And Delusional

Did I talk to you about the guy I thought I was dating earlier this year? I'm pretty sure I have 7 rough drafts making fun of the situation that I stopped because I just became that whiny girl that was trying to be cool and funny about how I got my first dick pic.  And it basically ended with an, "Awww!" and "That girl should get a tele-novella".  The problem isn't that I don't enjoy laughing at myself.  I do it all the time.  It was just one of those stories that I couldn't just tell without playing the victim. And I hate victim stories (good luck with the next two Hunger Games movies - bitch gets real annoying, real fast). Sorry for the spoilers.  Ha! No, I'm not.  And that comes to my post tonight.  I don't know what the fuck crawled into my deep, black, rich coffee this winter (what can I say, I like my coffee like I like my men...unsoiled).  I think I was feeling the pressures of being in my thirties and enjoying the fuck out of life.  I need to settle down, right? So I go and start sexting a 23 year old.  Perfectly legitimate response.  Only he has his life together more than I do. He had an awesome job, owns his own house, and is nice to his family.  Except I was being used (I know right!?! A chubby girl first).  Which would have been cool, except this dummy always made me feel like Pretty Woman but without Richard Gere.  No girl wants to deal with Stucky, dumb ass! After making all of the dumb girl mistakes of not hanging out or meeting new people because I was in an "it's complicated" situation (hello, red flag!) for way longer than I would like to admit, I cut off ties with this selfish bozoo. I spent several days listening to Bruno Mars "If I Was Your Man" on repeat.  I think in some f-ed up way I just wanted someone in my past to feel this way about me.  I mean after years of crazy self esteem issues, I finally am in a place where I love myself.  I'm kind of a bad ass. But then the more I think about me and my past, I have no regrets. And I don't want to be some one's regret.  I want them to have learned something from having me in their life.  I don't want to be a constant torment.  And I want to release those that have crossed my path.  It just wasn't meant to be at the time.  And life is full of crazy curve balls.  Who knows who might just get thrown back into your batters box.  What I take from the song now is treat people well.  I'm enjoying this beautiful life.  And I would like to someday say I actually let down all of my ridiculously placed walls and just loved.  Even the stupid painful moments.  Because it's all crazy and it should be fun.  No regrets.

But a great song:
http://youtu.be/ekzHIouo8Q4

And Phallic

Dating.  Daunting at best. It has never been my strong suit. I'd never really considered being independent as a bad thing until a few years ago and I heard some psycho-babble describing personality types.  There were the usual suspects - co-dependent, sadist, masochist, controlling, and needy (shudder) - and then they described the "independent to a fault".  And I realized I had a problem.  You know I am carrying 72 bags of groceries and someone politely asks if I need help, my first response is "No! I don't need help, I need more arms!".  Okay, not that bad, but I have trouble letting people in.  If someone gets remotely close, I brick up the walls. My personal goal over the last three years has to been actually try dating.  Not bar hook-ups or one night stands (I might have minored in those in college), but hey let's go out and get to know each other type dates.  I have no practice in this area of my life at all.  I'm great at making new friends or talking to the strangest people I can find, but dating - no bueno.  I think the small talk awkwardness is just a little too much to bear.  At my age, it's a little embarrassing to try to navigate.  Throw in our technological world where everyone communicates through text, email, Facebook, etc., and I am an outright disaster. Throw in my fucked up sense of humor that does not translate via text unless you know me and we have a recipe for a reality show. Add in the craziest part of modern dating: The Dick Pic.  And while I find it insanely funny, I don't get it. What are you supposed to do with a picture of a penis besides laugh hysterically?  This may be why I am what is called "Super Single" and I need to learn a useful spinster skill (besides drinking) like knitting, cat sitting, knitting for cats, knitting for cat sitters, or karate.  They say the world is a crazy place. I'm not sure "they" have ever been on the World Wide Web...

Ashes, Ashes, we all...Write Down?

The five year old version of me would be appalled at my life. It's true. I came into this world with a stick up my ass (ask Pauly or Will or Mom - they will tell you stick in the mud doesn't even fit. More like stick in the motha' flippin' concrete!). I was bossy as hell and I knew everything. Five year old Brandy lived in a world of Black and White. Right and Wrong. I knew everything and then a little more and I expected everyone else to adhere to those standards, too. For instance: I was in second grade and my brother was in first.  Someone started stealing his lunch every morning while he was out playing on the playground. I read a lot of Nancy Drew books at a young age, so I set up a trap to capture the culprit.  Which meant I staked out the "backpack" area while all the other kids were out playing on the jungle gym. I watched this kid dig through and eat several lunches and I brought fruit-roll up evidence that he dumped in the garbage can from my brother's lunch straight to my teacher with a paper towel so we could dust for finger prints and catch this sorry SOB (sure this was the mid 80's and there was no CSI on TV, but I was a sleuth and I knew this evidence would be damning as hell).  I marched right into my teacher before class, evidence in hand and demanded justice! She assured me she would "talk to him".  What?!? Um, hello! Stealing was WRONG!!! I wanted a grade school trial where we busted this criminal and I got to present my case (unbeatable!) before the entire school! The teacher had to call my Mom to get me to back off. Yeah. I know, no one likes an eight year old that thinks they're a supreme court justice.  It never occurred to me that this kid was hungry, that he probably didn't get enough to eat at home, or that he didn't have the "sweet treats" my Mom always packed us. I never thought about his reasons for stealing lunches, only that I knew that stealing was wrong.  Like I said, black and white.  Me today??? I am 340 shades of gray.  I definitely have grown out of my Nancy Drew self.  At eight years old I knew I was going to be a big shot attorney fighting all the injustice in this world (even though my Mom told me she would rather me be something respectable, like a prostitute).  I had a life plan. Graduate at 21 from an Ivy League school, partner by 25, maybe decide to have kids around 28, but have a live at home husband because I was a career woman.  Flash forward.  Somewhere between High School and my long, long college career, I not only took the stick out of my ass, but threw it so far into the Nevada sagebrush that I will never find it again (you're welcome). Like I said before, I live in the gray.  I laugh all the time and I am grateful everyday for that. I am independent to a fault, meaning super single. I went to college for the better half of a decade and finally found my calling as a story teller.  The arts, who'd a thunk??? Ha! Seven days before my 32nd birthday and I am living at home with my recently divorced Mom because starting a business in the arts blossoms only under the the term: FREE RENT!!! That's right, I just started a business with my best friend (more like my sister) and life is funny, stressful, and amazing all at once.  I'm navigating being 30ish (that's what I like to call it), pursing my dream, living back at home, and trying (somewhat) to date in the technological age (dick pics, really?).  I hope what follows is a commentary on those times.  I'm hoping for lots of laughs.  In the words of Jerry Maguire, "Who's with me???"

Could you pick me up some beer?

I imagine the clerks at CVS think I am not only a lunatic, but a raging alcoholic. It's an easy place to stop on my way home from work to get beer, chapstick, wine, bubble gum, vodka, or if I'm feeling naustalgic, a 40.  While getting a shopping cart full of booze this afternoon I was getting a , "Jesus! Lady" look from the cashier and I had a great conversation in my head explaing to him the need for so much alcohol:  I'm 30 and I just moved back home with my parents (thus the bottle of vodka).  My brother is 29 and he, too, just moved home (thus the two 24 packs of beer).  My Mom just had her two adult children move home (thus the two BIG bottles of wine).  This is logic!  They say you can never go home.  I think it's more accurate to say: You can go home, just be ready to consume large quantities of alcohol. Haha. 

If They Only Dripped Wine

Long time, no post, my friends.  Sorry about that.  My goal is to get back into writing with a passion.  That's the idea, right?  I have that.  My goal is to make you laugh or at least smile (I'm talking to you hard asses out there). I'm trying to harness my inner Hemingway.  Not sure I really have that, but I am half-drunk, and that was his thing, so I can't go wrong. Now we have to decide on a topic.  I have little neon stickies on my desk, but nothing to stick them to.  I have a million ideas running through my stubborn little gourd but not sure what to pick as my next project.  I am focusing on forgiveness right now, so maybe I should talk about that.  I hate to get too preachy to y'all, though because I've been there. This awesomeness, this zen, this peace that I feel now didn't happen over night.  I can't tell you to blink five times and cross your eyes for 45 minutes and you will be happy.  It doesn't work like that.  Things have to "click" for you. It sounds weird or cheesy, but it's true.  You have to be ready to be happy. To laugh. To accept good.  All of that from a pad of post it stickies? They're neon and I love bright colors.  They  remind me of the hair bands I loved as a kid (not the kind that held my hair back, but Def Leppard, Motely Crue, and Poison) and I get excited.

What makes you laugh?  Look around you and see the positive that you associate with your surroundings.  If the things around you don't make you smile, throw them in the trash! Because nothing makes me smile like saying, "Fuck that!" and throwing stupid stuff in the trash can!

Just Writing Thoughts

I'm rarely at a loss for words.  My roommate lost a loved one a few days ago and I don't know what to say.  It's one of those situations where words just aren't enough.  I've never experienced a loss on this level, so I have no experience to draw from to try and find the right words.  I'm out of town, so just being there isn't possible.  It's hard for me to even call because I don't know what to do.  I feel lost and unhelpful.  And it sucks.

But They Feel Gravity

I'm coming up on my two year mark in California.  Man, is that ever weird to say.  It's been a crazy journey.  I think coming out of film school, we expect to be instantly recognized for our genius and handed millions of dollars to make our brilliant minds blossom onto the big screen.  Ha! PA jobs aren't even easy to come by.  I jokingly say, "You've got to give head to get ahead."  Sadly, it's not far off.  Filmmaking.  What a trip.  You learn very early on that all the Hollywood glamour has very little to do with the actual production of a film.  And if that shit was important to me, I would be in a very different career path.  Filmmaking is tedious to say the least.  I always laugh when my friends come onto set for the first time and then leave after an hour.  I can see how they think it's boring.  It's certainly a slow process.  And it is a lot of hard work.  So much sweat and man power goes into making a film.  There's a lot of hurry up and waiting going on.  It takes a very patient person to be in this industry.  But I love it.  I have from the beginning and I can't see myself doing anything else.  That's why I'm still here.  I'm still trying to pave my own path.  Good thing I come from a family with really strong work ethic.  It keeps me going.  It's hard sometimes not to freak out or give up.  There is a lot of pressure out there to be in certain places at certain ages.  And I've never been one to really give a shit about rules or conventions, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the pressure.  But I've got to harness Frank Sinatra and Sid Vicious and do it my way, right?