I just sat through the dumbest training class ever. But it was supposed to go until 4pm, so I am "going back to training" now (i.e. home), so at least something good came out of the whole deal.

And I'm going to do it. I'm appling to law school. Of sorts. Keep your fingers crossed for me and have a lovely weekend!

I have a lot to say and nothing to talk about today. I just thought I should warn you before we get started so you’re not sitting there anticipating some great epiphany or anything. Today’s entry will be dry and scattered.

There is a lot going on and nothing really happening, if that makes any sense. I find myself thinking a lot about things that aren’t going to happen (like the audition I went on last week that I haven’t heard back from – it’s been a week. Usually if I don’t hear in a week, I stop thinking about it because it means I didn’t get it but this one won’t leave my head) and I don’t know if that is healthy or not. I’m fantasizing about buying an iBook. I’m very distracted by the guy in the gas mask outside my window drilling into the brick or the mortar or tuck pointing or whatever it is that he is doing with a very loud drill and a gas mask outside my window. I wish I could tell if he was cute or not. I’m debating a torrid love affair with a rock star. I’m debating going back to school (my office has said they will pay for me to become a paralegal). I’m plotting ways to make more money so I can live a little. I’m trying really hard to not call my director and say, “I’ll swing by and pick up a copy of Mix Tape tonight. Where will you be?” Sweet jebus, the guys outside my window are now singing “Brian Wilson” by the Barenaked Ladies and they don’t even know the words. How can I not laugh at this? And no, he’s not that cute. And he can’t sing. Can’t sing, can’t dance, can’t act; she’s a triple threat. My god, that just made my day. I think I have to stop bitching now. Life is good. There’s a crazy construction guy outside my window singing Barenaked Ladies.

Okay, ready? Another sex entry. Here we go.

I have decided that it is really strange that there are men out there who only want to have sex with me. Men who see me as a sex object. I’m not saying there are a lot of them, but I know there are one or two who have seen me somewhere at some point in time (probably when I was wearing the vinyl corset) and have thought to themselves, “I gotta get me a piece of that!” And that is really odd to me. It kind of creeps me out.

Let’s face it, sex is strange. Aside from the strange faces and strange noises we make while having sex, the act in and of itself is really funny. “Hi, yes, I’d like to take this part of my body which I normally use to expel waste matter from my system and place it inside one of the holes in your body, either the one next to the one you use to expel waste matter from your body, or the one that you use to expel waste matter from your body, or maybe even your mouth. I know that by doing this, we will both (hopefully) have an experience wherein a large number of nerve endings that are all concentrated in a small area will all contract at the same time and man, does that feel good. Whaddya say?” And that’s just from the non-procreative male perspective. Am I the only one who thinks that that sounds strange? So then I try to think about it from the female perspective and it’s just as strange to me. “Yes, I would like to stick my tongue into the hole next to the hole from which you expel waste material. Or maybe my hand, though if I just put my hand in there, I’m not going to enjoy it as much as you are, so maybe you could use your hand on me, too? Thanks.” I’m sorry. I know I’m being really logical about this, but from a logical perspective, unless you plan on having a kid as a result of having sex, it strikes me as kind of odd. I know it feels good, but it still strikes me as kind of odd.

Which makes me think that maybe I just need the right partner and it won’t seem so strange anymore, just like French kissing. And I know that at least one of you is thinking, “I’ll be your right partner, baby.” Thanks, but that right there means you’re not. So how does one go about finding the right partner? Experimentation? Do I really want to subject myself to lots of sub-par sex in the hopes that one of these days I’ll get it right? There is a huge market out there of battery-operated devices specifically designed so that I won’t have to do that. Because let’s face it, sub-par sex is…well, sub-par. It’s not satisfying and your impression of the sub-par partner is altered by the fact that the sex wasn’t all it could have been. And then you start thinking about the faces he or she made and the noises and the things that you did in your honest efforts to make it good and I don’t know about you, but I start to feel ill. Sex should not make one ill, either in a physical or emotional sense. It should be fun and beautiful and make one feel good.

So what was my point with this entry? Oh, yeah. There are men out there who only want to have sex with me. (I realize that that sounds really conceited of me, but I'm not saying it to be conceited. I actually was told a few days ago that someone just wanted to jump me.) Considering my views on sex, this makes these particular men unattractive to me. And considering my views of myself (the fact that my brain is my most precious asset and the package I’m in isn’t the greatest in the world, but it will do), I can’t help but ask what is wrong with these particular men that they see me in that light? But then I have to remind myself that not everybody in the world knows me. When someone first meets me, all they have to go on is my physical appearance. And yes, I can see how me wearing a vinyl corset might inspire a guy to want to take off the corset and have his way with me. So there really isn’t anything wrong with him. It’s just a matter of perceptions again. Fucking perceptions. It would be really nice if I could remove all of the filters from my brain for about twenty minutes and see the world as it actually is instead of seeing it as I perceive it to be. What an eye opener that would be.

And I’m getting kind of antsy to do something to my physical appearance. Like maybe a tattoo. I’ve been wanting a tattoo for a long time now and I think this year, for my birthday, I just might have to get myself one. I’m going to think about it for a little while longer, though. Make sure I like the idea before I do it. Eep. Can you imagine me with a tattoo?

So we had a nice, long weekend of beautiful weather and I hardly left my house. It was a self-imposed house arrest, but still. I barely left. I went out Friday night, did my show on Saturday, ran two errands on Sunday, and went dancing last night. That’s it. Those are the only times I left my house. I do kind of feel bad about staying in all weekend since it was so gorgeous outside, but I was working on a baby blanket for my honorary niece/nephew who is due to join us in about a month. I am so excited for this baby to be born. Of the four of us who grew up together, this will be the first child and I want so badly to be a part of this kid’s life. I want to baby sit. I want to go out there for play dates, even though they live way out past bumblefuck. So I’m making a baby blanket and I’m having a lot of fun doing it, but it means I didn’t leave my house this weekend. Oh well. It gave me an opportunity to catch up on a bunch of movies I hadn’t seen in a long time. Like Trainspotting. What an excellent film. I love the way it is acted and the way it is put together as a movie. But I always feel kind of greasy when I’m done watching it. And I had forgotten just how creepy Sleepy Hollow was. I had forgotten it was so graphic. It hit me at the part where the Horseman goes back for the kid. I’d go so far as to say this is Tim Burton’s most gruesome film and I had forgotten that. And on the end of the tape, there’s a little “making of” segment that includes interviews with a bunch of people. Christina Ricci is really cool. I like her. And I watched the first two films of the holy trilogy yesterday and it struck me what is missing in the newest installments of the epic saga – reality. I know, I know, it sounds like a really strange request to ask that a film that starts with “A long time ago in a galaxy far away…,” but go back and watch episodes 4, 5, and 6. Pay attention to the interactions between the characters. They talk to each other like normal people would, even when one party isn’t speaking English (with the possible exception of cry-baby Luke). Episodes 1 and 2 are so deeply rooted in fantasy that we can’t really suspend our disbelief anymore. They ask too much of the audience. Plus, Natalie Portman and Hayden Christiansen don’t have one tenth of the chemistry that Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher did. But I digress.

Speaking of films, I was going through another round of contacting old directors to find out how these projects are going. Mix Tape is finished. As of Friday. I e-mailed the director back today and said that yes, I would like a high quality VHS copy of the film as soon as possible. He said I could have it within the week and he’ll let me know when/if a screening is going to happen. I’m geeked. I might have to twist the arm of one of my friends into having a viewing party at their house since my house isn’t really conducive to parties. Can you believe it? One of my films is done. It’s about frickin’ time.

And while it is kind of nice that we’ve been having an actual spring this year, the whole being cold thing isn’t really my deal either. I’m ready for warm. Like, mid-seventies. Sixty-two and drizzly is not warm.

Yeah, so dating? Not really my thing. Is that wrong? Am I a mutant? Is it wrong that I don’t want to play games? Is it wrong that I don’t want to be with someone purely for physical pleasure? Because I do get mental stimulation from various sources. And if my partner doesn’t provide mental stimulation, I don’t want him to be my partner. But I know a lot of people who would rather be with someone than not. I’d rather be with the right someone or nobody at all. Is that wrong?

Or is it wrong that I sit and think, “I could have this type of relationship with this person?” Do I want to have the torrid, eight and a half week relationship that will leave me an emotional wreck, but very much in tune with my sexual side? Do I want to have the relationship where the guy does nothing but dote on me all of the time? Do I want to have the relationship wherein I play second fiddle to his life and desires? I know that all of these kinds of relationships exist and in some ways, I feel gypped that I never got to have them. Most people get this stuff out of the way in high school and/or college. I didn’t. I hardly dated. And while I am thankful for everything that I learned from being alone for so long, I also sort of wish I had those experiences under my belt. The high school boyfriend pressuring me to have sex before I’m ready. Being a disciple to a guy with a God complex. Playing the dominant role. But I know that none of those relationships will last. And I know that ultimately, they are not what I am looking for. So if I am presented right now with the opportunity to have one of those “types” of relationships, do I take it? Or do I stay true to what I really want and hold out for it?

A friend of mine told me a long time ago that if you believe there is someone out there for you and that you will find that person, it really doesn’t matter if you spend the in between time dating or not dating. That makes sense to me. And ever since he told me that, I have used it as a kind of excuse to not date. I’m wondering if I should instead look at it as an excuse to date. I think dating would be a valuable skill for me to have. It is something I would like to be good at so that I don’t get monstrous knots in my stomach before I meet someone. I’d like to know the etiquette. But I still don’t like dating all that much. So I find myself wondering if it is a skill set I can do without. I’m guessing that it probably is.

I am going to be very random and scattered today. I don’t want to be here at work anymore. I keep thinking about the auditions I went on this week and I really want to go home to a message on my answering machine from one of those people telling me I have job. Hell, I’ve already started spending the money in my mind. Speaking of which, I am owed money for a couple of events I did last month. I wonder when I’ll be getting that. I’m not desperate, but it is mildly unnerving to be owed money and have no idea when you are going to be getting it. I don’t like that feeling.

So I’m pretty much useless here at work today. I have some reading to do which I can almost guarantee you will put me to sleep. I could use some more sleep. I should also learn one of these days that I shouldn’t write blog entries when I’m feeling like this. ‘Cuz this is just weird. Do you really want to be sitting here reading this crap? I didn’t think so. I’ll stop now. I’m sorry. Y’all can go on back to your lives now. I’ll be more coherent next week, I promise.

I think it's official -- I am addicted to Liz Phair's new song. I'm going to have to start a countdown until her disc comes out. "Isn't this the best part of breakin' up/Finding someone else you can't get enough of."

There is something about certain artists that just gets you, and it is different for different people and different artists. I don't even know what it is, so I'm not sure I'm going to make any sense. Like, I know songs with pianos in them really get me. I like string instruments. With an artist like Liz Phair, there is something about her lyrics and her melodies that I can really connect to. When I listen to her songs, it is like I'm listening to something I wrote, only I don't consciously remember writing it. It just makes me feel good to listen to her. I know, I sound like a cheesy ass fan girl again. Oh well. I think she is an amazing artist and I can't wait to hear the rest of the songs on her new album.

Okay, quick question for you. Say you are an employee at a company and you have to go get your new hire physical exam done. You know, they take your blood pressure, check your vitals, ask for your medical history and whatnot. Would you go into a building with a big sign outside that says “Administration” expecting to have your exam done somewhere in that building? Yes, it could be argued that someone will administer these tests, but that’s not what “Administration” means in this case. When a building means “Administration” on it, that usually means that corporate lackeys work there, trying to make sure that things run the way they are supposed to. Or in some cases, trying to make sure things don’t run the way they are supposed to so that they can keep their jobs. There are no exam rooms in an “Administration” building. There is no equipment. There are administrators in an “Administration” building.

So why do all these fuckheads keep coming in here asking for their physical appointments?

And I know I shouldn’t do it, but I keep thinking about Nosferatu. I will bet you a dollar he’s not thinking about me. I will bet you another dollar he doesn’t call. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But I am. I hate being a girl sometimes.

I think they need to make a device that can record your dreams as you dream them and put them on video or DVD. I know I had an interesting dream last night – I think at one point I was telling people that they were in a dream I had – but of course, as soon as I’m in my car on the way to work, the dream is gone. And even the dreams that I think I remember clearly, I know I’m missing pieces of them – such is the nature of dreams. But wouldn’t it be cool if you could put little electrodes or something on your head that could interpret all of your brain functions while you slept and record them and play them back as the dreams that you dreamt? What an amazing psychoanalytic tool that would be! And high entertainment, too, because anything and everything happens in our dreams. I bet if they did build such a device, the movie industry would suffer. We’d see things released in the theaters like Kitty’s Nightmares, 2001-2002 which would scare the crap out of people much more effectively than anything Hollywood could dream up. Talk about reality television. Yeah, the films would be a bunch of shorts all sewn together, but still. I think there could be a big market for that.

So to any of you inventors out there who always wanted to be neurosurgeons, or any of you neurosurgeons out there who always wanted to be inventors, may I suggest working on a dream interpretation helmet that would capture and record people’s dreams. I think that would be really cool. Maybe even cool enough to write a science fiction screenplay about. Once I’m done studying German.

So it would make me insanely happy if I got the part that I auditioned for last night. I’m trying really hard to not get my hopes up ‘cuz I know that if I get them up there too high, I won’t get the part on principle. But it would make me insanely happy. And we all like to see Kitty insanely happy. She’s funny when she’s like that. Though her blogs do suffer a bit. Oh well.

I started wondering last night why certain people like technology. Specifically middle aged men. I was driving home and I saw a guy in my rearview mirror talking on a hands free cell phone thingy while driving his Mercedes. This guy had to be in his fifties or sixties and I thought to myself, “Why is he so fascinated by the newest, latest, greatest technology?” I guess it is a question that could be asked of just about anyone, but it was this guy who made me think of it. And the answer that popped into my head before I could even really think about it was, “He is afraid of one day becoming obsolete.”

Is that what technology has become for us? A way to extend our own usefulness? Knowledge rolls over so fast now. I guess it is a legitimate fear to think that one will no longer be useful to others. And I hate to sound ageist or sexist, but I would be willing to assert that this fear is really prominent in older men. Women are always useful, as mothers and caretakers and friends. Men…not so much. They have their kids and raise their kids and watch their kids leave and really all they have at that point is their career. If they don’t stay on top of the latest and greatest technology, they could be replaced by their kids. Yes, I am aware of how horribly politically incorrect I am sounding. I don’t mean it to sound that way. But a man reaching retirement age, reaching a point wherein he becomes acutely aware of his own mortality, seems a prime target for techno-gadget advertisers. This is a way to keep him alive and kicking. This is something he can do and play with after he has been forced into retirement. And isn’t it nice that there are pretty little lights and buttons that go beep on it?

I could be totally wrong. I probably am. I’m not a man and I’m not faced with my own retirement, mortality, or uselessness right now. Which may also explain why I don’t feel the need for every gadget under the sun. But I’m just guessing. Speculating. Because without speculation, this blog is nothing. Maybe this blog is my way of extending my own usefulness. We all want to feel needed.

So Nosferatu has a website. It's not the greatest website I've ever seen, but if you read the chapters of his story, you can hear little snippets of some of his songs. The song we did the video for is in the last link of chapter 3. And it is going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Lucky me. Though I'm sure all of the people walking past the reception desk love it that they walk into the building and hear that music. Tee hee. This is so not my life.

Though, on an up note, I did get one wonderful bit of news over the weekend. Liz Phair is releasing a new album this summer. It comes out two days before my birthday, in fact. Knowing that makes my whole week brighter.

I’m tired. That’s it. I’m tired. So I am going to be bitchy and random because I’m tired. And not so much in a physical sense, more in an emotional sense. I’m tired of being a corporate shill. I’m tired of putting on nice clothes every day and going to an office and sitting at a desk and answering the phone and being pleasant to everyone around me, no matter how stupid they are.

And what is bringing this on today you might ask? I shot a music video yesterday. No, it was not my own music video; it was someone else’s music. A someone else who actually ended up asking me out, which is another story that I will get to later in this entry, if I don’t put it in another entry all together. The whole point of this paragraph being, though, that I had fun yesterday. I had fun getting into costume and getting into character and spending my day making a music video. Being creative. Interacting with new people. Yes, it was exhausting to maintain a social front all day. Yes, it was exhausting being outside, scantily clad in cold weather. Yes, I would recommend that this particular production company consider feeding their actors in the future (kind of a courtesy thing since we weren’t paid). But yes, I had a blast. That’s what I want to do with the rest of my life. I don’t want to come in, sit behind a desk and fill in for our sick receptionist. I don’t want to learn about Medicare and Medicaid and give a presentation to the Vice Chancellor. I could honestly care less about the business arrangements that are made with outside vendors. I’m sorry, but I don’t care. Had I wanted to know this stuff, I would have studied it in college. I studied acting. I studied theater. I want to be the anomaly that actually pursues a career in the same field as her degree. And I’m tired of this crap. I’m tired of this office. I’m tired of the clothes. I’m tired of the politics. I’m tired of the rumors and the meetings and the just plain shit that goes on around here. I’m sorry for venting like this, but I’m tired of it.

I’m tired of the work I do being unfinished, too. I have done 13 or 14 films since I decided to be an actor. Yes, a lot of them were student films, but students have to finish their films in order to receive a grade and graduate. How many of these student films have I actually seen? Two. How many of the indie films that I have done do I have a copy of? One. That’s my demo reel, right there. I bent over backwards for most of these directors and gave them everything that I could give them. I didn’t get paid for any of it because the deal was that I perform in their film, they feed me, give me credit in the film, and give me a copy of the film. Okay, they’re slackin’ on probably the most important part of the bargain. I know films take a long time to edit, especially when there is little to no budget involved. But that’s my career that they have sitting on their desks, waiting to be finished. They need to finish that stuff so I can start my career. Yes, it is wonderful that I have all of this experience. But it does me absolutely no good if nobody can see it. And more people than just me need to see it. I can’t cast myself in other projects. I need to have physical proof of what I can do so I can show it to other people. And I’m getting tired of pestering people to get it.

Which brings me to the guy asking me out last night. It was just fucked up. That’s all I can really say about it. If the way in which a person asks you out is any sort of indication as to what the rest of the relationship is going to be like, I’m standing on the brink of a Tim Burton film. My character was “Goth girl.” So I wore my black vinyl corset that gives me cleavage up to my neck, a leather choker with chains hanging from it that accentuate the cleavage quite nicely, long black skirt, black boots, too much eye make up, dark lipstick, vampire fangs, the whole bit. And the second half of the day, the guy was playing Nosferatu. He had a sort of bald plate thing on with big pointy ears and veins all over his head and these creepy hand gloves and stuff. And we’re standing in the hallway across from his ex-wife and son and he asks what my name is. I tell him. He introduces himself and says we should go out for coffee sometime. I say I’m up for that. He asks me to give him my number before I leave. We go back to the shoot. He kills a few dozen people (‘cuz that’s what Nosferatu does), including myself (he slobbered all over my neck), I give him my number, and I go home. So what happens when I show up to coffee in my cords and a tank top with minimal make up? And I tell him that I’m a vegan hippie? Was it the corset, eyeliner and choker that won him over? And perhaps the strangest question, would I mind if it was? Here’s my chance to have a torrid love affair with a musician. Do I want to take it? One date never hurt anyone, right?

So I’m sitting here at work, filling in for our sick receptionist, trying to think about my audition tonight, trying not to think about the fact that my fingernails are still painted black because I had a really wonderful day yesterday, trying not to worry too much about my honorary brother and his situation, trying not to wonder if and when Nosferatu will call, not looking forward to being here for a whole week. I had hoped that my taking a day off on Friday would get me out of this little work-funk that I am in. It didn’t. And all I can really say is thank fucking god that we have next Monday off.

So I’m taking the day off tomorrow. I’ve been pissy and grumpy and just icky all week, so I’m taking a mental day. With any luck, I’ll have some wonderful insights to share with you on Monday when I have computer access again. Or maybe just a fun story about a music video shoot I’m doing this weekend.

But suffice it to say I will not be blogging tomorrow. I will miss my blog. I like writing in here. I like it that people read my drivel. So thank you and have a lovely weekend.

UPDATE

I e-mailed the wonderful online vegan store about my defective cosmetics situation. Within three hours, I got a reply from a customer service person apologizing for the problem and saying that a new mascara will be sent to me via regular mail so it will not be lost by the Package Delivery Service. I think it is safe to say that I have fallen in love with the wonderful online vegan store and all of it's employees.

Yes, it is that simple. Be nice to your customers. Offer prompt service. Offer feasible solutions. Listen to your customer's problems. And the wonderful online vegan store does all of those things. This is why there is a new link on my blog and this is why I am going to encourage each and every one of you, my three faithful readers, to please visit the wonderful online vegan store and take a look around. They have some really great products on there, whether or not you are vegan. And they know how to run a business.

Kudos to you, wonderful online vegan store!

I feel the need to talk about fucknut today. More specifically, about getting over fucknut. I have a friend mourning the loss of a relationship and while I will listen to him talk until he is blue in the face and my ears are falling off, it breaks my heart to see him going though this. I know people’s hearts are broken all of the time. I just wish I could ease the pain they feel a little bit. So I am going to talk about fucknut and mourning the loss of my relationship with him.

However one wants to define my relationship with fucknut, I loved him. I was very much in love with him. There is nothing I would not have done for him. If he had asked, I would have married him. And yes, I thought about having children with him. I’m not saying either of those things would have been wise things to do, but I thought about them and the thought of those things brought me great joy at the time. I imagined him in my life for the rest of my life. I was completely invested in him as a person.

And then for a million different reasons, I found myself without him. Physically, emotionally without him. He moved, we rarely spoke, and I had to come to terms with the fact that I was not important to him. That he did not see me as a part of his life for the rest of his life. And it hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. It hurt to know that he was leading the life he wanted to lead and that I was not included in that. It hurt to know that he was dating other people. It hurt to listen to certain songs because of the memories they conjured up. It hurt to be certain places. I found myself looking for him everywhere, certain that he would magically show up one day and say, “I was wrong, please take me back.” I found myself looking at things in stores and thinking, “Fucknut would like that.” I found myself finding new songs and thinking, “Fucknut would like this.” And then the reality would set in that I would not have the opportunity to share these things with him ever again and I’d be reduced to tears again.

It took a long time for me to get over fucknut. I know he was bad for me; I knew at the time that he was bad for me, but I was in love with him. Logic does not apply when one is in love. And logic does not apply when one is falling out of love, either.

I had to slowly reprogram myself to not find things in stores that fucknut would like. I had to slowly reprogram myself to not factor him into every decision that I made. I had to make a conscious effort to lose his phone number and e-mail address. And each and every one of these steps took a long time and was very painful. But I did them and I did them when I was ready to do them. And while fucknut will always have a place in my heart, I can honestly say that I am no longer in love with him.

And the up side of falling out of love with him is that I can go to the places we used to go without feeling uncomfortable anymore. I can listen to our songs without crying. I am able to look objectively at our relationship and see that a lot of good things did come out of it, like my love of Liz Phair and techno music, and my appreciation for a good comic book. I owe these things to fucknut. But I no longer like these things because he did. I don’t like them because I want him to approve of me. I like these things because they are good things that bring me joy, if that makes sense. They are now a part of me, not a part of him. I know that these things are a part of me because of him, but I don’t feel the need to purge myself of everything that I learned from him, if that makes any sense. I learned a lot from our relationship and if I were to disregard everything that was at one point attached to him, I would be traveling backwards and I don’t want to do that.

So in a very roundabout way, I guess what I would say to anyone mourning the loss of a relationship is to take your time. Don’t get rid of things until you are ready to get rid of them, be they physical or emotional ties to the person. And take a good hard look at everything before you get rid of it. Some things are worth holding onto, and can be held onto even though you let go of the person and the relationship. And if you need a hug or an ear, please come find me. I’m here to help in whatever way I can.