I had an interview at a catering company this afternoon, 20+ miles away (which in LA can take you either 25 or 125 minutes. Woohoo) and I had a weird feeling about it. Well, they hired me. I'll be penguin-suited up/Party Down-wardrobed for both the DGA Awards this Saturday and the Oscars at the end of February. Before I get all kinds of "oh-em-gee celeb sightings!" comments, let me preface by saying that I'll probably just be refilling wine glasses for some random ass producers or something (not knocking producers, but, you know...its not NP and her French Baby Daddy-furthermore referred to as such-FBD). Also, I'd really rather hug a toilet for six hours than have to pour Javier Bardem and Penny Cruz their mojitos all night. Well, not really, but I'd feel silly. Aaaaaanyway, I got the job, so good. I have at least $100 coming in the next 28 days. Fucking magnificent. I leave the interview and see a tow truck backing up...towards my little engine that could. Dodging oncoming traffic, I ran across the street screaming, "That's my car!!!" and the tow truck operator drove away, car unattached. Leaving me with but a $48 citation. Exactly how much money my short stint catering gig on Saturday will yield me after taxes. How deliciously ironic. Kill me. To quote, well, myself, from earlier, in a phone conversation to my mother, "I'm either really lucky I didn't get towed, or incredibly stupid for parking in a space that expired within a half hour from the beginning of my interview." Her response, "You're stupid, but at least you're lucky". Thanks.
So, to celebrate, I took my seventh trip to Ikea.
Actually, I went to an Open Mic night tonight in Hollywood. It's really just a place where you pay a guy $5 and you get to sit and watch other comics work on their new material and you can do the same. It's basically heaven for a newb like me. I worked out some new jokes, figured out what material to cut from the show tomorrow night (again, LA-ers...come represent!) and had a jolly good time being one of the two vaginas in the room. Female comics are scarce. Attractive female comics, toot toot goes my horn...sorry, just being honest...I'll reword: Not unattractive/overweight/gruesome female comics are basically an endangered species. It's the only time I feel like I might have an advantage. My jokes didn't kill or anything, but I shook Marlon Wayans' hand on the way in and introduced myself. And then had a slice of pizza (who am I kidding, I enviously watched another devour a slice of–gross looking, LA pizza–while I swallowed the pollution) with the progeny of Andrew Dice Clay. If nothing else it was an evening where opportunity seemed but a handshake away. I'm not saying these guys could do something for me (they couldn't, really), but I genuinely feel closer to, and more devoted to my goals here than ever before. That's huge.
Oh and then I watched The King's Speech. As part of my SAG Awards voting duties I have access to screeners. I must say...it was good. It was shot beautifully and the performances were undeniably top shelf. Best movie out there? No. Good enough to warrant a strong recommendation? Certainly.
Another night going to sleep as my NY friends wake.