5 Excuses you’ve made on why you have not moved to Hollywood yet to pursue your Acting career

Hello Thespians; High school teens, college grads, or people working normal jobs who dream of moving to LA but in the mean time will do local Films and Theater to “build up your credit” for when you “move to LA”… Let me tell you something to your minds idea/fears/obstacles of why you’re not here already… If you REALLY want to be an ACTOR, there’s no other city outside of LA that you should be. None. Zip. Zero. Diddly-Squat. And here’s why.

1- “There’s Film Incentives here in my hometown” : There’s absolutely NO film incentive for you! None. There’s an incentive for your city’s bank account, but when it comes to your career, you’re looked at as a potential ‘extra’, not a potential ‘lead’… Films are cast out of LA. The writer who sells his script, who works SO hard to get the incentive, is not looking to do favors for locals with no resume. He’s going straight to the source; Hollywood. He’s contacting agents in Hollywood. Producers in Hollywood. Directors (if not himself) in Hollywood. Casting Directors in Hollywood. The casting director is casting from the data base they’ve already seen, contacting agents they have connections with, for THEIR actors. Whatever bit role is left over, could be cast from your home town… But why play small when you can play so much bigger? Why tell yourself being a big fish in a small pond is “good for you, right now”? Don’t you want to go straight to the source, and risk greater? The reward of moving back to your home town for a month to film a movie, is much sweeter than getting a “featured extra” role in a B movie that was shot in your town… When that film is over, LA is packing to go back home. Come on — live a little.

2- “I’m gonna move to Chicago, New York, Atlanta” : Or wherever you decide in your head is just as opportunistic as LA… It’s not. Chicago has improv and commercials, New York has Theater and Models, Atlanta has… Those film incentive things discussed in #1. No matter which way you slice it, the most opportunities will come straight from Los Angeles. That’s the way it’s been for many, many, many, many, many years, and it’s not changing any time soon… Don’t waste your time in a delusional fantasy that another city is “just as good”. If you want to be a film actor, you have to be in LA.

3- “I have to save up money first” : If money is the fear that’s stopping you, you should choose plan B. Not because it’s a dumb excuse, but because, it’s really not a truth… You can rent a room for less than $800. You can get a job so fast here. You can hustle your way, throughout the day — there’s soooooo many ways to make money in Hollywood, it’s bananas! The irony is, you’d probably make more money here than you would back home… Unless you live with your parents and they pay for everything — and in that case, stop being a little bitch.

4- “I’m gonna build my resume here first” : Nobody cares. When a casting director, agent, writer, director, or even another actor, in LA, looks at your resume with over 20 film and theatre credits, it’s impressive. When their eyes scroll to the right of the page and it says “Tennessee Theater Company In My Moms Backyard, Inc” nobody cares. No. Body. Cares… Seeing a ton of out of state credits kind of says one thing, “they’re not really serious about this.”

5- “I wanna be SAG-AFTRA before I move” : That’s idiotic. The chances of joining the union is higher in LA. There are films, tv shows, web series, and even student films who are looking for featured extras to give SAG vouchers to. Just pay your dues in being an extra on a few sets, and voila… Why take the long way into your dreams, when you can take the high road, aka, the road less travelled?

Moving to Los Angeles to pursue your dream in the arts is a big life decision… But not really. If you love your craft, and want to be successful at it/make a living at it, yes it’s near impossible, but if it’s that hard, WHY WOULD YOU MAKE IT EVEN HARDER ON YOURSELF BY NOT MOVING HERE? Furthermore, don’t you WANT to be in the mist of it all? Just sayin.

 

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD HUSTLE AS HARD AS YOU HATE” The Rise of The Pizzacat.

IMG_4783 It was a day like any other. I woke up around 8am. I brushed my teeth. I checked my Instagram. Scrolling through friends with puppies, friends drinking mimosa’s, friends selfie’s, friends hiking — reminding me I haven’t worked out in four days, oh! A Miley Cyrus picture. I like to look at her photos because we are soul sisters. Me, her, and Lindsay Lohan, but let’s not get off on a tangent. Miley’s picture is yet another meme she made of her self; a beautiful sky as the back drop, with flying tacos, a turtle with fries in its shell, and a cat with pizza around its head, with Miley’s baby picture cropped to fit the face. The caption reads “MAYBE YOU SHOULD HUSTLE AS HARD AS YOU HATE.” FullSizeRender I took a snap shot, and sent it to my friends. One of them responded with “that’s The Pizzacat tho!” and proceeded to tag me in a pizzacat photo so I could see for myself where Cyrus pulled this genius from. And there he was… Photo after photo… Inspirational message after inspirational message… The one and only — and there’s only one!.. @The_Pizzacat. FullSizeRender-3

This cool cat has mean mug, sauce stain on his upper lip, and a permanent pizza around his head. In a world filled with influential leaders, like, The President, or Beyonces eyebrows, cats and dogs have tried to forge through this barrier of racism. Why are so many humans influencing small children and things when four legged animals can do the job and do it better? The people have spoken. The likes are in. The rise of @The_Pizzacat is a thing. And I had the pleasure of meeting him. Yes. I found him on twitter and begged and pleaded like a screaming Usher fan. “PIZZAAAA CAT THOUGH I NEED YOUR STORY!” The Pizzacat told me to meet him in an open corn field in Pacoima, California.

I arrived, pen and paper in hand, nervous. I sat there waiting, wondering if The Pizzacat will stand me up… He did not. He keeps his word. We say hello and I start talking.

“Hi Pizzacat. What was it like for you growing up assuming you were born with a pizza around your head?” The Pizzacat replied, “it was great. A lot of people showed respect.” I was shocked, but kept my poker face. This was a true sign of his inner strength. He hands me a pepperoni as I go on. “What do you do on your off time when you’re not flying on saucers putting bitches in their place?” The Pizzacat fired back, “I don’t ride saucers. I AM SAUCERS. I AM PIZZA.” I was about to apologize, till The Pizzacat continued with, “Pugmob squad Churro and Kurtispug Tacoturtle.  Apps heavy through Pugmob. Shoutout Vogue for my features. Epic Meal Empire for signing on the dotted line. Vegas Seven Mag. Shout out to Holly Madison for always showing love. I got shirts heavy on the internet, my shirts are made through official genius pizzacatparty.com. I stack guwop, flex, finesse, i pizza, i cat.” WOW that’s a lot of plugins, Pizzacat, you go in so hard, no lube. I thanked him for sharing and filled the silence with “what’s your favorite brand of pizza? And is that what’s on your face right meow?” The Pizzacat spoke, “to the good Pizza companies come talk to me, we can make something work. To the others, STOP STEALING FROM THE PIZZACAT YOU COWARDS. Until then, I make my own pizza. Ain’t shit changed. Still pepperoni.” Still pepperoni… I pondered this for a second, in a humble bow. I believe The Pizzacat is accepting of the haters. “Speaking of stealing, would you share a slice of pizza with Grumpy Cat? How do you feel about the global infatuation with sumshy faced cats? Do you haz feelings?” The Pizzacat replied, “Grumpy Cat really admires me. A little bit of grumpy cat likes the way I smell. But guess what? Pizzacat the god.” O-Kaie… O-Kaie… “Is it hard to step out in public beclaws you’re a celebecat?” The Pizzacat replied, “it’s pretty difficult these days. I live in the Bay Area and also I was just in LA. Do you remember Michael Jackson? And how the fans would go nuts? And Justin Bieber? It’s like that only not as weak. Way better.” DAMN SON! The Pizzacat just straight KNOCKED some celebehumans off their thrones. What a cool cat! Now we’re getting real… “The Pizzacat, haz you ever dated a fan?” His response, “Married to the pizza.” Ladies and gentlemen, I do not know if this means he only dates pizza things. I was too scared to ask, so instead, I put my foot deeper in my mouth by saying “are you a boy or girl?” The Pizzacat shakes his tail, “cat.” “Got it” I say. “Since Miley Cyrus went public with her face on your body, have you invited her to a pizza party?” The Pizzacat stretched his paws out, speaking such truth. “We are very good friends and she is a huge fan and I think she is great. ‘Hey Miley hit my instagram big dog @the_pizzacat the world wants it.” Miley, if you’re reading this…

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The Pizzacat looked at the sun to see what time it was. He must leave soon. “Only a few more questions, I promise” I said. “When you purr, are you saying ‘purreroni’?” The Pizzacat was momentarily confused at my human joke. He merely replied, “Who?” I snapped back “What’s your ultimate goal in life, pizza cat? Do you haz dreams?” The Pizzacat, “you can call me pizza Jesus.” Now, I’m not sure we are on the same page here as The Pizzacat’s answers are a little open to interpretation, but I think this comes with the territory of human to cat. Cats don’t waste time. They get straight to the point. No explanations.

I noticed The Pizzacat brought his CDs of raps, and I had to ask “can you freestyle right meow?” The Pizzacat got up on his hind legs, and spit “I need cheese, need it now, take a shit, it falls onto gods cloud, I’m really stayin that damn high.” I applaud him amongst the corn and stuff and things. We get up to leave. While we walk back to our perspective modes of transportation — car, and taco turtle, I say, “Pizzacat, you’ve been so wonderful. Could you please tell every artist in Hollywood, what’s the most Hollywood Positive thing you’ve been through?” The Pizzacat said, “Weed delivery in LA open late. Amazing. Pizza delivery even later.” Again, the information he’s providing is vague, and thought provoking.

I thanked The Pizzacat. I took a photo with The Pizzacat. I will never forget.

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You can find him on instagram: @The_Pizzacat. Don’t forget to download the pizzacatapp so you can meet him as well. And of course, if you think you’re cool enough to join his party, you can try, www.pizzacatparty.com, or watch him on youtube, pizzacattv.

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Mayweather + there’s no calm before his storm

May Day – May Day — Earth to bOtches. Pretty boy Floyd wins again! And the crowd goes — BOOING?!

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Floyd Mayweather won his 48th match on Saturday, May 2nd 2015, at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, beating his opponent Manny Pacquiao — the people’s champion. This makes Mayweather 48 and 0. A pretty big deal in my book of knowledge. So what the problem is? Why is the general consensus not impressed, or happy with his winnings? People saying things like “he’s the worst human being in the world” and “he doesn’t deserve any thing! ” Well, yes, okay… So he has five separate accounts of assault and battery against him from his ex spouses and their girl friends. I understand that part… But his personal life has nothing to do with him as an athlete, and that’s the only thing being critiqued in the ring, not his criminal record.

I was watching the press conference afterwards with a big group of friends, both guys, and girls. They were yelling at the TV after each sentence he spoke. “Oh, cool product placement, FLOYD”, “Ugh he’s not even answering the questions”, and “Manny definitely won.” My favorite moment tho, was when they got super upset with Floyd Mayweather admitting boxing is a job for him, and he’s not passionate about it anymore. He went on to explain his strategic, business, mindset. He said he was the better man tonight, because he’s calculated, and always one step ahead of his opponent… My friends were livid. “He made $200 million dollars and he doesn’t even LIKE the sport?! Is he serious?! HE ONLY CARES ABOUT MONEY.” I interrupted with, “I think his point he’s making is that this comes natural to him…” This did not sit well with them, but let me explain…

What you’re born to do has nothing to do with what you “want” to do. I want to be an actress. From the outside in, it looks like you have people fawn all over you, while doing nothing but showing up and saying your lines. But from the inside out, a very talented actor has no sense of self, and can become other characters easily, because they’re not attached to who they are. Well, that sounds like a harder life than I thought… Like most of the world, I’m the opposite. To an extreme. I want to be an actress though — I don’t want to be a writer! But the trajectory of my life and history, moment by moment, produced who I am, and years and years of practicing the same habits, thoughts, and patterns, manifested into expressing myself through writing. Writers feel like they can’t speak their truth, over analyzing, and living in their head — so they write instead… Well that also sounds like a shitty price to pay internally, to be great externally, no? Every perfected profession has a reason greater than your wishes, as to why you’ve gravitated towards that field. Mayweather is saying just that, in my humble opinion…

I don’t know the psyche behind a child who becomes one of the worlds greatest boxers, but I do know it has a lot to do with proving himself. If you’ve watched enough documentaries on him like I have, you see he’s always talking about how his dad never stopped pushing him. Even at this press conference, Floyd spoke about his dad telling him to step his game up, try harder, but that Mayweather knew in his heart he was winning the whole time.

I’m sorry, but you really believe he does this for money? You really think, for the last 20 years of his existence, he’s trained, boxed, and spent more time in a ring, than with his family or friends, because of money? Ladies and gentlemen, that formula doesn’t make sense. Everyone is fighting a bigger battle. He’s been proving his worth to his father since day one, and the way his body expresses it, is through boxing. Through his fists. Some channel their secrets through dance, some through perfecting yoga, and others through raising children — I don’t know!

When Floyd Mayweather said boxing is not his passion, and he wanted more money, and on top of that, he won (so suck it) — makes perfect sense. It’s not boxing in a ring he loves, it’s proving his worth, his driving force in life (we all have one), it’s the winner-mentality, the over-achiever, the alpha, the champion. It comes out through this particular sport.

Every heads has a tail. Every thing that makes you brilliant, brings out your kryptonite on the flip side. Floyd’s deep seeded issues has him a king in the ring, and a tyrant in the real world. It’s the price we pay as human beings.

Pretty boy, you are very Hollywood Positive. What demon’s are you battling and how do you express yourself?

Love,

A very morbid and depressing version of my self,

-HollywoodPositive +

Getting fired was the best decision I’d make every time

I’m the worst waitress I’ve ever met. I forget orders, I drop food, I eat garlic knots on the main floor — while on the clock, I get offended if someone asks for a refill without looking me in the eye, I check my phone every 5 minutes, I cry in the bathroom, I eat food and avoid work in the bathroom, I don’t wear my uniform with pride, and I flirt with the bartender. Although the last part shouldn’t mean I’m a bad server, it just means I have A.D.D. and am looking for a discount on drinks after my shift… So we got this clear. I’m not good at this particular job, because honestly, I’m a spoiled brat from the upper class suburbs, and if one more customer asks me for a filet mignon medium rare, and a side of spaghetti marinara for their loud mouth seven year old son, I will throw it in their face. So why the fuck didn’t I get the hint that *maybe* my side job should NOT be serving others in the realm of the food industry. I’m not sure. What I do know is, it all happened for a reason *__*

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Want to make yourself feel better? Here are the jobs I’ve been fired from and why…

Sushi restaurant: I was always five minutes late… So my boss says “next time you’re late you’re fired.” The next time rolls around and I think my call time is at 4pm so I show up at 3:50pm. The boss’s little Japanese mother walks up to me and says, “Song-Su says he don’t need you today… He doesn’t need you evah.” I said “WHY?! I’m EARLY!” She says “You’re 50 minute late.” … I should’ve checked the new schedule. That was a fucking trick.

Babysitting 2 twin boys: I stole their adderoll. And the mom put camera’s in the kitchen… Whatever, who the hell gives 7 year old boys 30 mg of adderoll a day?

Catering job at Paramount for independent company-no names: I was caught eating the appetizers in the bathroom for 30 minutes and didn’t bother to serve… Anyone.

Catering job #2 in LA: I was texting on my phone in the kitchen and the asshole chef said “will you NOT text in MY kitchen?” I said “My AUNT is DYING!” He said “Let me see the text then.” I said “No.” He said “Get out.” … Rude.

ActNOW studios (on Ventura blvd): I wasn’t answering the phones correctly and didn’t know how to produce a workshop?.. I still think this is bullshit. There are some HATERS at ActNOW who told on me cuz they are jealous of my swag. I’m so over them. I’ve taken my business elsewhere. You should too.

Italian Restaurant: I ate garlic bread while seating people… Okaaaay?..

Admin work for a Dating Coach Company: They said I was working with competitor companies… First of all, I don’t care enough about YOUR company to work for a competitor. Why the fuck would I wanna work for the same thing somewhere else? Second of all, I know that employer had a personal vendetta against me.

Go-Go dancer at gay club in WeHo: I wasn’t manly enough.

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Jobs I’ve quit the first week…

Selling skydiving packages on college campus’s: I’ve never been sky-diving, what the fuck did I know?

Second grade after school teacher: the kids were annoying

Restaurant in Korea Town: Hours were too long, pay was too low, and I’d rather be broke and party, than decently able to pay rent, and hate my life

Assistant work for producer: He got creepy. I lied and said I have a sick aunt. (I use this one a lot, because I don’t have any aunt’s, just uncles, so I feel the karma won’t be as bad.)

Management position at catering company: They actually asked me to do dishes. I don’t do dishes. I just wanted to boss people around, but apparently this position called for responsibility.

Babysitting 2 year old girl: I didn’t change her diaper…

In conclusion: I will stick to writing/acting/producing and I will continue to work for myself. What about YOU?

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I climbed to the top of the Hollywood sign! It was awful.

Everyone knows of the famous HOLLYWOOD sign, everyone admires it, and very few people compared to the rest of the world, get to see it with their own eyes. I not only saw it, I touched the first big O with my hands. Yes, I accomplished something so rare, the experience was truly un-forgettable… Mainly because I wanted to shoot myself in the face and forget it ever happened.

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It was a hot August day when the guy I had a crush on asked me to go hiking with him up Beachwood Canyon. “Sure,” I thought. I’ve never hiked to the top of the Hollywood sign, and my cousin once told me guys like adventurous girls. I agreed to go. I picked him up and we arrived at the trail shortly after; one that many people were on. I looked effortlessly great. Makeup on without knowing it, Lulu Lemon yoga pants, and a good attitude. The sun was getting hot, but I had sunblock and a bottle of water. I could suck it up.

It took a good 30 minutes when we realized we’re hiking and hiking and not getting to the front of the sign. We then learned it’s illegal to climb to the front, and there’s no path that takes you there. Oh well, I thought. It’s past 1pm and I have a Play I’m starring in tonight at 7pm, my waters almost done, and I’m fucking boiling in my Lulu’s. “Well, that’s that. Let’s just go back.” What happened next determined the fate of our relationship.

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Hiker boy gave a speech about his leadership skills. He’s going to forge the way, cut through back yards, and climb to the top no matter what. He gave me the “once in a lifetime opportunity” spiel, and the “don’t you care about me” guilt trip. Well… Fuck. How do I say no to such fantastic manipulation? “Once you get to the top, you’ll thank me you did it.” And, “I promise you’ll be back in time for your show. If we run out of time, we’ll turn around. I promise.” This sounds like an awful idea, but he spoke to  my co-dependence, and that part of me trumped all. The journey kept going, while my anger kept boiling (from the weather) to the surface.

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His plan was simple. Look directly up at the sign, and start climbing. We started by trespassing twenty mansions. We hopped some fences. Correction, he hopped. I took my passive aggressive time. We passed barbed wire, and empty pop cans. I kept drinking his water bottle to show him I’m dehydrated, and quite the prissy girl after all. Mercy! I don’t care to look adventurous any longer. But it was too late. We got to the foot of the no-path dirt trail and up we went. Hiker man would look back time to time and ask if I were okay. At this point, I’m cussing. I want to go home. I’m dying. “We’re almost there!” He’d not only say, but he’d laugh. Did he think my discomfort was cute? I’m gonna kill this guy. We are not almost there, and I just ran into a sign that read “rattle snakes.” I don’t do… Rattle snakes. I don’t do… Squirrels. What makes him think I’m sacrificing my right leg to a wild creature so he can have his fun? My inner monologue was not a happy camper. All bets were off; not trying to impress you anymore, just trying to survive. And right then, right at the final hour, there we were. Standing face to face with the sign. Hiker man, me, and a random Mexican gentleman. I don’t know where this Mexican man came from, but he spoke little English, and I helped him take a picture.

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I must say, it was surreal. I let myself enjoy the moment, and take pictures. I knew it was a rare opportunity, I knew it was something to cross off the bucket list, but what I knew more than anything was that I had heat stroke.

We made it back down around 4:30pm. I was starving, I was thirsty, I was exhausted. I assumed after all that sacrificing I did, and heat stroke I developed, the least he could do is buy me a salad. Let me sit down in doors and bring me ice cubes. “I’m starving. Wanna go to that one place?” Ladies and gentlemen… Him taking me up the sign was not the breaking point. Hiker man’s unforgettable response was the straw that broke the camels back — “let’s just go to your place, you made great chicken last night, we can eat that.” He wasn’t being cute, he was being cheap. I made a slow and creepy turn to breathe fire inside his soul. “I don’t have left overs… You don’t want to get lunch?” Say it, hiker man. Say you don’t want to accommodate my needs after you dragged me through hell. “I really like your cooking, there’s no point in wasting money.” He said. No point? In wasting money? Enough said. I let him eat the left overs, I took a nap, he drove me to my play, and he bought me a granola bar. I stopped caring about the maintenance of the relationship that day, and I dumped him shortly after.

I will never let another man take me hiking for 4 hours in those conditions, while rewarding me with a granola bar. I wanted the fucking salad.

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Top 12 signs you’ve tested + for Hollywood.

If you’ve moved to Los Angeles before your 25th birthday to pursue a dream in the arts, chances are, you turnt ratchet. Your parents don’t support your move, your college degree won’t save you, and the only thing you have by your side is a bottle of vodka and wishful thinking. Your living space is questionable, and the main reason you go on tinder dates is to sleep somewhere other than your futon.1621947_981071499803_1987088798_n

This isn’t a generalization on everyone pursuing dreams. If this isn’t you, you’re welcome to ignore me. If you know what’s up, keep reading.

For my first two years of living in LA, I expected things to happen for me while I made all the wrong decisions, I was single and my type of guy was generally “a dude who can get me somewhere.” And, I considered the Playboy mansion a networking opportunity. I was… BASIC. Here are the top twelve reasons why I was basic, and what you can avoid…

1. I met my LA bestie, Stefanie, at a Doritos spec commercial shoot that paid nothing. We were the only two ratchets hung over and there for the free kraft services. I knew I liked her cuz she was wearing a beanie, and the dolled up twats next to her were giving dirty looks. (I don’t speak girly-girl.) We got to talking as she asked how I like Los Angeles. I told her my childhood dream already came true — I ran into JC from Nsync, and she told me she slept with Joey Fatone… Later that year she checked herself into sex-rehab. Three weeks after that, she checked out due to her fantasy about her therapist she could not control. It was a struggle.

2. I technically had a boyfriend. But he lived in Santa Monica, and I lived in Hollywood, with a rooftop pool and no real job, so there’s no way he could find out about all the people I spent my time with.

3. I made a friend through yet another non-paying film shoot. We became inseparable for a whole two weeks. In Hollywood, that’s called a “best friend.” We thought up ways on how to become famous while she face-timed with her boyfriend. I looked at the screen, and there he was — JC from ‘Nsync. I was baffled, impressed, and embarrassed. The last time he saw me was a few months ago when I stalked him at The Chateau Marmont. I don’t think he remembered.

4. I was a Go-Go dancer at various gay clubs up and down Santa Monica blvd. I’d drink for free, and dance till 4am. I’d then be a cater-waiter, sometimes. If I felt like wearing clothes that week.

5. I dated a well known agent so he could make me famous. Instead, he made me jealous. Jealous of all his ratchet actress clients booking things while he’s sitting there like “I don’t want you to use me.” Uhmm, hello?! This is called chivalry… I dumped him after a few months. He was sweet.

6. I competed in the Miss. California pageant… Let me break this down; I’m 5’3” with a bad attitude. I was drunk more than I was sober. I’m opinionated. I’m a Go-Go dancer. I hate group activities like raising money from bake sales — bitch please. And I don’t relate to girls who tutor old people at nursing homes on their spare time. What am I gonna say to these humanitarians? “That’s really sweet of you, but please don’t invite me as I’ll break your heart when I come up with lame excuses?”

7. I kept a commitment to three things only; 1- Commitment to spend all my money on marketing materials. I am proud to say I have 29 different sets of headshots, and still hear “you really need new photos.” 2- Acting class. 3- Spiritual class. I’d pray all day — sin all night.

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8. I was in a film once that never got released (thank god). I had a topless scene with a guy who is now on a Bravo reality show. I got paid six hundred dollars. Meh, maybe I’d still do it.

9. I played the children’s game “hungry hungry hippos” with pills, at house parties and whosever’s hippo ate the pills, got to keep them. I love a good mystery. You never knew what you were getting!

10. I had more unemployed friends than employed.

11. I’ve had at least one casting director, one agent, a few producers, and a handful of directors make a pass at me with lines like “I’ll give you what you want if you give me what I want.”

12. I hooked up with an actor on New Years 2013, and his exact words to me were “I’m the next Brad Pitt, baby.” He repeated this over and over and over again. I was so high on extacy, I actually thought about it philosophically and chimed in “you really think so?” He looked me in the eyes and said “you’re the next Angelina Jolie. Don’t you ever forget it.” What a sweetheart. His words were so powerful. What happened next was utterly romantic; he strummed on his guitar, and told me I need to leave because his girlfriend was on her way over… I ran into him a few months later at a CVS, holding feminine products, with no makeup on. This isn’t what I’ve been fantasizing, but whatever. He brushed me off and went to a cool party — after all, he’s the next Brad Pitt. I ran into him AGAIN, six months after that incident and this time at 2am. In line at Fatburger. By this point he looks like Billy Christenson from Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion, the last scene where Romy sees him for who he is; not Brad Pitt. I was amongst the drunks ordering their fries, and spilling ketchup on the floor, when pseudo Brad slyly whispered “you want me to call you after my burger?” I’ve had more “what was I thinking?” moments than I can count, but this one really sticks out. Just like Romy, I told him, “order yourself a double cheeseburger. Get your self ready. And call me right after.” I blocked his number with the intention of never seeing him again. But we all know third times a charm — I ran into him again, at a cheap diner in WeHo, a year after the burger fiasco. This time, he was my server. He pretended like he didn’t know me. I did the same.

Hollywood. A place on the globe so well known, the allure is contagious. Most people get here, and like a kid at a candy shop, endless opportunities of sweet and sour choices rack your brain. You can have whatever you want, do whatever you want, and be whoever you want. If you’re anything likeme, it takes a good two years to get your footing. To figure out that success isn’t something you get from getting. There’s no one you can manipulate for opportunities — that’s just bad math, it won’t manifest. There’s no short cut. Partying with local celebrities won’t open any doors. You get what you give, till the end of time. You get what you give. An over night success takes years of hard work, dedication, and focus. Getting tested positive for Hollywood is a badge of honor. You’ve seen it all, you’ve done it all, you’ve hit rock bottom, you’ve had zero reasons to stay, yet, like a fire place inside your home, the pilot light stayed lit.