-Franklin Lloyd Wright
The midwest was much too quiet for me. The lack of sirens, cars and general city noise disrupted my sleep more than I could of ever imagined. The cold. Oh, the cold was in the low 50's and I could barely stand it. I was mocked and ridiculed by my friends that I had not seen in so long. I have become acclimated to the southern california climate beyond return.
It was an incredible journey and the stories I shared online only scratch the surface of the best tales to be shared. The faces, the voices, the adventure all get stamped, filed and stored for future use. I accomplished everything and then some on my trip but there were many responsibilities to come back to.
Mainly a responsibility to myself to get a few things accomplished that have been on hold for the last few months. First off is "Shotgun Wedding". It's a shame it's taken me this long to finally get it to the cutting room floor but now it's there. Like shaving your balls with a straight edge razor, it's very time consuming and requires great focus or you can lose something very important.
The moviehatch.com independent film competition comes to a close the end of the week. If you have yet to give my script "Taste" 5 stars stop reading and go vote now!
I find out next week if I'm a finalist so cross all your fingers and toes. If you are a paraplegic then please cross your eyes.
Being apart of the rising number of unemployed in this country is settling just fine for me. I've started another script which I believe to be hilarious and ridiculous. Although I believe everything I write is hilarious and ridiculous so it's difficult to have any kind of objective scope on how funny or ridiculous it is until after it's over. It's a lot like my sex life actually.
Speaking of which that reminds me of how great I thought it was going to be for me with the ladies when I started my last job. I had a business card and a legit job title. I figured I would be pulling enough strange to warrant my own VH1 reality show.
This of course was not the case in anyway. With the exception of a few winks, nods, smiles, flirty giggles and one very intimidating cougar lady that made me cookies, it wasn't getting me any play. All work and no play makes Mike a dull boy. Thankfully before I could go on a axe wielding rampage I got canned.
This has a lot to do with my not jumping at the fence to get another desk job or any job for that matter because I'm pretty sure they are about as elusive as unicorns at the moment. I'm not letting this terrible downturn in the economy and job market spoil my good time. In fact I've had some of my best luck when I am unemployed.
There was the time when I got booted out of Brazil and then came out to LA for a week before I went back to Franklin to graduate. I was riding the bus from Santa Monica to Venice. A couple stops right after me a beautiful curly haired brunette with brown eyes got on and sat in the seat right behind me. I caught her eyes right as she was sitting down and I started searching my brain of something to say to holla at her.
Ask her where something is at? No! That's touristy. Compliment her dress? No! That's totally creeperish you only saw her a second. Maybe I won't say anything I'll just get up and sit right next to her. Great idea! That's at least in the top five ways to get maced on a bus.
I was fidgeting in my seat and scratching my head trying to think of something when I felt the soft touch of her hand on my shoulder.
"Excuse me but I have to ask you something" she says batting her eyes at me ever so innocently.
"Ask me anything" I say like an over-medicated Brad Garrett from "Everybody Loves Raymond".
"Does my hair smell like weed? I'm on my way into work and I don't want to get in trouble" she said holding her long dark brown hair out for me to get a whiff of.
I leaned over and got a big huff of her hair. It smelled fine to me. Not particularly spectacular or anything but I had just got done smoking a spliff literally minutes before I got on the bus so my sense of weed smell was way off.
"You smell wonderful" I said with an expression on my face that didn't really reflect my words.
She laughed and thanked me. She told me her name and I told her mine. She gave me her number and told me to call her at a certain time later on. Her name was Marcy.
I called Marcy and met her at a bar in Venice. I told her I was a writer but never mentioned I was not only unemployed but I hadn't even graduated college yet and that was still kind of up in the air. It was one of those nights where I met and talked to a million people but didn't actually remember one person the next morning when I woke up next to Marcy. Apparently she was nice enough to offer me a place to stay. I miss such courteousness.
Then there were those crazy days back when I first moved out here. I had no idea what I was doing so I just kind of made it up as I went along. There are women walking up and down Hollywood Blvd. that would literally eat you alive, crap you out, then steal $20 bucks out of your digested crap wallet because they forgot to do that first.
It makes for a rather interesting place to live if you are a bull shit artist. My favorite instances are when I come across a real straight shooter with a sense of humor. Those are two characteristics that are a rarity to find in the same person. I met this girl, let's call her Jenny, at Happy Endings on Sunset (It's a sports bar, I know what you're thinking. I thought the same when I saw it.)
I was outside smoking a cigarette and I spotted her walking out by herself. After nobody followed her out I stomped out my cigarette walked out the opposite exit, went back in through the front of the bar right back out to the smoking section with Bond-esque smoothness.
I pulled out another cigarette and asked her "got a light?"
She smiled and lit my smoke. We had small talk for a moment and I asked what she did.
Jenny: I'm in marketing. I work for a company that does movie posters.
Me: Right on I bet your place is covered in movie posters.
Jenny: Only one. So what do you do?
Me: I'm a writer.
(After lots of practice I've become much better at fielding this next response.)
Jenny: Cool, who do you write for?
Me: I'm kind of freelance.
Jenny: So you're trying to be a writer. You aren't ACTUALLY a writer.
Me: No I'm the real deal sweet heart. I'm just currently not being paid to write.
Jenny: Well I could say that I'm an astronaut but I'm not actually being paid to go to space.
Me: You said you were in marketing and if you were an astronaut, paid or not, I would still find that very cool.
Jenny: I know I said that but...
Me: Are you making any steps towards working for NASA?
Jenny: I was trying to make a point...
Me: Don't give up on your dreams Jenny. It's not too late to get to space.
(I then with a very serious face wrap my arm around her and point to the sky.)
Jenny: I saw you put your cigarette out when I walked out here. You are pretty confidant aren't ya?
Me: Borderline annoyingly confidant but without all the douche bagginess. But trust me you will probably only be less impressed from here.
Jenny: So where you live?
Me: Right down the street.
Jenny: All right let's get out of here.
We walked back to my building after picking up a sixer and as I was walking in one of my friends that lived in the building was coming down the stairs in tears. I asked her what was wrong and she said that she thought her stalker was somewhere in the building. She was running from some dude that had been putting notes under her door and following her everywhere. Then she ran outside.
I turned to Jenny and she kind of shrugged her shoulders and said "At least it will be a good story to tell my friends." I laughed and told her we will get a long just fine.
I will probably never see the Finnish girl I met in San Francisco again. She was definitely future ex-wife material but I'm hopeful love is in the air. I'm unemployed, broke and full of ridiculous stories that no sane girl in her right mind would ever believe.
That's why I'm so glad I live in Los Angeles because out here they are all completely fucking crazy.
Love & Respect,
Mike James
No comments:
Post a Comment