Something's Off

I realise an update on the whole shaking up my life thing is way overdue. Here’s where I am on the stuff I wanted to change. Oh, and you can just presume the drinking wine and eating carbs part of it is taking care of itself.

I’ll whiz through the good stuff as I have the feeling you’re not here for that. I now have my own place. That bit was easier than I thought. Go out, look for an apartment, tell them you want it, hand over your life savings for the deposit and first month’s rent and then pray that somehow you’ll find the rest of the money for the year-long lease. Done! I also signed with a new agent thanks to one of my friends introducing me to his, so that one is hopefully cooking nicely.

Ok, the date. Yep singular. I’ll start with the good. He was funny and chatty and got the English sense of humour, he could even understand me! ‘Sounds great!’ I hear you say. Now for what I think of as the deal-breaker. He had terrible breath. I mean really bad. Not just in a 'maybe he’d had onions on his sandwich for lunch' kind of way (note this man does not eat sandwiches) more in a ‘Hello Clifford*’ halitosis kind of way. 

The thing that really surprised me about this was how most people didn’t think it was a big deal. They kept saying, 'Just tell him.’ One of my friends said, ‘What does he look like?' 'A bit like Vin Diesel.' 'Just tell him, he’ll fix it and then you’ll just be dating Vin Diesel.' Other people were saying it was probably because he didn’t eat carbs (I’m not sure he ate anything, he kept inviting me out for dinner, and we would never eat!) or maybe because he had come straight from the gym (yep!) but does it matter why? Isn’t bad breath bad breath? 

Anyway, I was talked into going on a second date, and I think it was ok that time, but I really couldn’t get over it. I think it was seared onto the inside of my nostrils. So yes, that’s how that went. I was sure there were other things about him that drove me mad, so I went back through some texts to my friends at the time, but no, that was pretty much it. Oh, he did keep texting me about an ear infection. Apparently, that can give you bad breath. Who knew?!

*not the big red dog, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrvcFUX3cvs & the like!

I Give it a Year

So I’ve come up with an idea. I’m going to call it ‘I give it a year’. I’m not sure what made me come up with this. It might be the five-year anniversary of me being in LA and the thought that if I’m here, doing what I’m doing now, in another five years then I need rescuing from my life. Or it might be the recent earthquakes. Either way I know I need to shake things up. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I have a lovely life. For a 25-year-old. Or even a 35-year-old. So if ‘She’s my mommm’ didn’t wake me up to the fact that things need to change, then something certainly has. 

Ok! With the caveat of the aforementioned ‘I have a lovely life’. This is what I need to change:

(I could speed this up by saying ‘everything’.)

1 - I need my own place. I love the people I live with. I honestly mean that, they are part of my LA family, but I’m too old to share, and I can’t be 50 with roommates (I don’t even know how to spell that. Is it 1 or 2 m’s? Is it two separate words? Is it hyphenated? If you can’t spell it then it shouldn’t be a thing in your life) 

2 - I need to go on dates. Or even one. Yawn.... but I also don’t want to be single at 50/forever (right now that feels like the same thing) Let’s see if there are actually any straight, single men in this town! 

3 - I need a new job. Again, see above for I’m happy with my life, but I moved here because I’m an actress so yeah.... that! 

So I need a new home, a job and a man (ok, I don’t ‘need’ a man but you know what I mean) That’s not much is it? So I’ve decided what if I gave it a year and did all of the crazy things that LA has to offer and even the not so crazy things that mean I live here, really here and not half here and half there (you know where ‘there’ is) 

So in the spirit of ‘it’s for the blog’ and in the spirit of ‘what if I really did this, even just for a year’, watch this space. It might not be pretty but it’s certainly going to shake things up! And if I have to eat carbs and drink wine along the way, then so be it. 

Mamma Mia!

This was going to be my blog:

Title - How to feel old in Hollywood

Content - Move there

The End

Then I decided to be more specific, because you need a bit more than that to laugh at surely!

I went to my acting class last night and was partnered with an actor who was new. We were given scenes to work on and the idea is that you don’t rehearse with each other beforehand, you work on it by yourself for ten minutes and come up with your own background for the scene and the moments before. I decided to be brave, because that always works out well doesn’t it? Actually, I had to go up twice and I had already done my first scene and made that actor my brother, so I decided to give this second relationship a bit more of a romantic setting. Like I said, brave.

The actor (let’s call him Paul) looked a bit younger than me and I would say he was quite attractive in a tall, handsome, modelly kind of way. This is LA after all. So, we did the scene and I thought it went really well. The teacher asked me what the relationship was, so I explained how he was my friend’s boyfriend and he had been coming over to help me with social media for my new job and I had potentially misread the signs and kissed him. I’m not that brave, I did say he didn’t kiss me back but meanwhile I’d been hiding in the bathroom for 15 minutes and he hadn’t left my apartment. ‘Great,’ said the teacher, ‘What about you Paul, what’s this relationship for you?’ Paul said, ‘She’s my mom…..’

I’m sure he said more but I couldn’t tell you what he said as I didn’t hear it over the sound of my own mortification. Seriously????? 

Now of course I’m old enough to be a mum, but this dude is 29. He eventually tried to make me feel better by saying it wasn’t because I look like I could be his ‘mom’ but more because I’m motherly. Oh, what a relief that was!!! I even found myself telling him that if it made him feel any better, my friend (WHO I HAD MADE UP) was a lot younger than me. I wasn’t sure what to do after that, drink heavily, get on a plane or have Botox. I’m still deciding. 

Sliding Doors

I sometimes feel like I’m living a ‘Sliding Doors’ existence where there’s a me who moved to London instead of LA. The London me auditions for roles that she’s right for. She is working on ‘After Life’ with Ricky Gervais and is excited about a few months in Liverpool on the final series of ‘Tin Star’. She’s buying wine at the self-checkout in Tesco’s and eating real Dairy Milk chocolate and Walker’s crisps. The weather is a bit crap and so is Brexit, but the public transport is great, and most people can understand her, especially when she asks for water.  

London me does wonder about LA me. The girl who recently auditioned for the roles of a sloth, a ‘Jada Pinkett-esque’ mob boss and a ‘masculine hunter and trapper’. The girl who sometimes, more often than she’d like to admit, wears ‘yoga pants’ to work! She complains about being freezing when the temperature drops below 59° (15°) and she knows Brexit is bad, but really America? She tries to educate people that hot frothy milk cannot go in tea and that a man playing the bagpipes in a kilt is not representative of St. Patrick’s (Patty’s!) Day, but they just think she’s speaking in a foreign accent. She’s over the traffic but the weather, when it’s not freezing, is pretty great all year round. She can also watch the Oscars in real time and cry about Olivia Colman before England gets to. In fact, her and the Scot decide that’s the number one reason to live in LA. 

Talking of the Scot, I asked him what he thought. After I’d explained the whole ‘Sliding Doors' theory to him he said, ‘Oh, in London you’d be a cleaner’. I asked him, ‘Why would I be a cleaner now if I’ve never been one before?' and he said, ‘It’s your age, I suppose’.  

So, there we have it. My parallel lives. I’d like a mix of the two really, although if Ricky lets me wear yoga pants to work it might be a done deal!

Namaste Positive

Coming back to LA in the new year is always a bit weird. I feel like in England, at least in the circles I mix in (sorry!!), most people head into the new year a bit more chubby and a bit more fed up than they were the week before Christmas. This could be because the weather is always a bit rubbish, but mainly I think it's to do with the high volume of mince pies, Roses, Celebrations, Quality Street, chocolates off the tree, Christmas pudding, Baileys, Prosecco, Fox's chocolate covered biscuits etc., etc., etc., consumed during the festivities. Oh, and let's not forget the Lindor. Like my friend said, 'It's pretty much the only time we are eating chocolate on the way to the dinner table.' Ok, now that I've outed myself as a festive over eater, cut to getting on the plane to LA. I can't fly direct in the winter. Not that I'm saying if everyone was to get on the plane in Manchester that would make me feel better. Ok it probably would. When you change planes in one of the inevitable hubs (New York usually, Atlanta this year) and you get to the gate to board, you realise that not everyone does the same thing over Christmas or if they do then their supermodel genes mean it's just not evident. There is nothing more depressing than boarding that LAX bound plane in January with the Hollywood folk who look like they didn't even have their cheat meal over the 'holidays'.

Being back wasn't so bad (apart from being greeted by torrential rain when I landed.) I had my first audition of the year. A great start as I'd only been back for a couple of days. It was for the part of a sloth. How apt! Well, except I was feeling quite positive and energetic about the start of the year but maybe my headshot tells a different story. I don't know what else to tell you about this. The Scot's first reaction was, 'Tell me you're not going.' I went. I think I was quite good.

I went back to yoga. I call it yoga, they call it deep stretching. The girl at the desk couldn't remember my name, she greeted me with, 'It's been a while.' Obviously, I'm the only one taking time out for the feastive period! I'm not terrible at it but I'm not sure I'm going to reach a higher consciousness any time soon when my main thought at every instruction is usually, 'Are you serious?' It's dark in there, which is a bonus. I think that's meant to help you reach a meditative state but it's a bit of a plus and minus situation for me as I can't really see what I'm supposed to be doing but then other people can't see me either. 

So that's my first week back. Looking back over previous January blogs it's not that different to other years. In fact, it's better than most as I have somewhere to live, I didn't get stopped under suspicion of terrorism and it only took 22 hours. Who says I haven't cracked it?