Designer Vacuums.

I'm too tired to think. I feel drunk--intoxicated by exhaustion. My feet are covered in blisters from a pair of cursed flats that will never see the light of day again. I have a pain in my neck. In other words, I am getting a nice hearty dose of Real World. Meh.

 I do, however, get to read a script this weekend, and from the first couple of pages, I can tell that I'm going to enjoy it. Then I get to obsess over the fact that in the 15 minutes that I was off running an errand, the actor who plays Spock, aka the person that MADE the star trek movie amazing for me, came into the office, met with an exec, and left. Didn't even glimpse at him. At trying times like these, I chant the mantra to myself "if it were easy, then everyone would be doing it." Hear hear. 

Overall, it was a successful week that kicked my ass. I can't wait to drive back to Orange County, and relaxxxx without having to deal with:

- metered or parallel street parking. 

-little dogs EVERYWHERE

-one way streets

-valet parking. EVERYWHERE.

-Paparazzi (who literally camp out on Robertson, just waiting for so-and-so to shop at Kitson or eat at the Ivy.) 

-designer vacuums. There actually exists, on Robertson, a boutique just for...yep, you guessed it... vacuums. A list of all the trendy cities (New York, Tokyo, Moscow, etc.) is artfully etched on the glass, as if it were a Chanel boutique. Really? If I were a jet-setter going to Moscow, the last thing I would want to purchase is a vacuum. And, the people who could afford those, don't do their own vacuuming anyway. 

-smog. that's obvious. 

I'm gonna go pass out...at 8:00 on a Friday evening. Cheers. 

Moi 

So It Begins...

I'm snuggled  in a corner couch at a Coffee Bean on La Cienega right now, typing away with what I hope is a "ponderous" look. Customers are glancing reverently in my direction--no doubt thinking I'm a screenwriter hard at work, rigging the next episode of the Hills or something. I'll keep up the ruse, it's fun. 

First two days of school work, finito! Monday night I neatly  (read: neurotically) laid out my outfit, packed an apple, and, thanks to jet lag, slept like a log. Come morning, I downed a 5-hr energy, put on California Love, and began my commute. Insert road/life metaphor Here. 

So in order to enter work, I have to pass through two looming gates and a guard house.  I passed by once, twice, slowly, like a sketchy gang member scoping out a house. Doesn't help that I'm maneuvering one of the busiest streets in Los Angeles, and that automobile multitasking here (aka driving while doing anything else) is an extremely specialized skill that I no longer can claim to have.  A worst case scenario flashed vividly in my mind: the guard laughs at me as I assure him of my internship, while a line of foreign cars grows quickly and impatiently behind me, stopping traffic on the main road...thankfully, in an anti-climatic twist, all went well. Which made me, with my 15 minutes of sketchiness, feel like a jackass.  

Ooh. Cute guy just strolled in. Sorry. Got distracted. Back to looking like a screenwriter.

 Speaking of les beaux hommes, there is an assistant in the office, let us call him Adrian, who looks  exactly like the Entourage star. And let's just say it's no coincidence that I was the first intern to pop up both times when he asked for one of us to pick up sandwiches (an extremely important duty laden with responsibility). Other than that, it was a day filled with coffee-making, script-reading, and logistics (like getting my ID pic taken so I can flash my card like a G when I enter the guard gate from now on. Sweet). I'm exhausted, and my brain is numb and lethargic. So I'll revert to list-form, and wait for a blog-worthy event to occur this week...

And although  today marks but my second day skulking around the fringes of the Biz, I have learned some very important things about myself and some life lessons: 

1) I make damn good coffee. 

2) 5 hr. energy is ambrosia of the gods

3) I have an arch nemesis, and it is L.A. Traffic. 

4) My voice has unwittingly climbed 2 octaves higher.

6)  California earthquakes scare me less than Carolina tornadoes. 

7) Beverly Hills is a hellish quagmire of one-way streets.  

8) LA Parking makes Duke Parking look like saints.

9) Motorcycles are like ninjas. Stealthy, annoying, evil ninjas that believe the lane dividers to be the highway version of Platform 9 3/4.

 

Changing the world one coffee pot at a time, and brainstorming a way to raise $40 in ticket money,

Cheers,

Moi.

The Final Countdown: Finding Trendiness

I'm sitting here, surrounded by piles of clothes strewn haphazardly around my room. My attempt at organization has gone frustratingly awry: a) my carefully-folded pile of blouses has become my cat Pippin's newest throne. b) I'm at that awkward stage where a good third of the things packed may very well be used over the next few days. c) The list of "things to remember to buy" is stretching interminably...last time I checked, I don't have a spare lint roller lying around. And seriously, since when does it matter whether or not my black t-shirt has some fuzz on the shoulder? Apparently since now.

Which brings me to this: after my frantic power-shopping trip in D.C. this past weekend, I remember again why I stopped trying to be trendy after May 2006: it's exhausting, time-consuming, and expensive. Personally, I would rather shell out some money for a good book (give me all the shit you want) or a road trip, than a new pair of tight skinny jeans that would make a Victorian bodice feel comfortable. At least on campus I can hide my unkempt appearance under the guise of time constraint, stress, and nonconformity. Oh, yeah--you're right. This is the same sweatshirt I wore yesterday. Well you know, I was at the library ALL night studying, so...

T-7 days until go time, which gives me 6 days to re-discover West Coast style.