As many of you know,
I am currently working on a webseries
based on this here old blog of mine.
For those of you asking what’s going on with that:
We’re almost done with the first couple episodes,
it’s just we sent it out to some “industry” people
who gave us some good notes & now we’re ironing that shit out.
While ironing shit out on Saturday,
I had the closest thing to an existential crisis
& experiencing the impending actualization of Singularity.
So, we’re finishing up for the day, and the last scene calls for me to blow a lot of smoke into the camera. Completely forgetting about this scene until the very last minute before our DP had to bounce, we didn’t really have much time to get some TCH-free supplies for said scene. So, doing what I normally do, thinking I’m a bad-ass when I’m not, I was like, “It’s cool, I’ll just get the bong and go in for some serious method acting here.”
This was all fine,
for the first three takes.
By the fourth take,
I WAS TRIPPING BALLS.
I was planning on smoking it like a cigar but here’s the thing,
BONGS ARE NOT CIGARS, PEOPLE. THEY’RE BONGS.
I’m like, on my bed, with a camera pointed down at me, two dudes giving me direction and one of my fellow actors on the phone with his agent or some shit in the corner. I started FLIPPING OUT.
I was like,
“DUDE, PEOPLE ARE GOING TO KNOW
WHAT MY SHEETS LOOK LIKE.
IS THIS MY LIFE? WHAT IS MY LIFE?
HOLY FUCK, IS MY LIFE A MEME?
AM I EVEN REAL?!
WHAT IS REAL?!?!”
I also was tripping out that my neighbors would see the cameras and be like,
“Oh, that’s why that girl is always cruising around her house naked!
She’s a porn star!”
I then went on a fifteen minute rant about how in High School senior year, the theatre boys voted me “Most Likely To Star In A Porn (Due To Low Self-Esteem)” and how basically, I was like, almost there. Kinda. I mean, I totally was completely clothed and have no aspirations to ever be on camera boning but still, how often are you in a bed with a huge camera staring down at you in a room full of men?! WHILE YOU’RE TRIPPING THE FUCK OUT?!
Seriously, I don’t think
I’ve been that stoned
since I ate all the batter
to a batch of weed truffles
& was found wandering around
Dudefriend’s neighbor‘s garden
“looking for” the Thai food delivery bro.
I spent the next like three hours on my couch,
one eye watching Pawn Stars
& the other watching for someone
COMING TO MURDER ME.
During those three hours,
I was convinced:
• I was going to have a heart attack because my entire right side was numb, but then I was like, “Am I making it numb? Am I manifesting this? AM I MANIFESTING MY DEATH RIGHT NOW?!”
• Every man I could hear in the parking lot by my house was an escaped rapist.
• My cat can interact with spirits THAT ARE APPARENTLY IN MY HOUSE.
• I am actually a Sims character.
All, of which, seem to not be true.
At least not the one about me dying,
since I’m still here talking about myself.
Please learn from my mistakes.
If I can give the world anything,
I want it to be wisdom.
Do not get mad stoned
when you’re portraying “yourself”
in a webseries based on “your life”.
Like, I’m still not entirely convinced
I’m not a Sims character
on the “Entertainment” career track.
[Currently Listening To Hotel Mexico]