I have this thing about going to parties where I don’t know everyone there. I’m pretty sure that by the end of the party one of the strangers thinks I’m an asshole. I tend to get pretty loud and excited when I’m with a group of friends because I’m a hyper-active thirteen-year old boy like that, and I end up looking like a total tool. Tonight I think I made at least three strangers want to stab me in the eye because I kept shouting out possible fish names in my horrible, horrible Adam Sandler impersonation.

My eye, for those of you concerned, is doing much better today. I think the chamomile tea bags helped. Thanks to the sixty of you who played Mom for me and sent me so much advice. You ranged from “Idiot! Get thee to a hospital, for you are about to go blind!” to “Just keep your eyelid clean, kid.” I look much more human today and was totally happy to run around, drive my car, annoy a group of party people and goof around with friends.

Oh, man. Yesterday I was watching the weather forecast and the man was standing in front of a map of the United States, and he pointed at a speck that said “Los Angeles,” and then he pushed his hands towards the circle labelled “Dallas,” and then just kept pushing his hands all the way to the opposite end of the country where it said, Atlanta and I got so bummed out. Atlanta. So very far away.

I still sometimes catch the Hollywood sign in my rear view mirror and think, “Well, would you look at that.” It’s not that I forget I live in Los Angeles, it’s that I forget that I live in Hollywood. For some reason every third car here has a Texas license plate. There’s something comforting in that, even though I’m sure it’s just people driving stolen cars from Texas to L.A.

It’s very quiet in my house right now. It’s loud outside. When I was away for the wedding last month, I was struck at how incredibly quiet it was at night. I never thought I’d get used to the sounds of whooping girls and speeding cars, but now I don’t even blink when I hear them. Helicopters and sirens and bottles breaking are just the noises of my street. It’s strange how quickly we adapt to our environments.

Oh, man. I can’t believe I just wrote that last sentence. I hate it when I get stupidly introspective and don’t actually say anything that’s even close to being profound. I’m all, “Ice cream sure can be cold if you bite into it.” Great knowledge there, ass.

“I wonder what will happen to me next month.” Probably you’ll still be whining around about how you have too much to do and you haven’t done anything you said you were gonna do. Sloth.

“The weather is different here than in Texas.” You went to college with that brain?

“I don’t have much money these days.” It’s called flying around to Texas and Pittsburgh in between traipses to the beach. Get a job. Like the rest of the world. Grow up.

Now I’m just arguing with myself and insulting myself. That’s even worse. Clearly I shouldn’t be up writing this late.

I’m thirsty.

Man. Lame. I ran out of funny somewhere around that party where people thought I was the most unfunny girl they’ve ever met.

I’m one step closer to taking this town by storm, I tell you! Now I just need headshots, an agent, a manager, a literary agent, and to book maybe a gig or two.

I’m fooling no one.

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