11 MONTHS
I used to count the time between the calls. Now I count the time until they're done. My so called life as a communications analyst.
I know it sounds important and difficult, but trust me - this is regression.
It's devolution.
It's counter productive to my psyche.
I am a writer. A DAMN FINE ONE!
I am an actor. A DAMN FINE ONE!
I am a creative soul. God bless me.
And I am the former soul mate of Nicole Kidman.
So why must I stoop to catching other people's mistakes when I should be making my own? In God's defense (as if He needs it) - He has provided well for me. And I am grateful. I just have 3 small questions for Him:
1. Why can't I write for my breakfast?
2. Why can't I act for my lunch?
3. Why can't I create a masterpiece for my dinner?
BOTTOM LINE: Why must there be separation of work and art? My work and my art?
Meanwhile, my new, hot girlfriend cavorts on private yachts during private parties with the not so private Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn. Dancing the night away with a mouth full of barbeque shrimp and gratuitous cocktails. Not a care in the world. Well, maybe a few cares.
Evidently Ms. Anniston is very trim. (Okay, insanely skinny) But very nice. And very focused. (My new, hot girlfriend says she treats you like you are the only person in the world.) Definitely not anything like 'Rachel'. She retains a lot of sadness though. Since Tyler Durdin flew the coup with 'fat lipped Cambodian hoochie momma' Angelina Jolie. (Just as a side note - I personally have nothing against Ms. Jolie. I actually prefer the full figured bad girl to the anorexic nice girl most of the time. That's me.) But that didn't stop her from whopping it up dance floor all night long.
Vince, on the other hand, well...�you've all seen Swingers. Not much has changed since then. He is so fucking money.
Hollywood keeps spinning and I keep counting the minutes until the next call ends and the dreariness of my new occupation with it. I am praying for Friday once more. For the first time in a long time. And waiting for God to make me the discovery of the year.
Check the new Vanity Fair if you really want the scoop on Jennifer. I don't know. Maybe you'll feel sorry for her. But if you have an ounce of dignity in your body, you'll redirect some of that energy in my direction - and feel sorry for me.
I know it sounds important and difficult, but trust me - this is regression.
It's devolution.
It's counter productive to my psyche.
I am a writer. A DAMN FINE ONE!
I am an actor. A DAMN FINE ONE!
I am a creative soul. God bless me.
And I am the former soul mate of Nicole Kidman.
So why must I stoop to catching other people's mistakes when I should be making my own? In God's defense (as if He needs it) - He has provided well for me. And I am grateful. I just have 3 small questions for Him:
1. Why can't I write for my breakfast?
2. Why can't I act for my lunch?
3. Why can't I create a masterpiece for my dinner?
BOTTOM LINE: Why must there be separation of work and art? My work and my art?
Meanwhile, my new, hot girlfriend cavorts on private yachts during private parties with the not so private Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn. Dancing the night away with a mouth full of barbeque shrimp and gratuitous cocktails. Not a care in the world. Well, maybe a few cares.
Evidently Ms. Anniston is very trim. (Okay, insanely skinny) But very nice. And very focused. (My new, hot girlfriend says she treats you like you are the only person in the world.) Definitely not anything like 'Rachel'. She retains a lot of sadness though. Since Tyler Durdin flew the coup with 'fat lipped Cambodian hoochie momma' Angelina Jolie. (Just as a side note - I personally have nothing against Ms. Jolie. I actually prefer the full figured bad girl to the anorexic nice girl most of the time. That's me.) But that didn't stop her from whopping it up dance floor all night long.
Vince, on the other hand, well...�you've all seen Swingers. Not much has changed since then. He is so fucking money.
Hollywood keeps spinning and I keep counting the minutes until the next call ends and the dreariness of my new occupation with it. I am praying for Friday once more. For the first time in a long time. And waiting for God to make me the discovery of the year.
Check the new Vanity Fair if you really want the scoop on Jennifer. I don't know. Maybe you'll feel sorry for her. But if you have an ounce of dignity in your body, you'll redirect some of that energy in my direction - and feel sorry for me.
posted by The Passenger at 8:13 PM
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