Lucky enough

There is strength in knowing who you are, even if it isn't who you planned on becoming.

We are lucky enough to know
not who we need to be,
but what we really are.

Monsters.

Fuck.My.Life

'Can things continue to fall apart, please? Because that's really what I would like to happen.'

She said with sarcasim.

I'm friends w. boys

they do bad things.

Dear Dad,

There really isn't much left. I feel I lost everything.

Captain's Log

Stardate: today.
I'm not motivated/nerdy enough to keep up the trekky thing right now, so that's enough of that.
I had an audition today, it was for an agent. Hopefully that pans out because agents=jobs (or so I'm told) and jobs=money. Which is something I could use some of right about now.
I'm half changed out of my audition clothes but too lazy (again) to finish changing, so I only took off the jeans. The jeans I spent 25 minutes (approx) digging out of the back seat of my car today. You see, my life has been repacked into several cars and a storage unit in hopes of moving them to a home/final destination next week. This would be ideal. But, I digress.
These are not your average jeans. These are skinny jeans. Which I suppose does make them sort of-average. Now-a-days. Damn.
Anyway, I grew or they shrunk (and I'm going with 'they shrunk') so removing them was quite a feat. (I was going to go with 'getting them off' there, but couldn't type it without laughing. There you go, I'm 10).
These are the kind of jeans you peel off at the end of your outing, totally unsuitable for everyday, or even long term, use. You either peel them off your legs like sausage casings or hope to be involved in a cocaine fueled car wreck so the paramedics can just cut them off of you at the end of the night. If they can get the scissors past the ankle zippers.
Now I'm in gym shorts and I think the audition went well.

Michael Chiklis and other adventures

Ahhh! I suck so bad at updating this thing! Sorry kids, I know you've been holding your collective breaths for a new special homecoming outlaws post. So, I'll throw you a bone, here it is:

If you want a general update, see the note on FB.

I think I may have more actors to add to the "I really really wanna be friends with you" list. Michael Chiklis (Fantastic Four, The Shield) and Romany Malco (Baby Mama, Weeds, 40 Year Old Virgin).
They are on the new show 'No Ordinary Family' and so am I! (granted, we do very different jobs, ie: they get to talk and I mostly walk in circles). Anyway, yesterday we filmed a super formal wedding scene and Mr.'s Chiklis and Malco were there. I was in several scenes standing/dancing next to them, and they were so so nice. Malco kept making jokes and complementing me on my hair and tattoos. I had a full-blown conversation with the two of them about my Morrison tat and The Doors and writing. Malco said I 'must have balls' for going with short hair in LA, and he 'admires that. It's hot'. I danced with him.

Awe-some. Truely.

Chiklis gave me and my fake boyfriend (Yoshi. Really) camera acting tips and some acting lessons in general during our breaks.

I know this may not seem like too big a deal, but this is the first time I've been onset and had actors treat us extras like we were people, not just moving props that get in the way. It was encouraging. I can't wait to go back to work!!

Little King

I would gladly sit on the phone and talk you through this. I'd sit there all night, out in the hallway so my roommates can sleep. This apartment is built like a hotel, all the doors pointing inward to central hallways, nothing opens up to the outside. But I'd sit on the stained and dingy carpet and tolerate the stares of yappy dogs being taken out for late night walks, if it made you feel better.
You'd do the same for me, and have.
It hurts to know you're so far away and that you should be in bed, sleeping it off, not still up talking about tombstone faces. You should be asleep, not on the verge of quiet tears because while 1 am isn't late for me, I always know the time back home.
You sound like nothing so much as a scared child and you bring to mind pictures of a lost pup and I wanna hold on to you so nothing bad can happen and nothing else can scare you because who are you to be so afraid of death? I should be the worst thing that crosses your mind.
And I'm stunned at how these things have changed. My concern for you is less of a lovers worry, becoming something stunningly more maternal. And I think I wanna care for you, rather than about you, because it's easy, though your thoughts become increasingly more complex and dark. And I hope that's not my fault. And I know that's cutting myself too much credit. But, you're drunk and you're afraid of death and 'the storms' and of ending up alone, but you should know that that's not possible. People like you don't end up alone, not on the outside anyway.
You talked about how you feel like a dead animal. How your mouth hangs open like a roadkill carcass, teeth exposed and gums inching back into your head. Such beautifully vulgar imagery I'd like to steal and call my own. But through the darkness of your unintentioned poetry I imagine I can hear tears sliding down your summer reddened skin and I picture the two of us as we are now, sepearte hearts and lives, a love of special friendship. I picture us in your darkened room, I sit on your bed and you kneel on the floor, head resting on my knees. And your mouth may hang open like an opossum or dead coyote but I smooth back your hair and you remember where you are and what future you belong to.