Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. - Marilyn
Monroe

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

who you are



Change is real but it doesn't have to mean you change who you are. It means you change.. the way you are. And the way you are is the way you've become. What's the difference?

There's a big difference.

Who you are is who you were born to be. It's your animus - your dispositions and intentions. It's your spirit-self. The one that says: hey, be an artist! Or hey, go save lives in the Middle East! Or hey go do some scary shit that will make your journey so breath taking you won't know where you began. And all that changes with time because change is real and being a glorified soul whether you paint or save lives can be a real struggle, and a lot of people don't survive the fray of being duty bound in constant creation mode. Because to be a prodigy is to be a survivor of your own fear and doubts and those inflicted. Ergo, we adjust our perspectives thus changing our dispositions and intentions - our views. I don't want to save the world, we tell ourselves. My art doesn't matter. Nobody cares. Blah blah blah. Our policies and standards all change, with time. Some for the better, some for the worse. Some for the worse and hardly ever for the better. Cue the alcoholism and/or drugs, or depression, or pure mediocrity and a lack of inspiration. Boredom.

But even that doesn't change who you are because who you are is who you will always be. Minus the booze. Minus a revolving door that closes more often then it opens. Minus our views and standards. Minus the boredom and the mundane. You've got to subtract the shit that makes you who you think you are first. Like your car for instance. Or your bank account. You might think it makes you who you are, but those things do not define you.

The way you are is the way you react to people who cut you off while you drive your nice car, or your old ugly car. It's who you are at events. It's the way you react when faced with circumstances, confrontations, hardships etc.... It's the way you carry yourself and speak to an audience. It's the way you are when relaxed, or when you refuse to relax. It's the way you work or don't work. It's the way you think and over think, and then think some more, and then some more. And all of that... can change. Because it's not who you are.

When I was young, my mother would lecture me in parking lots and on sidewalks. Anne-Marie. Why do you walk with your head down? She would ask me in a tone I didn't prefer. I would stare at the ground when I walked. I had no confidence and well, my mother was.... impetuously brash. Still is. But was it the way I was born? No. It was the way I became. It's the way I started to think.

No child of mine walks with their head down. Lift your head up. Pull your shoulders back. Be confident.  She would say... on every sidewalk. At every dance rehearsal. It wasn't who I was. I wasn't confident. I was broken. Too much divorce and instability will do that to a child. Confident is what I became, but it took time. After another handful of years surviving my mother's life, I started surviving my own and I did it with confidence. But I don't just survive. I enjoy life too. And that's who I am. 

It's not the way I am though. My ways can be quite reckless. But I'm working on changing that to better myself. Because the way I am is OCD as fuck, schedule bound, restless, always in need of creating something, fitness fitness fitness, being something, thinking I'm not anything.... migraines, stressed, happy and excited. Up then down. That's the way I am. It's not who I am.

I am quite grateful for my mother's sidewalk sermons, now relics. Confidence is a keepsake and it's the reason I even bother being an artist, because without faith in one's self, an artist is nothing more than a crazy person. It's harsh but true. Artists are tortured, in a beautiful way. And I'll admit... I have my crazy person days - those days when I can't get my heart out of my head, and those two fight like a couple on the verge of a nasty ass divorce. My heart and my head rarely get along much less work well together. Why? Because the head (aka) the mind is a thought machine and the heart is not a machine at all. Rather, the heart is ethereal - self sacrificing, dream aligned. Not afraid. And that is who we are and nothing can change that unless, well, you think it can. The key to being who you really are and not who you think you are is knowing how to control your mind, because when you don't how to do that, it does in fact get out of control...and waaaaay out of control. And guess what? You turn into a crazy person! And you didn't even need a paint brush to do it either.

You see, the way you are is a perspective. It's all in your mind. It's who you think you are. It's how you think you should respond because it's the way you're hard wired and conditioned. You are the way you are because you learned how to be that way. But who you are isn't learned.

It's understood.

Who you are is who you'll always be and who you've always been. It's who you know you are, it's not who you think you are. It's not what mom told you to be, or what dad told you not to be.

It's freedom... from all of those things. Who you are is... free, and that's sacred. This life is sacred because we have no clue when it ends or why it even began. We didn't ask to be here but we are here, just trying to be who we think we should be.

So, whether you've got confidence or not, remember your freedom. You can be totally, utterly and completely free from who you think you should be and, instead.... just be who you are.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

monster mind

I called you a monster this morning and I meant it. So go home monster because you're in my head. You're in my words. You're in my prayers. My pillow turns to stone when you don't leave me alone.

Today I felt like something divine joined me in my office as I gave myself some down time to reflect. I was looking at the walls pretending the walls were listening. Maybe they do, listen. If only the walls could talk. The decorative fixtures made my eyes move waywardly. The knick knacks, the green and yellow galore. It makes me smile. Then... a transcendent moment of observing with my eyes closed took presence as though it was standing between me and those decorative walls. It felt like an angel blew her breath across my arms. Goosebumps, but for just a brief moment.

Then my head spins and the spinning is loud like a rusty old marry-go-round on a grassy dune, but the grass needs watering. She spins with the wind, not with a child because she's old and won't be bothered. But she's not old enough. A child's freedom could be a good thing for her nuts and bolts. Make her remember, oh youthful spirit, how to be free the way you are and how to run the way you run. Because a child doesn't run... away. A child runs a different way.

A sudden breeze inside my head and she squeals. I get a migraine. When she stops twisting in circles making me dizzy again, she runs like a rabbit -- hopping but not too high. Only high enough to irrupt like a volcano. Down pours the obsidian -- the hot lava my temper perspires. She's a bunny. She's a volcano. She's whatever I want her to be. My mind is my inception, an opening.

She's my birth. I can react and die a little or I can react and live a little more...

She often recoils inciting a marathon and I have to run for miles and miles. Chasing her for days. For years. That crazy rabbit. She won't stop running away. And by the way... Tricks are for kids! But are they though? I'm tricked more than I ever was as a child, running in a mental and emotional contest. Hopping, jumping. This way that way. Not sure about the future. I get tired. Fortunately her shoes are neon colored, making her easy to catch in the dark. And when I don't catch her I wonder who I am. When my own mind has forsaken me in her neon colored shoes, who do I become?

I become who I really am.

So, then what stands between us? A prayer. A plead. Please Monster... go home! She's a rabbit. She's a volcano. She's a runner in neon shoes. She's a monster.  Without my monster marbles and reasoning - my wits, thoughts and confusion, I'm unfamiliar... and it's really quiet. And it's a beautiful thing. And I didn't even have to pay someone. But, I'm used to her song. I'm a musician. I'm used to the music. But her orchestra is confused. She's dazed but marvelous. Her symphony is perfect for something dramatic. So, please Monster... go dance! Go sing. Go heal.

Because music is not music without the dance.

Just let it go in those neon shoes. Go waltz amongst the ash that your volcanic temper gave life to. You give life to death. Ashes to ashes. Hop away from me now because without you I'm free. Without you I'm still. I'm still waiting for you to return to me. When I send you home I'm peaceful. But I still need you. So please monster. Go home! Come back when you're older. Return to me when I'm younger. Because if we're going to do this thing together... we need to do it better. Forever.


Wednesday, December 28, 2016

you

If you could go back in time, however long ago - maybe you want to be three again and debt free, mom and dad still together, or maybe you want to be twenty four again so you can dodge that awful romance, the one that stole your faith in love, would you? Would you change everything if you could? Maybe just one thing. Maybe you wished you could go back fifteen years ago just so you could stop yourself from making that decision that flipped your life upside down - turned you inside out with your heart bleeding all over your shirt. Or maybe it was a decision that birthed the boredom that is... your life. Life can be quite boring - adventure less, mundane. And we only have ourselves to blame. That doesn't make you a victim though. It just makes you aware.

Your life is your creation. That doesn't void God. I believe God is extremely real, but you are the reason for your cans and cants, your yes's and no's. God is the outcome. You can react however you chose to the God-outcome, but if resentment, anger, and/or boredom are any of your emotional reflex's, then I can assure you God is not the reason. I've learned to stop blaming God for my downfalls. God doesn't punish. Though contrary to many religious suspicions, he doesn't. God is love, not punishment and surely not hate.

It's our life that teaches us how not to hate and how to love. Like God. So, if you were to wake up twenty years ago what would you change? What would you do differently in order to love yourself differently - to love yourself more. Other then change your mood of course, because I'm sure a slight to severe panic would occur if you were to actually wake up twenty years younger and know it. Wait a hot sec... I'm forty, so why am I twenty??! Sounds like a movie to me.

But, lets just say it happened. We're not watching a movie. You've actually been given a second chance at doing things a little differently, or profoundly differently on that note. Do you go that job you went to twenty years ago, talk to that person you talked to twenty years ago? The one you met in a cooking class or whatever class. Maybe you met in line at a Starbucks. Do you go to that Starbucks, knowing he or she will be there? FYI. This is the person you fell madly in love with, the one you maybe married and divorced in a heart beat. The one that destroyed your assets, your confidence and your family. Maybe you worked with this person at that job you hated. Maybe you're still in love with this person, married happily ever after. I don't know. It's your past.

So, do you get up and go to work or do you sleep in and say fuck it! That job ruined me. It held me back from doing the things I really wanted to do. I met that asshole at that job and that asshole broke my heart, took my kids. Or that asshole wasn't an asshole at all, maybe that asshole is your sweetheart today. Twenty years and counting. Maybe that job that ruined your life because it was so freaking boring only happened so you'd meet the love of your life. Would you still sleep in and say fuck that boring job, if you could go back and do things differently?

Maybe you blow off the job and surprise the love of your life at their favorite bar or at their home instead, because you already know where they like to drink and where they live because you've already lived these years. But how do you explain the unexplainable to the love of your life. Who's to say they're on a blast to the past. This is your sacred experience - your chance at changing everything, not theirs. So, he or she doesn't know you yet.  Trippy right? So, what do you do? How do you explain to your love that you already know what happens? Because it's already happened. The eventual divorce. The kids. The inability to have kids. The pain. Maybe the death. The love.

The life.

So, maybe you do get out of bed and go to that job you hate to meet the one you loved and divorced to have those kids you had, or didn't have - to have that partnership you maybe still have today with your soul mate, your best friend. Maybe you stand in line at that Starbucks knowing you'll meet them there and have your first, unexpected coffee date. You'll laugh together and plan a second date, but to a movie this time and your favorite sushi joint. It's the one date you never forgot about. Maybe you attend that class, the one where you met that person you loved and maybe still love. And maybe, if given the chance to go back in time, you'd do it all over again.... but just the same. Maybe you wouldn't change anything at all. Not even your biggest "mistakes", your deepest heartbreaks.

Because it was perfect the way it was. It made you.... you. And that's the best thing that ever happened.

Sat Nam.

Monday, October 17, 2016

happyback



Bring happy back. Don't worry about sexy because happy is sexy. And though it may feel fleeting at times, and ephemeral, and/or displaced or even gone, happiness is always here and it's always yours to keep, or better yet... manage. If you can't manage your happiness, what can you do?

Nobody can take it away from you. So, even if you think it's gone, it's not. Happiness doesn't get stolen from us because you can always BRING IT BACK. It doesn't just "run along" and it doesn't just "let go" or back out the way we do when we're... not happy. Happiness doesn't put in a 30 day notice because happiness doesn't leave! It doesn't move out. It moves within. Ergo, it's not a feeling because feelings are unreliable and they come and go. There's no tricks up it's sleeve. There aren't even twelve steps.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Happiness is a mind set. So, what's your mind set on? Cause if it's not happiness, than you're probably not happy. That's a no brainer. Often times, I'm not even mentally set on happiness. I set happiness down like a child and pick up a big heavy plate of bullshit instead. So, what I'm learning how to do better is to recognize that loser mind set - that negligence, and that child. Because happiness is what we are when we're children, hopefully. It's young. It's free. It doesn't worry about money or what people think of us. It's not insecure. And happy sure as hell isn't angry.

But when we're carrying around a big heavy plate of bullshit casserole, and then eating it, things are different. We're full, tired, slow moving, fast moving, angry, overloaded, under everything, depressed, unhealthy, and whatever else you want to add to the menu. It's a big menu with a lot of alcohol to choose from.

Then we serve that dish to the next hungry person because we've all got the munchies for big plate of non sense. But do my problems really deserve a hungry audience? And does that famished audience really make me happy?

You see. I think what we do is develop a strong craving for negativity and for the dinner room community it gains us. We serve all our crap on a silver platter and hope for the same in return. Because misery loves company. But there's only so much bullshit casserole we can eat before we feel like puking. And that's what happens. We, at some point, get so fed up with our own chaos that we have no other direction to go but... happy. If! If you chose to get your happy back. It's never too late...

Because at some point a dietary deficiency kicks in and we're left to think: what in God's name?? Why am I so full of shit? Why do I feel like shit? Why do I complain so much? Why do I lose my temper so easily? Why does everything have to bother me? Why am I such a jerk!?!

I need to change my mental diet.

We have to convert that negative mindset, that angry casserole, into energy the way we convert sugar and carbs into energy because we need energy for happiness and we have to give energy to happiness.

When we do, it isn't a heavy feeling. It's definitely not worry and panic, nor is it an ending. It's a beginning. It isn't the audience who will listen to our unhappy story. It's not a delicious meal we ingest only to regret it later because our jeans got a little bit tighter. It's not a career or a trip to Paris. Those are just sparks - they're moments. They're meals. They're adventures. They're highs and lows. They're stories. They're memories.

Happiness is more than all of those things because happiness is you. When you bring it back you realize everything else is bullshit. Bullshit casserole.

So, bring happy back. And be happy. Because you can be.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

u-turn



“Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up” 

~Veronica Roth, Divergent



It wakes me up everyday.

And it's not something that comes natural to us. I thought it was. You probably thought it was, or still do think it does, but it doesn't. Fear is not natural. It may be super easy to not trust someone, or, anyone in that matter (if we're real jacked up) because we're afraid they'll hurt us or betray us or dick us over in some fashion. It may even be the plight for most in the world cause it is in fact scary out there. A lot of people have lost their minds. It's easy to be scared but it's also just as easy to store some faith in humanity too, and in ourselves. We just have to remember what it is we unlearn everyday.

We have to make a u-turn. We have to go back to love... and that's the hard part.

The easy part is NOT turning around and going back. It's not being brave and taking those big risks that could change our life for the better. The easy part is sticking to what already works for us even if it's a bad attitude or a mediocre and horrifically boring career because, well, it works for us! Actually it works against us.

You see, fear is always hungry. It's morbid obese actually and it's favorite main course is our soul, but we forgot because it's just so damn easy to be afraid - of change, failure, success. You name it. You'd think we were born this way, but we weren't.

We just forgot. 

Some might say.... What? What do you mean I forgot? I didn't forget anything. I'm not scared! I'm rational. I'm logical. I'm realistic. I'm well advised. My therapist told me not to. I'm rich! I'm poor. Hell, I've even got a 401K dammit! I hate my job, but still! I'm wise! Just look at my car!

Oh no you're not wise and wisdom is no place to hide, and neither is your new car, if you're just giving fear little nick names - smart being one in particular that comes to mind. The word smart is more of a pseudonym than it is an adjective and I've had my share of run-in's with this fun little alias. Because I'm smart too! Just like everyone else.

Or, am I?

There was a time when I thought I was really smart. Smarter than most. Smarter than my parents that's for sure. I thought it was smart to drop out of community college because I wanted to be a rock star. Who needs a degree to write a great song? I didn't, and I wrote a lot of great songs. I'm tooting my own horn because why not? Fast forward to fifteen years later in Los Angeles and I'm dancing on a pole in a black bikini to the Rolling Stones. Stripper shoes in the air, dollars too. It rained twenties on the right nights, and hell if I wasn't gonna be a rock star then I was gonna make money dancing to all they're songs. And I did. Yeah. I said it. I'm writing a TV show about it too because I'm smart, finally! No shame over here. I worked at Jumbos Clown Room, a dive rock bar with a juke box smack dab in the heart of Hollywood. They're was no taking off of the top. We were burlesque dancers in glittery costumes and skimpy bikinis - boas and hats, canes and whatever else we wanted to throw at people who didn't tip. I wore an old blue jean jacket that said "Rock Star" on the back, how ironic. I would rip it off when the song peeked and then throw it across the stage like a vixen who left her gun at home - standing there mid-stage in only that infamous black bikini and those (did I really end up in these) fishnet stockings. And hooker shoes. Can't forget about the hooker shoes! Grandma would be proud. Mine had black electrical tape holding up the straps. I'm not gonna lie. I looked hot, even with the black electrical tape on my shoes. And God I was exhausted, and miserable. I hated it, every second of it. Surely there's more I could be doing with my life, I thought to myself every second of the day. I wasn't sure how smart I was either after a certain point. This is compromising my spiritual integrity, was my other everyday thought. So why do I keep coming back to it? My other everyday thought.

Am I afraid to do more with myself? Am I afraid to fail? Am I afraid of the unknown? Has this ridiculous job gotten a little too comfortable? 

That's when I started questioning my life more, and FEAR. Fear had me thinking I was smart. And that's when I decided to write a film. That's when I decided to listen to my heart and you know what, she's a real sweetie. I'm sure yours is too. My heart told me to get creative. Then she said it again and again until I fucking got creative. 

And that looked a little like this: Page 1. Scene 1.

I had never written a film before, but my fear taught me how to. My heart took me to the finish line. She informed me that this is a funny chapter in my life. Don't disregard it, she said. You can hate it, but don't hate it too much. My heart said, laugh! It's not... forever. There's a reason for it. GET CREATIVE. And that's when my brain finally shut the fuck up. At last! I could think... with my heart

We're not smart until we realize how stupid we are, and we're not free until we realize how incredibly smart we are. Fear is here to teach us that. She's here to wake us up, not shut us down. 

We're not born afraid, so don't die afraid. Just make a u-turn.

Love, 
AM

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

time

We often have to find love in our own little world to find any love at all. And that love is sacred.

The world is in so much pain. Terror of all sorts is sweeping the Earth with it's broom from hell and I'm left to ask myself: is this hell?

I don't know what I believe when it comes to the after life. If I die and go to Heaven then that would explain a lot, because this to me, feels a lot like the underworld.

Call me crazy but I think it could be possible, and maybe if we were having this conversation in person, you'd look at me the way you'd look at someone who is very strange, or possibly invading your space because they're standing too close to you at the check out counter in the grocery store. I've seen it with my own two eyes. I've seen people stand too close to me and I've seen them crinkle their forehead at the thought that this might in fact, be hell. 

"No way Jose. I don't agree." -someone listening to me talk, or reading this blog.

Lets face it. Nobody likes to think... or better yet, wants to think they're in hell. How awful is that?! So, my lone theory doesn't really mesh well with some, and it definitely doesn't fit together with the Bible's spin on things either. But then again, a lot of things don't. So, it's a good thing I don't read the bible. I skimmed through it. Not my thing.

I'm just saying. Who's to say we didn't all die and go to hell? Just take a hot sec to mediate on all the things that have happened here in the unnerving world we live in. We can easily start with all the fanatical terrorism. That seems to be alive and well. Then there's that little thing called greed and it's uncle Wall Street. There's your everyday liar, rapist and murderer. We've filled our prisons with many. We can even go back to 1346 when the Black Death occurred after a long winded witch hunt in Europe, and that also included a cat hunt because cats were witches too, says those whacky people. Those women were all burned at the stake. The cats were tossed into the fire. Anyway. A lack of cats caused a rat infestation. The rats carried a plague that couldn't be reckoned with and BAM! 100,000,000 deaths in just 4 years. And what would you know, the Christians found a way to blame the Jews for it even though it was a plague which was caused by flees, lots and lots of flees that feasted on the rats that traveled on the merchant ships safely because NO CATS. It had nothing to do with Jews. Then again, neither did Hitler's childhood traumas and insanity. But, the Jews suffered again!

So, we've got Hitler and the Holocaust. And there was also Stalin who, as well, forced starvation on a large population of innocent people. There were The Crusades, which lasted for 371 years, which to me, is on repeat today. Christians vs. Muslims. Nothin' new there. There's World War 1. World War 11 and every other war before and after that. There was the Great Chinese Famine in 1958 which wiped out 5 million people. There's ongoing sex abuse in the church, on the streets. Human trafficking. World hunger. More famine. Natural disasters. Homophobia. Police shooting black people, a black man killing police. I won't go on. It's starting to piss me off.

We all know it's terrible and it's got to stop. But will it? Maybe when the cows come home. But we're eating all of the cows, so they're never coming home. I get it. A burger is tasty. Not judging. But even for non-vegetarians. It's vile. We're losing our wild life to cold blooded people with guns and a wall to mount their dead trophy on. Dogs, cats. Torture. It's bad. Google it. No, don't.

We don't need to be killing our Elephants, or our lions, or every little thing with fur and a heart beat. I mean Jesus! What's with this world??? Elephants have families too, and lions and everything else out there being shot and going extinct. :(

I'm just saying. Maybe this is hell.. Wouldn't surprise me one bit if it was. But if it isn't, if this is just some in-between juncture for self examination and horror on some random planet in a Milky Way surrounded by far flung galaxies, then by all means, please do the examination.

Because when we examine ourselves, we can get to the heart of the matter. So...what is the matter?

We are. Collectively, we are a huge problem and the heart of the matter, and we do in fact MATTER.  Because, individually many of you are lovely human beings with gifts to share and love to give. Thank you. But, our world has gone up in flames and the only thing burning inside me now is my compassion for those who have to suffer because of us. The innocent people, the innocent animals.

So, lets just take a moment to reflect on the hell this species has created here on Earth and then let us remember: even if this is hell or it just feels like it is.. we can make it Heaven. Heaven is what's inside of us when we remember to love those who suffer more than we could ever imagine. Love is a consciousness that could, in fact, change the world. But that will take time, even if the cows never come home. Time will.

And time is all we have... to love.


Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Demi


I've been away. And now I warmly welcome myself back to my beloved blog. I could never abandon you. This is where I run not to hide, but to reveal myself... to myself. Sometimes I forget who I am. I'm so many things, and yet sometimes I feel like nothing at all. This isn't a sob story either. I actually think to feel "like nothing at all" is liberating, it's relaxing because I try, you try, we all try so hard to be something every day all day. Well most of us do. I see people who don't try at all, but that's another story and they're drunk and sleeping on a sidewalk. We try and try and try until we just say:

Fuck it!! I am who I am! Whoever that is. I'll try to be somebody better tomorrow. I'll try to make more money tomorrow. I'll try to be heard tomorrow! As for now, I'm not doing anything. I'm turning on Netflix. Shut up world! I'm gonna be a couch potato. Or just a potato. Or a strawberry for God's sake! I don't want to feel like anything at all right now!! I just want to be a strawberry. And that's totally cool. Be a strawberry.

But to be nothing - to be no one... and to really believe it, well that's terrible. It reminds me of a story.

But first I have to say, I have readers from all over the world and this is pretty awesome. I've discovered all my blog visitors by use of my weekly statistic report and I really couldn't be more delighted to know that there are so many individuals out there returning to my blog page. People in France. People in Denmark. Florida, Saudi Arabia (true story), London, Brazil, Athens, Greece, Argentina, Italy, Moscow, Mexico, Ohio. The list goes on, and for those of you who are return readers, thank you. Seriously. Thank you! It's because of you that I am drawn back to this world regarding everything - commanded back to my literary sanctuary, a place I didn't think anybody cared about but me. But that was years ago. I've learned people do care. In a world where people don't care, they actually do. I give my regards to you and to everything, because everything is something. And everyone is someone.

Now for my story. Everyone is someone.... Demi Moore said that to me. Well, she said it to mother actually, after my mother introduced herself to Demi Moore as "no one". "Hi, I'm no one", said my mom. Then there was an awkward beat of silence and a handshake. Demi Moore crinkled her forehead and I just looked at my mom the way a mother looks at her child. Role reversal, if you will.

You poor child, I thought. Get some confidence!

This was years ago and to this day I'm still thinking back on it. Still crinkling my forehead the way Demi scrunched hers. I mean, how cool for starters. Demi Moore. Really? How? Where? Why? Does she look great? Yes. Then there was Ashton... Kutcher... who also looked great and stopped everything he was doing to give me a kiss before I left. Wait huh?! No way. Omg why? Lucky! .... Calm down. It was a tasteful corner-of-the-mouth, almost the cheek, but not quite the cheek kind of kiss. Still enough to write home about, and still enough to make me think he and Demi were divorce bound, but not enough to write a whole blog about, and not enough to turn me straight. We chatted about Kabbalah. Kiss, kiss. The end.

That's not the end! What happened?

We crashed a film premier party at the Sunset Tower Hotel in Hollywood on a chili Saturday night back in 2011. It might of been 2010. I can't keep track of time anymore. I used to bartend at this joint, this opulent, made of money joint. Prince, Jennifer Aniston, J Lo, Penelope Cruz. You name it. They were there. And I was always late to get there, so I got fired. Whoo hoo!! This celebrity hideaway became my wine and dine getaway for years to come, and I didn't have to make anyone a drink or ring in an order of garlic aioli french fries ever again, so I liked it a lot more during those years to come. I'd walk in and people thought I was a famous person. I owned it. I loved it. I couldn't help but soak it in. Isn't that what Hollywood is for? Being an obnoxious, egomaniac on a possible fame trip?

Yes. For the most part. Absolutely yes.

So, I've rung that out. I'm like a sponge. I absorb what I need when I need it, then I ring that shit out. I don't care if I'm ever a famous person. Fame does strange things to people. LA has taught me that. I just want to be a happy person. (Cliche I know) (But so true) Writing makes me happy, not being mistaken for Emmy Rossum. That just makes me feel...well, hmmm... not as rich as the real Emmy Rossum I guess.

Anyways. I diverted. Back to my story.

We crashed the party after my mom told the big guy with the ear piece that we were guests. Cool! I thought to myself. We're guests! Go mom. And without looking at his guest list, and without really looking at my mom, so after looking at me (swank and chic, maybe Emmy Rossum) well... he believed her. She must be my mom, were his thoughts. I could tell just by looking at him. And I must be somebody...

Yes. I am somebody. And I don't need security or Demi Moore to tell me that! But I'm glad Demi did, 'cause my mom needed to hear it. And I'll give her credit, she listened. My mother took that wisdom by the throat and then she strangled it after talking about her self published novel for twenty minutes straight. Demi backing off just a little. And there I was, ready to go have a beer with Demi. Demi  just needed another beer. She needed another Corona Light, not another pitch from an aspiring film maker/novelist. Her eyes growing heavy. My mother still talking. Demi's stance, unbalanced. She was drunk! Drunk and overly friendly and very inspirational because my mom was somebody now and she believed it because Demi Moore said it straight to her face. She wasn't nobody, she was somebody, somebody with a great divorce story and hey, Demi, you should be in it!! You can play me. Said my mother. Lol. I was bored, yet lost in Demi's face. Reminded of Indecent Proposal. One of my favorite movies. Demi was polite. Maybe too polite. Thank you Corona Light, you are a miracle worker. She told my mother to contact her agent, but didn't give her agent's info to my mother... but maybe she could Google it? Yeah. Google "John".

Demi to my mother, word for word: "His name is John. Just tell him you met me here."  My mom to Demi: "What is this?" Then Demi to me: "You probably know him." And I'm left to think: "Because I'm famous too? And this is a premiere party, mom." (eye roll)

Bless your heart Demi. You are somebody, and not just because Ghost, but because you gave me a wonderful memory.

And I don't know John, your agent. But thank you for assuming I did... because I'm probably somebody.

I absolutely am somebody! Everybody is somebody and we all have a story to tell. So go tell yours. Now I need Corona Light.

Cheers! Kiss kiss.


"Was that really her?" -My mom.  "Yes." -Me.