Friday, July 6, 2012

Project: Texas, part one

For those of you that I have not told, I'm in Houston. I didn't really feel like telling anybody. It's hard to tell a lot of people, "I couldn't find a job out in Hollywood. So, I'm coming home to make money for a bit, but I'm going back. I'm not quitting" without it sounding like you're quitting, without them asking you a million questions you don't feel like answering, without them feeling sorry for you, and without them trying to find you a job back here. I'm sorry, but I don't want to tweet for your aunt's law firm.

The worst part about not getting a job in Hollywood was that I came close, pretty damn close to something I really wanted, at least twice. The circumstances that prevented me from actually landing anything are unfortunate, and, if you ask me, I'll tell you, "It was a mess." That's true. I won't tell you that it totally sucks, but it does.

I have never before in my life felt like I do right now, but I'm trying to figure all of it out and learn from it. I've already learned a lot. I already feel immeasurably better than I did a few weeks ago. At my worst I felt:

1. Like how you feel after you've liked a guy for two entire years, and, so, one hot night in May, you finally decide you can't not tell him anymore. So, you tell him, and he tells you the opposite of what you want to hear. Then, because the universe moonlights as a stand-up comedian, you end up living with the guy for a year, sharing a refrigerator with him. It's that kind of twisting feeling deep in your gut that makes it hard to believe that it will ever get better, plus...

2. That feeling you get when you ask your parents if you can drive to Baton Rouge during your freshman year of college. They tell you no, but you're an "adult" now because you live on your own in a dorm room with a microwave and coin-op laundry machines, so you go anyway. Still, you are actually a bit of an adult so you tell your cousin just in case you, you know, like, die. You make it home safely, but, of course, your parents looked at your bank statements because they decided to put money in your account because they are nice people who trust you. You're fucking hilarious, universe - ok, I really deserved this one, but it's that feeling of fear that freezes your chest mixed with the strong desire to drive your head through a wall, plus...

3. That feeling you get right before you actually throw up the first time you get a sinus infection. So, naturally, you head towards the bathroom, but you don't quite make it. Well, you make it to a bathroom door, specifically the boys', where you throw up your bright pink vomit-by-the-foot. Naturally, a cute seventh grader walks out of the bathroom and steps right into it, and, justifiably, with a disgusted look on his face, asks you if you just did this. You say no, and take a sip of water because that really sells the lie (?). It's that literal sick feeling you get in the back of your throat that tells you only bad things are about to happen to you.

Seriously, universe, top notch stuff.

But, yes, how I felt about my situation was all of those horrible feelings wrapped in one "welcome to the real world" taco. No, burrito. But now, I feel great. Truly.

Compared to before, I feel like I feel on the few occasions when I get drunk and shout things like, "I want to make out with everyone on Sixth Street" followed by "Why did I say that?" That was a weird night for me.

So, yes, I'm home. I'm working at the soccer camp I've worked at for the past few summers. I'm making money, and, when I get back to Los Angeles, I will kick its ass. However, in the meantime, I am going to kick ass at home. I am not going to make a to-do list*. I'm just going to do a lot of shit, but like really good, creative, challenging, new shit. Shit that I have always wanted to do but didn't because I was afraid or lazy or lame. If you're in town, let's do shit together. Sorry for cussing, but this is how I talk when I'm kicking ass.

Are jersey quilts a thing? Well, it's happening.

I'm also going to drink a lot of sweet tea while I'm here. A lot.

*Although, someone please remind me to call my dermatologist to reschedule my appointment. Thanks, betch.

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