I have come to the conclusion that being an actor is the same as being a masochist.

As I sit here punching myself in the face repeatedly by watching the academy awards; thinking “God! I’ll never be there will I”? And that sinking feeling in my stomach begins to seep in as the fucking Social Network continues to collect awards…

I want to cry.

Not because I thought the Social Network was shit and unworthy of being a best film nominee but because I can’t seem to accept reality. I can’t seem to accept the fact that I may not be “discovered” as I always thought I would be.

So I have to ask myself: why do I continue to dream only to fall short? Why do I continue to stab myself in the face? I must like it right? The rejection, the criticism, and the toll it takes on my self esteem and self assurance.  No, I wasn’t talking about the hosts of the 83^rd Academy Awards boring me to near suicide (which they completely are. I much rather would have wanted to see Ellen DeGeneres or Billy Crystal host).

The actors’ universe is filled with shit. It’s a curse. If I had only wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer, I would have been on my way to success. But because I can’t think of one single thing I want to do more I have a death sentence to struggle itself.  I mean, where the fuck is Quentin Tarantino? Because I have been waiting for him since I was 7!

What the fuck am I going to do?

How the fuck does Carrie Bradshaw come up with such good columns? And I don't even know where to begin. Or even how to interest you.

Interpol is playing in the back round and I am simultaneously texting my first love, as well as vomiting words for this blog. What a combination right? And my opening line to him..." The time has come the Walrus said..."

Epic or what? You are probably thinking NOT! For those of you who don't know (and that is the world) my first love looks a lot like Rob Dyrdek...only uglier.

 for his safety we will call him King, in honor of Flogging Molly's front man Dave King.
Why I still talk to this boy? Because I still consider him my one of my best friends.
I believe he is my cosmic soulamte.

Like Jim Morrison and Pamela Courson

Do these things really need Titles?

   As I was in the shower I ran through all the things that I wanted to talk about (in fact, this first line is premeditated). I sat on the shower floor as I always do because for some reason I hate standing up, and I thought to myself "what is it about living or trying to relive my past that makes me so happy?" (for future reference please exclude in poor use of grammar, spelling, or punctuation marks. I'm community college worthy, what can I say? JK) Anyways... So I thought this to myself and could not understand why the shock of High School being over had not yet past yet. I am like culture shocked, No... I am time shocked. I can't seem to grasp it. I'm not 17 anymore. Instead I am this 21 year old, depressed, cynical, unmotivated woman. Ugh! The word woman scares me. And to top it all off, I can't even use punctuations properly for fucks sake!

   To continue on with my theory of being "Time Shocked", I'm afraid it's going to last me the rest of my life. How does the rest of the world not dwell on the loss of their childhood? I guess they are the people who are doing so much more with their lives. As opposed to me: I mean when I was 17 I could not wait to get out of High School. I thought big things were going to happen for me the moment my big toe stepped into the cemented cracks of the real world. In fact I was certain. I was certain Quentin Tarantino and I would casually pass each other by on Ventura Blvd. some time, where he would instantly stop me and say "You are stunning, Please be in my new movie". Four years later and I still expect that to happen.So Quentin, if you are reading this I will be on Ventura tomorrow at 3 o'clock.

   You can imagine my feelings when on my 18th birthday this still hadn't happened. I mean I was supposed to be like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face for christ sake!
Do you remember Live Journal? Last night I torchered myself by reading 100 old posts from 2005, written by a girl I was obsessed with during my "bi-sexual" era. What is wrong with me? Here I am at midnight; reading and reliving through 100 of these stupid posts that have "fucking this and that" in every other line. (Unfortunately the school systems seem to be failing our children). Not only and I obsessed with time but I am also obsessed with living or seeing other peoples experiences. The same reason we all tune into Jersey Shore or if you are above the MTV generation: The Tudors. Right? We love to witness what these people are going through. So different from what we live. It's the same reason we love going through other peoples photos on facebook. I am guilty of it. I look at friends college picture, realizing what I have missed out on by not going to a 4 year college. Or friends High School pics while I think "God, I would have liked to be one of those Laguna Beach type girls". Either way, It's all meant to depress us, so fuck the Social Network.
Since this is my first post, I've decided to end it as such until I can think of ways to actually make it appealing to readers.

So...

So, I've never blogged before. I'm not even sure how all this is supposed to work. I mean, who in the he'll is going to read this anyways? How do you even begin to get people to read you're blog? Well... It's rainig. I guess I can say that. It's raining and I'm laying in the dark typing (bloggig) from my iPhone. I feel like a complete douche. After reading the blogs from a nymphomania and being completey entertained I thought I'd give it a whirl. As you can tell, I am completely and utterly boring. Not to mention I can't spell for shit.
Sitting in my mothers house listining to the rain fall on the roof. It's the thick rain tht you can her plopping about the place. It's 11:22 and I can't sleep. Brobably becauseni tend to sometimes take 2-3 hour naps. I'm thinking in the dark and yet, I have nothig to think of. Does that ever happen to you (you probably meaning me, who else am I talking to? Who else could be listening)? Nothing comes to my mind, just rain drops and rain drops. It's a beautiful sound.


This is a failure.