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By Misti Date: 2004 Feb 29 Comment on this Work [[2004.02.29.05.09.18919]] |
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Don't really enjoy writing here anymore, just reading. The faster my life goes the bigger pain in the ass it is to write it all down. I kept journals faithfully until the summer of '95. Started just writing down the names and variety of flavors, basically. 1995 was my deepest marrow sucking time ever. I'm still poisoned. Uh, so I met a couple of really cool guys at work. Arthur and Michael. Recently met a cool chick named Flavia. Awhile back I was showing Michael my collages and he was wOwed. Got to talking about different things and he mentioned a political satire public access TV show he had started creating last fall and abandoned due to personal stress and stuff. I asked him about it in front of Arthur later on, wondering which channel it was on. Arthur wanted to get in on it. Sooo...we started having meetings. Much brainstorming has been involved. Today (yesterday...Saturday) we shot our first scene at the UNM campus. I wore a black skirtsuit, my black frame Lisa Loeb reading glasses from Wal-Mart, black hose with my black high heel Mary Janes and a JR Ewing For President button. We nailed it in about ten takes. Flavia and Michael alternated kneeling down in front of me holding up the script because I didn't memorize the whole thing. I did some minor tweaking on it the night before because it wasn't funny enough. It's a fake commercial written by Michael for The Haliburton Academy of Servitude. Everyone told me I was an awesome spokesperson and should be an anchorwoman. That's funny. I guess I can play a good straight but I'm a raging freak on the inside. Just wait until I get the pineapple tattoo on my right ankle. I was thinking about getting this cool Tibetan flower skull I found via Google but thought...nah....skulls are cliche. Everyone has skulls. I have never met a person or heard of a person with a pineapple tattoo. My Aquarian ego demands a unique tattoo. I hate pineapples but LOVE the way they look, if that makes any sense. Also, if I were a fruit I would so obviously be a pineapple. Pineapples are not to be fucked with. You can't just buy one on a whim and bite into it like you would an apple. They aren't sweet and soft and baby foodish like bananas. They aren't popular like oranges or nectarines or plums. Mostly when people buy pineapples they buy the ones in the jars or cans because they don't want to take the trouble of lugging a big ass thorny pineapple home and figuring out how to open and slice the damn thing. Like a pineapple, I am much more trouble than I am worth. In the orchard of life, I am often eyed from a safe distance but left the fuck alone. So be it. We can't all be Granny Smith apples, ya know. When we first got there and set up the camera and did the first sound check, these guys were walking along eyeing us. I called out,"We're making a porno!" They came over and asked if they could watch. When they saw that we were all just standing around fully clothed they got bored and took off. I was freezing my ass off and started losing my voice but I was a good sport. I was not a diva. Afterward we drove to Arthur's and put in the tape. When I saw myself on TV I said,"NO! I don't want to see this!" And crawled off into Arthur's bedroom and shut the door and put my hands over my ears."Gross!" I screamed. They kept bothering me to come see it so I finally crawled back into the den but refused to watch myself. Looked through the latest Alibi instead. God, it was torture. I had red hair! I recently had my hair bleached (to erase the black) and dyed at JcPenney's. I don't get out during the day so I'm always going around at night with no sun on my head. The sun really makes my hair look like Ronald McDonald's and Cyndi Lauper's (circa 1980whatever) love child. Scary stuff, I say. I'm too reserved to be a redhead. I need to go back and have my hair colored a nice mousy brown. When they finally took the tape of me out they put in a tape Michael made last year, a commercial for Rumsfield's Prozac. It was pretty damn funny but "Exile in Waco" had me ROLLING. It was made with magazine cut-outs of Rumsfield, Cheney, Bush and Sadaam Hussein flanked by two buxom babes in swimsuits in a hot tub. The Bush administration was building a palace for Sadaam in Waco, Texas. Oh my GOD it was hilarious. I laughed so hard my head hurt. Next week we're filming a script I wrote called "Don't Ask Yuppies For Money." No actors for this baby, just two Barbie dolls and a Ken doll with half his right arm missing. I found the dolls at Thrift Town and Goodwill. I bought them naked so using a needle and thread and scraps of old clothes I was saving for a quilt, I made some funky little outfits for them. I couldn't make pants for Ken so I made him a plaid kilt. On his stump of a right arm I applied red nail polish to make it look bloody. I gave him a punk haircut and sprayed it with this foul purple hair dye I bought at a dollar store several months ago. The script is not complicated but it's about six pages long which is good, 'cause the commercials tend to be three pages long at the most. So it will take up a good chunk of time. The Ken doll and the tackiest of the two Barbies are a homeless married couple hangin' on a city sidewalk. Oh, I forgot to mention that I made a cast for Ken's left arm on which I wrote,"Hang in there, man" in purple ink. You have to see it to appreciate it. So they're hanging around arguing because it's hotter than hell (they live in Albuquerque, after all, which is located in a desert) and they have no money...not even enough money for a bottle of water. I guess they could go to Jack in the Box or whatever and get a cup of water but I'm not sure those are free. They could walk to the park and drink from the fountain but they are too tired and hot to do anything but sit on their asses and bitch about life, which is certainly their right. My life isn't half as traumatic and I bitch all the time. Oh, and Ken is pissed because Richard Marx is in town and of course they can't afford to see the concert. Barbie (I made new names for the dolls...I forget Ken's name but Barbie's is Lemon) suggests they apply to be security guards at the concert. Ken points out that they haven't showered in over a month, he's basically useless because he's missing half his right arm and his left one is broken, he's wearing a kilt with no underwear on underneath and he's barefooted. So it is unlikely they would be hired. Then Yuppie Bitch Barbie walks along. They say mean, rude things to each other and she says she is going to call the cops because Ken and Lemon are eyesores and they are the reason tourism is in decline. As she walks away Ken and Lemon are excited at the prospect of spending some time in jail. In jail they will have beds to sleep in and water to drink and food to eat. Maybe if they tell the cops they are still on their honeymoon they will be able to share a cell. They aren't being serious, just trying to find humor in their sad existence. Sometime, maybe when it gets warmer, we are going to go out to the desert and film a scene in which we are digging for weapons of mass destruction. We'll find them, too. They will be firecrackers and waterguns. My husband won't let me use the Army jacket he bought at Thrift Town. I guess he's afraid I would get it dirty. I need combat boots, too, but they are so damn expensive, even when they're used. I should have kept the ones I earned during basic training. I still have my dog tags so I can wear those. After we watched the tapes at Arthur's we went to the Atomic Cafe downtown. I had two Coronas and a bowl of incredible green chile chicken stew. It was so spicy it made my nose run, which is a good thing. We talked freely about sex and a guy who was really into forks (he made a fork dance around once while singing,"I'm a fork and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does"...but now he is dead because he slashed his wrists and took a bunch of pills...Arthur lamented the fact that the coolest people kill themselves...I said,"That's usually the way it works.") and crazed exes and so forth. I hadn't had that much fun in a long time, sadly enough. Me and Flavia bonded over our metal lunchboxes that we use as purses. Hers is way cooler than mine. It's "The Evil Dead." Mine is "The Muppet Show." I told her I also have Kali, Superman and Candyland. Arthur laughed at that. I even had fun in the lady's room. The stall and walls were covered in ink scrawled messages. There was actually a diary written inside the stall. It was like a year's worth of Xanga blogs. Hilarious. Someone had written,"I fucked Orlando Bloom." Beside that someone wrote,"Viggo is hotter." I took out my purple pen and wrote,"I fucked George Bush the Second (and I didn't cum)." I also wrote my geocities url. Came home and passed out. I have shit tolerance these days. Maybe it's the Lexapro, maybe it's the altitude. Back in the day I could consume two or three Long Island Ice Teas and three of four beers and be up all night dancing on tables or teaching some slacker dude about astrology. Anyway, this was supposed to be date night. We were going to go shoot pool or go dancing. My husband was amused and disgusted at the same time."I can smell the beer on your breath," he said before taking off for a moonlit hike on which he spotted two coyotes that ran like hell when they saw him. Well, next weekend, then. My husband wants to shake his groove thang. I want to sing karaoke. I could go on and on about our broken toilet and how I spent two hours driving around tonight listening to the radio and mix tapes, looking for a place to go potty. But I think I'll drop off here. Bye. |