How are mummies little duckies? It's a beautiful day here in Southern California. The sun is shining, the mercury reads a balmy 81 degrees, the vodka is poured and I am sunbathing in my back yard in a carefully designed topless bathing suit.
Oh who am I kidding? Life isn't that great. Actually it is. I just wanted to take a jab at my New York mates who are always giving me shit for living in LA. Take your rats, your metro cards, 6-10 inches of snow and shove it! *Pats weave, pops gum and switches away.
Wanna know the great thing about being an adult? You really can do whatever the fuck you please. If you're at a party, and people are treating you like a misshapen-ed scrotum? Take your dick and leave. If the pastor delivers a homophobic sermon at church? Take your money out of the tithe box and leave the church. Don't like the way that dancer is climbing that pole? Take your Pabst Blue Ribbon and pour it all over her. Wait, that's hot. Sure, we can't control our destiny--but we can damn sure do our very best to help alter fate and do what it takes to make us happy. Take for instance this rag tag bootleg blog--I'm not a trained writer. But writing notes on this blog to the 32 people out there that bothers to read, brings me joy! I'm not even good at it, when you compare to other blogs filled with ad space, fancy fonts and crisp photography. I didn't study creative writing in school, my grammar is fucking terrible, I spel like a 7 year old, and my run on sentences
*Hell. I'm not going to bother with punctuation.
This blog is an inner representation of me. It's not my entire being, of course because frankly no one is that articulate or well adjusted. It's rare that you run across people that will freely admit their joys & fears. I'm working on becoming one of them. I spent a great deal of time earlier this year focusing on my imperfections, my fuck ups and it led me down some some un-primrose paths. I certainly wasn't suicidal but I did have moments where I hoped an Acme anvil would plop on my head like in the Bugs Bunny cartoons.
|Yes! Nic is about to stumble out of the bar in 5-4-3...|
|I'm 30 Something and still haven't paid back my student loans? This here some bullshit.|
Oh no...Nonononononononono. Don't bug out Nic--don't
"Also, you really need an oil change, a tune up and your tags will expire in 4 weeks. You're gonna get pulled over and the cops will know you're an Occupy sympathizer and they're gonna taze you on the spot. Did you pay your AEA & SAG dues? Oh and you totally lost your iPod. I know you don't think you did, but you did. Some asshole is sleeping soundly to your Blue Eyed Soul playlist. On your iPod. Hahahahahahaa you're a failure Nic! You've got alopecia. Thin hair! Thin hair! By the way, the IRS won't forget about you...and AND hey! You're a relic in the acting community. Yeah you keep on wiping the dust off that resume. David Cromer barely returns your messages on Facebook because he thinks you're a loser! Yeah you keep writing that next play. You'll never be produced out side of Chicago. Hey wanna go to Sizzler? Lets go to Sizzler! Yaaaah Surf & Turf!!!! Nic. Nick. NiiiiiiiiicccccccccCCCCC. Lets go to Bed Bath & Beyond. You have 14 20% off coupons. Lets got buy shit! Hey! HAAAY! Look in the mirror! See if you can make a single tear drop fall. You can use it for your bit part in the next movie where you play a nurse. You're so ugly when you cry. You'll have 5 lines and under to wow cinemaphiles. And hey that woman at the Target totally knew it was you who farted. Shame on you blaming it on the little boy with the Polio crutches..."
Yeah, those thoughts attacked me in like 25 seconds. So I promptly put down my rocks glass, and started punching myself square in the cervix. "NO KIDS! YOU CAN'T EVEN AFFORD TO ADOPT A STARVING KID ON THE TV SO SHUDDUP YOU ROTTED CUNT" Then I turned to my brain and in my best George Clooney voice, I said "Now you listen to me, you vodka soaked piece of gray shit! You only have a few cells left, so I am in charge here, not you. You just came back from traveling abroad, you have a new place to live and that piece of shit car still works. Plenty of blessings, so shut your snatch hole. Now, I am taking you for a 4 mile run--okay a walk, followed by a hot bath and back to back of episodes of Dobie Gillis, and you'd better bust a nut from happiness. Now go find that emergency Twix bar that you keep in your eye glasses case and get fucking balanced. Hear me brain? Find balance. It's time me, you and dopamine had a little threesome. It's time for us to fuck. To FUCK!"
It was then that I noticed that my poor neighbor working in his garden had witnessed my meltdown.
"Sorry Gary! Just..uh rehearsing a monologue! You know us actresses. The parsnips look great. Yep."
I can't help navigate you through your breakdowns, but I can do my best to make you laugh. So I just wanted to say thank you for reading this blog, and for sharing it with friends. I'm no pastor, spiritual leader, hell I'm not even a good person. But I can tell you this much:
Don't give up. It's not your style.
Remember who you are.
And with that, I salute every tiny victory that you will have today.
Ciao for now fucker.