pink ladies and purposeful dreams...

I'm not even a struggling filmmaker. I'm just struggling. Hard. Every time I meet someone in the industry, they always want to know why an honor student went from the security of medicine to the freelance, unstable nature of film. Honestly, it wasn't an easy decision, but it was the right one. It's something that's been in the making for a long time. The first moment that I realized that performing was for me was the fourth grade.
In my elementary school, every year, each grade puts on a musical for the entire school. So every month there was a performance going on.
       It wasn't until the third grade that I got a role with any substance; and it was a big one. I got to play Belle in The Beauty and The Beast. I went from being completely invisible in my school to having way too many people know me. That experience was wonderful, but I got a lot of hate from my peers. Our elementary school was exactly like Mean Girls. I had gone from being a loner to being an outcast because I got attention that wasn't approved by The Pink Ladies. Yes, in the third grade, up until the sixth grade, there was a legit clique of girls that made my life a living hell. They even had matching monogrammed grease jackets! However the third grade wasn't when I learned I wanted to be a performer. That revelation came a year later.
       During the fourth grade, I won the role of Anna in The King and I. It was completely unexpected because no one had ever had the lead role twice. If I was a target before, then I was the ultimate kill in this playground battlefield. I worked so hard for this role, spending all my free time singing and rehearsing lines. I even had to learn to waltz in front of my entire grade. It was mortifying.
          Finally the day of the show arrives and my nerves are threatening to debilitate me. I'm wearing a giant hoop skirt trying to dance and sing while a corset is puncturing my ribs. Even through the pain, I can recall having the most fun in my short life. When it came time for the final bow, the cast exited from backstage as we had rehearsed, with me being the last one to arrive on stage. I descend from the wings and do a full curtsy in front of the audience. This time was different than ever other time we rehearsed because there was a live audience there, not just rowdy fourth graders. When I looked up from my curtsy, to my surprise, I received a standing ovation. It shocked me. I couldn't believe that what I loved and enjoyed doing gave other people joy as well. I was hooked from that moment onward.
           Now from that point onward, I thought that I just wanted to be an actress. It wasn't until I saw my favorite movie that I knew I couldn't stop there. I saw Pulp Fiction for the first time when I was eight years old on television. I'm pretty sure it was on the WB but who can be sure? I watched the entire film in awe with my mouth ajar and I didn't understand what I saw. After the movie finished, I recall thinking "Wow, you can do that?" I didn't know that movies didn't have to be generic and formulaic. It changed my entire paradigm and to this day I think Tarantino is a fucking genius. Sure I may come off as a movie snob with my independent films and foreign cinema, but I know I love a film when I feel it in my bones. It can change you profoundly. Honestly my movie obsession doesn't make me cool; it makes me a loser. Only dweebs and nerds are obsessed with anything. I'm proud to say that I'm obsessed with Jules and Vincent Vega and that movie made me want to become a filmmaker.
               Sure half of the screenplays I write are garbage and the other half are unfinished, but it gives me such joy to attempt to follow my dreams. Maybe I'll never succeed. Maybe I'll give in and be at a corporate job working for the man. I dunno. I can't predict the future. But at least I'm trying. So regardless if I'm living it up in a penthouse with my banker husband, I'll have the original B-roll from my failed films and the pictures of the times I spent sleeping on numerous couches.

runaway love

It's the middle of december. I haven't bought Christmas presents yet and I'm banking on overnight shipping to get it done. I always say that I'm going to be the early bird, but in reality, even though I plan very well, I don't have enough time to actually put those plans into motion. Take for instance, this past week. I finished up at my internship, I worked at my part-time office job and then I freelance for 5 days. And while those five days were fun, I was on my feet for fourteen hour days taking lunch orders and being treated like a minion. I know that I shouldn't complain. I have very little experience  and any opportunity to learn is amazing. I'm willing to work my way from the bottom to the top, my only question is what do I see at the top? I feel like I ended up in production when my real goal was acting. Now I'm on the track to becoming a producer, which is still one of my goals, but I'm not getting any closer to becoming an actor (or director or writer). Sometimes I feel so lost.
         I'm starting to realize that this feeling isn't exactly unique to me. I saw my bestie Josephine this weekend and we ended up on the topic of our immeadiate futures. She's in production too and landed herself a full-time job as an office PA. Jo and I probably have similar goals. She has such a bubbly, vivacious personality and people are just immeadiatly drawn to her. Sometimes I think that she should be in front of the camera instead of behind it. She would be an amazing on-air interviewer or even a entertainment journalist (as proven by her short-lived college radio show called E-buzz). But instead she's milling along the office trail like me. At least she's getting paid for it.
       During the talk about our futures, she brought up an interesting note. She said to me "I'm so impressed by your optimism". Optimism? I've always considered myself a pessimist and I'm never surprised when shit hits the fan. The universe has a tricky way of fucking with me, so I'm rarely surprised by the dilemmas that I deal with on a regular basis. When Jo referred to my optimism, I had to ask her what she meant by that. She said that she knows so many people whose lives aren't going the way that they intended and have become so depressed, but somehow, I've managed to keep it from getting me down. It was in that moment that I realized two things. 1. Every postgraduate feels a sense of darkness. Whether it's because you're unemployed or you have the job of your dreams, becoming an adult has this looming sense of finality. It's as if we're supposed to be adults overnight.
        My friend Jason, whom I've become serious texting buddies with, sent me a bbm that read "ive been struggling with the whole thing, i feel like my whole existence is a big joke". This was after I made fun of him for contemplating becoming on the enemy: a banker. But I see why he would consider it. Why not work a soul-less job and make lots of cash, when you feel empty inside now and aren't making the big bucks. If money can't buy you happiness, then what can? We're all struggling with the reality of ourselves and the dream of ourselves. When they don't align, the sense of failure is almost unbearable.
       The other thing I learned was that I was unhappy. I hadn't really realized it until Jo pointed it out, but there's a definite sense of unhappiness that is flooding through my veins. I think I hadn't realized earlier was because of the immense fatigue I've been experiencing. Without time to actually sit and gather my thoughts, I never realized that I was on a course that wasn't going to lead me to the Emerald City. This is how it happens. THis is how someone remains an office assistant for forty years. This is how a college graduate with a Ph.D ends up being a personal assistant to some big name executive. When you don't have the time to reflect, you never see what's really there.
      This thought has terrified me since leaving Jo. I'm starting to see the cracks in everyone's life. One of our friends just moved to China because she needed a break from the post-college depression. It can be overwhelming at times. Although I don't think I'll go that far, I can see the temptation. Running away from my problems sounds amazing right now. The only real issue is that I'll have to run back to them at one point. I can't run away from growing up. 
   And now I've been offered this job and I'm hesitant to take it. It would be a wonderful opportunity for me to the side the business side of production and to be more hands-on in the process,  but if I do this, will it be me giving up on my other goals? Will I be settling and just following the structured path? I want it all, I just don't know how to get there. That's probably the root of all depression. The acknowledgment that you don't know how to save yourself.

Skinny ties and opaque tights...

Technically the fete didn't take place during the summer. Doreen's birthday is October 1st, but I was still decked out in my usual miniskirt and awkwardly revealing top. I did have the decency to wear tights at least. The opaque kind in fact. I had begun to abandon the notion that Party Sleep Party was only limited to the summer months. Without a real job, career, or any mouths to feed, what was there to stop me from transplanting my hedonistic tendencies from the warm summer months to the cool fall. When it starts to get cold outside there's nothing that I crave more than a warm chunky, knit sweater and a shot of Jack Daniels. So with my newfangled understanding of the seasons, I headed to Doreen's celebration at this bar called Anchor. Strangely enough I had never been there and neither had any of my friends. The reviews on Yelp described it as a B and T crowd with pretentious yuppies thrown in the mix. It's because of scenes like this that I don't party above 14th street. However Anchor is located in the west village and we thought it must have some sort of redeeming quality.

 I headed to the bar with my bestie Julianne and Kayla. As we rode in the cab, still tingling from our pregame session, we berated the cab driver who tried to play us. One thing anyone should know about me and my friends: we don't take shit. If you're my friend, you must have thick skin and most likely be a bitch (this goes for the men as well). Now there are different types of bitches. There are those who are outwardly messed up and will say slick shit all the time. And then there are others who seem to be angels but their motives are downright mean girl-like. Now I don't mean that my friends are bad people. They are some of the most loving and generous people I know and I love them all dearly. We just don't censor ourselves and we don't believe in being fake. That is what defines you as a bitch in this world; having the cojones to actually say what you mean.

   When we finally arrived to the bar, we headed towards the back to see our belle of the ball, Dee, dressed to the nines. Now one thing you should know about Doreen is that she is the cutest thing ever. She is this tiny girl with a fashion sense to rival Anna Della Russo. She can wear anything and look amazing, but when she decides to put in that extra fifteen minutes of prep, she's a fucking stunner. With that being said, when I arrived, instead of giving Dee props on her long sleeved, no back, black studded mini dress and banging heels, I'm staring at Dave, her boyfriend. Well technically Dave and Jason, another member of the crew. Now I'm used to seeing Dave in ripped jeans and flannel shirts. I've never thought Dave looked bad, he just had this laid back, "I don't give a fuck" attitude that I've always liked. Jason is always styling though. Once my best friend Bridget called me just to tell me she peeped Jase outside an HSBC looking like a Burberry ad in a trench coat and mean looking shades. It was so serious that she stopped banking to let me know. Haha. But tonight the boys went over and  beyond. They were dressed as fucking sex bombs. Now don't get it twisted, I'm not trying to fuck my homies; but that night I would have considered it. I mean they were beautiful. Fucking beautiful. I couldn't get over it.  I felt like a dipshit standing next to them. Apparently there was a bbm sent through the BDN network ( an inside group with initials I won't disclose here) and it basically summed up to "Suit Up". They rolled in looking like ethnic James Bonds with skinny ties. 

    Once I got over my awe and picked my jaw off the slimy dance floor, I proceed to get a drink and regain some semblance of being cool. Now the crowd that night was basically what Yelp had described. I saw pink button downs and polos with the collars up. I saw a great number of white man's overbites and boat shoes. But funny enough, what could have been a horrible night, was probably the best party of my extended summer. It was one of those nights when regardless of what went wrong, I was still having a good time. Now this probably partially due to the amount of vodka cranberries and tequila shots I consumed, but I think something more was at work.

          When you have such a large group of friends, it's very rare to have a night out where drama does not occur. There's always someone who's upset and bringing the vibe down. I've probably been that person on many occasions, but at least I have the courtesy of leaving the bar instead of bringing everyone down with me. That night every single one of my friends, a group of twenty or more, were floating on the same wavelength. We just danced the night away. Nothing bothered me. Nothing bothered us. Not even the girl I had to bitch out when she cut in front of me on the line for the bathroom. The more fucked up thing is that I let Julianne cut in after I made that slut move. I told you I was a bitch.

        We danced from midnight till four in the morning and proceeded to tipsy drive home in Akasha's whip. I think I even got into an argument with my mom when I got home. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, she was making breakfast and my dad was ironing pants, when I staggered home in my stilettos, reeking of Patron at five am. I was so furious that my attempt to sneak into my house was foiled by both my parents, that I  briskly passed her while she asked " Is this the time you usually come home?" , grabbed my car keys and ran out the house while she yelled "And you're going to drive!". I vented to Ashley who live a couple blocks away and I was giving her a ride home. I was just so upset that they had been awake at 5am. What responsible adult is awake at 5 am on a Saturday? I later found out that they we're on their way to Washington, DC to march in a rally against health care cutbacks. My parents, the do-gooders, birthed an alcoholic with a severe disconnect with reality.Go Figure.

    Regardless of my mother's disapproval and my father's acknowledgment that my partying ways come from my mother's side (I get it from them both), I look back on that night with a smile, one of those cheesy kinds that appear frequently in romantic comedies. I think what made that night so special was not only the babes and blokes that I spent it with, but the fact that the summer didn't have to end. Party Sleep Party became the anthem of my summer, but I always knew that come autumn, I would have to start being an adult. I searched for an internship, obtained a real schedule at my job and even got a gym membership. I was so afraid that becoming an adult meant that I had to stop being a kid. Doreen's birthday changed that. Now I am a kid that isn't afraid of growing up. Fuck that Peter Pan syndrome. I can still wear my tights with a business suit.