And it was, just barely by a single misplaced numeral. About a month ago, I had remembered him asking me to come see him and that he would treat me dinner. Later, I had gotten the “cancel” message from work and was given the wrong number. But I had let it go, figuring this wasn’t meant to be in the first place.

And there he was again. At MY work, telling me he was sorry the shifts changed, that he’d hoped I got his message and that he wanted me to come in again THIS week.

Why would a person, as charming, vibrant, handsome and AVAILABLE as he be so persistent? I always imagined him surrounded by beautiful girls so that he would never need to persist.

And I know guys. A guy doesn’t go out of his way to find a girl without some sort of mission, however simple that mission may be.

So, when the time came, I almost didn’t go out. I knew that if I went to Bogie’s alone that I would be accosted by numerous, unrelenting old divorced (or MARRIED) men. I knew that I wouldn’t really be able to spend any time with The Bartender because he would be busy working.

Then I decided, what the hell. I’ve got to do something mysterious and exciting in my life, or else I’ll go nuts.

I dressed myself in sheer black stockings dotted with tiny hearts, a thin cream-pink shirt-dress with a black lace back, and black suede stiletto pumps. I have all these great clothes and never get the chance to wear them. So I did tonight.

When I showed up at Bogie’s around eight, the place was already full. I sat near a fire pit and waited for The Bartender to see me. He did and he smiled. He was very busy, though, as I knew he would be. Nonetheless, he was able to come over and say hello. He brought me a French martini, one of those pink vanilla flavored ones, and I ordered the Ahi Tuna Tartar. I sat by the fire pit enjoying my drink, trying to look busy on my phone, but all the while watching him work. There were three older men that night that tried to get my attention.

The first: Ken Something from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

“Are you really sitting here by yourself, alone?” he asked.

I said, “I’m actually here by invitation.” And I gestured to The Bartender.

“The Bartender?!” he exclaimed. Then he went on to say something about helping me out, or that he was looking for someone new because he and his girlfriend might be breaking up at some point, and that he’ll let The Bartender know that I like him, etc. I didn’t care what happened. The man had obviously plenty to drink. He continued to stress about how I might recognize him, which I didn’t. And not that it would have mattered anyhow. I had my eyes on The Bartender.

The second: Something Something married man. I didn’t bother to remember his name.

“Please tell me you’re not really here to watch the basketball game, right?” he said, gesturing to the game I was distracted by.

“No, you’re right. I’m actually here for The Bartender. He invited me to come out to see him tonight,” I said, as I sipped on my second drink, a smooth Pinot Noir.

“The Bartender?!” he bellowed. Then he went on to talk about himself, and how he wished he had a redhead to buy tomato soup for (I was currently nursing a tomato bisque at the time). I listened patiently, but not really paying any attention. My ears were picking up another conversation to my right from a couple deeply intrigued with each other.

It was obvious they had met that night, and the man was trying his very hardest to be agreeable, mysterious, troubled, smart, and a “good guy” all at the same time. There were a few times I couldn’t contain my laughter every time he proclaimed something only a woman would WANT to hear from a guy, proclamations undoubtedly quoted from all the other women he’d picked up in the past: “I’ve been bad before, but I truly believe in really knowing a person before sharing something as intimate as sex with them…as much as I enjoy it…I have been bad before, but I strive to be good…” The man might as well be saying, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” and the woman probably would still be interested.

Then I was brought back to my unfortunate conversation with Something Something, when suddenly The Bartender met my gaze. He looked at me as if to ask if I was okay. A gave him a smile to assure him that I could handle it and to not worry about me.

Something Something eventually left (although he had come back for a second try until realizing I wasn’t cracking).

Finally The Bartender came over to me, as the lounge began to wither to only a few.

Leaning over the bar and grasping my hands in his, he said, “This place is too dangerous for you. Next time you should bring a wingman.”

But I hadn’t wanted to bring anyone else with me. I only wanted to see him and wanted his attention only on me, not on another beautiful wingman. Besides, he had asked for ME to come, not me “and my friends.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” he said, his voice silky and sweet, always drawing a smile from me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been fairly amused by the people around me. Besides, I needed to come out and relax a little.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he said, still grasping my hands in his. “A real dinner where I’m not working. And we’ll do something fun.”

“That sounds great,” I said, my smile brightening. Boy, had I been waiting for him to ask, from the first day I saw him. So we swapped numbers and then, before I knew it, he was swept back up into work.

That’s when man number 3 came into play.

He was married just like man 2, but this one was much more harmless. He began asking me questions about what it was like to be an only-child, that he had a daughter he was worried about not growing up happy because she, too, was an only-child. That marriage was so hard, especially when he travelled so much. And he just wanted to know what it was like for me.

I told him I’d always been happy, and, though my parents were always away throughout my growing up years, I never questioned their love for me. That they were honest with me, which helped me to trust them as I grew older. And I was completely aware of my parents’ difficult marriage.

“I guess one of the most important keys in marriage is to always strive to be kind to one another, no matter how stressed out you are, how hurt or angry you are. It’s always easier to attack the person closest to you. So striving to show kindness regardless of the situation can very well keep a marriage safe.” I said this, although I wasn’t sure where all that came from, and watched the expression on this man’s face go from worried to an almost bewildered yet peaceful countenance.

“You are wise beyond your years,” he murmured, shaking his head, as if surprising himself that he said it at all.

“No I’m not,” I said. “It’s just something my mother taught me. I have yet to experience what marriage is like.”

“Thank you, anyway,” he said. “I feel better talking to you. I have to leave now. Have a goodnight. And thank you.”

And man number 3 left, just like that.

And I was alone at the bar. The Bartender was busying himself with closing tabs. There were two other men at the far end of the bar that tried to invite me to join them, but I firmly told them I was here WITH The Bartender.

“I’ve been using you as an excuse,” I later told him.

He smiled. “Good. Thank you so much for coming in anyway. I hope it was somewhat enjoyable.”

“It was,” I said. “Thank you for treating me. I hope we can do something outside of Bogie’s next time.”

“Me too.”

I got up to leave and he gave me a big hug and a quick kiss on the mouth. I found it interesting how relaxed and natural I felt in his arms. There didn’t seem to be any awkwardness that usually accompanies two people who barely knew each other.

When I arrived home, I received a text from The Bartender saying, “Thank you beautiful for coming in tonight! Xoxo!”

I smiled as I climbed into bed. Whether or not he ever decides to call me, it didn’t matter. It felt good to feel attractive again. It felt good that I made myself whim again. It felt good that the unknown was out there again. He had my number now. Who knows if he’ll use it. But it’s fun to know it’s out there. And never knowing what might happen is the beauty of a whim, and a possible prelude to a romance.

Waitin’ on the zombies.

zombies

So I hear the end of the world is coming, 2012, and that there’ll be zombies afoot. Well, that’s just great, because I’ve always wanted to blow zombie heads with a shotgun—a whim I’ve wanted to take a wham at for years. I’ve been practicing too, 2012. Honing my skills in Nazi Zombies, Resident Evil, and Left 4 Dead. Learning to reload in stressful, fast-paced situations. And running. Running is always key.

But what I really want for Christmas, 2012—oops, sorry, already past, lemme rephrase—what I really want for New Years is to be able to quit my current job, The Restaurant. Although, I figure the end of the world is coming ‘n all, which would mean the end of The Restaurant indefinitely, I’d much rather spend my last year NOT working for them and finally working for ME. Selfish? Absolutely. Why not think of yourself in the final months of human life on this planet? That’s what whimming really is all about, anyhow. You whim when you lose. Whim when you have NOTHING to lose. Whim when you’re a losER. Whim when it’s the last thing you can do. Whimming is for yourself when you have nobody else.

Personally, I don’t believe it’s the end of the world at all. And I’ll admit, grudgingly, I’ve been a poor whimmer in 2011. My career as an actress has enveloped me into a career-only lifestyle. And it’s very lonely, I have to say. However, I had been ecstatic about everything that happened in 2011. I visited, AND performed, in Hawaii for the first time. I did three musicals back to back without a break. I had my very first lead in California, playing opposite Sally Struthers, a celebrity no less! And I finally got a theater agent, which was my New Years resolution for 2011.

So because of my unrelenting concentration in one path, my career, I had neglected to do the things I’d never done before. I brushed aside the adventures that awaited me. I ignored the possibilities of new friendships because there was no time left. The whimmer who searches for new experiences in life had died in me somehow. Even on New Year’s Eve I refused going out with a small group of good people, a whim to downtown L. A. it was to be, and instead stayed at home with myself watching Star Trek. Not a bad night. In fact it was very relaxing. The only thing I kissed that night was my cat. Dare I say it, I sound old. And that is something I swore I’d never be. Life should never be boring or old. Life is our one shot at anything. You never know when it’s your time to go…or if a zombie might get you. Don’t sit and wait for them either. Live so hard that it hurts so good.

With that said, 2012, may it be that I never grow old; may it be that I never know loneliness; may it be that I love harder than ever; and may it finally be that I can QUIT The Restaurant, for the love of all that’s holy! Because who knows? A zombie might actually get me. But at least I won’t be waitin’.

Black Friday

I was thankful for a lot of things this year. My parents whom I can’t live without. My grandma who helps me see life from the eyes of someone who’s been around for a while. My new agent that I got right after doing Annie!!! My kitteh-cat, Indy, the one indything I’m happy to come home to.

BUT BLACK FRIDAY is NOT what I’d be thankful for…EVER.

 

So my parents and I have never actually tried out Black Friday before because we feared the hour long line where, somehow, you feel like they should have figured out the fast-pass at some point recent. Disney got it right, for heck’s sake!

Mom had this wild idea to try it out for the first time this year. Well, why not. I’m a whimmer, after all. How bad could it be in Prescott Valley, Arizona, where the town itself is nearly ghostified. Prescott Valley

Mind you, some of those houses aren’t even occupied, as in never finished, as in real estate got so bad the companies ran like sh#t.

Okay, so I’m not a fan. You might as well accuse me of despising the entire state of Arizona…because you would be right.

 

Anyhow, in the small section of Arizona called Prescott, Mom and I are thinking chances are good at the midnight opening of Black Friday…not so much.

Lost mom…so took refuge in the kid game aisle.

I pretty much lost mom for about an hour. She told me I couldn’t hang around her, so I was assuming she was attempting to shop for me. After about thirty minutes, I decided to look for her.

Searching for mother in Best Buy.

I went back to my car after this. She called me fifteen minutes later saying she’d given up as well. There was one line and it circled the inside of the building. She said it wasn’t even moving.

Yeah.

We’re not doing that again. What a whim that wasn’t!

A Hawaii Whim

Four months ago, my parents were discussing their Hawaii trip with concert leader Ed Lojeski. The trip would consist of four rehearsals and two large choral and orchestral performances for the Fourth of July. It was a concert tribute for the men who died at Pearl Harbor, and all the men in service to this day, called Salute to Valor. My parents, along with choral groups from all over the country, were to be singing on the battle ship USS Missouri.

And, as usual, I would not be able to join them. My parents have been all over the world. I have never stepped outside of the North American continent. It was only a month before the time of events did I know I was suddenly signed up with a plane ticket and a book full of music with a large solo waiting inside.

So my whim to Hawaii began. I finally was going to step off North America and fly half way down the planet to one of the most popular vacation islands ever.

My parents had arrived on the island a day before, but as soon as I arrived, we dived into Pina Coladas, Lava Flows, and Mai Tais. Once rehearsal started, we wouldn’t be able to “party” too much. But I think I squeezed in as much as I could. Winking smile

The banana pina colada was my favorite.

Being that Pearl Harbor is located in Oahu, I didn’t get to experience the tropical island feeling as much as I would have liked. But I shouldn’t complain. On one of our days off, we did get to go snorkeling in Hanauma Bay. Exactly where I wanted to be!

Getting some sun and heavily covered in sunscreen.

It took me sixty seconds to get used to breathing under water before I turned into the water baby I used to be, and started hunting coral sharks. Didn’t find any though. They were sleeping beneath me, hidden by the coral. But I did get to play mermaid with the other fishies, one of them eyeing me oddly before disappearing. I wanted so badly to go deeper into the caves, but knew without gloves and other proper gear that I had better refrain from my adventurous instincts. Probably not a good idea to get hurt before the concerts.

I did find a ring, though, amidst the coral. Smile My treasure

Gave it to Mom.

Later, we explored Pearl Harbor’s USS Arizona Memorial and the USS Missouri. Also, we enjoyed being entertained by the luau show, The Creation, while we drank Mai Tais with Ed Lojeski and TV host Wink Martindale. Definitely had a full day of swimming, exploring, eating, drinking, and watching gloriously tanned and ripped Polynesian men in skirts dance barbarically…oh, sigh.

The rest of the week was spent in rehearsals with tropical dinner breaks. I hate rehearsals, but I can’t complain when they’re on a luscious island. The first concert was inside a large theater.First concert. This was where I sang my solo, “O My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose”…phew, what a title! I had some big shoes to fill with this song considering it was my dad’s staple. He was the only one who could sing it and blow people out of the water. But because of Sweeney Todd where Dad played Judge Turpin, his voice had gone to the bass land and couldn’t warm back up to tenor heaven in just a week. In order to sing “Red Rose,” you have to be able to float notes. So he said, “You got it, baby. Do it well.” Great…

As intimidating as it was to replace Dad, the audience seemed to really like it, giving a roaring cheer as their response. Dad still won’t let it go… I’m on the hunt for a recording. It’s not very often that I actually feel proud of one of my performances, so when I do, I’d kill for a copy.

The second concert was performed at the stern of the USS Missouri, followed by fireworks over the ocean and accompanied by the Pacific Navy Band, who were incredible! And MORE Mai Tai’s were to be had!

All in all, I sang my very best, Mai Tai’ed myself out, wore skirts and sundresses every day, and remained braless for the entire trip.

And I DID get leid… Winking smile

Wolf

I prefer wolves for men. Mystic_Wolf_1280x800

Let me explain.

I’ve always been afraid of the “wolfman” since I was a child, and yet, always fascinated. It was when I had first seen Universal’s Wolfman, the original, and I couldn’t wipe the image from my mind. This man-wolf tried to kill the woman he loved, because it was depicted in this film that the Wolf was pure evil.

Not so, I have decided, after watching the film Wolf, starring Jack Nicholson. Wolves are scientifically considered to be protective and loyal to their chosen mate. Wolf is a perfect example of this.

As much as I know of myself, at the ripe age of 25, I am very headstrong and stubborn, not to mention slightly violent (this is something I am able to contain, of course, THANK YOU, CONSCIENCE)…can I just say that if I were an animal, I would definitely be a WOLF. Therefore, I’m looking for my Wolfman.

Mind you, not a bad wolf. Bad wolves need taming. Bad wolves kill, ravage, are unstable, and probably have rabies.

Good wolves are protective, strong, loving, brave, and, most importantly, loyal. They protect their mate and the cubs they bear.

I am a good wolf. Although I’ve been afraid of wolfmen as a child, I now am attracted to them. The strength, courage, and loyalty is everything. And I give back these qualities to those I feel need it, and therefore, hope for it in return.

I am looking for a wolf. A good wolf.

 

Grr.

A real-life Pretty Woman in Vegas

When walking into a 3 bedroom suite at the very top of the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, it’s hard not to gawk when someone like me has never experienced “lush living.” It’s even more jaw-dropping when you realize you’re walking into the suite full of makeup artists and three gorgeous models with Funny Man and his business partner, my boyfriend Mr. Georgia, beside me.

Just minutes earlier, we arrived by private jet, which I took a nap on, then to the hotel by a private van with a special security driver. It felt very…exclusive. Once we settled into our suite, Funny Man was hungry and so was I. Funny Man’s personal makeup artist ordered room service for us. Trying to stay out of the way of all the hustle, I sat quietly at the dining table watching the models get ready while Mr. Georgia continued doing business. I remember hearing one of the models asking Mr. Georgia how his wife was and hearing him stumble over the answer of divorce. Thought that was funny. I bet they were wondering who the hell I was, the not-so-Hollywood, not-so-done-up, average girl.

An hour later, Funny Man did his convention show to promote the new slot machines and then we returned to the suite to ready for the cocktail party. The models got touched up, then the makeup artists were nice enough to play with my face and hair as well. The suite quickly filled with other guests eagerly waiting to meet Funny Man. People were enjoying freshly rolled cigars and chilled cocktails. I was still readying inside the privacy of the master bedroom. I had felt so not-glamorous earlier that I couldn’t wait to pretty myself. I layered my skin with Vanilla Berry lotion and perfume, slipped into my silver mini-dress, and donned my brand new pink-gold pumps. I slipped out of the bedroom and the first person to see me was one a woman rolling the cigars. A wide smile spread across her face and she beamed, “Oh you are so beautiful!” S7303037This obviously made me feel really good. Being around those gorgeous models can really affect you to try to look just as stunning. I felt like a princess at that point, especially when the other models were so complimentary. But I think the best moment was when I was looking for Mr. Georgia among the crowd of people in the suite, then caught his eye across the room and saw the biggest smile cross his face. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when Richard Gear finds her in the bar transformed from hooker to a beautiful lady. That was me, minus the hooker part.

Mr. Georgia took me to The Mix at the top of The Hotel for dinner after the cocktail party. That place had the most amazing food I have ever had. I had ordered scallops and as soon as one bite him my tongue, I actually did NOT want to swallow. I just wanted to keep the flavor of the food in my mouth for as long as possible. It was incredible. Then we went to see Cris Angel’s show and continued the rest of the night hopping clubs, finishing at Club Pure around 5am.

We returned to the Hard Rock suite, having it all to ourselves. At this point, I had decided to take on an Australian accent inspired by the 2 Australian girls who ran into us randomly at the Playboy Club, saying to us, “We just escaped two creepy guys who wanted us to go into the bathrooms with them. So we hid inside the girl’s bathroom for an hour…” Awesome.

Mr. Georgia and I took a load off in the incredible Jacuzzi inside our suite, which was conveniently placed right by the 2 stripper poles mounted in the living room. Who needs 2, I wonder? Hmmmm…

The next day, after sleeping until noon, Mr. Georgia did some business while I readied into a mini skirt and knee-high socks. We ate a hearty lunch and then Mr. Georgia took me to the Mall inside Caesars Palace. He likes to shop…a guy. This was the first time I ever saw Dior, Versace, Chanel and every other amazing designer up close. I walked into Versace and fell in love. This designer should design for me. I tried on a mustard yellow, sci-fi inspired, wool coat and died. Then the sales lady said, “Okay, now take it off…unless you want it. It’s only $5,000, not bad at all on a credit card.” Another Pretty Woman moment. I nearly choked, then decided to keep it on for one more minute just to annoy the lady.

We left Vegas later that night, exhausted but fulfilled. It was, so far, one of the most amazing and once-in-a-lifetime experiences I’ve had…SO FAR. Winking smile

Whimming high up in the sky…

…With Funny Man, Mr. Georgia, and Funny Man Jr. (names have been removed for privacy reasons). And when I say high, I don’t mean stoned, although that would be another interesting whim. It was a great time, just three older guys and a kid-girl getting to know each other for about an hour as we flew from Van Nuys, CA to Mesa, AZ on a Hawker 800 for Funny Man’s comedy tour.

But getting to that Hawker is a whole nuther story in of itself.

My dear friend Anne was supposed to pick me up 45 minutes before I needed to arrive at Clay Lacy Airport. The time to get from Simi Valley to Clay Lacy is about 35-40 minutes. But she needed a buddy to ride with us so they could get back to Thousand Oaks in time for work by way of the carpool lane. So our friend Joe calls me. He decides he’ll be driving because both of their cars are out of gas and Joe drives fast enough to get me to the airport on time. As he’s explaining his plan, he’s also sitting at Cisco’s having a few drinks with our other friend Reid. I roll my eyes thinking Anne will still be driver.

So 4:17 rolls by, just a few minutes behind when I need to be leaving, and my friends pull up with Joe as driver. I immediately have a bad feeling. This is going to suck somehow.

I jump in and Joe takes off. In the wrong direction.

“Where the hell are you going?” I say, as he begins to drive deeper into the mazelike neighborhood, instead of having turned around back to the main street which he should have done in the first place!

“What? You never gone this way?” Joe says in his usual cocky tone.

Anne laughs.

It takes 10 minutes for Joe to blindly and arrogantly navigate through the neighborhood to finally pull out back onto the main street. As we drive towards the freeway, we pass my road. Obviously, THAT was no shortcut.

Anne laughs again. At this point, I want to pull out my hair, which I spent time making pretty, and was now being blown around by wind and smoke because Joe decided to start smoking in the car.

“So where’s the gas station?” Joe asks. At this point he’s finally listening to me, which he should have been doing 10 minutes prior! I tell him and we get gas as he’s smoking and admitting it’s illegal. Of course! Joe is Mr. Invincible and can get away with everything as long as he buys the other whoever a drink.

We hit the freeway at 100 mph. In traffic. Not too heavy, but enough that driving 100mph made me think we were either gonna DIE or get pulled over, which BOTH would have made me very late! Needless to say, from what should have taken 40 minutes took only 20 as we pulled up to Clay Lacy. As I frantically tried to straighten myself up and pretend like I didn’t just go through hell, Mr. Georgia came out and greeted me. All was better. He took my bag and ushered me inside the private reception area as Joe took off with Anne.

I told Mr. Georgia the entire story. He just laughed. We walked toward the Hawker 800 right as Funny Man and Jr. pulled up to board. To sum up the flight, I talked with the pilots, asked if I could fly (no, alright next time), got to know Mr. Georgia and Jr., and Funny Man Christanna2 piped in once in a while either teasing me about living in Simi Valley or why in the world did I move to California if I did mainly theater stuff. Mr. Georgia would back me up. 🙂

All in all, it was a lifetime experience. Thankfully Mr. Georgia had a camera because I forgot to bring mine. It was nice of him to offer taking pictures. It was also great to see my parents and grandparents whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. It’s not everyday you can just call up your mom and say, “hey, what are you doing? I can hang out today in an hour if you want” when you live in another state.

One of these days, private jets will be the only way I fly. 😉

PS-Come to find out later that Joe rear-ended someone after dropping me off. But he was only going 30 mph. Lol.

One Year Down, More to Go…

I’m burning a Pumpkin Spice candle right now in honor of fall coming. So it’s been a full year since I’ve moved out to California and I’ve had some good experiences and bad. I feel like I’ve lived a whole different life from the start of the year to the end.

For the first part of the year, I had the Terminator and the group of friends that came along with him. Since he and I parted in the summer, that whole life disappeared, along with the friends I thought I was growing close to. And so is life.

For the last few months of the year, I have had numerous theater auditions. One of them I screwed up massively and wanted to punch myself in the face for that. The others, I received amazingly positive and encouraging reactions from the panels of auditors, but still managed to not get booked. And so is life, again. I’ll be covering more of this in a separate blog.

However, the good parts occurred near the end of the year when I finally made some close girlfriends. This was something I’d been wanting all year long, and knowing me, I’m a very impatient person. I always want it now, now, NOW! I’ve had a few exciting I'm the one on the far right.adventures with my girlies and a few not so pleasant ones. Let’s just say I’m really not a fan of clubs where random horny guys grab, pull, and push you everywhere you REALLY don’t want to go. If you don’t know my name, you can’t touch me. Nuff said.

Actually, not nuff said. So I did a stupid thing and went on a date with a guy I met in Santa Monica at a bar who couldn’t control his hands. Because I’m an idiot and always give people the benefit of the doubt, I think to myself, well a date won’t hurt. I was also being an idiot thinking I can control any situation I put myself into. WRONG! Of course I’d been warned about these situations before, but I’m 25. I think I’m invincible, not gonna lie. So this date turns into me being far too drunk, half passed out on the couch, then being lifted onto someone’s (oh yeah, Mr. Santa Monica’s) bed. The nasty occurs with me in that drunken stupor thinking it was a dream, and BAM! after it was over, my instincts kick in. You’re a little late, Instincts, way to be. I get the hell out of there, drunkenly stumbling down the stairs, cutting up the back of my heel on the way down, driving when I REALLY shouldn’t have been, and crying hysterically on the phone to my best friend Anthony. I made it safely home. But in the most stupid and dangerous way. So, needless to say, that’s not gonna happen again…but I’ve been wrong before.

Just gotta throw this in here: people make me sick. It’s called evolution! Let’s evolve into people bettering humanity, not fucking it over. And……nobody listens. Oh well, worth a shot.

My defense system results in me getting very angry. After my one night experience, days passed with me fuming. All I wanted to do was punch things. Guys blatantly staring at me at work, PUNCH! Older men making flirtatious jokes at me, PUNCH! My manager making a sexual comment, PUNCH! My buried memories of other guys making me feel threatened, AIR PUNCH PUNCH! And so is life…

But it shouldn’t be. And yet, nothing will ever change.

IN OTHER NEWS:

I made peace with my infamous ex, Chris Cameron, who was basically my first everything…well, almost.

Also met the producer and manager for Funny Man, Mr. Georgia (names have been removed for privacy reasons). Gonna be flying home this weekend on their private jet to see my parents. Some of you probably think I’m stupid for doing this, but it’s a major whim! And this blog is called Whimming Lessons after all. I’ll cover more on this later after this weekend. We’ll see if I was stupid or not.

2010: The Sequel! And…what should be my new Resolution?

Of course, I’m referring to the 80s film 2010 which precedes 2001: A Space Odyssey. Neither of these films actually foretold the future of the Millennium very well. We have not built a base on the Moon and have not found the answer to the beginning of intelligence on Earth.

However, once 2010 hits, a simple revelation will be made…sort of. Of course, I’m referring to myself. What else are blogs for but to write personal accounts, heavy opinions on topics that reside within my own brain, untouched and stubborn to the outside thoughts of others, but mildly interested and appreciative of those thoughts.

2010 is coming and so a whole new year will unfold. It was only a year ago when I was making my slow-crawling ascent from the depths of despair which I had somehow allowed myself to tumble down into. My New Year’s Resolution then was to go “whimming,” to start a whole new look at life, to find happiness when happiness seemed so foreign and far, to embark on adventures, to laugh and play, to DATE like no other had dated before! Allowing myself to be open in case lightning struck me hard, waking me from a dreamlike reality I had been escaping to.

I found it: the path to Happy Ville. I found the ability to not need too much, to use logic rather than emotion ( in simpler terms, I have found a way to become more Vulcan), to be more confident in my beliefs about life, to not be knocked down, and so on.

At the beginning of 2009, I was barely surviving my own destruction, deciding on writing being the only way out. I made the bestest (YES, bestEST) of friends I could ever think of having and had the pleasure of creating memories I will never forget.

In 2009, I discovered the life of dating many different types of guys, while finally slowing down with The Terminator, whom I also refer to as my manfriend.

In 2009, I finally found a home: California. I never thought I would feel so comfortable here as fast as I did. I still revel in the fact that people here actually pronounce my name correctly right off the bat, rather than always screwing it up as they did in Arizona. I always think that’s a sign I belong…

However, not everything is all peaches and cream. My grandfather, Papa, is dying, mentally and physically. Once the smartest man I knew, is now the weakest man I know. I thought it would frighten me that he couldn’t remember me or mom, but it hasn’t. I had come to accept this, along with the rest of my family. He may not last another year, and even if he did physically, he will have no memory left. He brought me up as a child, but he will not witness me become a wife, a mother, a successful person…It is weird to think about.

Nonetheless, I actually did conquer my previous New Year’s resolution. I found the motivation to keep up a consistent blog, I finally graduated college, I got the hell out of Arizona and didn’t get stuck in a place I never wanted to be, I found a drama-free living situation with roommates who are kind yet distant, I am interning in two places at once, both being apart of the entertainment industry, I have already done three different Red Carpet events, met Patrick Kilpatrick, and have developed friendships with wonderfully interesting and fun people.

Most importantly, I found where I belong. I found my Happy Place. I guess finding happiness is easier than losing weight…? At least it is for me—I like food too much.

Next New Year’s Res.? I am FINALLY READY to find Love!…Although, considering this is much harder to achieve than even losing weight, I might change it to Being Able To Quit BJ’s. Or maybe they shall both be my New Year’s Res.? What do you think? Which one should be my Resolution? Love or Quitting BJ’s? You tell me.

I hope all of you had your wishes come true this year. And even if they didn’t, or you feel disappointed in some part of your life, just remember, tomorrow is another day! (thank you, scarlet o’hara).