I read about TimeLeft, an app, in an article in The Guardian. I downloaded it and tried it, as I’m looking to make friends, meet new people. I had no idea what to expect, as the app is somewhat cryptic. You click on a date and time and the app organizes a dinner with people you don’t know. It just gives you an address and time and general information about the people who are going to be there, where they are from, and what industry they work in. That’s it. You don’t even see their picture. The app set us up to meet on Gelso & Grand, an Italian restaurant in little Italy, so we were in a festive neighborhood downtown. The restaurant was warm, inviting, decorated for Christmas. I went up to the hostess, “um I’m having dinner with people I don’t know?” And she said, “Timeleft?” I nodded. “Yeah.” I approached a big round table next to a Christmas tree and the kitchen. A prime spot. Good location. I was delighted, surprised, to find that there was a table of four men. “Am I the only woman?” Thus far… so I was seated with a journalist with the UN, Kurdish, nice guy. “You work at the UN every day?” He does. He covered the Middle East. I thought, sitting there, okay, so that’s a journalist, got’cha. That’s not me. Another man beside him, Chris, I remember his name, he worked in consumer marketing, or something to do with “the stuff you use everyday.” It wasn’t that exciting, but he loved it, because he’ll never go out of business. He has 4 kids, “that’s my hobby,” he laughed. We went around and spoke about ourselves. Then there was Hamza, a Canadian Pakistani diplomat. He was a cool looking guy, good eyeglasses, in a blazer with his maple leaf pin, a chic one. He’s in New York on business — he’s the type of man who’s contacting journalists, he’s extremely involved in making connections with people who are in his milieu. Finally, we had a TECH guy, he’s in fitness tech. He works for a company that makes some kind of sophisticated version of a blood test, a way to monitor your health. Oh, and running late, a woman from India who, by accident, became an influencer, because she posted some video that went viral? What? And she went from 700 followers to 40k overnight. She plays in a band, she lives in the South of India. She works for a marketing company, I think. Weddings in India have at least 800 people. I hoped that I would have a wedding like that, if I ever get there. I want a big ass wedding.
Now, some of them had used this app before, and it’s like anything else, touch and go, but we had a a pleasant time… I liked the makeup of people who were present. Hamza is gardening, painting, and cooking, he has to use his hands. I felt better, sitting there, and I felt like I presented myself well as someone who isn’t a journalist, that’s not who I am, I’m trying to break into story writing, entertainment. I started acting again, etc. And Liz, my friend Liz sent me an invite to casting workshop this afternoon, so there you go. I replied—yes. The journalist, I just don’t remember his name off the top of my head, he said that the app gives you a place to have a drink afterwards which assembles the people from different dinners at a bar. Hamza and I didn’t feel like going to W 26th street, so we went to a speakeasy nearby, Atta Boy, something like that. It used to be Milk and Honey. I’ve been there before. So we continued our conversation, you know, where he’s up at 3 AM, 4 AM, that’s when the phone starts blowing up as he specializes in the Middle East. The TECH guy asked, sort of nerdy, so it was funny. “What’s a day like for you, like how does your work work?” He works for a prime minister. He gets photos of children dying, basically, every day. You know? But now, he said, ten years ago, it wasn’t like this — but he has to verify what’s real and what’s not real. Oh yeah, the journalist had said. Anyway, we carried that conversation over to the bar. He was someone who actually enjoyed my personality. Fun. Passionate. Like, we talked about Turkey, because he lived in Istanbul, and he asked me what my favorite part of living there was, which was the ferry. I went on about it, like, I was leaving a lot behind, and so it was a poetic act I did, of goodbye. He got it. He wanted to read what I wrote. And I thought, heading to tbe bathroom in the back, to be honest, with myself, there’s nothing I am proud of. I haven’t had an experience like that. So, what are you going to do? I said, if there’s anything to share, I will. I tried to say I was in a transition in my life, but not focus on that, so there is nothing to show….that’s my point when it comes to writing, at this point. I have nothing to show. But I said, right now, I’m mostly reading, to be honest, because I don’t know what to say. I also don’t know if that’s what I’m going to end up doing, and I said, who knows, I might pursue psychology… he sort of said, “you’d be so good at that…” without knowing me. I don’t take those comments seriously anymore. I don’t know why people do that. I have no idea who this person is, and I don’t act like I get feelings about them. That’s what I mean, about these men who called me psychic. I don’t want to be psychic. I want to get to know someone.
He made one of those comments. We each got a delicious boozy after drink —mezcal, pear liquer. He’s looking for friends. We’re in similar places. Where, he feels like he’s evolved, and he’s looking for real connections, as he meets tons of people all the time, but none of them are friends. He doesn’t care if they’re married, single, nothing. He’s not looking for marriage, a girlfriend, necessarily. He’s just looking for his people. I related to that. That’s why I signed up for the app. I need to meet friends who fit me now. I have texting relationships with some people from college, but that’s so unsatisfying. I’m restructuring my life, completely. Again, I just don’t know what to say — as a side note — about writing, because I ended up in this crazy relationship with this screenwriter who took himself to be a guru, and it ruined my life. I didn’t say that. NOW, yeah, I’m sitting there, and I understand I went about being a writer in a totally nonsensical fashion. I have nothing to send this guy, in terms of pieces to read. So what do you do with that? So I’d like to be able to say, “oh I write about THIS.” We’ll see, as I’m breaking into story-writing, I’m trying to figure that out, and I’m trying to figure out what my beat might be. Or, just, a job, a cool job. I don’t write about politics, so there’s no point in trying to get a job in politics. He might change his career too, and I’m sure, he has money in the bank, I don’t. Because, just the content he has to deal with daily, weighs on him. How many dead children can you see? And then, is it even true? I thought about my mother, thinking, I can’t talk about my family, obviously, and I’m laughing, because it’s dangerous… that’s how the GURU from Hollywood got involved. Nope, no talk of family.
I did tell him about the Ukranian refugee I met, so he has a sense of the types of stories I’m working on, but I said, briefly, I came from a background, a family background, that made me well suited for working with people in states, psychological states. Strangely. So I was asked by these Russians, and he got the significance of that. “The Russians asked you?” I know. “The Russians asked me to help this man through a hallucination he had on the run from war…” so we talked about that. “He saw the devil,” you know? We both got it. He just fled a war. “So the devil, does that scare you?” It didn’t. “Men with guns?” Sipping his cocktail, “sure.” Exactly. “Who cares about the devil?” But I told him as a container, he went through something so complicated, that the symbol spoke to the dimension of the experience. We had a nice flow, we had a genuinely good time, where he was like, “what are you doing tomorrow?” But I’m going into my crazy workweek but hopefully we’ll be able to grab a coffee, or something, before he leaves, and he said I should come down to DC. He’d show me around. I didn’t get the sense that there was any romantic interest, but I must tell you, I hope so, in a sense, because I could use all the romance I can get these days, Jesus. I didn’t get that impression, not sure, but he genuinely liked my personality, and I say that, because it’s not always the case. He didn’t make fun of me. He didn’t try and “help me,” like that screenwriter, Jesus, he simply enjoyed my company. And I enjoyed his. He was an interesting person.
Got a lip mask last night, it worked, I jumped on this shit fast, when I read it. CNP laboratory.
So I’ll definitely do these meet ups again, as they have coffee, drinks, different types of dates. My goal is—big big birthday party. I need to do that. And this entire moment feels like a TV show, a good one. I can picture myself in a Frances Ha way, so I’ll watch that movie, because I haven’t, running towards my destination in a signature coat, Hudson Bay, which the Canadian appreciated. He was a refugee, by the way. His family fled Pakistan (the Kurdish guy back at the resto said he couldn’t tell Turkish people where he was from, just to say) and landed somewhere else before Canada, but he was twelve, I think, when he first arrived. A lovely guy. I left him at the bar, because I had two drinks, hunny, I can’t do this anymore. He had another, like four, and I have to be careful, because I sometimes don’t realize when I’m with someone who drinks… who likes to drink. I’m not a big drinker. But I like someone who likes to go out, as long as I can take off. This speakeasy is a dimly lit corridor with booths in the back. They don’t have menus. A nice bartender with a blond ponytail, sort of balding, and in a Hawaiian shirt, practically. He’s just there, happy to be there, happy to discuss what it is that you want to drink. And then, he serves you something delicious, that’s his basic MO. He’s just there, shrugging, to serve you exactly what you want. I can’t tell who goes there. In any case, Hamza offered to pay for my drinks, which was a lovely invite from him, so that meant I was taking a taxi back home, which I appreciated.
So, yeah, what I’m doing feels like a TV show, about a woman starting over, it’s pretty simple. First scene? Um, my conversation with the sexual trauma specialist, stumbling over texts from friends shutting me down…was this true? Um, to him? Could be. We’re going to have to take our time. And that’s basically it. You guys, I mean, I had to just dive back in, I had no money. I had to wrestle with my stupid psychicness, this stupid screenwriter, and his love of the SETH books, a nightmare! And I had to contend with — what the fuck was I doing for the enitrety of my life? So it feels like a TV show to me, I just don’t know what that means, in actuality. How do you develop a TV show? Well, I guess, you might just start? And like, Carrie was a writer on that show, so I could be a writer too. But it would be funny, Barbara Harris and I making our way through the neverending home and body section at AJs Supermarket in Scottsdale to the song from Kingsman: WEST VIRGINIA. That’s what’s happening in my head. “Take me home…country roads…” and then, my Black roommate, he makes a pass, singing that song, though he had no clue… that was in my head. “Hey!” I cried from my room. “That song!” “Classic,” he said, like a real dude. And I was kicking around a comedy routine: “Black men are the unsung psychic heroes of my life right now…” no biggie, Black men are just psychic, right? It’s like, not a big deal, that’s what I’m getting psychically from them. So that’s a running joke. Black men saving the day or commenting on what’s going on… without realizing it. Laughing, sipping cocktails. “This also has meaning for me,” very clearly showing the wallet, when I was frantically trying to find my Black roommate’s Dark Matter Yeti cup. Scenes like this, are good. “Where’s the DARK MATTER YETI CUP??”
“It meant something to him!”
And then, I overheard a couple of guy friends talking about what had meaning to them.
And Jesus, my open mics? Going to these open mics? Oh wow, me doing this? Okay, with the sexual trauma specialist behind me, nodding, okay. I’m stepping out on a comedy stage and seeing what I can do with the sex scandal… “I was in a sex scandal…when I was four…” crickets. It might be funnier like that. But there’s always getting better… but I could develop a show about starting over now. Coming from THAT background. Showing this specialist a picture of my mother? Oh my God. Can you imagine? Hamza? Most of the time, it’s a “wow.” That’s where I came from. “Are you okay?” I’m telling you, a crazy crazy lady who treated me like crap, utter crap, who gives a shit about her personality? So I’ll keep playing around with scripts, as I need to just spend some time writing scenes — simply. I don’t know what to say about why would I go to film school? I would try to go to NYU, no? For film? They have a SUPER nice department, that’s for sure. But I don’t get the point UNLESS it’s like, “you can get x.” I don’t know how to operate a camera. I was just going to use my Iphone. Watch a tutorial, watch the films and shows made with an Iphone, there’s one from Naples, too. That’s what I thought though, like, if you saw me back in Istanbul, versus now, I looked terrible. And I’m surfing the metro, I thought that was one of those “nice touches.” I’m trying to find my life, for real, I want to recognize my life. And there’s something about “everytime” so to speak, I step onto the metro. Something about the journey. In my red beanie. Starting over from scratch, literally. Fictionalize some of it.
So, we’ll see, that’s what I’m thinking now. Again, I’m not so much attached to it being ME literally on screen, though, if I’m interesting, I don’t KNOW yet, that’s fantastic. If I’m a good actor, cool. You see? No issues. But if I could do something in entertainment, I would be thrilled. I thought that’s the direction I wanted to go in, and I keep on… settling there. I just need to think like these editors I’m trying to get to… they were also journalists, for real, one of them reported from prisons. I’m not that person, that’s the thing, I wish this stupid guru didn’t ACT like he knew what he was talking about! Telling me to MEDITATE on the future book already done? Telling me to ZERO in on “my life idea?” NO. “Go get a reporting job, no?” Go… of ALL the people I could have met, I’m telling you. I was acting stupid, that goes without saying. And he was definitely part of that stupid leg. (I’m pretty sure Obama would be tuning into these moments, like, wow, that was mighty stupid.) I couldn’t believe how stupid I was acting. And he’s like, sure! Spend your IRA money. Right? Because you can meditate money into existence. Like, what are you even talking about? I don’t have a pension, coming, you know. Not yet. I haven’t had a job like that! Sure, I can sell a book, but I mean, I gotta make real moves here. So, another day, it’s another day. I feel better this morning. I feel better that I met people…I’ll keep getting very social… and I’ll take this one step at a time. I hope I get a big break, sure, but for the moment, I wish I didn’t have to work in a restaurant, so I have to keep problem solving.
I’m not exactly well qualified, as the guru said I was. What are you even talking about? I wasn’t even operating sensically. So I gotta keep on, trying. I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t been looking that aggressively, to be honest, as looking for a job is a full time job, sort of. But hopefully, I’ll MEET people, yeah, as many jobs come to you in that way… so you want to meet people, obviously, thinking about this stupid guru. Now, if I can get into EPIC, if I can make it there, I would take a small deep breath. Like, okay. They are producers. You see? That’s a direction. So I gotta buck up, and get back to my story. That’s what I’m going to do this morning, and then I have a casting workshop I’m going to with Liz. I guess she wants to get back into acting too.