Category Archives: LA Living

Breakdown or Breakthrough?

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I am a tad worried. Today has been my second bad day in a row. Not entirely sure as to why, but usually I might have one, then plough on through it and be fine again. Two in a row leads me to believe that a third one tomorrow, could lead me to having a nervous breakdown, it is unchartered territory that I would be heading into, oh dear Lord.

Being honest, I am not entirely sure why the bugging/fed up/annoyed feeling is coming on all of a sudden. It might have something to do with small things building up, slowly but surely. For example, my iPod froze today out of the blue and has yet to unfreeze. That got my eye twitching and had me counting to ten for a good few bouts of ten seconds. Or the fact that it seems to me that I am the only person in my house who knows where to empty all the bins when they fill up, or that bins even have to be dumped when they are full to the brim. But that is maybe just me being picky. Maybe, for some reason today, the number of blog readers dipped and this annoyed me? Who knows? All trivial. 

However, I don’t think that was it today. Perhaps it has to do with me getting little sleep the past few days. I have it well highlighted and documented within this blog, of how my brain does not seem to work, or want to work for me anyways, during the day. Instead, the past few nights, it has taken up the nightshift, kicking into overdrive the minute I turn off the light and try to go to sleep. A flood of ideas for stand-up, scenes for the sitcom, songs to try out for DJ’ing, and potential websites have being coming to me in the past few nights. Unfortunately, I have taken to writing down every one, just in case one of them could seems good again when I wake up the next morning. In the light of day, meh, perhaps and ehh are my reactions at best, so far. Some sort of compromise will have to be agreed between my brain and I, us working different shifts and seemingly against each other will put an end to the relationship soon.

This morning I got about 10.30, shattered, but determined to be productive throughout the day after the bad day I had (or think I had anyways) yesterday. I made out my daily to-do list, and this is what set me off on the wrong note, I think. This was my actual list for the day…

1. Make out DJ playlist

2. Watch Champions League

3. DJ in the gym (it’s been a while, needed to keep the free buzz tipping over)

4. Do stand-up show

5. Buy birthday card for my Grandad

6. Go to the gym

7. Write the blog

8. Sleep

After re-reading this list, I got highly annoyed. Would you not? To me it was a fine to-do list you might have for a Saturday, or a day-off. However, not really a great one when you’re in L.A on a mission, not a Tuesday-I-must-be-productive to-do list. It is a list of hobbies, the only productive thing really is sending the birthday card home. The rest do not include me working in exchange for money, writing my sitcom pilot, or improving my acting. They are simply a list of things I could do to pass away the day. My view today in my grumpy mood anyways.

Got through the first two things fine, I didn’t really need my brain for them. I then realize I couldn’t squeeze in the actual DJ’ing in the gym part due to a lack of time. Thats ok, it’ll give me more time to get ready for the stand-up. However, my brain takes a nap, and I decide last minute that some toast would be nice before I head off. Already slightly behind schedule somehow, even though I had given myself two extra hours? Then I almost burn my hands on my George Foreman while waiting impatiently for the toast, which I can’t wait for, and end up running down the road with warm bread in my hands. I am sprinting to make the stand-up at this stage, I can’t be late and miss the signing up part.

As I belt across the street to the comedy club, warm bread in hand, shouting and waving the bread at cars to get them to stop and let me cross, it hits me that I have seen people, supposedly crazy, doing this sort of thing around L.A, and particularly in San Francisco. Am I losing my mind? No, no, it’s just an off day, I convince myself. I get to the club, and there is a swarm of people outside, the door is closed, place has yet to open, I made it on time! So I sit down outside the club, and enjoy my warm bread, waiting for the door to open so I can head inside and sign up.

When the door does open, I realize that the person coming out has a sheet of white paper… the list of who has been chosen to go up! The reason everyone was outside was that inside was so packed, it had been open all along, I had just wasted my opportunity by staying outside eating my horrible plain warm bread. Gutted, I head in, decide I’ll try to look for the manager from last week who said he would hook me up with a better time, presuming I would at least have signed up. Found him, gave him my spiel about running late, so sorry, I will be going home to Ireland next week, any hope of getting up one last time? Ok, he said, he’ll put me on first before people notice that I am not on the list, be ready.

I barely had time to get nervous, it was about a minute before I was good to go on. There were a few faces I recognized in the crowd, maybe from their photos being on the wall, but this could be a chance at a breakthrough! Time to focus, whereas last week I was just pumped to go up and in a great mood, today, however, my head was all over the place so needed to get back on track. Name gets called, big enough crowd (as in maybe 50 other comedians? big for my second time) and up I go. Being honest, I get a few cheap, easy laughs to begin – thanks for all coming to see just me, I’m Irish, then more hooting and clapping when I told a white lie and said it was my first time ever doing it (my second time didn’t have the same ring). After that, some jokes were misunderstood and not laughed at, other parts which weren’t meant to be jokes got laughs for some reason, and when I heard one person saying “That’s funny” instead of laughing, I got good mileage out of mocking the comment. 

That was the first two minutes anyways, which flew by, I used up what I had thought would be about 10 minutes of gold, ha, no it was not. I told a joke that turned into more of a rant, and made up a new punch line on the spot when the first one wasn’t recognized, it got a whimper. Finally I finished up with a quick one liner joke, and walked off stage. It was only about half an hour later that I realized the reason nobody had laughed at the joke, or heckled me for it being so bad, was that I had forgotten to give the punch line. I think I said it in my head, then my brain took a quick nap, and it forgot to come out. Mighty work. 

Overall, I could take bits away from the material, and leave the rest of it on stage. When I went up to the manager to thank him for hooking me up, and then to tell him I would see him next week, he cut me off right in the middle of my sentence, right at the “and then” part above. This is when he said “No problem, have a safe trip home, enjoy the next few months back in Ireland.” Balls, my spiel beforehand to ensure I got on had come back to haunt me, so soon! Eh, cheers man, I’ll see you when I’m back, in a few months, just like I said.

At least it’ll give me time to work on material for the next time I come back to this club! After the elation of the stand-up debut, I could tell from my act this week, what parts exactly need a lot more work. Some of the jokes I tried to tell, were ones which needed a lot of background info, situation and location knowledge, or prior reading of the blog to get the laughs which I desire. I shall have to fine tune them, a lot. Still though, the guy I thought was the funniest of the show came up to me afterwards for a high five, wuu.

Numbers 5 and 6 on the list were going to be put off until tomorrow but I managed to get them in tonight. Only number 8 to do now, and I will have had a productive day, list wise at least. Although it is a big holiday here tonight, and the place is rocking! Cinco de Mayo, never really heard of it (my last stand-up joke was related to the name, I’ll save you heckling material, horrendous). I decided I will stay in though, have a quiet one with my brain. We have a few bridges to build. If we don’t, expect a few more bread and traffic stories.

Earlier today I had a break through, mentally at least, I think I know now what I must do next. I’ll see if I still think it tomorrow. Song of the day, not the easy option of a Doors song but… Until We Bleed by Kleerup with Lykke Li

Good Hair, Bad Hair Day

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The reason I’m going with the good hair comment is because two random girls, one walking down the street, the other in a cafe, complimented my bird’s nest. I personally think that it was looking no different from yesterday, or as it will tomorrow. Being honest, neither compliment really improved my mood for more than 10 seconds. For some reason, the rest of the day has been weary and dreary. Not really sure why so. The sun was shining, one pretty cool thing did happen today, but I was feeling wrecked from the minute I woke up. Little b***ch mode was on for the day.

It might be something to do with the fact that I felt mugged in certain ways over the weekend. On Saturday, there were cleaners in our house to do a deep clean kind of thing. They seemed sound, I had an hour to kill, so I ended up helping them out, hoovering downstairs and the likes. I did notice yesterday that they did not clean any part of my room, or most of the rest of the house. I am not sure what they did being honest, brought the rubbish out maybe, not enough to warrant getting paid all that money. Presuming they were coming back to finish off, I find out today that they are not, they were just crap and did a runner. Annoying enough.

Last night I was meant to be doing stand-up again. Yesterday I spent the day battling my hangover trying to think up new material for the 3 minute slot. It was on in a supposedly well known comedy club, the iO West Theatre in Hollywood. I had never heard of it either. The manager had emailed me telling me I would be given a slot at some stage, so make sure to come along. When I arrived, I noticed the comedian Andy Dick in the crowd, apparently he was watching out for new talent. I think he is involved with the place. Maybe that the section where it was on being called the Andy Dick Black Box gave me the clue.

iO West Improv Theatre

So, I was pumped to get on stage and try to impress him, could lead to the big break, sitcom, movies etc. Obviously, ha. Plus my buddy came along with a friend, I would know people in the audience, added pressure. Then I get informed that the 3 minute slot was actually more like a 5 minute one. Only 2 minutes extra I know, but still, a long time on stage. The song “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight” by Cutting Crew randomly started to play over in my head, and weirdly settled my nerves. I had thought up of a load of crap jokes earlier in the day, at least I think I thought them up, couldn’t decide if I maybe just heard them years ago or not. If worst came to worst, I’d pull a few of them out.

However, I had no need to think of any of this. Seeing as the b*****d didn’t call me out to go up on stage. Supposedly, you wrote your name on a slip of paper, the host then pulled them out randomly up on stage to see the order, and everyone gets a go. Nope. All his buddies got hooked up. I am no buddy of his though it seems. Maybe because I didn’t laugh at his horrific jokes when he did a bit before the night got under way. I am no expert, but you would be surprised at how crap some of the stand-up comedians are in Hollywood. I know its only open mic and no-one is getting paid for it, but some of them are absolutely horrific. To top it all off, they are highly delusion, not realizing the sound they seemed to think was laughter was actually silence. 

Sitting there from 10, until 12, gradually realizing that the names were not, in fact, being called out randomly, was highly frustrating, especially when some of them were so, so, so bad. At least I can cop on to when I tell a bad joke, that is most of the angle I was going to use, but these people don’t let it go. There was actually an Irish woman who got to go up about halfway through. Jesus, she was brutal, ruined any hope I would have had at playing the Irish card, just kept shouting at herself. Leaving there with my buddy and his friend, after having not going up, was a great buzz, chump and an ape all rolled into one.

All of the above, plus the let down of the fight on Saturday night, I think contributed to me feeling weary and beaten today. Although, I should’ve been upbeat. I had a meeting with a committee member of BAFTA, to see if I could impress and get accepted into a newcomer’s program which they have. The meeting was arranged in Urth Cafe on Melrose, which is right next to the BAFTA office. When I arrived there, I immediately recognized the place. It is always shown on the likes of Entourage, photos of L.A, all that jazz.

Urth Cafe

People must just sit here and wait for celebrities. Going in you can feel eyes on you, until you take off your sunglasses and people see that, no, you are not someone they recognize, how you’ve let them all down, it is ridiculous! Speaking of which, I think Lenny Kravitz was at the table next to me today, but he never took of his sunglasses so I wasn’t 100% sure, ha, 99% say.

This is where I got a hair compliment, unusual seeing as usually it is a hair complaint. I was looking sharp for the meeting, as in the sense it was a rare day I wore a shirt, 3 times a year roughly, so the shirt, and not me, was looking sharp. The compliment was given as I ordered a coffee. That was until I actually took off my sunglasses, which is when the girl didn’t recognize my beautiful eyes and walked away. I might as well have taken off my shirt and revealed a set of man boobs for the look of disappointment on her face. I am sure that she sincerely meant the compliment though. Sure.

Anyways, ordered a coffee, waiting for a Larry David lookalike to show up (the man from BAFTA’s own description), and tried to figure out if it was Lenny Kravitz next to me without staring, ha. An uncanny Larry David lookalike walks up the steps, recognizes me from the photo I sent in and makes his way over. I stand up, knock the table with my knee, spilling my coffee down my shorts, people turn to look at the commotion, Lenny doesn’t, coffee is hot enough on my thighs, great funking first impression. Seriously, what an ape.

Luckily, the man I meet with was born in Cork too, and we get on great. The meeting goes well, I spread out my 3 minutes of doing something good in one day to last the meeting, and as he leaves he tells me that he will be giving me a glowing recommendation to the board. Happy days, wuu.

As I walk home, I start to think today isn’t too bad after all. I am going to be recommended to the BAFTA committee board for membership, how could this not be a good day?! I mean, this now means that…ehh. This will mean that I now can, emm. What does this mean? Turns out, I have no clue what this actually means. I still can’t figure it out. I am presuming it is a good thing, I just have to find out why and what the benefits will be. However, lets not forget, all my presumptions so far, have usually turned out to be horrendously wrong. Great day.

Song of the bad hair day… Lisztomania by Phoenix

C’mon Hatton, Put Up Them Fists!!!

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To be true, I had built this weekend up way too much, in my head at least. I thought it was going to be massive, great things planned. Cue brutal boxing analogy of me setting it up for it to be knocked down. I made the executive decision that I would not work the whole weekend for the money which I vitally need to sustain the L.A adventure, but to instead take the riskier option of going to two potentially good meetings/shindigs. Potentially. They could also potentially both turn out to be flops. Re de de. Hindsight is a great thing! Should’ve taken those viagras, so to speak, floppy mac.

Saturday morning I was asked along to a networking brunch/lunch/supper thing. Surprisingly, it went well, managed to spread out my 3 minutes of being likable well enough to make a few new contacts, get names, emails etc. Happy days. In fact, I was so happy walking home, that I walked right into a sign/pole and almost knocked myself out. But, I was happy, so didn’t really mind. Plus, that was only the minor shindig I had been asked along to that day, that night was the big one!

My buddy, who lives up in Bob Williams’ house, had asked me up there to play soccer and then stick around to watch the Ricky Hatton fight afterwards. Sounded good, but I was particularly lured in by being told it was a special game, keep it on the qt, a load were over from England for it, should be a class party for the fight, who never know you will show up, I would not want to miss out. Seeing as this is Hollywood, my mind started to imagine who it was that could possibly be coming along, particularly for the fight, I would be surrounded by actors, singers, models, greatest party ever, I could meet a few cool people, booze on up in the Hollywood Hills, could this be the greatest night of my life. Or of my weekend at least.

My knee has gradually being getting better, so I decided it was worth risking ruining it for life for the sake of a game of ball and the party. I get picked up by a sound Irish guy and head up to the game. (Weirdly, I have only met 3 Irish people since being in L.A, and met them all in the last 3 days) Bit apprehensive of who to expect at the 5-a-side pitch, every name under the sun of who could potentially be playing soccer flies through my head. Get to the pitch, introduced to a few sounds guys, don’t know of any them, we’re still waiting on more though. Few more come, game is good to start, still no sign of the big guns though. The final player for our team shows up, with his girlfriend in tow. I’m not one to name drop, ha, so I’ll call her Kelly’s Blue Book, and he is her rugby playing boyfriend. I only knew this when he happened to mention it, seeing as unfortunately there’s no rugby news over here in L.A. Unfortunately. I really miss rugby.

We play the game, he’s actually a good player for a rugby player, rip them apart with our slick one two’s, she’s our cheerleader, tells me she remembers meeting me about 4 years ago? Overall, a good game, but I was expecting more glitz. Finish up, time for the fight, down to the house. It has been my first time in the house, and it is savage. Class views of L.A from the terraces, class views inside the house of the original Andy Warhols around the place, it is ridiculous. When I asked if Bob was playing or around at all, I was told doubtful, so didn’t really pry anymore. There is only so many times one can ask that question without starting to look stupid. Kelly’s Blue Book made everyone pizza, offered me some, I asked if she had any healthy food like a banana, this got her a bit annoyed, tried to force feed pizza into me, then called me very rude for not trying it at least. Seeing as she had a boyfriend already, there was no reason for me to impress, so I stuck with the banana.

After I shower, and get to admire a savage signed Beatles picture in the bathroom, I am hearing a lot of different names of who could be coming up to the house to watch the fight. They’ll probably come after the start of it, doesn’t X only live next door anyways, and Y lives in the mansion next door, they’ll be along soon. We’d probably be here boozing all night, too late to go anywhere after the fight, the party should be good. Thankfully I brought a big bag of cans so I was well stocked up for the rocking party. The fight kicks off, I hear different names I recognize of who is on there way up in a while. Was that Slash I did hear you say? Good stuff, more like it. Ricky then gets me worried by taking a battering in the first round. The mood has dipped quite dramatically. This 12 round fight is looking dodge. C’mon Ricky, put up your fists man, where’s your defense, this party has to keep going!!!

Between people saying Ricky is looking shaky, he got pummeled, what was he doing, more and more names are been mentioned of who is going to come up to the party, names I know of, well known people. I am getting a good vibe, Ricky will last a good few more rounds at least, the party will keep going another while. Round 2, Pacquaio lands his unbelievable punch, Ricky gets knocked down, and knocked out. Little does Pacquaio know, but this punch has landed a blow in L.A too. The party is done, and dusted, sucker punched. Everyone is a bit shell shocked of how quickly Hatton got beaten, I am shell shocked at how the party was over before it began. Balls. People are making new plans. Lets meet her downtown instead. Lets go to where this person is playing a gig instead. Eh, can I come? No, no one is listening to me? Cool, I’ll meet ye there? What’s the name of the place again? Pardon? I’ll try your pizza now if you tell me!

Just like that, the fun times are over. I didn’t even get to whip out my disposable camera and take a photo with anyone (my camera is still bust since Mexico, thought it would be good to get a few photos of the views at least though so went old school with the disposable, good waste of money). I snap a few pics of the views, foggy enough and on a disposable so God only knows how they came up. I’ll throw them up, if I can get them from the disposable to my laptop that is, not sure if that can be done? Anyways, I get back home, with my 3/4’s full bag of cans, and it is barely even 10 o’clock. This was not going to plan. At all.

Booze on, got a call from a buddy and it ended up being a good night, went to a cool new club called Jane’s House where my buddy was DJ’ing. KBB and my one-two partner ended up being in there too, shots on, your round folks! Cab home, dropped at the top of my street, force of habit, I’ll have to be dropped to the door from now on. Big Jim waves me over to the strip club, ha, I needed much encouragement, I only went in to show my buddy what it was like, I swear.

Being honest, strip clubs annoy me a bit, I’ve gotten over the fact that the girls usually don’t actually have any interest in you, just your money for a dance. So, I tell the girls that come up to me that I can’t get a private dance from them. The reason? Priests aren’t allowed to do that sort of thing. Line goes down well, I predicted it might do, better than the truth, I had no money. One girl then wants to give me her number, she’s Irish too (owns an Irish wolfhound I think was her connection), we should really hang out. Thinking I’ve learnt my lesson from the last time, I decide might as well get her number, she is offering after all, rude not to take it. As she types her number in, I tell her I really shouldn’t be taking it, me being a priest and all, but if you insist, I will. She then hands me back the phone, number saved, and tells me she really shouldn’t have given me the number either. Oh yeah, why’s that? Oh you’re married and have two kids. Oh right. Our reasons are kind of on par really. Ehh… nice girl really.

Don’t worry, I only texted her today to tell her that I couldn’t text her anymore or meet up with her. That was it, I felt I should just text her to be courteous at least. She looked very very courteous herself last night. However, the text just proves my other point all along. About girls giving me their numbers, for absolutely no reason. Seeing as I am still waiting on that reply. Any minute now. Any minute. 

Song of the day is this wonderful piece of work… Moth’s Wings by Passion Pit

Thats What She Said…

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Fruitless is how I would describe today. Absolutely fruitless. Although, probably my most productive activity ended up being buying apples. Plus I got a cool new t-shirt indirectly given to me by Bill Clinton. Very, very, very indirectly.

My three main things to do today were: 1. Go up to the strip club at the top of the street and enquire about the potential DJ job that Jim told me about; 2. Call over to the Irish Film Board, which is across the road from the strip club conveniently, and try to get a bit of help and guidance from a contact in there, and; 3. Buy some turkey slices. That was it. 3 basic enough things to do. How hard could they be? Surely I would achieve one of them, my money was definitely on one of the first two, definitely one of them.

1. Up to the strip club and go inside. I get a flood of flashbacks now that I am back inside, oh yeah I remember that seat, I remember those ATM machines by the wall, balls, did I take money out? No, doubt it, hopefully not. I remembered a girl in there too, sitting at a table, and, surprisingly, she remembered me, I must’ve made a good impression (more than likely made an ape of myself completely but I’ll tell myself a good impression for the sake of it). She brings me over to Charlie, the manager/owner, not too sure. He doesn’t seem too impressed by me, or care what I have to say really, doesn’t bother to get up, or say hello, who needs introductions anyways, straight to the point “What do you want?” Eh, Jim told me to call in during the day, said something about a DJ job perhaps? Charlie is old, and I can see all over his face that he has not understood any of what I had just said, I was trying to be as clear as I could too.

Maybe if I speak slower, and louder, he’ll understand. I do, he doesn’t. Tells me Jim starts at 6, call back then. This is going nowhere fast. A girl calls his name from across the room, and he shouts back at her “Did you finish up yet?” I wasn’t too sure what he was on about, but the next bit of banter I blame as a result of me watching too much of the Office and my roommate for being good at these jokes and getting me hooked. Anyways, the girl shouts back across the room ” I can’t Charlie, it’s too hard.” To which I instinctively say to Charlie, thats what she said, ha. Probably not the best thing to try the humour with Charlie seeing as it was going so poorly anyways. It didn’t really matter though, he couldn’t understand me anyways.

Oh but he understood that line, “What’s that meant to mean?” Eh, you know, ha, it was a joke, thats what she said, as in… “Yeah, she did say that, but what are you trying to say?” Oh sweet Lord, I have the job in the bag, best interview ever. “What do you want anyways? You’re looking for Jim?’ No, about a DJ job, Jim said… “We’re not hiring” And that was that. End of. See ya later Charlie.

2. Walked across the road. Starting to notice how there are a lot of film production companies based right across the road from me. As in a building or two full of them. Where was the neon sign that should’ve alerted me to this place before?!!! Found the Irish Film Board, happy days. I had decided not to email them first, I would just call up. It would be quicker and easier to get help in person, or for them to ignore me through emails, plus I am more likeable in person, or so I have been told, personally I have my doubts. Find the buzzer, get buzzed in, walk to the office, find out that the guy I was told to look for has left already for the weekend and I should’ve emailed ahead first to set up a time. Ah, good old emails, always a smart thing to do. I didn’t mind too much though, at least I hadn’t traipsed around the city for hours to find that out. 

3. Bad sign when buying turkey to make a sandwich for yourself is the best you can do all day, but I was determined to do at least one thing on the to-do list. As I was walking to Trader Joes, I saw The Laugh Factory across the road. I’ll save my day by going in and playing the Irish priest card, and try to get a slot for their open mic session next week. Wuu, finally a good plan. Cross the road, push into the door to open her up, door is shut, so I just walk into the door. The idiot clown walking into The Laugh Factory. I bumble back across the road, I’ll stick to the plan of turkey and home. Or so I thought. Ever hear of a meat rush on Friday afternoon? No? Me neither. But apparently they have them here, and they were out of turkey slices. Ha, how, why, I didn’t have the energy, why bother, I gave up. I ended up buying good turkey substitutes of apples and potatoes instead, not before knocking two piles of them on the floor, taking both from the bottom of the highly stacked piles. Surely they can come up with a better way to arrange them instead of towering piles which I will inevitably knock over.

Three things to do. Zero of them accomplished. Wuu, fruitful on! Apparently, I think I have the timeline right, but as I walked home, there was also an earthquake. Oddly, it measured 4.4 on the Richter scale, the same as the one the shook me insides out in San Francisco. People were freaking out “It was super scary, I thought it was the big one, oh my Gawd” (Apparently a big one is due that will funk the whole place up). I couldn’t even do the earthquake right, I didn’t feel a bloody thing, gutted I missed out on all the fun.

All in all, I was not too pushed with the pointless day I had, tomorrow is the big one, potentially. Big meet and greet tomorrow afternoon (I think it’s big anyways), followed by a potentially big night, re de de, I’ll say no more. My day was brightened up by my roommate at least. She had been at a Bill Clinton fundraiser the night before, met the man himself, the likes of Zach Braff and Jessica Alba amongst others mingling too (I told you that her blog would be waaaaaaay better than mine if she did one). Bill had given her a t-shirt, she doesn’t wear XL men’s size, I don’t either but with the help of 3 t-shirts underneath I can pull XL off, so she gave me the t-shirt as a present. I made her tell me that Bill had personally asked her to give it to me, just so I could feel good about it. How sound is Bill?!!!

And, as I am sure you were wondering, so just in case you were, 2 of the 3 apples I bought were rotten to the core. I could not even do that right, wuu, tomorrow is the big one though, I’m saving myself for then, c’mon Hatton!!!!!

Song of the day is the first song I heard this morning, and final song I will play before I get my sleep on. It is ominous to say the least, but a savage song… How It Ends by Devotchka

Jigsaw Time

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On the surface, today was not the most productive of days. I prefer to look deeper though, get to know the person first. Started off with a few conversations with my roommates about the night before, fishing for clues of what happened, trying to act as if I remembered having the same conversations with them the night before, I just wanted to double check, thats all. 

One bit of good news to kick the day off at least. I had got a job, for the whole weekend. Wuu duu. It was about 4 hours away though, so I would be leaving Friday night, and be back Sunday night. These days I probably have more gold to my name than money, so I jumped at the chance to finely tune my Shammy selling skills some more. Plus, can’t beat an old road trip and overnighter in a hotel, with the added bonus of never meeting my co-worker before. Money on! 

Needing to get rid of the rave going on in my head, I decided after breakfast I would hit the gym. This was about 6 in the evening, productivity on! Although saying that, in my world, and so I can feel justified, writing emails and reading a book are ways of being productive too. It all depends what scale you use to define your productivity. Now that I think of it, one might even consider waking up and eating food as being productive. I was off to a flyer. 

I am sure that I’m not alone, but after a night out I regularly wake up wondering what actually happened, and then which parts did I dream happened. And I don’t dream parts like me being able to fly or pulling the hottest girl, I dream what I like to call “reality dreams”. These freak me out. I wake up wondering did I actually do that to that person, or dream it. Did I tell that person what I actually thought of them, or dream it. Did I actually do her, or dream it. All very confusing, and at times, alarming.

As I was still piecing together parts of last night, from 12 on, went to bed at 5 I think, if I got 10 minutes from every hour it would give me piece of mind. On my way to the gym I saw the strip club was open. Needing a bit of information to push my memory down the right path, I decided to go up the bouncer again and gauge his reaction when he sees me. Then I shall be able to determine how drunk/annoying I was last night. Great plan really. How’s it going boss, eh, I was here, last night, not sure if you remember, Irish ape, drunk, oh you do remember, ha, high five, you actually remember my name too, good work, em, I forget yours, apologies. 

Big Jim as I like to call him, (I think thats his name anyways, I’ve forgotten again already, I am horrific with names) – not to be mistaken for Big Gay Jim in the gym – filled me in with some good details. He set me on the straight and narrow with a few blurry areas. He had let me in for free for the following reasons: a) I was Irish; b) I told him I forgot my wallet, but mostly; c) I told him I needed to use the bathroom and would only be 2 minutes max. Max Jim, 2 minutes, I swear, the memories started flooding back. Two minutes turned into about 50 minutes, according to Jim.

Jim also reminded me that I had indeed made him laugh with my number joke, but I had also not ended up giving mine or getting the hot stripperauu’s number and probably won’t ever now either. Where’s the faith Jim, it’s a process, give me time!!! The reason too why she wanted my number so much and thought I was funny (I must’ve saved my 3 minutes for in there) was mainly due to the fact that I insisted to her that in Ireland, when you go to a strip club, it is the guy who dances for the stripper, not the usual way they have in Emerica. Us Irish huh, we’re a bit backward, huh. I am a fan of the huh’s today, what do you think, huh? Anyways, I then proceeded to dance for her, which went down well, no clothes came off at least for me too, maybe a runner and a sock, tease her a bit. I must have started to get the spins from dancing, and it was around then when I bolted to go home realizing I was goosed.

Big Jim capped it all off by asking me why I hadn’t called up earlier today to ask about the DJ’ing job, like he had told me last night. Not a notion, but apparently when I offered my DJ’ing services, Jim spoke to a manager, who told me to call up today about the possibility. Balls. But, big sound Jim said tomorrow would be fine too to call up during the day to speak with the manager, anytime between 12 and 6, go on the Jimster! Looks like I’ll be having an early 4 o’clock breakfast to make sure I make it this time around.

Anyways, home from the gym, get an email inviting me to a lunch shindig on Saturday, my networking has paid off! Told it would be a good place to meet writers, directors, producers perhaps, meant to be members of the organization only but a girl has hooked me up to slip me in the back door, say nothing. Wuu huu. I could make a cheap crude joke here about me repaying her the favour, but I wont, I’m not that kind of stand-up comedian, ha. Anyways, she also mentioned that there might be a sponsor or two there who could potentially help me out with a visa. Sweet Lord, what a productive day.

Then, then, I remembered I have committed to working this weekend. Balls. Not only do I desperately need the money, but I would also be letting down my buddy who has organized it all, only really setting up the gigs because I agreed to do it. Some balls. Visa chance and networking, or the commodity as rare as gold dust, money. If I don’t make that money, the dream could be taking a nose dive. If I don’t network and try to get hooked up with the visa possibility, then I have a limited time that way too. What to funking do? Any advice, feel free to horse it on!

Finally, I get a text, asking me if I wanted to watch the big Ricky Hatton fight on Saturday night, booze on, mingle on, party on, should be savage, probably won’t get that chance again really, could only be offered it here in L.A. Told keep it on the q.t though, so I can say no more, some ape for one ape! 

I must sleep on the dilemma, money, or hit and miss possibilities. What to do? I should go up and ask Big Jim really, he seems like a wise old owl.

Song of the day… Aint No Easy Way Out by The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

In Case You Didn’t Know…

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I can be quite dumb at times. Firstly, apologies for the lack of blogaruu yesterday but I was busy being stupid, then getting drunk, and finally stupidly drunk, so the blogaruu was neglected. Whereas on Tuesday I figured out I have a 3 minute limit for being funny in one day, yesterday I figured out my smart limit is about the same length of time.

Back to dumb mode. You might think I was dumb yesterday for leaving my wallet at home when I headed off to be productive. However, just as I was about to walk the 25 minutes back to my house and get it, I copped on there was no money in it anyways, so I was better off not having the bulky thing weighing me down. Smart choice. Surely. 

After I falsely presumed that I knew where I was going, without ever having been there before, and could not find my destination, I decided to make the smart choice and ask for directions. Outside a coffee shop, I had two choices. Homeless bum dude, or a hot girl. I would’ve went homeless dude but the last one I interacted with swung a punch at me, so hot girl it was, tut.

Hubbula hubbula, do you know where this place is that I cannot find? “Oh my gaaaawd, where are you from? Russia?” Ha, no, that was English, I am from Ireland. “Maryland?” I R Land. “Oh my gawd, I R Land, that is so cool.” The usual spiel I get. So, she didn’t know where the building was, sorry. But she did invite me in for a coffee and maybe they would know inside. Sure thing, sounds good, my round… actually, I can’t. I remembered now that I had forgotten my wallet and had no money on me. Instead of telling her this when she asked why I couldn’t come in and have a coffee with her, I just blurted out – I have no money. I meant on me, not in life terms, although not too far off. She informs me that they’ll accept credit cards, I respond by telling her I don’t have one. Again, I meant on me. Not in the global sense.

Telling her this, and then trying to explain what I meant, while standing next to a homeless guy, just led to a nice bit of awkward silence. Awkward enough for her to remember she had to be somewhere else anyways. I did not mind too much, I was out to be productive, I had to find the place. Eventually, and with a bit of help from the homeless dude, ha, sound guy, I found the building I was looking for, the BAFTA building!

You might think I am quite dumb for not going to this place before. It has been on my list of 19 things to do, but I had emailed them, so kind of thought that was enough. Why did I not call down earlier?! In I go, get a load of information, possibility of help with a visa, contacts, names, numbers, the works. I am also advised to go to the Irish Film Board Office as well, which I then find out it is literally around the corner from where I live, as in a 2 minute walk from my house, why have I not been already?! I come out a bit pumped, but still wondering why I had not been there before, dumb old me. 

All the help I was given was from an Irish girl who worked there, the first Irish person I have met in L.A. No need to tune out my words with her, she’s actually Irish like myself. Worryingly, when she asked me my name again as I walked out, she thought I said Eric, then Mack. Not a good sign from an Irish person. As I walked home, with my iPod on, I decided to practice honing out my accent, beginning with my name. So, I began saying Mark, Mork, Moaark, Maaark, Mooork, More Ark, Mork, Mark, all the way home to the tune of the song I was listening to. When the song finished up, I could hear some foot-steps behind me. Turn around, a girl is about 2 yards behind me. Didn’t I see her just as I turned the corner onto this long straight street? Indeed I did, she has been behind me all along. Listening to me saying my name over and over.

We both stop at the light to wait and cross the road. I look at her, wondering if she heard me talking to myself the whole time. She looks back, I give her a how’s it going nod, and I see she did hear me the whole time. Seeing as she asks “Who’s Mork? You must really like him, or his name.” Yeah, Mork is actually me, I love myself. This gets a laugh from her, bit of small talk, walking along, chatter chatter chatter, and we come to another junction, where I am swinging a right. I have already told her that I am going out boozing later, heading to My House, and been told she is going there too. So, when she asks me to text her later, take her number, I don’t for two reasons. Well, I don’t put it in my phone, instead I pretend to memorize it. 

I have realized that it means absolutely nothing, when a girl gives you her number in L.A. As in nothing. She would’ve given it to the homeless dude if he had an accent. Whereas in Ireland, if a girl gives you her number, it probably means she wants to take advantage of you, ha. Here, however, it just means now instead of asking you to your face “Who are you and what do you?”, they can do it by text. And then be confused and disappointed with the reply “I am homeless and unemployed, call over if you like” text. So I have given up taking numbers unless I think it actually might be worth it. Hot girls can be seen at every corner and walking the streets of L.A everyday, there is not a shortage here. Pity they’re whures though. Still hot.

Second reason that I pretended to remember the number, was that she had already told me that she was going to the same club that night, without me prompting her. If she was there, happy days, if not, the club is fully equipped with an abundance of good looking girls. So before I headed there, went to the karaoke bar, beer bong on, free shots because I am Irish on, pitcher on. Headed to the club, and, lo and behold, I bumped into the girl. Who then introduced me to her boyfriend! See, funking stupid, delighted I didn’t take her number now, I knew I was being smart! Being honest, I can’t remember much after that, they bought me a round of whiskey shots for being Irish and off I went.

However, and this was the whole point of the post, to highlight the dumbness, I do remember this. Got a cab home, with Andy and Colin Todd, and dropped off at the top of my street. Usually this is fine, 30 second walk and I am home. Things have changed though. Here is why…

Strip Club

The strip club at the top of my street re-opening would do that, especially seeing as it is opened until the wee hours of the morning. So the cab drops me off, I see the flashing lights of the club, mosey on over. It is $20 to get in, bob hope I have that left on me at this stage of the night. Banter with the bouncer, for a change I convince him that he is actually Irish, and get let in for free.

Being a tad drunk, all I remember is walking into the club, around the club once for a lap, then leaving, not sure why to be honest, I think I realized I was twisted and should head home. I am getting a few flashbacks writing this alone, so maybe I did sit down somewhere for a while in there. I also just got a flashback of having banter with the guy who used to be in ‘N Sync. Not Justin Timberlake, or the fat guy, or the gay guy, the other main guy? I can’t really remember.

I do know that as I was walking back out the door, having banter with the bouncer, asking if they need a DJ, sorry, slurring if they needed a DJ, a girl working had followed me out, and tried to drag me back in for a dance. Not a slow dance on the dance floor though, or a dance where I could show off my “Timmy the Rabbit” dance. I was presuming she wanted me to give her money to “dance” for me. I told her no, had to go home, I live just over there, I am sure I’ll be back again (I was lying, I swear). Again “Oh my gawd, where are you from, that accent is so cool.” The bouncer answered enthusiastically on my behalf “Irish, this f**ker is I R ish!!!”… “Oh my gawd, you must come back again, we should hang out, thats so cool” I was feeling tremendously twisted at this stage, so told her I had to go home, now, ciao ciao. “Ok, but you better come back, what’s your number, I want to hang out.” So, seeing as I had wasted my 3 minutes of being smart on blagging my way in for free, I dumbly, yet funnily in my book, replied with the answer “4, sometimes it’s 7 though depends what jersey I get.”

Ha, that line is priceless, but it left the girl confused. At least the bouncer laughed. Then, once the girl went back inside, he asked me why I didn’t give her my number, she had just broken up with her boyfriend, plus did I not see what she looked like?!!! I could make out the outline of her in my twisted state, but the real reason I did not give her my real number, the real reason… I can be quite dumb at times.

Here’s the song I think I was listening to in the strip club, not fully sure though so it might have just being playing over in my head… I Want You So Hard by Eagles Of Death Metal