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FIRST of 2008
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There are a lot of things I want to write about in this, the first of 2008. It has a nice ring to it doesn’t it? 2008. Last year, and I can finally call it that, was eventful. Let’s recap; changed agents, did my first play since Jack was born, shot a commercial, and oh yeah, Wes and I separated. It’s weird but I always spell that word wrong. Seperated instead of separated. I spell it more like it’s a serpent. But I digress. Had quite a bad couple of weeks in December. I won’t go into the gory details, but let’s just say I got on the crazy train for about a week and just couldn’t get off. Change of scenery helped. Got through the holidays, just barely. And now here I am, on the other side. There is an upside to all this upset and change. It puts things in perspective. It comes in waves though. The sadness. I guess that’s part of the grieving process. And then there are so many opinions and so much advice. I know people are just concerned but it can be overwhelming. FYI, it’s a big deal getting married and having a child with someone. It’s not as simple as breaking up with a guy, splitting up the stuff, and figuring out who keeps the dog. That was my last break up. And he had the decency to move to another city so I didn’t have to run into him. It was still sad but this, this is the real deal. Like in the movies. Like adults. Kramer vs Kramer.
But that’s the seventies model. Now it’s co-parenting, mediation, communication. It still sucks, but the gender roles are less restrictive. But for me, right now, the name of the game is boundaries. Need them. Sometimes not so good at them. Really need them. So my heart can somehow get put back together. Not to sound melodramatic, but I really can get messy with my heart. It’s good for acting, not so good for day to day living. No, I am going to restate that. I can take my broken hearted feelings and make huge made up stories and dramas that actually make it all so much worse. It’s a gift I have. I make shit up. That’s why I need to stay here right now. Okay. Here I am. I’m right here. Hello.
I’m in Los Angeles right now. My hometown, where the only things that last are liquor stores and Taco Bells. I might have already used that line in a blog. If I have. I apologize. It’s just so true. For instance, on Pico Blvd near Beverly Glen is where my old dance studio Stanley Holden Dance Center used to be and I spent countless hours there after school, which, by the way was nearby. Le Lycee Francais de Los Angeles. Now it’s a drycleaners but across the street Rancho Liquor is still there in all it’s adobe style seventies glory. I used to go there for Tiger’s Milk bars and bubble gum while I did my homework and waited for my ballet class to start. Conroys flowers used to be next door. They were a chain in L.A. in the 70's. The Conroy’s daughter was a couple years older and went to ballet too. She was always very tan and thin. I imagine she laid out by her pool all day. But she took ballet. I remember staring at her in the dressing room because she had no tan lines and she caught me and said “I sunbathe topless, so what?”. It’s strange the random details that stay inside my head.
The other dance studio I went to was Al Gilbert’s on La Cienega. It closed in the early nineties. The hot dog stand that was shaped like a hot dog used to be on the corner. But they moved it to San Vincente. We used to go to Rexall drugstore on Beverly for watermelon “Now and Later’s”. The Taco Bell is still there. I remember eating lunch there with a couple of girls. One of the girls had stopped dancing and wore tight Ditto jeans and had stringy brown hair and looked like she was smoking too much pot. Very late seventies. I’ve somehow always connected Taco Bell with that girl. And I can’t even remember her name. I went to yoga yesterday. Steve Ross. He plays music and is an incurable flirt. All the beautiful people used to go to his class. I overheard a meticulous blonde talk about her medicine man. Then she said she couldn’t wait for next week when the kids were back in school. Then she can take yoga and get her nails done. I was simultaneously judging and jealous of her. I only went because the ballet class I usually go to was closed. Stefan Wenta. He is amazing. I’ve taken from him for years. Polish and dramatic and hilarious. He says things like “breast plates” for your chest etc.. He’s also the best ballet teacher I’ve ever had.
I used to take yoga from Bryan Kest. He started the whole Power Yoga thing. Basically kill yourself yoga, which really defeats the purpose. Even he mellowed out after a while. I liked his class a lot but it takes a lot of time. A half day. And his classes were always packed. He used to go out with Lisa Bonet. I remember taking a yoga class with them. They were one of those “I’m prettier than you, no I’m prettier than you” couples. They literally made out between poses. Then I used to wait on them when I worked at Sushiko.
I also worked at place called WhyCook? And really. Why?. When you can call us and we’ll pick up your food from one of those fancy Los Angeles restaurants and deliver it to your door. It was an easy job, sometimes. And I didn’t have to waitress. There was a writer in West Hollywood who ordered from them every day, two times a day. Lunch and dinner. “The Perfect 10" guy ordered a lot. You know the magazine where all the models have to have real boobs. He was a great tipper. He lived in one of those gated estates at the top of Benedict Canon. His house was modern and huge and well, ugly. Imagine a black leather couch from the 80's and then make into a mansion. Sometimes he answered the door and he drove one of those motorized wheelchair thingeys or was it a golf cart. I don’t think he was paralysed, I think it’s just his house was so big it made getting around easier. Sometimes girls would answer, but they always tipped great. I was really excited to deliver to Bob Evans and his famous estate with the windy driveway.. It was smaller than I imagined and it was just his assistant, not him. There were pictures of him with famous people everywhere and the place smelled like cigarettes. It was magical. Once I delivered to this famous music producer, whose name I can’t remember. Anyway he was notoriously mean and not a great tipper. I walked in the back entrance and sitting at a table in the kitchen was Rod Stewart. He started singing. Like he wanted to make sure I knew who he was. Like he needed to impress me. It totally cracked me up. I loved that he needed to perform for me. There to deliver his friend’s food.
