I did a scene in a church that Columbia University uses from Zootopia — directed by a Chinese woman from New Jersey. I played the dumb bunny, which I really really could relate to, as I felt so dumb (but cute) this past decade to the point of almost not making it out alive… and in the scene, I’m convincing a “sly fox” as a wannabee cop to help me find this “poor missing otter.” It was hard not to laugh, at points, yelling at him about popicle sticks. The directing teacher, this time, actually worked with us though, so that distracted me (as someone who just came out of a cult, basically). He wanted us to play it as if we were on SUV or something, a serious cop show. “The popsicles are a code word for crystal meth or something.” He wanted me to resonate “pure power…” he gave me direction, real direction, so that was fun, and I naturally put up defenses, which I’ll take down, obviously, but I’m getting used to performing again. In the hallway, some flourescent drenched angular corner, Lynch, my scene partner gave me some Instagram accounts to follow to keep up with castings, because he booked a couple of shorts and features, and I wondered how — we spoke of reels, the sly fox and dumb bunny, and our overall plan of attack. I’ve genuinely enjoyed getting to know actors without a school attached. This guy, he graduated from Cornell, and he ended up wanting to be an actor. Me? Well, I’m practically 40, and he didn’t see a problem with that, necessarily, “sure,” I said, “but I don’t know.”
“What I’m going to do,” he nodded, “is create my own work.” He thought that was smart. “Because,” I shrugged, “YouTube series have been picked up for real series…” I am trying to be honest about my age. “Creating my own work, I might as well,” because who knows? I’m just turning my arrow… I told him writing is the bane of my existence, because he said, “Cool, you write…” I’m like, “Jesus Christ.”
“I mostly just stare at notecards…”
He asked “why?”
“Step by step.”
“Just trying to work out the basic beats of what the story is…” because because because, “what is it really about?” So the trouble I have is, “could this go later?” What do I need to do to tell a story that someone would nod along, “this is good,” it’s well constructed, “I keep turning…” and I’m struggling with the most effective frame — as I’m trying to have a cinematic mindset, like the soundtrack, like “here we go.”
“The game…”
I’m working on an undercover investigation that a nine year old kicks off about child abuse, trying to determine through this situation if her mother was abused, all the while keeping in mind that she might have lied about the entire thing — hard to tell with someone that fucked up? — which is why she does it too — because she sees so much truth in her, and this situation, that children get blamed for “shit” too soon, etc etc etc. She’s fascinated by the human being, the psychology of all this cruelty.
It works. As an idea it works. However, in reading these EFFING scenes, it’s not constructed. So I’ve taken a step back, working on acceptance, I am where I am, and there’s no rush. Maybe there’s a better way to tell this story, but I’m trying to keep the “genius kid,” not really, but the Nancy Drew or Sherlock of sexual violence… and it’s a good time for it, too.
I had a great time last night, though I felt challenged, I felt like I came up against blocks of mine, I was self-conscious once he told me to be an alligator, though I would suggest crocodile, as an alligator isn’t going to attack you unless you literally step on it. Alligators are maternal creatures. I did that at Lecoq, that should have been where I shone, but I was so thrown off by getting directed that I feel as though I did a semi-good job. But it doesn’t matter, I enjoyed myself, and I tried to connect to my power. Like, maybe I could play an investigator. And another offer came in last night, so I’ll be playing a scene from Ladybird next week. Again, the Columbia program is giving me a scene to prepare a week, so I’m just grateful for the chance, which was this young man’s attitude, to work in beautiful building and exercise the craft.
I’ll keep getting better, I’ll keep learning HOW to read a script, what I need to do basically, and hopefully I’ll see a way, actually. I had another bad day, yesterday, but I went to meet this pianist regardless. I sang, but I didn’t feel that great about it, and once again, I just need to keep singing with musicians and finding the one that brings out the best in me, essentially. But this pianist I met yesterday, he plays all over town, real shows, he has a trio, jazz. With him, it’s not a problem, I can go over there and practice. It’s more, what songs to pick… that are going to make HIM shine, and me. Just because I’m not JAZZ. I’ll keep figuring it out. A guitar — that will be my next try — because all I have to do is find the right accompaniment.
Anyway, these notecards… I’ve started to just break down the basic build. Like, “did this happen to her?” Stuff like that, that’s what I mean, where the reader is going to nod, “I’m following you…” Look at this crazy sexual behavior. I knew what rape was when I was four years old. I thought about it almost exclusively on Sundays in Catholic Mass, right? Hilarious. I found someone else in church with sexual problems thanks to my first field of study: “pure regards.”
My mother had “a pure regard,” I thought, in a Sunday hat, I was four. I was fascinated, just so fascinated, because she was so “impure.” I got the picture, though I didn’t understand the problem, but I gathered in church that sex was “impure,” but here’s the condundrum. “I was pure,” I thought. I am four. I am pure. But sex is impure. But I am pure. So, how am I pure, if sex is impure? I was fundamentally confused. And of course, my mother revealed an extremely frightening perspective on sex, and it did NOT look good.
That might not be the build, but that’s what I’m trying to break down… or at least:
Step one: she was sent away for the first ten years of her life… because her sister beat her. And I can’t help but notice that I was sent away in a way… as if this situation held fragments to a real past… since she was fucked up beyond imagine.
Step two.
This is what I’m working out right now, the basic beats, and it might not be so much about the situation itself, but more so an investigation… so I’m figuring it out. It’s just taking a second. I’m not just taking you through what happened… I’m taking you through my investigation. At least a slice of it. And, maybe, I don’t know yet, but something has to happen, the question is going to arise: was it true?
I’m thinking about the pitch — a Nancy Drew meets Carl Jung (though not him) gets out of a sex scandal, though she doesn’t fully know that, as she’s nine years old, launched an undercover investigation at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club to determine if her mother, who orchestrated this, had been abused as a child, and to study sexual abuse, to then wonder, “was it a lie?” So it’s a super complicated story, so I’ll work out these details. But I’m trying to think dramatically… twists and turns.
So I’m staring at notecards. It’s not so much that it’s not interesting, but it’s more — so her personality, she was DISNEY… and I’m going, is it Disney? You see? Is this a Disney movie, child abuse? And then, in reading about some of the cases that have hit the news recently — yes. It’s all very PG, sex. It’s DISNEY. Alice Munro’s response was positively DISNEY. I was reading a book about a woman who was abused by her grandfather, even when she was three, and when she finally confronted him, he said, “it happened to me,” no biggie.
And here, we see, even in Margaret Atwood’s response, saying that Alice Munro, more or less, responded like she did, because it had happened to her… one would have to assume, because it’s so common. Child abuse, sexual. And here’s Dr. J — dee dee, hee hee, her wrists like flimsy hankies — running to take a picture with Epstein. He’s a nice man, evil man, this woman is ready for anything. She’s the type of person, shrugging at Ghislane, who would make you believe like she COULD assist someone in sexually abusing a child. That’s the basic gist. But she’s OUTRAGEOUS!!!!! So it can’t be so. Thinking about Ghislane’s puppy, her new puppy in her “nice prison.” That one, I thought, “wow, Dr. J.” Dr. J would be the one… to present her the puppy… amazing.
That’s where I am this morning. I’m trying to work on A story about this investigation, specifically, and if I do my job correctly, the reader should go, “uh oh,” because it doesn’t look like my father’s innocent. If I were to just tell the story of these four years, it’s just going to sound guilty. You know? With 30 exclamation points coming from my friend in a text — LIFE IS LOOKING UP???
If I sell a story to EPIC, yes. If I got to a stupid opening of a show for SAG? No. If my show is being celebrated like this — major yes. I buy a house? Yes. I meet someone…I was thinking about this guy, because I liked him, honestly, he’s a kind, geeky lawyer. And I definitely need to — UNDO the SHIT I learned man, this past decade. I’m too reactive, now. Or? The trauma crap, this psychedelic group, this Hollywood guru who had no clue what he was doing, the psychic period…
I read a post on Instagram, like, I’ll just take full responsibility… and leave it be, reject all this. Anyway, at the same time, I wouldn’t start talking about what you’re looking for in a relationship, indirectly, the very next time you see someone you just got intimate with. AND barely. I was more vulnerable than he was, in that scenario, based on what went down. And what can I tell you? I had enough of men, to be frank, after this decade. Not being serious is one thing, being treated casually is another. I am not a toy. So, I might have confronted him about it, and I admitted that I wish I let that slide, I guess, and just have given you a chance… BUT I had a terrible decade with MEN, specifically. And THEY didn’t show me respect. And it was THAT immediate. They disrespected me — early on. And he didn’t mean to… bring up… some convo about what we wanted, unconsciously. However, did he not SEE me there? Don’t act casually with me… I want to be seen, respected, like, bring me a rose, dude, and say, “it’s nice to see you.” We’re still in the seduction phase.
So, you know, I had a moment in the middle of the night, as I had a hard day because we ended the relationship that barely began. Am I to apologize? As I tend to take on the blame for the entire situation. No, I thought, I already did. I apologized, if I had misread the situation, but he didn’t seem to be able to be honest, all the time, about his feelings. He might have brought it up, just as a topic, but he’s missing the point. I want to be seen and respected by someone I’m going to have sex with. A conversation about “what we want” in a relationship, no offense, I did not want to have a convo about this when I barely opened up, for real, meaning in bed. Don’t pull that, and don’t pull that you have no idea what you’re doing. Not the best sign.
I was disappointed by his move there, when I was showing him affection, trying to. The last time we hung out, before we got physical, I could barely reach the sidewalk he kissed me so fast, in the middle of the street. But once that threshold was crossed, right? I thought, maybe he had a tough day at work, he was a bit colder than he was before we got physical, consistently, and then…this “convo” he didn’t really mean to bring up… surfaced on top of it… I’m just saying. I’ve been in this situation before.
And this time, I thought about it, and I delivered an arrow. No. So, I reacted, yes. I could have gone out with him, given him a chance… proceeded with caution, which is what I would have done now, depending, but that really pissed me off. I barely opened up to him in bed. And I said, “I can’t trust you.”
So good, on my end, progress. I just get scared that I won’t meet anyone as I’m “old” now, and look dude, I don’t know, yeah, maybe I do want a partner, not a companion.
But I just couldn’t deal with another guy who gets all weird because we barely got physical, like you must be joking. I have a low threshold, my patience — he pressed on the wrong button. It’s been pressed a touch too many times, and the part that drives me insane? “You’re hot,” he said, even, that night. YEAH THANKS.
Jesus Christ! Can I meet a guy who treats “a girl he thinks is HOT,” with respect?
Anyway, I have to stare at notecards and keep figuring out this story, which I can, I just get frustrated, because that’s all I had to do. Get a job, get an apartment, write on my freetime like this, and MEET a fucking guy. Instead I went on this near death detour with assholes with the craziest ideas.
If you told, my old psychologist, a woman, that in the 15th century she would have been the one to speak to animals — she might have attacked you. “Are you weirdly insulting me?” This man passing this off as a compliment — I see this dick, I’m throwing shit at him. These dicks, nothing but dicks.
And when it comes to MY NICE father, you see, this lunatic, we’ll see, because that story was a real shitshow. Where I don’t know, and so, working on this story can weigh on me when my circle around me is like putting on some CAN CAN dance — I don’t have one friend, not through this.
But, hopefully, I hope, I hope that I will break some ground, because I came so far, and I will be seen appropriately. That I might spawn a movie even, as that’s my goal, right? I’m trying to break into entertainment. I see TV shows, films, I just have to get there. So I adjusted my priorities, momentarily, where I’m just trying to finish this story. And I’ll keep working on a one woman show…
And when it comes to this Hollywood screenwriter, in particular, the sheer lifethreatening emergency of coming to realize what that relationship was. Insane. So I went through true insanity… I’ll keep going to open mics, I’ll keep going. I want this guy by the balls. I really do. Maybe, to dramatic soundtrack, the idea is really funny… that I’m trying to get to a NETFLIX special where I enter in a Victoria Secret outfit… to uproarious applause. “THIS DICK.”
“He had NO IDEA…”
“Of course! I was in a sex scandal when I was four, and I’m going to become psychic,” first and foremost, “and I’m going to meet a Hollywood douchebag.” I might have scared my friends, because I put a raw and real clip from my rehearsal room, where I fucking address this guy…on my social media account.
One of the psychologists I worked with, she would have called me brave. So I’m thinking about her this morning, because on this one, she’s going to be on my side. What that guy did, using me to play his father? Insane. Even mine? I mean, holy shit, I was so shocked, and it was so true, I had to become a parent.
The type (that Cate Blanchett might back up) that’s going to get on a plane, yes, from Australia, and she’s going to drive to Beverly Hills and confront this mother fucker. She’s getting the voice note… and so is Brad Pitt. You can hear beeps from cars, and then, my voice ripping this guy to shreds. And then, I’m posting it on social media.
I have to laugh.
I got caught up in weird older men with shitty direction. But, for the sake of my own sanity, I lost. I got played. Real bad. I got creamed. So, fine, you win. But, you know, Xena Warrior Princess— that doesn’t mean I can’t come back and destroy your village. Win the war, type deal.
I’ll take full responsibility, I came from a background, and I got caught up in all the wrong places. I didn’t meet a MAN, get married, buy a house. I went down some esoteric road where men liked to jack off all over me because I was special? I could become a writer, in all its glory. Sure. I LOST. I lost the game that I did not want to play… who would? So WHY are you there to begin with? That was step one in my recovery. Most people at STEP ONE, they are like, nodding, smiling, “sure sure,” and they are high tailing it in the opposite direction. Especially the screenwriter.
So I lost. I played a ridiculous game with some bitch of a guy. One I had no clue that I was even playing. He should take his own advice, like reread Eric Berne, and consider the moves he made on someone he didn’t even KNOW. It was deranged, for real, but he thinks this was going to help me… but he’s avoiding intimacy, for sure. Me? I like intimacy. And I went to all the wrong places… but that’s for a book. It was not my job to OPEN up for the world here, where I get nothing in return. Nothing. Just theater.
So I’m counting my LOSSES. I lost. Now I can move on and continue to diffuse the story on social media. I’m trying, I’m going to give it a real go, performing. I don’t know how to crack into performance art, as I’ll tackle that arena too… especially with the character of my mother… as she was high art.
I’m really going to go for it, even if, it’s stormy. But I might be able to find a way… and I suppose that’s a good piece of advice for anyone, even if they are young. To… go out there and really carve a path… and I feel like there’s something I could do in a gallery, because my mother… she was a, truly speaking, hysterical grotesque. Hitting on your husband right in front of you at the gallery. Maybe you too. Smiling… scurrying with her wrists like flimsy hankies… to the bar… drinking… getting up on the counter… letting it all hang loose to Blossom Dearie… just her, looking at art. Something monumental. Michel, the limo driver, he appears. I’ll get there. I feel better when I imagine in these directions.