I may have a touch of the Mary-Kay Letourneau

I have a little crush on the baby Jonas Brothers and I really like this picture with Joe Jonas' jean bulge.

I had dinner with Trent Reznor

No, that is not a faux lure to get you to read another of my apolitical diatribes, I really HAD DINNER WITH TRENT REZNOR LAST NIGHT! Long story short, I've become friends with Bebe and Jim from The Jim Rose Circus Show (an awesome sideshow where people chew glass, hammer nails up their nose and lift things with their bathing-suit-parts, if you know what I mean.) So, they used to tour with NIN a few years back and they're still great friends. She asked if I wanted to go to the show + and hang out backstage. Cut to last night, when I'm sporting a V.I.P. lamenate sitting down in the commisary when Trent plates up his dinner and sits down, right across from me. Then Robin Fink, the most awesome guitar player I have ever seen/heard, comes and sits down right next to me. Luckily, I have a story about grabbing Robin's wife, Bianca's, boob one tipsey night at The Belltown Saloon in Seattle and we all share a guffaw. Trent says something male-fantasy related like, "that's a visual I'll treasure." And then I winked at him (!) He dug it. Their show was a bedazzling spectacular of sound and light and I was bowled over. After the show, I ran into Robin and HE asked ME for a photo (see below: he was standing on his tip-toes to show how tall he is and so I crouched down to let him prove his point.) As for Trent? I'll never tell...

please men of portland, WASH UP!!!

I'm so sick of seeing relatively cute guys about town and getting in their car or brushing past them at the video store and being hit in the face with a Tyson-like-knock-out of STENCH. Like, the kind of smell when someone drinks too much coffee and garlic and then works out really hard in a garbage bin, like they're doing aerobics in diapers and leftovers, and then letting that stink settle in for, say, three weeks, making sure their armpits and their balls have an extra coating of foul, and then, voila, they enter the public eye. Or rather the public nose. Please, dudes of PDX, I appreciate the woodsey aroma of man's fetor, but you guys need to hit the showers or, at the least, dip yourselves in the Willamette river and call it good.
Peeee-yeeeeewww. Or, actually, Pee-YOU.

Boozy Actress: The Ice Tour

I just love it how every show phenomenon, after doing the U.S. Tour, then decides to bring it "on ice." You know, fucking High School Musical ON ICE, what's next, SUV Law & Order...ON ICE.
I'd like to have my own show wherein I go about my regular life, getting waitressing jobs and walking out on them, drink a lot, sit around reading Bust magazine and then, you know, for the cash, I sell tickets to said show. Well, then THAT somehow gets a strange cult following and, much like Diablo Cody, a top Hollywood agent is surfing the 'net for porn and stumbles upon Me, loves my show, "...but, wait for it, we're thinking Boozy Actress would translate better to the masses if we Put. It. On. Ice.
I'm just sayin...

i don't think anybody reads this but still...

I'm blogging for the unknown, the empty, the absentee vote. Last night I attended Portland Fashion Week. See me with the flapper headband?

I've been rehearsing with my Improv Troupe and I have a commercial shoot on Wednesday. I'm painting this quote as soon as the Gesso dries:
"If everyone would stop trying to be happy, they might actually have a pretty good time." - Edith Wharton.

Matthew Lillard is THE MOST annoying person ever...

I just watched "Scream" Why? Why do I waste my time. It's hot, I'm bored and it'a all that's on the tele.
But I just have to vent how absoulutely annoying this guy is. I want to kill him myself.

terribly busy, terribly important...

-I'm styling three shoots with photographer Erik Isakson this week.
-I'm going on a Go-See for a print ad tomorrow
-I have a call back (2nd audition) for Prelude to a Kiss playing Rita, the lead. Meg Ryan played the film version part and I know I'm not very Meg Ryan-ish, but Mary Louise-Parker played the BRoadway version, and I'm a little MLP.
-I have an audition in August for the Salem Repoertory Theatre.

A Day in the Life...

What I did today:
1. Woke up at 9:30ish AM, drank from water bottle by bed
2. Walked up to Starbucks for an iced venti non-fat latte
3. Walked back home
4. Finished movie with Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law & Jack Black called "The Holiday." It was pretty good. And old lady wrote and directed it and I love how they always put the actresses in a scene where they drink too much then lip-synch and dance around crazy to a pop song.
5. I ate a mini-bagel with low-fat strawberry cream cheese.
6. Then I ate chips and very spicy salsa.
7. The I went to Walgreens to get the following items: cotton rounds, mascara, vitamin water, macadamia nuts, moleskin and false eyelashes.
8. Then I came home and checked my email for the 14th time.
9. I turned on YOuTube (because I'm addicted) to watch my favorite lady, truly my new inspiration and heronine: Leslie Hall.
Check 'er out!

Well, that's it. Riveting, n'est pas?

A pain in the neck...

Did you know you can get whiplash without being in a car crash? I found out it's true because I got it. And it really f'n hurts. I've been icing and ibuprophin-ing 'round the clock and Franken-chic is not pretty.

New Book, New Happy Hour...

So, in prepping for what may be a SERIOUS blog upcoming soon (hopefully things work out), I've decided to begin chronicling what I've already been doing since I first landed in "Keep It Weird" Portland. Taking a new book out on a date to a new Happy Hour. This week I went to Silk (http://www.silkbyphovan.com/) noted for it's yummy Vietnamese snacks and swank bar, all in white. My date was Chelsea Handler's new book, "Are you there, Vodka? It's me, Chelsea." At Silk, I ordered salad rolls and Pho soup, traditionally with the brisket. Someone said this was the best Vietnamese place in town but I have to say I'll be looking for others. I give it a B. The decor was cool and my Ginger Martini ($5) was good, the salad rolls ($4) had shrimp and pork, but I coulda done without the Wilbur. I believe Pho ($5) should be served with the rare brisket on the side, but no one's really down with augmenting what is all ready on the cheap, so it was a wee tough for my tastes. But for a total tab of $19 (OK, I had 2 drinks) I'm not gonna whine like Mrs. Roper wanting more sex from Stanley. I was satiated.
Ms. Handler's fun raunchy romp into a party girl's life at 30, however, was right up my alley. Vodka: her Life Partner, having sex with a red head and her love for midgets are the stand-out topics and I finished the book in a day. Easy read, v. v. funny and makes me feel better about my own wayward days gone by (as of yesterday).
The best line was about Big Red and upon getting ready to get busy, reached down to a massive bush of bright orange pubic hair on this dude that she likened to, "Having Carrot Top in a leg lock."

OK! OK! Here's the update

Jeez, I wish everyone would stop nagging me about what I've been up to these days. Hellooo? I'm busy! I'm watching "Can't Buy Me Love" crica '87 on cable for the 18th time (no joke), making these labor-intensive frozen chocolate chip cookies from TJ's and working on my screenplay. I'm reading 3 books, not including my textbooks, and running a household: my spacious apartment does not clean itself, People! I pay my two bills each month (Comcast & Verizon) and stock my fridge with sundries such as sparkling water, yoghurt and wine (oh, she likes her wine). Friends visit and we have moments like this, "Hey, I wonder what Ruth Buzzi's up to these days?" "Let's Google her." And then we'll watch her on The Muppets for, like, 3 hours.
Riveting facsinating stuff that no one really cares about. And therein lies the beauty of Blogging: reporting on the banal.

This Guy is MY HERO and always has been...

my wierd nocturnal habit...

I have narrowed the problem down to hot months and a little wine before bed: I sleepwalk. There are 3 known instances of alarm: the first happened as a child when I awoke lying in front of a fuzzy television ("They're heeeerrree.") The second occurred a couple years ago when I actually left my apartment, wandered down the hall until my ex woke up and found me, asked me what I was doing and I said, "It smells like toast." The third happened last night. I KNOW I went to sleep in my bedroom, but I woke in my living room sleeping on top of a blanket on top of notebooks and my computer.
Me so krazy.

Hooters Girl...

I saw this ad for applying to be a Hooters girl and out of sheer curiosity went to their website because I wanted to see what they listed as their requirements for being, what they call, "A Hooters Girl." It said this:

The Hooters Girl uniform consists of: White Hooters tank top, orange shorts, suntan hose, white socks, solid white shoes, brown Hooters pouch, name-tag and of course...a smile! The Hooters Girl uniform can not be changed or altered in any way. As well, the Hooters Girl uniform can not be sold to the public for any reason.

There is no set requirement in order to be a nearly World Famous Hooters Girl! We look for the All-American Cheerleader / Surfer-Girl-Next-Door image to fill our restaurants. In other words...Very bubbly, outgoing personalities!

Yea, right!!! What about the proverbial rack? The Oompa-Loompa tan? The dark red lip liner filled in with frosty pink that essentially makes your mouth look like a giant ass-hole?!? The uniform. Really? Suntan hose? Who finds that outfit attractive? Like, SERIOUSLY, what guy is into that look? I feel like Invasion of the Body Snatchers stole whomever frequents that place's soul! It's like Clamato juice. I just don't get it. And what's in "the brown pouch?" They're dignity? I was thinking what a perfect lawsuit I could file after I apply and surely get denied. It's kind of a McDonald's-Hot-Coffee lawsuit but what if I became, like, a pioneer for womankind? For Pale Women Everywhere.

my occasional fix...

Sometimes I get sushi to go WITH edamame AND miso soup. To finish off the meal, I like to stick with my Asian theme and have these amazing little candies (as shown above) called "Botan Rice Candy." The great thing about them is the edible wrapper around each individual gummy/jelly candy. The taste is sort of a faint orangey- lemondroppey/half sweet ricey. PLUS, in every box, you get a sticker with little Japanima characters on it! As Chandler would say, "Could there BE anything better?"

Bag Lady No More!

When I was a youngster, my mother tells me my fears were not that of an average child's: not spiders, or dragons or monsters in the closet, no. My Mom says I was afraid of becoming a Bag Lady when I grew up. She said when we'd pass buskers or beggers, I would tug at her skirt like CarolAnne from Poltergeist must've at JoBeth Williams, screaming at her own mother from the other side of hell. The reason I was shaking in my Princess Leia loafers was because deep down? I knew I had potential to BE THAT. Not a standard Street Person, per se, but a very fashionable homeless lady, maybe a Day Player from Dynasty, a visiting actress staying on your couch or over at the Motel 6. I knew in my little tiny subconscious that I would grow up to be a woman addicted to change and someone who ended up moving 40 times in her adult life. Carting around my leopard print coats, my Fluvog kitten heels and my trunks of costume jewelry, I became the very thing the skittered me as a youngen. So, now, as I write this to you I am calling Amistad on those troubidorian days, my wanderlust years, and settling down. I found a gorgeous apartment, nestled right in the cool area of town equipped with all the vintage fineries AND a modern kitchen. It's a Future Dinner Party Dream. Someone call Vince Vaughn and get him to do the pelvic thrusts on a diner table and say, "Baby's all grown'd up!!!" Baby's all growned up, indeed.

"Restless..."

This is from a short I wrapped last night (at 6 AM !!!) where I played a 1920's prostituée. It was only a 2 day shoot and everyone was really nice and I think the movie will end up looking aces. If Todd Haynes is reading this: now, what was that about your Collette film??

Is that Freegan Rock? Well, turn it up!!

Maybe I'm a little late on the bandwagon but I just heard about "Freeganism" which is a movement -- shoot, nevermind. Here's what Wikepedia says:
Freeganism is an anti-consumerism lifestyle whereby people employ alternative living strategies based on "limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources." Freegans embrace community, generosity, social concern, freedom, cooperation, and sharing in opposition to a society based on materialism, moral apathy, competition, conformity, and greed."[1] The lifestyle involves salvaging discarded, unspoiled food from supermarket dumpsters that have passed their expiration date, but are still edible and nutritious. They salvage the food not because they are poor or homeless, but as a political statement.[2][3]
And I wanted to sign myself up, because I like to redefine myself as often as possible and jump on hip bandwagons like MySpace and Blogspot so I can feel, well, hip. NO ONE wants to appear out of the know. I really like the anti-consumerism/anti-corporate part about it because I like Mom & Pop shops and I hate competition and greed. Plus, waste really bugs me. But I'm not going to dumpster dive for food; THAT'S where I draw the line. I must come uup with my own name, my own made-up belief system that says all that stuff that Freegan says without garbage germs and I'm still allowed to eat a steak once in awhile. Hmm.

Booked, Booked and what an asshole!

So, as some of my MySpace friends know: I booked the Toyota commercial (3 of them: excuse me while I brush off my shoulders) and I booked the Mistress short film, "Restless." I got a call back from The Stressed Out Biz Professional, but that Director was a Dick so I almost hope I don't get that job. Nothing really funny to say here but I'm gearing up to my Stand-up routine at Harvey's Comedy Club so stay tuned...

Update

And so it goes:
Tues: Audition for Toyota playing a "natural, non-made-up Pacific Northwesterner". Read: Barfey R.E.I. shit and flannel with soy carob-mocha as prop.
Wed: 3:20, Stressed out Mom: cue the Working Girl soundtrack, don the Reebok Hi-tops layered with nude nylons, slouchy socks and a Power Suit.
6:00, Mistress in bra and chinoise.
Thurs: A cracked out Hooker with a heart 'o gold.
Lord help me.
PS: Does anyone have some thigh-hi's I can borrow? No, wait, got 'em.

The things I do to be an actor...

OK. The top of January I was in Seattle for an audition that was casting the role of "Barista: piercings a plus!" So I trekked on down to Claire's, that jewelry shop where teenagers adorn themselves in Hello Kitty earings and Hanna Montana hair falls. It was rather surreal asking the sales girl I was looking for "anything that can be pierced, without actually piercing it." So I was corralled toward THE CASE. It was a lock down, this piercing aisle. And she looped her keys around in a finger-hula-hoop, weilding them as a high-security prison guard would at San Quentin. I found magnetic piercings galore. After stocking up on some faux hoops for the nose and lip, I promenaded down to 1st Ave. where the bead store was, still searching for that ever-evasive eyebrow ring. I found facets that I later cut with pliers and forceably pinched my skin, maneuvering what one would hope would portray my look: A Human Tackle Box. I smeared red eyeshadow on and did my best Suicide Girl impression and plotted on. The other day I had the big bi-annual "Generals" theatre auditions in PDX, a scary ordeal in which one crams two contrasting monologues: a contemporary piece and a classic one timed in 3 minutes (oh, and they'll call "time" on your ass). Since my pieces where hand-heavy, I decided to dawn fake nails for the gig (see above). Right as I'm going on, one popped off and I had to think of that lone missing nail all throughout an early Scorsese piece and a Shakespearean Cleopatra. I felt like my right hand looked like a 3-legged dog. I have 4 other auditions this week and lord knows who I'll have to become for them. Are you there god? It's me, Gigi. Why was I blessed with this gift of theatricality? I mean, it's a gift AND a curse...

Do you want some cheese with that Whine?

Today? I bought a coat. And not a vintage fur one I dumpster dove out of a Salvation Army bin, either! It is actually my first "utilitarian" coat: long, black, puffy with special tags on it that say things like: "water-proof" and "thinsulate." Tres, chic, no? I had to break down because it's a freaking ARCTICBLAST out there. I overheard my neighbor tell his child, "You know, if you leave any part of your body unexposed for longer than ten minutes, you'll get frostbite." I don't really think that's true, but I do applaud his effort of instilling the fear of blackened bodily parts amputated off his young son.
Question: Why is everyone hiding? People get to be such babies this time of year! I keep reading blogs about hibernation, the art of doing nothing, people avoiding people. Brew youreslf a cup of cocoa and read a goddamn book! Jesus. Phone people back, why don't you? Incorporate the fine art of letter writing. If the latest aberrant news of Heath Ledger taught us anything, it's that artful people don't last.
Appreicate those in your life who are.

PS: I was thinking if terrorists wanted a new weapon, why not a spork from KFC? Only because it would make great copy.
Great. Now my blog has just been flagged by the CIA. I guess I'll have to wear my aluminum foil hat and staple cheese to the roof again.

pretending

It is so cold outside that I'm pretending I'm 8 and school got cancelled. But in reality it's not like I have anything much else to do because I am a standard-issue layabout.

Boo-F'n-Hoo, Celebrities...

I don't want to use this blog to stand on a righteous soap-box about current affairs or get all Perez Hilton on your asses, but I can't believe all the public sturm und drang about the stoopid Gloden Globes being cancelled because of the writer's strike. The writer's were getting humped in their butts because Hollywierd wouldn't pony up the bones for DVD residuals, allow for union jurisdiction over the hordes of new reality shows + animation + all this internet stuff they wrote. BigWigs & Fat Cats just hoped the lowly writers would lay down and take it. Now, every news show on the air waves is crying rivers over how the poor, poor rich and famous stars -- who already won the genetic lotto and the job bingo (less than 1% of working actors) -- can't wear their billion dollar dresses, kajillion dollar jewels or, my favorite part: pick up their goody/swag bags at all the after parties. Those self-congradulating masterbatory assholes can't go pick up their AWARD. Sniff. Sniff.

Happy Hour at Lucy's Table

This is one of Portland's reputed best Happy Hours and it was damn fine. Located in the northwest district, my sister pulled up at 4:45pm and said, "Get out. You need to wait in line." Whhaaaa? A) I don't wait in lines B) Why IS there a line? The Food Snob gods granted my answers when no sooner than the question marked popped above my head did 6 or 7 people come skulking out of the dark alleys where hungry gobs live. When they finally opened their doors at 5, the place was filled within seconds (granted, it's pretty petite). We ordered a glass of house red each ($3.50), I got the oysters with a cucumbery-melon sorbet which I wish were on the side, 'cause I likes me oysters raw & plain, aarrrgghh, and a mesclun salad (doesn't that sound like a cousin of "crack salad"?). My sister ordered a cup of butternut squash soup with truffle oil and we split the Buffalo burger. The total tab ended up being $28. Not bad. Not bad at all.

This is someone's idea of a cute bartender?

I took myself out to the new bar, Bye and Bye, on 10th & Alberta. Rumor had it that this little vegan, bike-loving gin mill boasted bartenders who're easy on the peeps. Now, not like I regularly cruise for Baldwins like a menstruating teen-puppy, but I was curious. So I hit their happy hour (which isn't so happy unless you drink beer exclusively) and had a couple glasses of sangiovese served in those nouveau little tumblers everyone's drinking out of (what the hell went wrong with the STEM, people?) and ogled at...see above.
I don't know what PDX thinks makes up the criteria of "hot bartenders" but burley, patchwork quilt flannel shirts and droopy drawer jeans isn't MY idea of h.b. Isn't there a tall, ironic-mullet sporting fellow in a skinny tie anywhere in this town?

Midgets, Lesbians & cut-off ears

The one above is me doing my best Blue Velvet last Halloween. The one below is the transcendental meditator master himself, David Lynch. I have such an older man crush on him! Last night I went to a Film Festival of his where they played Eraserhead, Inland Empire and Lynch, which is a documentary on him (duh). He is such a clipped gent in his chinos, loafers and crisp white oxford shirts. But he's just like his films where behind the facade of fancy houses and tree lined neighborhoods lurks something off, perhaps sinister, but defintiely crooked. Because you see him working and smoking and you'll notice the elbows of said white shirts have an ever-so-slight rip right at the elbow. He is one of our cinematic geniuses, for certain (and I hate it how the word genius is bantered about so liberally). He's irreverant and funny, at one point dipping a sand-colored jacket right into a bucket of bright green paint. It is never explained why. Siggghhh. School girl crush.