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 *__*

IMG_0851IMG_0008

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.

IMG_1551

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?

cam roll

 

 

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.

IMG_8057

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.

IMG_8047

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.

IMG_7759

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.

cropped-IMG_80712.jpg

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.

IMG_8058

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.

IMG_7974

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.