auf wiedersehen, adieu!

Blogger isn't giving me what I need out of a relationship, so I'm moving on.

Come and knock on my door.

current obsession #16

snap, crackle, POP!

NoisePop 2008 kicked off the festivities Tuesday night with a private Happy Hour at the Rickshaw. K. Roach and I used our persuasive/bullshitting skills to bypass the line and quickly discovered the open bar. Ever the professionals, we didn't let a "little" hooch get in the way of our work responsibilities, shooting stylish folk for the 7X7 blog:








K.Roach snaps while I hold her Maker's Manhattan...


everyone's got their go-to pose.


and apparently I get quite enthused when speaking to people.






Tempo No Tempo

Adventures in Babysitting...

>
"Air Hump" by Jack Attack

even my mama thinks that my mind is gone...

My pal Nate, of Vintage415 fame, asked my boss if she would be interested in speaking at Richmond High School about what it's like to work in the magazine industry. Nate's mom is really active in urban school development and Richmond HS has a media academy currently producing their own class publication. MG, the A+E editor, agreed to speak as well, and I was asked to tag along for moral support...and to help carry all the mags we brought. Little did I know Nate would intro me to the class, saying "this is Caitlin, she's a Jack of all Trades" which forced me to try and articulately express what exactly it is I do to a bunch of strangers-and my boss-without using the term "hodgepodge" or "drinking problem."

High school kids are VERY different from when I was roaming the halls, and I only graduated in 2000. Apparently, the new trend is to sport little kiddie backpacks ala Dora the Explorer and SpongeBob, and I was shocked to discover that people really do make out in front of their lockers. I mean, I used to see a peck from time to time, but I honestly don't think I've ever witnessed a full on suckfest.

The best part about bestowing wisdom upon the youth of America is their complete dismissal of most of what you have to say, and their phenomenally blunt questions.

student 1: "why are there no black people in this magazine?"
student 2: "I think I found one..."

student 3: "so how much money did you waste starting your mag?"

student 4: "y'all got to put me in your magazine."
MG: "well if you're at a party, and I see you, I'll know to put you in."
student 4: "what parties you at?"
MG: "you tell me where the party is."
Student 4: "Valentine's Day dance. Friday."

student 5: "so it's just like The Devil wears Prada?"
my boss (chuckling): "just like."
student 5 (looking at me): "for real? you get to go to Paris and everything?"
me: "mm-hmm, first class."
student 5: "you serious?"
me: "no."
student 5 (completely heartbroken): "oh...(looks at my boss) so it's just like 13 Going on 30?"
me: "except she's not a 13 year-old trapped in a 30 year-old's body..."

I didn't really think the three of us speaking would be that big of a deal, but Nate's mom explained to us that hardly anyone takes the time to visit these kids, so we all walked away feeling like we'd done our good deed for the day. When I got to work this morning I found these at my desk with a thank you note from Nate (my boss and MG got one too):



Seeing as the only date I have for tomorrow is a babysitting session with 4 year-old Tristan who insists on watching Cars over and over, and 20 month-old Henry who likes to poke my boobs (which, sadly, has been the most action I've gotten in a while), I've been telling everyone the flower's are from one of my many gentleman callers.

The kicker to all this? Nate's last name is Valentine.

Sawing, with my jaw tooth down.

Dedication is on sale today! Pic up the DVD and see how wickedly awesome my name looks in the end credits.

funny for everyone or just me?

knudsen: OH YEAH>..
knudsen: i might have an acting role for you...
knudsen: i forgot to mention it...
me: i don't do sex scenes

Moi.

Photo Survey I'm compelled to take because I can't find a better use for my morning.

1) Answer the questions below
2) Take each answer and type it into Photobucket
3) Take a picture from the results and post. ((use the HTML code))

1. The age you will be on your next birthday?



2. A place you’d like to travel?



3. A word you overuse?


4. Your favorite object?



5. Your Favorite food?



6. Your favorite animal?


7. Your favorite color?



8. The town in which you were born?




9.The town in which you currently live?





10. The name of a past pet?



11. A favorite celebrity?



12. Your name/nickname/screen name?



13. A favorite song?



14. Your middle name?



15. Your last name?



16. A bad habit of yours?




17. Your first job?

Fordham Ram Van


18. How you feel about life?

I'm suffering from a general:

but this helps:



19. One word to describe you?

Avocado on the Lam!

Whitney and I first met Ryan Scott at the FORD holiday party, then ran into him again at 7X7's Eat + Drink Awards. The (easy on the eyes) Myth Cafe culinary lead-and soon to be Top Chef: Chicago contestant-extended an invitation for a group of us 7X7'ers to stop by the joint for lunch and we gladly said yes, completely clueless on how fab it would be.

Not only were we pulled out of the regular cafe line and seated in a back corner table, but course after course was rushed out to us with such fervor that I felt like a third world orphan at the sight of Sally Struthers and a bag of rice. I couldn't shove the food in my mouth fast enough. I was so elated when it hit my stomach I might as well have been drunk because I was that jovial.


Deviled Eggs w/bacon, Hungarian paprika and chives.


Truffled Housemade Potato Chips w/citrus gremolatta and parmesean reggiano.


Ryan serving us some suppe while Kathryn prays.


Curried Butternut Squash soup with fish sauce.


Quinoa Salad w/hearts of romaine, feta, and creamy moscatel vinaigrette.


Ryan coaching Stef and the rest of the hungry, hungry hippos through a new plate.


Roasted Chicken and Winter Chicory Salad w/Asian pear, pomegranate and goat cheese.


Roasted Brussel Sprouts Salad w/smoked duck breast, parmesean reggiano, pomegranate, and caper red onion vinaigrette.


Petite Mediterranean Tuna Sandwich Plate w/orange, arugula pesto and hummus (top). Sandwich platter including Sid's Roast Beef w/crispy shallots, meyer-lemon horseradish aioli, roma tomato and fontina on toasted baguette, Chili Lemongrass-Roasted Chicken Salad Sandwich w/pepper jack, mango, cilantro, avocado and red onion on acme roll, and Turkey and Avocado w/kumquat an golden raisin chutney, swiss, and mustard on acme roll (bottom).


he even packed us some cookies to take back to the office.The coconut one was the universal mind blower.


food coma accomplished.

I know it's only rock 'n roll but I like it...

Element Skateboards and Vestalife hosted a party at Club Six Wednesday night to launch the Vestalife Ladybug for Macworld. The Silversun Pickups played, skater/artists applied their designs directly to the walls and an open bar ensured everyone had a grand ol' time.










the "rock" version of Mel from Flight of the Conchords...

swag!



VIP baby...








during the Silversun's "Lazy Eye" Stef (who was shooting for the Macworld 2008 blog for7x7sf.com) and I got shoved into the stage by crazy hyper party goers. After biting it, the lead singer asked if we were ok. we were awesome.


by the end of the night I was pulling out my kick-ass dance moves, which are pretty much stolen straight from Anthony Michael Hall in Sixteen Candles.

current obsession #15

Owl 10th jan 08 part3 (last)

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I WANT ONE!!!!!!!!

The Ho-Ho-Horrid Gift Exchange.

nearly dead.











mao plate.

STOLEN!


two radical gifts (I gave the book about growing old).


jazz hands!

sad beer.

my boy george book AND mao plate were stolen and all I got was a lousy yo-yo you can't even fit your pinky thru.


slumpy.

dunzo.

mittwoch.

mg's birfday.

quelle surprise!


who doesn't?

tiny pants




babysitting duties:

little french people mesmerized by Pride & Prejudice


if only I had a baguette to stick under his arm and a beret for his head...

they also tried to eat the playing cards from Chutes and Ladders.

va va voom...

It was quite the honor to be chosen for the 7X7sf.com SF Street Blog...not as fab to be told on a day to day basis beforehand that my ensemble wasn't up to fashionable par, but the morning I learned I was good enough, the sky was a little bluer, the birds' song a little sweeter and I didn't mind so much that I burnt my mouth on my extra hot Americano.

Stefanie and the divine Miss Bella were also selected, and seeing as Stef is my girl crush (as I explained to Kroach, just because you have a girl crush on someone, doesn't mean you want to spoon that person, it's a completely platonic admiration), I thought it only fitting that I should include her as well. Matt, the Web Designer, got a cameo in my shot since he was heartbroken that I was chosen over him. Kudos on the "casual walk," but it kind of looks like I'm about to smack him with my boob.



and of course my mother had to comment:

chicken pot, chicken pot, chicken pot pie!!!!

It was actually turkey, but deerish nonetheless. Lisa hosted Tim, Phil, Whit and I at her humble abode for a Pot Pie Potluck. It was part Dr. Phil (me lamenting about my woes-I even got verklempt at one point but we'll blame the 3 glasses of wine), part giggle fest and part Jackass (when someone drinks too much Jameson and passes out on the couch in the middle of dinner, it is the rest of the guests DUTY to fuck with him).


lisa, whit and moi.

wine and philly cheese.

man down.

inapprope.






wakey wakey...

sadly resolution #1 was broken after the temptation of sancerre and a gorgeous syrah proved too tempting, but if I can get through the rest of the month sans the hooch then I'll still have accomplished something quite miraculous.

current obsession #14

teeny tiny dog licking a lolly. genius. not my dog, but that doesn't make it any less huhlarious.

new year's rezzies.

by creating many, it ensures I will stick to at least one.

1) January will be a dry month. Stop laughing. I'm serious.
2) Learn French. I purchased a "French Phrase-A-Day" calendar on clearance from Barnes and Noble to assist with this goal. I may have to wait until April 28th to say "Je n'arrive jamais à joindre le plomber," but when that day comes, EVERYONE will finally learn that I can never get the plumber on the phone.
3) write my god damn screenplay already.
4) Pry myself away from the DVR to read more. I'm halfway through The Heart is a Lonely Hunter and it's far more entertaining than The Real Housewives of Orange County.
5) Discover who put me on a mass mailing list as Caitlin Donovan-Sexpot and send them a thank you letter.
6) Make a conscious effort to save money from each paycheck...after I'm monetarily raped by the dentist for extracting my wisdom teeth Feb 1 of course.
7) Actually get to New York instead of blue balling all my friends not once, not twice, but three times.
8) Learn how to cook. Not just "reheat."

Voila!

Addendum: I also intend on de-"cracking" myself from my crackberry.

fa ra ra ra ra

Mom and I spent Christmas in Hood River, Oregon at her sister's place. After a white knuckle tight drive from Camas, WA through torrential rains, a shittily paved interstate highway and both of us cursing the high heavens, the maternal unit and I arrived in one piece, and decided vino would get us back into the holiday spirit. Quite rightly. At least it turned to snow, because there's nothing lovelier than a white Christmas.



pretty sweet volvo, eh?


my twin step-cousins in the midst of the snowball fight I initiated and then immediately ducked out of cause I was in a party dress.


bursting w/enthusiasm at the millionth pic my mom had to take on Christmas morn. Yes, I am in pink reindeer pajamas. No, it is neither a onesie, nor does it have feet attached.

Fun things to say to your mom while celebrating the birth of Jesus:

When my cousin Christina (redhead on the left in pic above) announced she was preggers by presenting my aunt (brunette on right in pic above) with a sonogram nested in a pillow of yarn and knitting needles so she can "prepare" for the impending arrival, I casually turned to my own mother and announced "I'm not pregnant." She smirked and replied: "Thank god."

Back home in Camas, most of my days were spent idling around the house thanks to a constant, nasty rain and nobody in town. I had nothing but my digital camera and my imagination. Or lack thereof.


hail storm. I know, but it was the most excitement I'd seen in days.

I decided to entertain myself with the food network (particularly Throwdown with Bobby Flay and Ace of Cakes) even though I do not cook and only just bought a $5 dollar pot from Walgreens because nuking soup was becoming a touch messy for my taste. I also had the pleasure of watching my mom's two cats do wild and crazy things, leading me to believe they could be mildly retarded.

I discovered Mai Tai likes to spoon my slippers:


and claw my new cashmere sweater. note the artificial tree which my mother is contemplating carrying up to the attic as is to cut down on decorating time next year.


Oprah has an oral fixation and enjoys staring at walls.


After the thrill of animal behavior wore off (the red right eye is thanks to cat hair):

I got back to my drinking. Which I did quite well. I spent NYE on the couch with my mother watching a horrifically depressing Dick Clark attempt to work his way through the teleprompter, and when mummy realized we polished off a Cabernet Sauvignon (which she brilliantly paired with her roasted lamb, golden potatoes and gorgeous artichokes w/lemon butter) and two bottles of Veuve Clicquot that we splurged on for the big night, she presented me with a bizarre warning:

Mom: "We drank all that?"

Moi: "Yes."

Mom: "Jeez. You know you can't keep drinking when you're pregnant."

Moi: "Uh. Yes, I do. And seeing as I'm not with child I think I'm alright."

Moms are funny when intoxicated.

pahty, pahty, pahty!

You know you've got mad skillz when you can slap a company Christmas party together in two days. After our publisher decided his busy schedule couldn't afford him the time to set everything up, Whit and I took over, finding a venue (Ambassador), liquor sponsors (thank you Rico) and even came up with a phenomenally jolly theme for the decorations (um hello, projecting A Christmas Story on the screen overhead? truly fab). Needless to say we're sore from the heavy lifting, exhausted from the bizarrely long week, and in all honesty, still a touch hungover, but I think the end result was brazilliant and we might have an event planning future ahead of us.


tea lights for some ambiance...

we wrapped all the tables to look like Christmas presents.



debauchery in the photo booth upstairs.

current obsession #13:

untitled (london) (street). 2003. jakob kolding

strike a pose.

My good man Leonard invited me to the FORD models holiday party Tuesday and I brought my gal Whitney with me to partake in free libations, niblets, and super skinny people everywhere. It was a blast.


beautiful people.


Leonard and my best model pose.


too cool for school.


models, models, everywhere!


Whit and I attempting to work it. I dare say we were rather successful.


God bless the holidays and the forgiveness for consuming copious amounts of booze on a week night. You know it's a great party when you wake up in last night's makeup and have visions of the good life dancing in your head. And by "dancing" I mean pounding to the point where only a Double Double Animal Style and a Coke from In N Out will silence the pain.

current obsession #12:

the smarmy protest signs from the Viacom walk out.

current obsession #11:

current obsession #10:

Square America
Vintage Snapshots

current obsession #9:

current obsession #8:

"I'm not interested in money, I just want to be wonderful."
-Marilyn Monroe







Marilyn Monroe: The Complete Last Sitting
Bert Stern
1962

current obsession #7:

Opus Jazz

current obsession #6:

A safe but sometimes chilly way of recalling the past is to force open a crammed drawer. If you are searching for anything in particular you don't find it, but something falls out at the back that is often more interesting.

J. M. Barrie
"Dedication"
Peter Pan
1904

R.I.P.

Evil Knievel 1938-2007.

current obsession #5:

My pal N8 dropped my digi cam into his full pint of beer a couple weeks ago. Even though I'm pretty sure it's on the slow crawl towards death, the delayed shutter opening is giving me a great vintage feel to my snapshots.

My boss and her dad at a Sinatra themed party:

current obsession #4:

Movember.

current obsession #3:

"If you think missing me is hard, you should try missing you."

-anonymous quote. already sent it to carines...

current obsession #2:

Helmet Newton, "Self Portrait with Wife June and Models (1981)"

current obsession:

My Lover the Sea

I am that child with the round, dirty face
who on every corner bothers you with his
"can you spare a quarter?"
I am that child with the dirty face
no doubt unwanted
that from far away contemplates coaches
where other children
emit laughter and jump up and down considerably

I am that unlikeable child
definitely unwanted
with the round dirty face
who before the giant street lights or
under the grandames also illuminated
or in front of the little girls that seem to levitate
projects the insult of his dirty face

I am that angry and lonely child of always,
that throws you the insult of that angry child of always
and warns you:
if hypocritically you pat me on the head
I would take that opportunity to steal your wallet.

I am that child of always
before the panorama of imminent terror,
imminent leprosy, imminent fleas,
of offenses and the imminent crime.

I am that repulsive child that improvises a bed
out of an old cardboard box and waits,
certain that you will accompany me.

- Reinaldo Arenas (1943-1990)

Friendo.

No Country For Old Men is one of the creepiest films I've seen in a looooong time, but so god damn good. There's nothing like the saucy Javier Bardem, this time reincarnated as a cattle gun wielding psycho killer with a Prince Valiant hairdo to send a shiver down your spine. Partner that with some brilliant Tommy Lee Jones monologues and you've got yourself a mighty good picture.

Excuse me, are you saying meow?

"The world is getting more and more scruffier, innit?"

7:17pm. On a Saturday. San Francisco.

I'm coming out of Peet's Coffee on Polk, it's raining and I'm looking down to see where I'm walking since I'm in flip flops and have a history of biting it (still doesn't stop me from wearing flip flops in the rain though...). Out of the corner of my eye I see a drunk dude pissing on the cage that covers The Bagelry when it's closed and he turns to zip up just as I'm about to pass him.

drunk dude: "Oh shit. Hey baby! (pause) You like that?"

Really, dude? You're that drunk this early on a Saturday that you need to relieve yourself in public? Cause I'm pretty sure the taco joint next door has a bathroom, and they're open til 9pm.

The humans are dead.

When you're delirious from trying to track down art for 49 different subjects, suddenly a couple of mailing tubes and a mutual appreciation for FOTC (which you share with your co-worker) become the main ingredients for a little thursday am silliness.

becase.

Beware of yellow snow...

I had the pleasure of working the SPIN booth at this year's ICER AIR this past weekend. The urban big air ski and snowboard competition trucks in a bunch of snow every year to create a massive ski jump in the middle of San Francisco's ATT Park. Then, the hottest skiers and snowboarders are brought in to compete against each other while the masses drink stadium beer and reek havoc on the outfield. Thank God it's the off season. Music acts entertain between jumps which is awesome (this year Talib Kweli and Mos Def were the headliners), unless you're a heinous cover band and play Lit's "My Own Worst Enemy" twice in one set. Not cool dudes, not cool.

Downsides:
-It was a bazillion degrees outside (wtf? It's SF AND November!?!?!?!) and our booth was smack dab in the middle of Sun central. Seeing as my people come from a land of overcast skies and cable knit sweaters, I was none too pleased to basque in the glow of the center of our Solar System for a full three hours. Especially since I neglected to apply sunscreen.
-I was exhausted from a long work week and too many Halloween parties, and I just couldn't fathom waiting the 5 hrs between the end of my shift, and Mos Def taking the stage. We had a moment at a dive bar in NY once, let's leave it at that. And no, the "moment" did not involve a restraining order.

Upsides:
-NACHOS!!!!! And I'm kind of an expert when it comes to this particular south of the border delicacy, so you really have to impress me to evoke this kind of enthusiasm. The Nachos Bell Grande from the 2nd floor Promenade were a beautiful blend of cheese, jalapeños, and salsa. I not only wolfed them down with full force, but threw my empty dish high in the air in a complete fit of joy once I was done (read: I so feverishly tried to scrape the last of the nacho cheese out, that I toppled the remaining chips and some salsa onto myself).

Ole!

I'll show you burst pipes...

A notice went up in the lobby of my apartment building the other day stating between 9am and 4pm on Wed. 10/24 tenants won't be able to use the water, and a plumber is coming in to inspect all the units. Apparently, there's a leaky culprit and it's messing with the boiler in the basement. As luck would have it, the apartment above me is the prime suspect and while I was originally told they'd have to knock out the wall behind my sink to check the pipes, I was under the impression that all would be restored to normal by the time I got home. Au contraire. Upon returning to said apartment after work, I was greeted with this lovely sight:



The white wall behind the pipe in the top left corner is my neighbor's kitchen, and if you crouch down you can see straight into her place. Following a borderline sleepless night where I kept imagining rats and/or cockroaches ascending from the depths of the walls to infiltrate my flat and claim their territory, I called the plumber first thing this morning only to learn that my landlord has hired his own contractors to patch everything up. When? No appointment has been scheduled yet.

Ahoy, Matey!

Jessica Simpson aside, John Mayer does have some charming qualities. The video below for one, and I rather enjoy his column "Music Lessons with John Mayer" which appears monthly in Equire.


VH1.com Blog

If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular?

A friend of one of my co-workers had the pleasure of tailgating the Packers game with Justin Timberlake, Jessica Biel and James Van Der Beek. The true gem is JT shotgunning the Miller Lite in the last pic.





mmmmm. Cheeseheads.

Zola is too cool for school.

M's niece Zola on stage in Sweden I think. She's Dweezil's babycakes and is beyond cuteness.

"Sandwich avec...how do you say grilled cheese?"

The best part of Wes Anderson's short film, Hotel Chevalier (prologue to the Darjeeling Limited):

"Where do you go to (my lovely)" by Peter Sarstedt.

oh andy/akiva/jorma.

I was kissin' Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream.

You know you're having a BAD day when:

-It's 7:30am and you're running late because one of the hounds you're dog sitting won't shit, and you can't keep strolling Cow Hollow in the cold "almost rain" in your flip flops any longer, especially after you slipped-but caught yourself-at the crosswalk.
-You get lost on the way to pick up your free microwave courtesy of L (she had an extra one after moving into new digs) due to the fact that one of the streets Google Maps instructed you to turn on is now sealed off.
-You finally get to the coffee shop, run in and out, only to discover that in your caffeine deprived haze you parked on the wrong side of the street for a whopping 4 min and now have a parking ticket thanks to street cleaning.
-You get back to the boss' apt to tidy up before she returns later today and learn you have locked yourself out. Fortunately, you have a spare in your own apt but it doesn't make it any less annoying to drive across town to get it.

You know you're having a GOOD day when:

-doughnuts mysteriously appear on the third floor and there's one glazed left.
-the weather shifts and it's now going to be sunny with a high of 72.
-the trailer for Grace is Gone is posted and you get super excited because two of your besties not only worked on the film, but one is the Associate Producer.
-you are now 1 degree of separation away from John Cusack.
-you have what will surely be a kick ass story (about B having a conference stalker) waiting for you when she gets home tonight.
-you've decided to make a conscious effort to start incorporating "By the hammer of Thor!" into your vernacular.

Have you seen my baseball?

My pal Jorge in Nueva York gave me two tix to Barry Bonds final SF game last night after he was forced to cancel his trip to Cali, but on two conditions:

1)I had to boo him.
2)If I got my hands on one of his balls (get your mind out of the gutter), I would have to split the proceeds.

Done.

S and I made a beeline for the beer stand the minute we entered the gates (naturally), then headed down to section 140 of the bleachers where we discovered we not only had a fantastic view of left field, but were surrounded by folks quite fond of the chant:

"What's the matter with Barry? HE'S A BUM!!!"

Three beers in, I was shouting "You Suck!" like a true champ, but to avoid confrontation I left it at that in an effort to make Barry lovers believe I was accosting the Padres. We even befriended some wasted old dudes seated to our left. When S asked if they would take our picture, this is the gem that was produced:


Awesome, can't wait to frame that one.

Barry failed to knock one out of the park during his final time at bat in the 6th, and after the 7th Inning Stretch (it's a tradition) we decided it was time to head home. It's not like they were going to win anyway.

Ouch.

"LaToya Jackson. What does it take to be known as the 'crazy' member of the Jackson family? "

TB: Hey, I just met with a client who has this panty line, they're disposable thongs and I wanted to give one to H.
Me: Eew.
TB: No, they're really cool. They have that chemical in them, what's it called? Starts with an "F." You know, it makes you more attractive to other people?
Me: Pheromones?
TB: YES! So will you make sure she gets it and knows it's from me?
Me: Oh I will.

I have my moments.

3:14pm
Office
Everyone is high on halloween candy and eager for the wkd.

K: S, why aren't you coming to Arcade Fire with us tonight?
S: because my husband has been away for a week, so you know...

Me: It's business time.

hysterical laughter ensues at the zinger I just bestowed upon my co-workers, and a couple of folks even chime in with "it's biznass, it's biznass tiiime."

Brazilliant.

For those of you out of the loop:

A Pirate's Life for Me.

I made my way over the Bay Bridge Sunday to soak up some sun and some alt rock at TIMF, which brought back fond memories of the Siren Music Fest at Coney Island, only with less carnies.

Au Revoir Simone was oh so lovely.

photo by Stefanie Michejda

Two Gallants were mayjahly exuberant.


photos by Stefanie Michejda

M. Ward was subtle and sweet while Clap Your Hands Say Yeah went buckwild.

And Spoon made me swoon, or should I say Britt Daniel did, especially when-after a feverish guitar riff-he realized one of his shirt buttons had come undone and flashed the audience a cheeky grin as he remedied the sitch.

Meow.



photos by Stefanie Michejda

Unfortunately, me mates and I had to skip out before Modest Mouse took the stage, since we'd pretty much been standing for 8 hours and our soon to be peglegs were about to give out. Even though it saddened me tremendously to leave Johnny Marr behind, sometimes you have to quit while you're aaaarhead.

brill.

Seth Green Chris Crocker Outtakes

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Fact: Bill Murray is a God.

Tom Skerritt

The office obsession that still hasn't died. Thanks to Kelly we're all walking around calling each other "Betch" and "Deck."

hooray hooray, I'm your silver lining.

Rilo Kiley at the Warfield equals an hour and a half of deliciousness. The only downside was the granola dude who looked like Jesus and sat next to L and I. He felt it completely appropriate to take his shoes off and rest his dirty dogs on the railing in front of him. It wasn't very Holy.

Sidenote: M decided to photoshop a zombie head into the image when I asked him to resize it for me, so there's a nugget of added enjoyment for you.

It's Britney, bitch.

I'm not sure which is scarier, this

OR

this:

I'm not old, just clumsy.

Based on my Walgreens purchase this evening consisting of an ACE bandage and an ice pack, thanks to what I can only guess is a sprained wrist, the lovely drug store computer system thought it was appropriate to spit out a coupon which best profiled me as a consumer. God only knows what I managed to do to myself (this time), and as much as I'd like to admit that denial followed by a House marathon leads to a legitimate medical diagnosis, it does not. Even if you do find yourself oddly attracted to Hugh Laurie as the Vicodin popping, insult spewing, physician incarnation of Sherlock Holmes.

I'm glad to report I'm now eligible for an AARP membership.

I never thought this day would come. Or at least not for a few more years...

I miss Invite Them Up at Rififi for the following reasons:

Demetri Martin



Eugene Mirman


Bobby Tisdale

YAYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

Hawt 20

Photo shoots are notoriously dull. It takes forever to set up and can last for what seems like a lifetime. However, when you get nightlife entrepreneurs with Irish accents, dashing looks and a kick ass dog named Beau, the afternoon seems to move a little quicker. If only K and I had stuck around long enough to consume the adult beverages serving double duty as props.

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be clever.

film crush #122: James McAvoy


(at the Venice Film Festival with Keira Knightley)

He's cheeky, he's British and he steals the scenes in all his films whether he's playing Paul Bettany's horny younger bro in Wimbeldon or a fictional Doctor in The Last King of Scotland. A role that proved despite being a slight 5'7", size clearly doesn't matter when you're this good. I'm quite excited for Penelope.

Keep on Truckin' JM...

b-a-n-a-n-a-s...

I saw a brief mention in the news right after it happened, but New York Magazine recently featured this article exploring the suicides of artists Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake. The couple blamed their erratic behavior and her career roadblocks on the Church of Scientology.

Stay away from those free stress tests and informational movie screenings...

It's cool, I just have something in both my eyes.

le swoon.

don't fret my pet.

When life's a little lackluster, work demands you coordinate 20 photo shoots in a little over a week, and you discover that as delightful as Peter Krause is, even he couldn't save Sports Night, just breathe. Jemaine and Bret were put on this Earth to show you the light.

so baby come to me. baby, show me who you are...

Manders played a show at the Fillmore last night and since MK would dodge traffic to score tix (sadly, she still can't dodge a ball...), I got a hold of a girl I know and got us in. The minute we arrived I was handed proof that it's a small GD world because I ran smack into one of the marketing girls I worked under when I interned at JANE in college. She's serving as MM's tour manager now and I was immediately propelled into the NY nostalgia I had so successfully shaken.

The show was really great. She's got a new sound, an underestimated voice, and looked like she was having a blast. The highlight was mos def the cover of Rihanna's Umbrella and a silky smooth rendition of her saccharin sweet first single Candy, which sent the crowd into an overdose. Naturally MK and I managed to remember all the words which we belted out like secret shames were the new declarations of cool. I had also just consumed three Sierra Nevadas in about 20 minutes so I was feeling pretty frisky. It probably explains how I didn't realize I was on the incorrect camera function when snapping the pic below. Tho I dare say it came out pretty cool.

I've been told I have brass ones...

Ah, nothing like chain mail from a co-worker on a Friday when Beer O'Clock is close but no cigar:

"We've all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed:

GUTS - is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being met by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to ask, "Are you still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere"?

BALLS - is coming home late after a night out with the guys, smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the butt and having the balls to say, "You're next."

I hope this clears up any confusion. Medically speaking, there is no difference in the outcome, since both ultimately result in death."

The Talkies aren't gonna know what hit 'em!

I'm pretty sure you won't find a better movie combo than misogyny, grups, kiddie books about beavers, a Deerhoof score and Martin Freeman.

Dedication

She not only kept her lovely figure, she's added so much to it.

I think I've just found some sweet new dance moves for my collection.

You're so beautiful, you could be an air hostess in the '60's.

Fandango's sister, Esmerelda, jaunted from JFK to Dublin a few weeks ago, courtesy of Aer Lingus, and made what she believes to be an exceptionally astute observation: that I bare a striking resemblance to not one, not two, but ALL of the aircraft's stewardesses. We're talking she entered double-take territory, and remained there for most of the flight.

As the daughter of an International sexy stew, I find this monstrously offensive. And by offensive I mean a total ego booster. Of course, when Fandango tried to pop my daydream bubble by telling me Esmerelda meant wavy haired, freckled skin, and rosy cheeks that were either from too much rouge or (more likely) too much booze, I wouldn't hear it...



Speaking of flights, the Conchords have taken off, be sure to catch them. They've got accents. They make me chuckle. In a seductive air hostess kind of way, and by seductive air hostess I mean I probably snorted when I laughed, just like I did when I saw this:

Your first mistake Danny, was saving my life.

In the immortal words of CA: "i know he's only 19 buuuutt can i have him?" We'll all be members of the Michael Cera fan club soon enough.



Clark and Michael



Superbad

how very dare you!

Kelly: I'm under Evelyn Waugh.Charlotte: Evelyn Waugh was a man.

Did you know Evelyn Waugh's first wife, the woman who broke his heart via a Dear John letter, was also named Evelyn? Their friends referred to them as He-Evelyn and She-Evelyn.

What are the odds?

Wanna scare the crap out of your co-workers?

Just have a phone conversation with your mother. It's simple, all you have to do is follow these easy steps:

1)sit at your desk.
2)be happy because the day is almost over.
3)have her call you in a panic because she's at the airport trying to check-in, but her standby flight listing isn't in the computer and she's freaking out now because you're the one who made it (since she's incapable of getting online at home thanks to a coffee related keyboard incident) and this woman has never remained calm in her life.
4)raise your vocal level from a 2 to a 10 on account of the maternal unit not being able to understand that you both can't talk at once, and she more than likely isn't holding the right part of the phone to her ear.
5)school her like a child on how she needs to write the new confirmation number down thanks to you rapidly re-listing her on the spot.
6)look around the office in awe as all employees stop in their tracks to bug their eyes and drop their jaws, thinking you're actually speaking to your boss with that mouth.

No worries kids, it's just the woman who birthed me.

Potty Mouth

My Debut.

I jacked the pic from the boys' site, my bad Josh Heller...

"Hey baby, wanna go halfsies on a bastard child?"

Pickupedia

I don't know what they taught you in France, but rude and interesting are not the same things.

I have a tendency to become minorly obsessed with certain things. Ricky Gervais, A's son Ollie, fart noises, Get Fuzzy. I also can become insanely infatuated with certain culinary niblets such as the Pescado Taco "Nick's Way" from Nick's Crispy Tacos, the chicken soup with small rice noodle and a buttload of hot sauce from King of Thai, and of course, the fruit, yogurt and granola bowl paired with a large nonfat latte from Boulange de Polk. Sometimes I even dream about it, waking up to a ravenous stomach craving my French brekkie, and I've been known to cuss up a storm (internally of course, I have to maintain my "sort of" lady reputation) should something go awry and I am denied my delicious treat (they're out of yogurt, I'm running late, etc.). You're probably wondering, just what makes this item so scrumtrelescent? I'll tell you. Hearty granola piled high with freshly sliced melon, grapes, pineapple, strawberries and blueberries, topped with thick, rich, succulent (and no doubt full-fat) yogurt, finished off with a drizzle of honey that propels it into unbearably sublime territory.

This morning I had the itch, except I took it a step further by going to bed desiring it. Fortunately, I had plenty of time to get to work, it's a Friday and I knew their yogurt delivery was in stock (it comes on Tuesday, and yes, I realize that makes me a little bit sick), and I could sense it was going to be a good day. Oh how wrong I was.

It all started when they forgot to put my order in. My coffee was announced, but somehow my granola bowl slipped through the cracks. Not a problem, they were quite busy and I didn't mind waiting the extra two minutes it took to prepare it. But they were out of the plastic bowls they usually put it in, no worries. They ended up placing it in one of those take-out cardboardish boxes you might slap a brioche or croque-monsieur in, then placing it in a bag and handing it to me. I was a touch apprehensive, but figured they know what they're doing, and I'm too hungry to argue. I put the bag in my purse thinking everything was going to be alright, thinking I was a 15 minute bus ride away from taste bud heaven, thinking God couldn't be that cruel.

The 3rd floor elevator was locked when I arrived, so I pulled the emergency stop to prevent anyone else from calling the lift while I was still in it (it's an old crickety contraption) and plunged my hand into the depths of my purse to retrieve my keys. I was aghast to find the only thing I had a handful of was fruit juice. The brief and relatively easy journey to work proved too much for the delicious dish, which was wounded and bleeding to death in the bottom of my Jimmy Choo knockoff (yet another reason I'm glad I never pay full price).

My fingers frantically swam to find my keys so I could try and save what was left of my injured grub. I rushed to the kitchen and dumped the entire contents of my purse on the counter. Everything was wet, everything was sticky, everything now hated all things Gallic. After giving my possessions a sponge bath, I salvaged what was left of my morning meal and pulled up some real estate at my desk.

And you know what? That pouting French bitch was still delicious.

No, that's just Willow shaking from alcohol withdrawal.

Some crazy entertaining motherfellas I have the pleasure of calling friends have finally launched their creative production company, Planet of the Grapes, a hodgepodge of tunes, podcasts, public bathroom reviews, and other idiotically brilliant nuggets of imagination. Proceed at your own risk, because listening at work will cause co-workers to see you laughing hysterically at what appears to be nothing because you've got your iPod earbuds in and your hair is covering them, thus giving the appearance of Entourage being the most kick ass computer application this side of the Mississippi. And anyone who works with Entourage knows that is definately not the case.

No! I'm madly in love with you and it's not because of your brains or your personality.

The day has come. The day every little girl dreams of. Rico, the liquor and automotive account manager, has just asked me to be an evening wife. It's like I've won the lottery, only instead of a cash prize I get to be in heavy rotation with about 4-6 other lucky ladies (I just pulled that number out of my butt, there could be hundreds for all I know but I like to remain optimistic) whom he takes to client events so he doesn't have to go it alone. I can't tell you how magnificent this feels. I'm one of the chosen ones. It didn't come easily mind you, there was a vigorous screening process, I was monitored at previous events to see how I conducted myself a)with strangers b)with copious amounts of booze c)with a dance floor. And I passed with flying colors.

What can I say? Rico and I have a groove that doesn't come around often enough. We're simpatico if you will. Our first event was last Wednesday and while I admit I spent most of the time "sittin' pretty," as opposed to learning the mysteries of the world from the master himself (he did have to entertain clients mind you), it was grand.

I'm so glad that sexual harassment incident didn't set us back. He really is a sport.

Oofda, Das ist so suess!

Granted it was 87 degrees this afternoon so I might be going a little whacky thanks to poor ventilation in my office.

everybody's working for the weekend.

Olé

Remember, fans, Tuesday is Die Hard Night. Free admission for anyone who was actually alive the last time the Indians won the pennant.

When a Staten Islander and a Mainer by way of Nicaragua visit, livers get sent on a tailspin into the trenches of inebriation.

Friday:
Bigfoot Lounge
Beer.
Fencing jokes.
More beer.
Faux fights about whose native country is superior.
Last call for beer.
Late night texting about whose country is going down.

Saturday:
A lovely little joint called "Would You Believe? Cocktails!" So quaint, it's only customers are word of mouth, and possibly half an asian mafia.
Beer.
Pool and 90's hip hop.
More Beer.
Bodega.
Jesus candle.
Drunk enthused Russian who wants to spoon D.
G's apt.
A buttload more beer.
Peace talks initiate.
Snog.
Drunken cab home, still have wallet, bberry, keys and half my dignity intact, phew.

Sunday:
Double hangover.
BART
Ballgame.
Beer.
Nachos + Big Dog which is in fact quite tiny.
Little to no conversation due to sluggishness.
Half a farmer's tan.
Nap time.
Fight Club (the film, not my own organized underground conspiracy).
Tacos.
Beer.
Simpsons.
Night Night.

Monday:
Exhaustion.
Work.
Ballgame.
Beer.
Bleacher buddies.
Gave my coat to a fat guy cause he was cold.
Text-a-holic.
Bus home.

Tuesday:
Tearful goodbyes, at least they would have been had we not been so dehydrated.
My liver is on probation.

Wednesday:
My liver is off probation for good behavior...

make the logo bigger

only an accented web designer could open my eyes to the beauty of rock and design lingo.

the entire office has decided to pause at 4pm each day to "make the logo bigger."

How am I not myself?

I'm not gonna lie, I had a small crush on Michael Showalter after Wet Hot American Summer. Yes, I know. It soon fizzled after I saw him at Rififi's Invite Them Up and I'm pretty sure he was missing a side tooth. But he's back on my good side with this little diddy, a mockery of Lily Tomlin's tirade, and co-starring Paul Rudd-who could never lose my affections even though he's probably filed a restraining order against me after I leaned out of Tootsie's car window and shouted "Hey baby, how much?!?!" when I spotted him walking down the street.

Kudos to the propmaster for the decision to place the rifle over the "Michael Showalter" sign.

I'm taking my beer.

OH. MY. GOD.

that's all...

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 1

These are a year old. But friends have elbowed me into posting them because apparently they find them entertaining. Let's see, shall we?

For anyone I haven't blabbed to, my friend Tootsie got me a job as a personal assistant to a well known but not uber famous former pop tart (never taken seriously) turned actress (starting to be taken seriously) on a film her production company is shooting in New York in February and March. For all intents and purposes, she shall be known only as "Sweets Magee." I know, Tootsie gets my first born child. The film is a dark comedy where basically boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy tries to win girl back but he has relationship issues, blah, blah, blah. I've decided to update you each week with the shenanigans that take place because it's the most excitement I've had since JB stripped down to his underwear to conduct a meeting while sitting spread eagle in loose boxer briefs. How could you not want to read these tales of debauchery and intrigue? I now present to you: The Chronicles of Sweets Magee...

February 14th 2006, our first meeting. Valentine's Day. The floor is coked up on sugar and all the girls in the office are anxiously awaiting the arrival of Slick (indie actor content having his only mainstream recognition be a long running voiceover stint for a national ad campain) while the gentlemen hover around the door so that they can fight over who gets the distinction of opening it when Sweets arrives. 6:30pm, she arrives and she's gorgeous. Tall and not too thin and so pretty. She's rushed into wardrobe for her fittings and after two hours of pacing the office, nervous that I'll miss her before we map out the following day's schedule, she finally emerges, smiles and all. The exec. producer introduces me to Sweets, saying "this is C, she'll be your assistant on the film," and SHE COULDN'T BE NICER!!! Direct eye contact, a lovely hand shake, and I'm smitten. I have a heterosexual lady crush on Sweets Magee. We arrange to meet at the rehearsal space the next day and I'm on a high, my new job is awesome.

Feb. 15th, 12pm, rehearsal with Hipster (director of this film and great indie actor of others), Slick and Sweets. The boys show up first and struggle to place where they've seen me but I jog their memory and all is right in the world because I'm sitting in close proximity with two incredibly hot actors who smile when they talk to you and laugh like school children when discussing the merits of certain porn (Slick's character is forced to go to a smut theater in ny so he has to "research" it for background info). Then Sweets walks in and breaks my heart by saying "you know what, i think i'm good so you can go and i'll just call if i need anything." Now I'm self conscious. I thought I wasn't supposed to leave her side. Is she even going to utilize me? Why would she request an assistant in her contract (she doesn't have a full time assistant, she only uses them on shoots outside of Los Angeles) if she wasn't going to have me run errands or...who knows. I've never wanted to fetch someone a cup of coffee more than when Sweets told me she didn't need my help. Later that afternoon my fears were put to rest when we established e-mail contact and were chatty cathy's about the next day's adventures.

Feb. 16th, 1pm. After picking up some art supplies, I met Sweets at an illustration class at FIT so she could get a grasp on this whole "drawing" thing that her character has to master, and again, she says she thinks she's okay and doesn't really need me. I guess since the first day and a half I was working out of the production offices, she thought she was preventing me from doing real work by asking me to tag along. Au contraire Miss Magee, my sole purpose for the next month and a half is to be your shadow and since the day was pretty packed with plans I said I'd stay to help out. I was on a total power trip when half the class appoached me to ask if they could take pictures with Sweets. Acting completely cool like I've been doing this for years I go "um...I think that would be fine, I would just ask her when the class is over.

After school she offered to buy me a Starbucks and even though the cashier failed to notice who she was, apparently the barista did and quickly told the cashier because as I made my way around to the beverage pick-up point, the cashier popped up, schrunched her face in confusion and said " you don't look like Sweets Magee." Thank you lady, way to remind me that I am not-in fact-a beautiful hollywood actress. However, she soon spotted the real deal and became pretty vaklempt. Didn't help her make the coffee any faster though. With Java in tow, we snagged a cab up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where the art class was taking part in an on-location assignment, and on the way there we discovered we have a lot in common:

-I told her my mom was a flight attendant and her eyes went wide with shock because Sweets' dad is a pilot.
-she too loves Ricky Gervais, both the british and american versions of the Office, and when I showed her that my cell phone backdrop is a picture of David Brent smiling as though he's constipated, she said it was really "cute." She told me I was cute about five times in response to little personality ticks I must have exuded-like when I told her I have a fear of falling down stairs when I know people are watching me climb them-but always in an adorable, friendly way. She really is sweet.
-we laugh at the same jokes, love the same actors, and we just really got along.

In the car on the way back her boyfriend called and they were pretty damn "cute" too. She was telling him how she's a terrible drawer (true, but I appreciate her self deprecation), and she mentioned me to him several times "C and I this, C and I that..." even going so far as to apologize for calling me her assistant in front of me, which is bananas. It's not that I'm starstruck, it's just that I've gone from being a personal assistant for a man who treated me like dog shit, to being treated like a best girlfriend after only a couple of days. I was so used to being degraded that I didn't understand what it was to feel appreciated. We then went to check out the apartment the production company rented for her and when i thanked her for buying me a slice of pizza around the corner, she gushed "oh my gosh thank you for hanging out with me all day."

She headed to L.A. this afternoon for a photo shoot with Teen Vogue so I won't see her until Monday's rehearsals, but we've been e-mailing each other and basically, Sweets Magee is my new best friend and i'm just jazzed that i have an exciting job.

tune in next week...

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 2

Sweet Lord, this week was definately intense, a whole lotta embarrassing, and completely worth it.

President's day started off slow, I ran a few errands but didn't see Sweets at all. I decided that since she's playing an illustrator, I would get her a copy of my favorite children's book, Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partridge, and I left it in her apt. with a cute little inscription saying it's for research purposes and I hope she enjoys it as much as I did.

Tuesday morning I met her down on Chambers street because they were doing camera tests to see how hair, makeup and wardrobe looked on screen. She had been in L.A. that weekend, so I asked her how her screen test went for this big studio romantic comedy she was auditioning for with this very cute tv actor whom I love dearly. She gushed about how adorable he was and said she thought it went really well. I was kind of standing around while she got her makeup done and she told me to grab a chair and sit next to her. The makeup artist asked if we were best friends, and she didn't miss a beat before saying "we are now." We read magazines, gossiped about celebs and everything was totally hunky dory. As we headed outside she turned to me and said "oh i forgot to thank you for the book, it was the sweetest thing." Yay me.

Later that day we ran some errands when she gets a call from her publicist informing her that Page Six is going to run an item that she's engaged and pregnant. She turns to me and says "not only are both untrue, but they're not just saying I'm pregnant, they're saying I'm four months pregnant which means they think I look chubby." Oh, sweet, sweet Sweets, I heart you.

We stopped by C.O.Bigelow's on the way back to her apartment, which is this great old drugstore that now sells high end items. She was like a kid in a candy shop, grabbing creams and makeup like money doesn't matter which it doesn't because she's rich. We paroused the fancy candles since she's a fanatic and I smelled one that was really nice and showed it to her. She liked it so much she bought it. Looky, looky, we've got the same taste. We moved onto the grocery store and she got a voicemail in the middle of the meat department and kind of walked away from me for some privacy. She squeaked a little when she got off the phone and said "That was (uber famous Oscar winning actress), we just finished a movie together and she's amazing, if you ever get the chance to work with her, do." Um, okay, I'll do that. I walked her back to her apt. and helped her carry her bags up and as I turned to leave she handed me something. It was the fancy candle I picked out and she said "thank you so much for all your help." There are perks?!?!?! Delightful.

random interjection-Jared Leto came into the production offices because the other side of the floor is Chapter 27, a film that just wrapped where Leto plays Mark David Chapman, the guy who killed Lennon. When word spread that he was roaming the floor, all the girls giggled at the news and scanned the office but all they could see was some fat guy joking arround. It was then that they realized the fat guy was Jared, the weight was a result of looking more like the killer, and all the girls exhaled disappointment because it was such a buzzkill since he's usually pretty hot.

Wednesday-the black day-a.k.a. the most embarrassing day of my entire life. I share this story with you because I must let my public know how utterly ridiculous my life can be. Some of you may not look at me the same way again, and that's fine. Just know, it was an emergency. Sweets had rehearsal from 10am-4pm and I was meeting some guy to hook up wireless internet in her apt. around 10:30am. The guy comes over and realizes he needs to get another part and asks if I'll be here to let him in. I tell him yes and he leaves. A half-hour lapses, he's still not back. An hour goes by, still nothing. Suddenly the two very large cups of coffee I've had that morning are starting to work their digestive magic. I really have to use the bathroom, but I can't because it's Sweets' and that's so weird. The hour and a half mark hits and I'm in pain. I can't leave because I'm in a residential neighborhood and the amount of time it will take to find a public bathroom will be too much. I have to do it, I have to poop.

I duck into the bathroom, take care of business, and flush the toilet. Only it won't flush. I've done something taboo, pooped in another person's bathroom and God, or Murphy's Law, or whoever is punishing me for my stupidity. I tear the bathroom and kitchen apart looking for a plunger but there's nothing. It's just me, left alone in the apartment with my crime. I look at my watch, unsuccessfully flush the toilet again, and decide I have to get a plunger. I book it out of her building faster than Kentucy Derby horses out of the gate at the sound of a pistol. Duane Reade is out of stock and the discount drug store doesn't carry them, but they point me in the direction of a hardware store. I grab the only plunger in the store, throw money at the cashier and run as fast as my out of shape legs will take me. I cut up Fifth ave because the traffic lights are in my favor and who should I see walking in my direction but Steven Spielberg!!! Jee, maybe I'd say something to him if I weren't clutching a giant rubber plunger under one arm and sweating like a hooker in church at the thought of not being able to cover up my mistake in time. Then I relax a little because it's only 1pm and she has rehearsal until 4pm. At least I have some time.

My phone rings. It's SM. "Hey, I've got an hour off for lunch so I'm heading back to the apt. and wanted to see if you were still there?" HOLY JESUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There are times in life when you have to own up to your mistakes because no amount of stalling will save you from the pangs of punishment. I fessed up to what I had done. I told her I was so embarrassed, I used her bathroom and I clogged her toilet, but I'm going to fix it, I PROMISE. Sweets laughs and tells me it's totally fine, it's not a big deal, but I'm shaking. I meet her back at her apt. where I plunge for what seems like a lifetime and to no avail. I keep popping out to the living room to apologize profusely and she keeps telling me to relax, it's really not a problem. But it is Sweets, it is. The internet guy finally comes back and then the realtor with a tivo cable box and I ask him if he knows of a plumber I can call? He tells me he'll get the super to come and snake it. As she heads back for rehearsal I promise her that I will never use her bathroom again and she laughs and tells me to stop apologizing. I have never been more mortified in my entire life. My nerves could stand a drink. After Sweets heads back to rehearsal, I call Tootsie to tell her what happened but she tells me to stop because she's laughing so hard she's convulsing.

Thursday is more of an office day, with the occasional e-mail exchange peppered with flashbacks of the previous day's debacle and wondering if she's going to complain to her manager that I'm a terrible assistant, or that if I ever do get to meet her bf, when introduced it will be "oh, you're the girl who..." But wait a minute, she e-mails me to say that she and her friend R are going to dinner and maybe a movie, and if they go to a movie would I like to join them? Well, I was planning on washing my hair, but YES! 7pm rolls around and I get a call from Sweets saying they nixed the movie. Oh well, I guess the idea of hanging out with SM was too good to be true. Then she tells me she just found out she got the part in the big studio romantic comedy and she's meeting friends for dinner to celebrate and would "love for me to join her." That's right, she used the word "love."

I meet her at this restaurant called Village on 9th street and 6th ave and there's a glass of champagne waiting for me at the table. Sweets is there with her friends R, H and D and her manager, J. J leaves after the celebratory cocktail and the five of us order more drinks, enjoy muscles with pommes frittes, every dessert on the menu and more tasty beverages. I even let Sweets in on one of my little rituals when drinking champagne. I asked the waiter for the cork and immortalized the evening by writing "dinner with the gang/(the name of the movie she just landed) 2.23.06" on it and handed it Sweets. She loved my quirky little memento and her friends were great; D even jokingly only referred to me as "assistant" all night.

At the end of the meal the question of where to head next was posed and the answer quickly became Soho House. Sex and the City fans will recognize the name from the episode where Samantha finds a membership card in the bathroom and sneaks the girls in to use the pool. It's uber chic and you have to pay a hefty annual fee after being approved to join. I thank laziness and luck that I even looked half-way presentable since my casual clothes were dirty and I was forced to semi-dress up on account of falling behind on my laundry. In the cab ride over there the girls were telling me who we would be meeting up with and they kept referring to this guy D who is R's frenemy on account of their testy relationship. Sweets interjects saying, "he's got his own show on MSNBC." Ah-hah.

Soho House is really chic, lots of rich velvet curtains, leather couches and modern lighting fixtures. There's a billiards room, a balcony, and lots and lots of yuppies. Wannabe models linger by the bar hoping rich businessmen will buy them adult beverages, and the chairs are constructed in such a manner that you're forced into an awkward, exhibitionist pose when you sit in them. Sweets only ever introduced me as her "friend" C, but when the editor of a national men's magazine kept asking her how we knew each other, suspicious of the idea that I really was her pal, she finally caved and admitted I was her assistant. Ever the gentleman, he didn't hold back in telling his friends who I was for the rest of the night, but I could care less. More champagne was consumed and I couldn't help but sit back in my incredibly uncomfortable seat and take it all in, quietly laughing to myself. Then MSNBC guy walks in. He's quite charismatic and seems to love being the life of the party. Despite the fact that he kept flashing his "guns" and feeling his pecs, he's a very nice guy and constantly checked in on me to see if I wanted a drink (not in a creepy I want to get you drunk way).

More friend's came, including Sweets' manager and as the night wound down I decided it was time for me to head out. I stood up to leave, waving goodbye or shaking hands with everyone, but Sweets' manager leaned in and gave me this big, real hug. It completely caught me off-guard. Here's this Hollywood powerhouse who I only met a couple of hours ago, and he's clutching onto me. While we were hugging he whispered in my ear "thank you so much for taking care of her, helping her with everything. She loves you, loves you." The whole train ride home I was on cloud nine, I can't tell you how exhilarating it feels to work a job where you're appreciated. Coming from a position where I was constantly being degraded and "reminded" that I was supposedly less than someone because I was an assistant and a woman, and now to be so excited to go to work in the morning. To get to see how a movie is made from soup to nuts, and feeling like I belong here, feeling like I deserve this, like my hard work wasn't for nothing, it's just a really great feeling. Shooting starts on Monday, and it's going to be intense, we've only got a month to film which is really short, but I think it's going to be great.

What I've learned from this is that with every relationship, if you can get through the shit, you can get through anything.

tune in next week...

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 3

So sorry for the delay with this issue, I've had minor food poisoning and have been under the weather all weekend. Forgive me as I try to remember everthing from last week as I didn't do my usual note taking.

Monday was the first day of shooting and the week got off to a rocky start. The previous week, one of the locations people had mentioned that there are crew vans for anyone who needs a ride to set that leave at designated locations. I told her I'd probably be riding with Sweets but I took the information anyway. The call sheet for monday said that the crew van left at 5am sharp while Sweets wasn't being picked up until 7:10am. I e-mailed her to see if she wanted me to meet her at her apt. to ride to set together or for me to just meet her on set, and was relieved to find out she asked me to drive with her. Especially since because I was living in the Bronx, in order to meet the crew van I would have had to get up at 3am and that's banananas, especially since Sweets is my work and there's no need for me to get there two hours before her.

5:11am Monday morning, the locations girl calls to ask where I am, the van is waiting for me. What? Nobody said I was "booked" on a van, or that it was mandatory I take it. She said to let her know in the future if I'm not going to be riding with the crew. I apologized and hung up. One minute later she calls me again and I can hear someone in the background telling her what to say. The girl asks me if riding with Sweets to set is going to be an everyday thing? I told her I wasn't sure, it depends on what Sweets wants, and she said the Producers wanted to know since crew isn't supposed to ride with cast. Alright, now I'm nervous I've gotten myself into big trouble, all in a matter of two minutes. Plus, I was just becoming friends with the producers and they were telling me how thankful they were that I came on board. Did that all gone down the drain? I have that anxious feeling, like I'm going to get fired, even though I don't think they can fire me since I'm not getting paid, especially not for this, but who knows. Thanks to it still being late night subway service when I leave my apartment, and the incompetancy of the D train, I almost didn't even make it to my ride with Sweets either (it took almost two hours to get downtown), which set the mood for the day: paranoia.

We filmed at this museum up in Yonkers and quickly discovered there was no heat in hair and makeup and it's about 25 degrees if you're standing in the sun, which we are not. Everyone is completely bundled up in as many layers as they can find, and no amount of hot beverages or running back and forth seems to make a difference. Not to mention I'm nervous that people are looking at me with disdain, and I'm doing my very best to smile at everyone I see. At least there's a bit of good news, Sweets mentions that her friends are heading upstate for the weekend and asks if I'd like to join them. How do you say no to that?

Later that day I popped into the loo to use the toilet and when I emerged I decided to take a stroll around the modest museum. I was looking over a balcony when I hear "hey sweetheart, is that supposed to be there?" I turn to see an extremely cute P.A. standing right in front of me and when I look down to see what he's referring to, I spot a huge piece of toilet paper sticking out of my pants. There were no seat liners in the bathroom, so I was forced to put paper down, and I must have whipped my pants up so quickly in an effort to avoid the cold that I snapped up a reminder as well. It was clean, so that was good. He was kind enough to rip it off and throw it away, but it took the rest of the week before I could look him in the eye again.

Tootsie says I should stop going to the bathroom altogether.

One of the Exec Producers asks me to have Sweets sign a contract and I take this opportunity to smooth out any choppy waters. I apologize for that morning and she looks at me confused. When I tell her that I didn't know about the van, and I'm sorry I made them wait, she sweetly goes, "I didn't hear about that." So if it's not the Exec. Prod., then who is upset with me? Then Roe, the 2nd 2nd AD helps me out. The Line Producer, who has a major stick up her ass, is the one who made the comment, and she actually has nothing to do with me, or Sweets, or the production company Tootsie works for which technically found me as an employee.

Tuesday and Wednesday we filmed in Greenwich Village, at a closed diner next to the West Side Highway. I spent most of Tuesday working out of her apartment, so it wasn't the most thrilling of days, but Wednesday brought excitement in the form of Paparazzi. As I was coming back from grabbing her lunch I noticed a guy with a huge camera lens hovering outside her trailer. When I stepped inside, Sweets asked if he was still out there and I said yes. He stuck around for close to the rest of the afternoon, and when Roe and I walked Sweets to and from set he was right there, snapping away. I don't know who he'll sell the photos to, but there's a chance I could be next to Sweets in this week's US magazine, or Life & Style. I got kind of excited at the thought of this, my magazine debut, I'm not going to lie I kind of let it go to my head. Then I caught my relfection in the mirror. Yuck. Naturally, the photog shows up the day I'm too tired to shower, flushed from running errands in 20 degree weather, and I have so much junk in my coat pockets that I look like I'm carrying a tire around my waist. So I look forward to that one, everyone check your newstands.

Thursday we were in Clinton Hill in Brooklyn, also known as the borough devoid of a Starbucks and/or any coffee shop that isn't a bodega, which can be a problem when you work on a film set and people ask for lattes. You'll be glad to know that I now know Clinton Hill like the back of my hand because I drove all over the damn place to fulfill assorted requests throughout the day. It started snowing, and then slushing, which was awesome when you manage to soak your legs up to mid-calf level by 10am, and consistently fail to dry them because this location doesn't have heat either (it's an old loft that's being renovated).

Friday we shot at a cemetery in Queens, way, way, way, way out in Queens. I treated myself to a bacon and egg on a toasted bagel from the catering truck and plotted my return to manhattan because Sweets bought cupcakes from Billy's Bakery for the cast and crew as a thank you. There were 100 cupcakes (there are only 50 crew members, but she's very generous) split into two shopping bags and I made it all the way from 9th avenue and 21st street to the very last M train stop, yeah there's an M train. I cross the street, enter the cemetery gates, and one of the bags rips in half. Not the handles, not the seam on the bottom, it rips halfway around the middle of the bag. Forturnately, the cupcakes are troopers because they were all entact when I checked them out, but I was nowhere near where I needed to be. I looked around in a state of panic because without a bag, it's impossible to carry these boxes, and I can't just leave them in the middle of the street. Then a man comes over to me and says he runs the cemetery, asks if I'm part of the film crew and says he'll drive me to the trailer. Thank You Jesus. Oh, but it was an all faiths cemetery so Thank You ______.

Catering always has a little truck that they park near the set so you can grab a cup of crappy coffee, or a muffin, etc. The plan was to just put the cupcakes there, so you could get one whenever, so I ask Roe if someone can help me walk them over because the cast trailer was far enough from the rest of the set that one person would find it a struggle. She says she'll pick me up and shortly arrives with cute P.A. who pulled the toilet paper out of my butt, and some other kid. I notice we're actually leaving the cemetery and after driving for close to ten minutes we pull up to a church which I soon learned was the holding location (where crew can "hang out" and where meals are served). But holding is rarely ever so far away from set that you can't walk to it. I enter the dining room and it's like I was the new kid walking into a high school cafeteria, everyone just stared at me and shot me nasty looks. I couldn't believe it. Maybe it's because I spend most of my time either in Sweets' trailer or off set running errands, but these people don't seem to like me. Magoo, the director's assistant said the same thing, and Tootsie thinks it's because we have the "cooler" jobs.

I put the cupcakes out and ask Roe if she's heading back to set. No. Cute P.A.? No. Anyone? No. What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm stuck in holding with people who don't care to get to know me, answer my friendly questions with conversation ending one syllable responses and I can't even walk back to set. After fifteen minutes or so the crew vans arrive to take everyone back. I get in an empty one, we wait a few minutes and soon it's packed and ready to leave. Then the director comes running out and someone asks if I mind getting out for him. Totally fine, he's the director, I completely understand, plus there's a van right behind me. I jump in that one. Then I see that the producers have bought Starbucks for everyone and I decide to grab one for Sweets just in case. I ask the driver if he'll be here for a minute and he says he isn't leaving until he's full, and I tell him I'm running to get coffee. He asks if I'll grab one for Slick too and I say sure. I'm gone maybe two minutes, and when I emerge he's pulling away. I look at him and he says, "I was just about to leave." But when I scuttle around to climb in he says "oh, I don't have any room." Butthead.

I see this kid Tad getting into a car...can I grab a ride with you? No, he's already driving people. I'm really shocked at how people could care less about me. I don't expect anything, but why bring me all the way out to holding if there's no way for me to get back? I finally managed to squeeze into some guy's car with Patty the eccentric Irish snack guy and Shamus, the cocky Irish P.A. who's claim to fame was assisting Colin Farrell on a film once. At least this weekend will be awesome.

Sweets wrapped shooting early and we were on our way back to the city by 6pm. Just before we leave I ask Roe if she can take a cupcake back to Tootsie in the production offices when she leaves. They're chummy and she always has to go back to the office after shooting, plus she was just sitting around chatting when I approached her. She doesn't even look at me before saying "that is so the least of my concerns right now." What is wrong with people today? I vented to Sweets that I didn't think people on the set gave a crap about me and she says "I don't like to hear that, you're so nice C, how can anyone not like you?" That's all I needed.

Once we got back into Manhattan, Sweets' friend H picked us up in a family size SUV and we collected R and D. They were all hungry and wanted to go someplace corny so we hit up the Cheesecake Factory in Hackensack, NJ. Let me tell you, Sweets was the belle of the ball in that establishment. Bus boys were creating detours to pass by our table, teenage girls were stopping by to ask for autographs, and Sweets obliged to everyone. I didn't order anything because I was flat broke and had been eating the free crap on set all day. Plus, I wasn't hungry.

We got back on the road and all of the sudden I'm starting to feel nautious. But I didn't even eat dinner, what's going on? It took us a total of about two and a half hours to get to R's house (it was her and her ex-husband's, but they just sold it and it was her last weekend up there), and we got there around midnight. I'm feeling worse and tell them I'm just going to go to bed. Sweets asks if I'm okay and I tell her I just need to get some sleep, but I feel guilty for being useless since we all went up there to help R pack up the rest of her belongings. The next morning I'm really achey and my head is killing me and my stomach still feels awful. Sweets checks on me and asks if she can get me anything, but I just want to sleep. Around 5pm R offers to have a car take me back to the Bronx because at least I'll be in my own bed, which was so unbelievably nice.

All day Sunday I barely change positions, but managed to move long enough to watch the Oscars (of course), and found out from Tootsie that about 7 crew members had the same stomach thing I did on Friday and it's linked to catering. So I guess I won't be eating that anymore.

This week was a trial in self confidence. The entertainment industry is the most fickle industry in the world, and while I have experience in situations where people are trying to cut you down to size, it always throws me off guard when someone you think is on your side turns on you without hesitation. Good thing there's the NY Post Horoscope to cheer me up:

Cancer-"Sometimes you can be a bit too worried about what other people might think of you, and it can hold you back from doing things you know you would enjoy. Yes, there is such a thing as morality but you must decide what is right and wrong for you-you must not let others decide for you. Be who you really are and have fun."

tune in next week.

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 4

Another week has gone by, and this one was spent recovering from what I thought was food poisoning but may have been the stomach flu. Whatever it was, it was extremely inconvenient and stubborn. At least I was able to finish the entire first season of Lost (upon Sweets' suggestion) and let me tell you, that show is bananas. I highly recommend it.

Monday I was still a little queasy from my weekend bout with the still undetermined stomach disorder, but I had to stop by her apartment to pick up her dry cleaning. When I walked into the lobby there was an old man, probably in his early 80s struggling to open the main door. When he heard me walk in he turns, sees me and says "helllooooooo pussycat!" I smiled because what does one do when standing in a confined space with a senior citizen with a possible penchant for perversion? He mentioned that the lock was stubborn and I opened the door for us both. When I asked him if he needed help up the stairs he said "what a good pussycat," but that he's been climbing these stairs for over 40 years and was fine on his own. I quickly ran away because sometimes old people make me uncomfortable. I realize this makes me a terrible person, but I had visions of being sucked into spending time with him playing mahjong and crushing up his medicine so I could smoosh it into his tapioca pudding.

By Tuesday I was back to feeling 100%, but didn't have too much to do since Sweets had Monday and Tuesday off. Wednesday the talk around the water cooler was when one of the P.A.'s called the office manager to say he forgot his wallet in the crew van which was being returned to the rental place that day. The office manager told him that she was the only one in the office at the time and had to stay near the phones, but that they wouldn't return the vehicle without checking it out. A few hours later Tom, the office P.A., goes down to the van and doesn't find a wallet, but does find a plastic shopping bag. He brings it back up to the office manager who looks inside and discovers...a penis pump. She had just watched Austin Powers and that's how she recognized the device, that and the fact that I'm pretty sure it either says "Penis Pump" or has a picture of a penis pump on the box. When the P.A. called the office to see if they found his wallet, she said no, but they did find a shopping bag, and before she could say anything else, the P.A. interrupted her, saying "oh, that's mine." She offered to send it to one of the Assistant Directors on set, but he quickly said, "no, no, send it to me." My question is what he was doing bringing it to work with him?

Thursday Sweets asked me to pick up breakfast for her from Pastis, and told me that she wants me to eat with her from now on instead of from film catering because she doesn't want me getting sick again. So against my will I was forced to eat Irish Oatmeal from one of the swankiest restaurants in New York. I don't actually like Irish Oatmeal because it's covered in bananas which I loathe, but I ate that oatmeal like it was the most delicious dish to ever hit my lips. I was also cat-called while picking it up which I thought was kind of funny since the bistro is located in the Meat Packing District. We heard through the grapevine that it was Roe's birthday, and Sweets asked her friend R to send over something nice from the luxury brand she heads PR for as a gift.

Sweets wrapped early on the scene she was shooting before lunch so we had a solid hour and a half before we had to get back to set. She suggested we go somewhere for lunch and who am I to argue? We went to Schiller's on the Lower East Side, which happens to be owned by the same people who run Pastis, and we had a lovely little Parisian lunch. At first I didn't really know what to talk about (it happens every once in a while when I'm in a non-work related situation with her) but she took over by asking me what it was that I wanted to do, professionally. I told her that I've really enjoyed working for her and that I enjoy being a personal assistant (true when referring to Sweets), but said that's weird because people don't aspire to be personal assistants, right? Plus, I'm always embarrassed to admit what I really want to be when I grow up so I rarely do...okay fine, it's a child actor. She said that it's a good thing because you have to have a certain personality to be good at it and then spent the next fifteen minutes complimenting me, telling me I'm confident and responsible and I know how to get things done and made feel so appreciated. I also told her that I'm really thinking about moving to Los Angeles because New York has been great, it was where I wanted to be for college, but I get itchy when I'm in one place for too long. I told her I thought I needed some sunshine and she couldn't have been more supportive. Our conversation really gave me hope that this is going to lead to bigger and better things.

After lunch I had the pleasure of being alone in the elevator with Slick. We passed a few floors in silence and then he asked me how it was going. I enthusiastically said "super" and he goes "super?, really?" when I quickly joked "well, no," since I was actually running around like a madwoman, he smiled and I melted a little because Slick is hot. The package for Roe arrived in the afternoon, it was a black purse so new it's not even in stores yet, and when Sweets presented it to Roe she started freaking out, profusely thanking her for being so nice. My friend Koko joked that I should have told her it was my birthday too.

When I got back to the production offices I discovered the paparazzi photos that I seemed to be the focal point in. The office manager and Tootsie kept asking me what their names were, as if I'd forget them and leave them behind when I moved up in the world. Never, well at least not Tootsie, I could care less about the office manager. I forwarded the link to Sweets, joking that even though she didn't need any help in looking pretty, I've taken the liberty of bogarting the ten pounds the camera would have added to her, and added them onto my ten pounds. She quickly responded: "Oh hush. U look great! It's always a little jarring to see onself in those crazy pics......don't be so hard on yourself! We all look a bit windblown! Xx S" I was schooled on my insecurities by Sweets Magee.

Friday was a slower day. She was called to set at 2pm but didn't start filming til it was close to 6pm, and by 8pm we were all dying to get out of there. Even though she still had one more scene to shoot, she kicked me out, telling me I should go home and enjoy my weekend, she'd be fine. She also gave me a bouquet of flowers that were sent to the set for her from Juicy Couture. She told me she already had flowers in her apartment and she's going straight to dinner after work and won't be able to take them home, but somebody should appreciate them. I brought them back to the offices and put them on Tootsie's desk because she's the reason Sweets is even giving me flowers in the first place.

tune in next week...

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 5

Monday was an exciting day on set. We were shooting in SoHo and I got to drop Sweets' name at Balthazar in order to take out lunch from the restaurant (they typically don't allow it and have a side establishment for to-go orders which are pre-packaged and not nearly as nice). I must say, I was afraid at first it might not work, but they jumped to quite quickly. I made my way back to her trailer and had to do this roundabout manouver to get inside since you have to climb up some stairs, then back down a couple to actually open the door enough to walk in. I did this weird turn thingy and grabbed the door with my left hand, but swung it shut so fast that I skinned the knuckled of my thumb in the process. It was a gusher ladies and gentlemen, and you'd be surprised how often you touch that part of your thumb doing day to day activities.

Sweets was called to set and when she steps into frame I usually stand-by near the monitor to watch the scene, or by the hair and makeup girls, but in close proximity in case she needs anything. I noticed a blonde-haired chubby guy sitting in a director's chair next to me but didn't really pay attention to him. Then I started to see people trying to peek at him without being obvious and when Hipster, the director, came over to chat with him I finally looked at this guy long enough to realize that I was standing right next to Philip Seymour Hoffman. When I told Sweets he was on set she goes "what?!? that's so nerve racking, an oscar winner was watching my scene?"

Later that afternoon Slick and Sweets shot the climax of the film where Slick admits he was wrong in pushing Sweets away and that he wants her back. Slick may be the most amazing actor I've ever seen, because take after take he delivered this intense monologue and each time he just completely bowled everyone over. He even made Sweets cry and they hadn't even gotten to her coverage yet. When they switched to her close ups, she surprised the entire crew by upping the ante and delivering a really great performance. Hipster was so excited, which made all of us excited because it's really nice to feel such a positive buzz.

That evening Tootsie, Magoo and I decided to get an after work drink to decompress and catch up. Well, one drink turned into a few because we were just having too much fun to go home. Tuesday the three of us heavily regretted going out on a Monday, but at least for me, I was able to recouperate at home since Sweets and I had the day off.

Wednesday we shot at Von Bar on Bleecker Street and hair and makeup was set up in the basement of CBGB's which was bizarre. I've never actually been to CBGB's but I'm sure it's not supposed to be witnessed in natural light and devoid of patrons. The makeup artist had mentioned that either Tarte or Fresh cosmetics wanted to send products over for Sweets and when I e-mailed Sweets with the web addresses to see if she leaned towards any colors, she tells me she's all set with makeup, but that I should pick out stuff for me and just tell them it's for her. Um, free makeup? I can deal with that.

Thursday she had off so I didn't really have much to do, and it looked like Friday was going to be the same, until she called to let me know that the realtor associate with whom I went over the apartment checklist with prior to her arrival in New York, had walked in on her with a bunch of strangers. She wasn't naked or anything, but this guy just keyed into her apartment and said he didn't know she was home and wanted to show the tenants on the floor above her how good of a job the cleaning lady does. Yeah right. I immediately got on the phone with him and gave him a stern talking to about apt. etiquette, because this guy clearly just wanted to get in a celebrity's apartment.

Don't mess with my actress.

Friday night also happened to be St. Patrick's Day which technically was spent in the production offices since we had to stay until shooting wrapped and they didn't finish until close to midnight. Tootsie and I enjoyed iTunes at full volume and were in our own little world. It wasn't until creepy tech guy past by on his way out, then decided to hit on us, that our moods were slightly dampened. He's a portly fellow with a goatee who coincidentally offered Tootsie a tootsie roll a while back, and when she unrolled it she discovered he had hand written a note that said "life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get. Call me sometime..." and attached his phone number. Gross.

He's one of those guys that overstays his welcome, and we were trying to wrap everything up to get out of there and he thought it was funny to prevent us, or mainly Tootsie, from finishing her work. He touched our things, he couldn't take a hint when we turned our backs after politely laughing at his jokes, and I've never felt more uncomfortable then when Tootsie had to answer the phone and I was abandoned with this gentleman. He told me I had an accent and asked if I was from Texas. Do I have an accent? and if so, is it Southern? Cause I was born and raised in California.

We finally got the hell out of there and made our way to an Irish pub for a real pint of Guinness. The bad thing about St. Patrick's Day is that everyone starts drinking so early that when you reach a normal drinking hour in New York (12am), the bars are already winding down from the mayhem that took place hours before. Oh well, Tootsie and I had a great time, and while this week wasn't as action packed as those that have come before, I'm loving every part of this film.

Tune in next week...

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 6

I am completely and utterly smitten with (brilliant british actor from Shaun of the Dead, among other things). Monday we were filming in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Steve Sands, the uber annoying paparrazi guy followed us to set, but since we were shooting in a public park, we couldn't kick him off. Roe drove Sweets, Slick and Tad, the locations assistant over to holding where hair and makeup was set up (because once again they placed holding out of walking distance from set) and she said she'd swing back around to pick me up. Sweets said I could just hang out in her trailer until she finished and it was kind of cold so I decided to do that. But when Roe knocked on the door and said she was shuttling the Limey over and asked if I wanted to come, it took me about a nanosecond to agree.

The three of us walked over to the mini-van we were riding in and Roe had to run tell someone something so I was left standing there, alone, with the Limey. I introduced myself and when we climbed in the van we started chattin' away. He's so unbelievably nice and a laugh riot. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that everything out of his mouth is hilarious. Every peep, every word, every sentence makes you crack up and laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. Sweets joked that she wonders if he's that funny with his girlfriend (they just had a baby together and he's so cute when talking about his lady and his son), or if this is all just put on for strangers because how is it possible that someone is so naturally entertaining? Except me of course.

After lunch we moved to Clinton Hill, Brooklyn where Sweets and Slick had to shoot this big scene on the roof of "Slick's apartment." We had to wait until it was nighttime and the temperature was in the 20s with 20-30 mph winds. Slick and Sweets (who don't have any body fat on them) are only wearing jeans, Slick's in a denim jacket and Sweets has a thin shirt with a pathetic excuse for a parka on over it. Everything that could possibly go wrong, did. The microphones were crapping out, car alarms kept going off and ruining the take, or the camera would do a roll out (where the film runs out and you have to reload), and the wind is just cutting through every fiber of clothing you have on.

Sweets made me wear her thick north face jacket because my coat wasn't warm enough and as freezing as I was, I couldn't imagine how Sweets could even function in her wardrobe. We had heating pads for the two of them but that did nothing to beat the cold. Slick and Sweets were total troopers though. I even left a few minutes before the last scene was finished to warm up the van and in the two minutes it took me to walk to the stairs on the roof, Slick comes running up behind me and dashes inside which means he was booking it from the other side of the building to avoid the cold. Slick snagged shotgun and as I drove us all home, we started gabbing about random stuff. Talk about one charming son of a gun. I made him laugh, a lot, and started to wonder if I'm really that entertaining, or if maybe he was so tired that all jokes merited a chuckle. Either way, I was en fuego.

Tuesday morning I brought a big box over to Sweets' apt. that Juicy Couture had delivered to the production offices. When she opened the door and saw me she said "wait til you see this" then picks up the latest issue of US Weekly. There's a page commenting on who has had either dramatic weight loss or gain and there are fat pics of Kirstie Alley and Kelly Osbourne, then brand new skinny ones of them. On the bottom right corner of the same page there's a "look who has packed on the pounds" type caption with a pic of Sweets walking around Manhattan in an uber thick North Face coat and she's looking down so it gives the illusion of a double chin. Susie Homemaker in middle america could pick up that mag in a supermarket and tell that she was all bundled up and that's it's a terrible angle, but Sweets was really hurt by it. I think she flies under the radar so often when it comes to tabloids, that it's rough to find yourself in one and for such a mean, petty thing. You'd think that all actresses would have thick enough skin to withstand such taunting, but I guess you can still get hurt sometimes.

I asked if she wanted to open the Juicy Couture box to see what they sent over because maybe she's a therapeutic shopper and free clothes would cheer her up. They sent over a black raincoat, two brown corduoy blazers, one with a three quarter length sleeve, a teal square pattern boucle double breasted coat, a camel color thin cashmere sweater, olive green twill slacks, and chocolate brown cashmere pants. She took the black rain coat and gave me the rest! I was fully expecting her to just send back what she didn't want, but that's what I mean when I tell you she really is that nice. Unfortunately, making rent is more important than dressing well right now, so I've placed all of the items on Craigslist at reduced prices.

We shot in Bedford, Brooklyn that day and I was wearing a bright orange scarf and my pageboy cap and was just leaning against a wall across the street while Sweets shot an exterior. One of the p.a.'s who I've never seen before comes up to me and asks if I'm in the movie. I look at him like he must be joking because I'm dressed in dirty corduroys and the reason I'm wearing the hat in the first place is because I was too tired to shower that morning (it's a running pattern). I tell him, no, I'm Sweets' assistant, and he says "oh, you look like a star." Now I don't know if that's was just his way of trying to pick me up or if he genuinely meant it, but it made my day.

Later that afternoon I stopped by the Craft services truck for a grilled cheese and met Pete, the middle aged Italian Teamster. I had seen him around but was never formally introduced. He invaded my territorial bubble and said "I like your hat, what's your name?" I told him and he said I was "lookin' fine," then stood there staring at me with a pervy smile while I awkwardly waited for my sandwich. I now know not to go to the Crafty truck when Pete is there.

Wednesday morning I get a call from the realtor associate who walked in on Sweets last week. He leaves me a message saying that they are coming over at 2pm to show the apartment to a potential rentor. Sweets is there when I check my messages and I tell her not to worry, I'm calling him right back. It goes to voicemail but in a stern voice I tell him Sweets and I don't want anyone other than the cleaning lady entering the apartment until she's vacated it. The next thing I know his boss is calling me telling me there is a clause in her lease saying they hold the right to show the apartment at any time because it hurts their business not to be able to secure rentors before previous tenants depart. I call the production offices and find out one of the producers tried to get this clause written out of the contract but were rejected, so I tell the realty company and Sweets that I'll meet them at her apt. to make sure they don't touch anything. I even took the liberty of covering her laundry to hide her unmentionables and putting a picture of her and the bf that she keeps on her nightstand in a drawer so they can't gawk at her things.

Random interjection: we were shooting until about 11pm that night and when I did a coffee run around 8pm, I went to this place called Verb on Bedford and North 5. Bedford is very reminiscent of Berkeley, California, very hippie/artist, "I read the Onion and listen to vinyl in an effort to say "damn the man." If anyone in the Brooklyn area would like something to look at while they sip their coffees, then go to Verb because they have an unbelievably hot barista. I never go for the skinny, hipster type gentlemen, but this guy completely won me over.

Thursday was our first day shooting at a beach house in Long Island. Roe and I drove out there with Slick and Sweets and once we got on the Long Island Expressway Slick gets out of his seat and climbs into the back. His ass is sticking up in the air and Roe goes "um Slick, what are you doing?" and he says that the sun is in his face and he's trying to put up the collapsed bench seat in the back, but there's this weird strap system that is preventing him from doing so. I take out the instruction manual which has directions for every model of Ford minivan, not just ours, so it's taking me a while to locate the instructions. Slick's still futzing around and we're probably going 65 mph, and laughing like schoolgirls because Slick keeps bouncing around. He goes "C, you're killing me," but I finally find what I'm looking for and we get the bench seat up without spinning out on the highway. What a way to start off the day.

Sweets and Slick went straight to hair and makeup and while in their chairs, Slick asks Roe for sides (shrunken script pages of the day's scenes) but Roe doesn't have any on her. Slick jokenly gets mad and starts "firing people" but when he turns to me he says "you!...you can stay because you're doing an excellent job." And that's when I officially fell in love with Slick. God damned panty melter.

When he was finished I took his seat in the hair chair because it was a place to sit down and the hair stylist starts playing with my hair. She asks if I mind if she styles it? Of course not. She does this beautiful updo with curly tenrils all around my head and kind of a messy ponytail in back and everyone was stopping to tell me how pretty I looked. If only she could come with me everywhere.

Thursday was the Limey's last day on set and the crew applauded him before we headed back to the city. Tori, Sweets' stand in, wiggled a ride back with us and we soon discovered how incredibly annoying she is. She sat on the bench seat in the way, way back, Sweets and the Limey were in the back seat and I sat shotgun while Mary, this really sweet and quiet P.A. drove. We had just left set when the Limey asks me if it's possible to have his 5pm flight on Friday bumped up any earlier since he thought he was working but now he's not. I called one of the producers to ask if it's possible and my cell phone loses signal in the middle of our conversation. I'm holding my phone up, looking at it, when the Limey asks "sorry, is that Ricky?" referring to the photo of Ricky Gervais I have set as the background on my cellphone.

I get really nervous and start stuttering because I'm afraid he's going to think I'm a stalker or something, and I think one of the reasons we're getting along so well is because I'm literally the only person who hasn't complimented him on anything he's done, including a part alongside Ricky, because you can tell he doesn't want to be known only for that. I tell him that as a joke I've assigned celebrity photos to friends so when they call that person's picture pops up. He smiles and asks who has the misfortune of getting Ricky? and I tell him that I've set him as my wallpaper, but people who don't recognize him ask if he's my boyfriend, and I always say "yes" because it's a 40 year-old British guy with a goatee, and I think it's hilarious. The Limey does too and I'm relieved. Sweets if choking back her laughter.

Tori is one of those people who grunt or sigh in an effort to prompt someone to ask "what's that matter?" She also volunteers way too much personal information. I had asked the Limey what he'd be working on after this film and he started to answer me when the producer calls me back, so I only caught bits and pieces of his answer. He either said he had done a play or would be doing a play and Tori goes "oh my gosh I know so and so, and so and so," who worked on that project. This propels her into an excrutiatingly long chat about how she's been working on this other project with the same people and the Limey would be perfect for it and she's going to give her his e-mail if he ever needs anything and she'll totally send him the book for this one thing-and this was my favorite part, the Limey goes "can't I just buy it in a bookstore?" Then she says she knows a ton of people in theater PR so the next time he's in NY if he needs tickets to anything she'll get them for her. It was painful and a perfect example of innapropriate talking to talent and not knowing when to shut up.

I kept turning around and the Limey would shoot me these looks of desperation so I took over the conversation by asking him questions about other things and then I turned up the music so she would pipe down. I had made a mix for the long car ride and there was some Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Kinks, Otis Redding, etc. The Limey asked if I got this from my parents? but I was confused and replied "the job?" He said no, the taste in music, "because you're quite young," and I told him the Kinks I got into in college and Creedence is from my mother. When AC/DCs "TNT" came on I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I turn to see the Limey who asks if I've seen Spinal Tap? I tell him yes and he says "this is so, Spinal Tap, I like your DJ-ing C." And that's when the Limey and I became best friends. When we got to his hotel he gave me a kiss on the cheek goodbye and I only wish that Tootsie had been able to spend more time with him because it was her idea to even cast him, and she's a genius because he's amazing.

Friday Sweets' agent and manager were both heading to set. I had to drive back into the city to pick up her agent, (who has an impressive list of clientele) and we had a great conversation on the drive out. It was cool and weird spending one on one time with a big Hollywood agent and listening to her making phone calls and doing business. We seemed to talk about everything and she's just so nice, and when we got to set her manager was there and he hugged me and just made me feel so welcome. She definately picked good people to work with.

I had brought petty cash back from the office for certain crew members and the way it works is I sign for the cash in the office, then have to watch the person stand there, count the money, and sign the form. I did this for everyone, and the set designer said "I just have to call the accountant first before I sign," because there was a discrepancy with one of the receipts or something. Now, the set designer is this really cool woman who we all know and is totally nice and trustworthy. She was hand picked to work on this project because the company enjoys working with her so much. Sweets' manager needed to get back to the city asap so I step away to look into a cab for him and when I get back (about 2 min later) a P.A. comes up to me and says Mallory (the 2nd AD) wants to talk to you in holding. I head down there and Mallory holds out the petty cash form that the set designer has signed and without warning she starts chewing me out. She says "don't ever walk away from someone before they've signed a petty cash form, you're so lucky it's the set designer who we all know, because if this was a bigger production, and someone walked away with this money, you would be responsible for this!" and she's going on and on, and there's just no need to talk to me like this because if it were some random person whom I'd never met I wouldn't have walked away, but it's the set designer and we're in long island, she's not going anywhere, and yes in theory, it was a stupid thing to do, but there's absolutely no need to speak to me that way.

Because of stress, lack of sleep, and I don't want to pull the girl card, but a case of the mensies to boot, I was kind of on the verge of tears. I was standing outside Sweets trailer when Roe knocks on her door. Sweets sees me and says "you can come in here" but I shake my head no. Then when Roe leaves, Sweets asks if everything is alright and I tell her everything's fine but she's looking at me like she doesn't buy it. I tell her that it's nothing, it's just people, and she asks if it was her manager or agent and I say, "no, it's Mallory," and without saying another word, she goes "you know, there is no need for people to be rude." And that's when Sweets Magee knew I needed her to cheer me up.

In between scenes we were talking in her trailer and just started discussing random things, sharing family stories and what not, and for the first time, it felt like we were talking to each other like girlfriends, and it was amazing. Roe knocked on the door to tell her hair wanted to do a touch up and Sweets told her to give her five more minutes because we were in the middle of a convo...

As a little pick me up for the crew Sweets had me get McDonald's for everyone that night and everyone was so thrilled to see hot food arrive. We filmed until 12:30am that night (we were supposed to wrap at 9:30pm, 10pm at the latest) and Sweets had to be up at 6am because of a press junket for her new film taking place all weekend. I had to be up at 7am because my roommate Nips got me a two hour job at her office to make a little extra money. By the time we got back to Manhattan, dropped everyone off, I helped Tootsie wrap things up in the office, then finally caught the subway, I didn't get back to the Bronx until 4am which made the morning rise oh so grand.

After Nips' temp job and running a few errands for Sweets, I got back to the Bronx by 2:30pm, fell asleep at 3pm, woke up at 6pm to pee, then slept until 8:30am Sunday morning. I was exhausted.

The film wraps on Wednesday and I'm excited and kind of scared at the same time. I have a couple of whispers about possibly jobs, but nothing confirmed right now. Ah the life of an assistant in the film industry.

stay tuned til next week...

The Chronicles of Sweets Magee, Vol. 7

And that's a picture wrap on Sweets Magee!!

Sadly, my time assisting SM has come to an end, but it was a great, nay, fantastic final week and this has been one of the best experiences of my life.

Sunday night I had e-mailed SM to propose that I stay behind in the morning and pack up a bunch of her stuff to mail home, then just hitch a ride with the first person to head to set (still way out on Long Island) from the Production Offices. This was also a pathetic attempt to get out of waking up at 4am to be downtown by 5am which was her pickup time. No luck. Did you know that bodegas aren't even open that early in the morning? 5am sharp I show up at her place and she looks at me confused and goes "oh, you didn't get my e-mail?" Yet another reason why I need my own laptop or a blackberry, so I don't keep missing Sweets Magee's e-mails. I started packing up the mounds of clothes she has and I'm sure this isn't a shock to anyone but as I was neatly folding all of her belongings I learned first hand that she's got some gorgeous clothes. Sick as this may be, once I discovered we had almost the same shoe size (we're a 1/2 size off), I totally tried on some of her footwear. Yep, that is totally gross, but let's blame it on sleep deprivation.

At around lunch time I headed out to set with H, the wardrobe designer/Hipster's girlfriend, and we had such a fun time gossiping and rocking out to music. We were shooting driving exteriors all afternoon with Sweets behind the wheel of a Maserati so I just kind of hung out in her trailer until it was time for a coffee run. If there is coffee, I will spill it. The hair and makeup girls drove to Starbucks with me and I made it all the way back to set holding a tray in my right hand with three cappuccinos, a regular brew, and a doppio cup wedged in the middle, and a venti iced coffee in my left hand. Of course we hit a pothole and the piping hot regular brew seemed to shoot up out of the mouthpiece and land right in my crotch. I hid in the trailer the rest of the day because I was no longer pretty.

Roe was getting sick and had taken nyquil or something along those lines so I drove her, Slick and Sweets back to the city. Everyone was so excited to wrap early (around 6pm) since we've been working such late nights, and we all planned on going home right away to get some rest. When we got back to the production offices we parked across the street and in front of the giant FedEx. It's a no parking zone, but with permits from the Mayor's Office, which all of the production vehicles have, we're allowed to park there. We go upstairs and I'm waiting for Magoo to get back with the car she's driving because in a rushed attempt to make sure I didn't miss H when she left for set, I left all of Sweet's boxes in the car knowing that they'd either be brought upstairs, or locked in there all day.

Magoo gets back around 8:00pm and I head downstairs to meet her and take the 7-count them-7 decently sized boxes across the street to FedEx. Tootsie had walked Roe down with some stuff to put in the minivan to take to set the next morning. The four of us walk out of the building and Magoo and I veer to the right while Tootsie and Roe just stand there. Then Roe goes "um, C, where did we park the van?" and I point to the spot where we left it, saying "right ther..." but all that's there is empty street. Oh holy jesus. The van has been towed. Roe is too doped up on cold medicine to fully comprehend what this means and Magoo and I are in mid lift of two heavy boxes just kind of staring at each other like what the hell do we do? Tootsie and Roe go back upstairs to find out where it was towed and Magoo and I resume our FedEx mission because I need to get these boxes out of my life.

The gentleman at FedEx carefully watched us carry each and every box into his shipment center and place them in the corner. The bastard waited until we had carried the final box in before asking if we were shipping those "ground." Yes, why do you ask? "Oh we stop shipping ground at 8pm." You've got to be joking me. They couldn't even process them at that time and just ship them the next day, oh no, Magoo and I had to go back upstairs to get the hand truck to bring all of the boxes up to the production offices. What was really the icing on the cake was that the freight elevator had been locked for the night, so Maegan and I had to roll them over to the front door, carry each box up the four or five stairs the main lobby has to offer, put them back on the hand cart, and then get in the elevator. A great workout, but unbelievably annoying.

Tootsie found out that the minivan had been taken to the tow pound on 38th and 12th Avenue, formerly Hell's Kitchen before it was cleaned up, and literally on the West Side Highway. We told Roe to just go home because she was of no use to us in her state, and Magoo had to walk Hipster's dogs one last time so she left too. It was up to Tootsie and I to save the day and get the minivan back in time to pick up Slick and Sweets the next morning. We left the production offices around 8:30pm, drove over to the tow pound, and discovered that appropriately, the tow pound offers no parking for those trying to redeem their vehicles. You have to park along a "waiting strip" across the highway, where someone has to stay in the vehicle at all times and then the other person runs-and I'm not joking, even though there is a traffic light you have to run across the highway-inside and get your car.

At first neither of us wanted to wait alone so we put on Tootsie's headlights and hazzards to try to fool anyone patrolling and booked it across the highway. When we walked into the offices and saw a good ten people ahead of us, it became clear that this wasn't going to be an "in and out" type of situation, even late on a monday night. I ran back to sit in the car and Tootsie kept me updated via text messages. At first they weren't going to let her take it because it was a rental car and her name wasn't on the agreement. She called the Office Manager and official name on the lease, and found out she had gone through this when H's rental car was towed and had all the paperwork/letter of authorization ready to fax over. Phew.

Not so fast, there were about four or five parking tickets on the van that various crew members had racked up during shooting, most of them could probably be cleared through the Mayor's Office, but to the tow pound a ticket is a ticket and they wanted to make Tootsie pay all of them. We also think this is the reason they towed us since we weren't in a tow zone. They must have called in the license plate and seen that it had tickets on it already. Tootsie didn't have enough money to do that so we had to call the Office Manager and tell her we can't get the van and are going to have to think of a new plan for picking up talent in the morning. The OM says we'll just have to use the office car which puts them at a disadvantage but what are you going to do? and as we're half way back to the office Tootsie realizes she left her driver's license at the tow pound. We swing back around and she runs in to grab it, and apparently the guy in charge took pity on her or something because he gave her the minivan back. Hooray, victory is ours!

It's 12:30am when we get back, Tootsie and I order a pizza and put it on the production office's bill, and after decompressing we head home. I take the minivan because it would have taken me an hour and a half to ride the subway at that time and I have to be up at 5:45am so I'm taking a chance that the people in our parking lot have left enough space for me to fit this time. Fortunately they did. The next morning Roe thanks me for taking care of everything and when Slick asks how our nights were and when I tell him what I ended up doing, he buys me coffee (probably to ensure I don't fall asleep while transporting him) which I definately needed.

All day long I felt like I had been hit by a mack truck, or run a marathon, or possibly even given birth to a child. I was sore and exhausted and had no will to live. I was kind of out of it for most of the day, definately wasn't chipper, and was falling asleep mid-sentence. Sweets wasn't having the greatest of times either since she was dealing with the aftermath of her ex-boyfriend telling the nation via a radio show, nothing but lies about their relationship.

At around 11pm Sweets thought she was done filming when they told her they wanted to try and squeeze one more scene in. She was still having a crummy day and just wanted to go home and we ended up not shooting that final scene but since Slick had to stay behind for some pickup shots this guy Chris drove Sweets and I, and Tori the crazy and annoying stand in back to the city. Sweets and I sat in the back and Tori propped herself so she was turned and ready to chat with us, but Sweets and I quickly put in our headphones because talking to her was the last thing we wanted to do. I don't say this to be cruel, I'm just not exaggerating when I tell you that this girl is mind-numbingly painful to converse with.

In an effort to cheer my girl up, I made her listen to David Brent's "Free Love Freeway" (because of course I have it on my iPod, the man's mug is on my phone for chrissakes). I could hear her laughing as she listened to it and she turned to me when it was over and said "thank you so much, that totally made my day." When we got back to Manhattan, Chris needed directions to Sweets' apt. and Sweets and I were forced to take our headphones out, leaving us vulnerable to Tori talk. The cringe factor came when we passed some building and she turns with a big smile on her face, points and goes "that's where my parents are right now!" Um, okay, that's like saying my friend lives in Union Square, or my aunts are sleeping in Jersey at this moment. She creeps me out.

Wednesday-our last day of shooting.

It was an unbelievably gorgeous day and it felt like the last day of school, where everyone can't wait to get all their finals over with and then party. I found it extremely satisfying when Mallory, the girl who chewed me out last week for no reason, was chewed out by the 1st Assistant Director, so karma...Sweets hadn't taken any photos this whole time so she asked me to wander around the set snapping away, which I was more than happy to do. She was so impressed with the pictures I took that she goes "you could have a second career!" I said "yeah, on my resume next to unemployment I can put set photographer." And she laughed but this didn't prompt the job conversation I was hoping for since I really wasn't joking.

Shamus, Hipster's fake assistant (he's this kid who came out of nowhere and knew Hipster sort of because he assisted on a film Hipster was in and has been trying to trump Magoo out of her job this whole shoot) was dispatched to get champagne for Slick and Sweets. During Slick's last shot Hipster said he just wanted to go one more take, even though we had it, then in the middle of the scene he ran up behind Slick with the champagne and wrap gifts. Slick screamed "I knew it!" and everyone cheered and laughed and had a gay ol' time. Slick's girlfriend was leaving early the next morning for a four month movie shoot in London and he was dying to get back to see her so they had another car on set to take him home. But before he left he saw me, exclaimed "C!" then gave me a big kiss on the cheek and a huge hug and thanked me for everything. I almost died.

Hipster did the same surprise attack for Sweets and I'm so glad that Tootsie and Magoo were on set to see it because they've been stuck either in the office or walking Hipster's dogs this whole time. I asked Sweets for a proper photo and she wrapped her arms around me in a generous hug while Tootsie took it. Naturally, the flash wasn't on and the lighting was too dark for the pic to come out, but at least I could take another one before she left.

Thursday night was the wrap party and what an event! It was at Phebe's on the lower east side because the original bar we had planned to have it at wanted more money at the last minute. The film editor had put together a sort of music video with outtakes and footage and set it to The Postal Service's "Such Great Heights." I hadn't seen a single stich of film this whole time and couldn't believe how truly amazing it looked. I really think this is going to turn out to be something great, and the script supervisor apparently told Hipster half way through filming that he had an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind on his hands. Which in the independent film world, is enormous.

Everyone was having such a good time and around midnight Sweets was getting ready to take off, but I had my friend Sara ready to snap a photo of us since my mother would kill me if I worked nearly two months with Sweets Magee and didn't get some kind of proof other than a paparazzi photo where I'm looking down. The red eye reduction must have flashed so many times that it confused her, because the end result is an image where her head is kind of cocked to the side and she looks like a deer caught in headlights. Sara goes "be glad that you have a picture where you look way better than Sweets Magee."

I also wanted a photo with Slick and Hipster but didn't want to be too obvious about it. I was kind of hovering near them but backed off because I didn't want to be crazy stalker girl. I decided memory would have to suffice. A little later I turned around and Slick was right there and he goes "Hey!" then grabs me to give me a kiss on the cheek and a big hug, I guess this is how he's going to greet me from now on because we're totally chummy now. I quickly said "oh let's get a picture" and he goes "lets!" We chatted for a while and talked about his son and how great the film looked so far. He's just so damn cool. Everyone stayed until the bar closed and kicked us out and I ended up crashing at Magoo's because I had to be up at 10am to help Sweets get out of her apt.

Friday was incredibly hectic with all the running around and shortage in production vehicles. I ran some more stuff over to FedEx for her and when I came back there were all these gift bags set up. She's telling me who gets what because I have to deliver them and then points to this huge bag and says "this one's yours." I blushed and she goes "so if you want to open it now..." which of course I did. The first thing I pulled out was a little bag from Apple. What could this be? Oh, nothing, just a video iPod and an iTunes gift certificate. I think I said "oh my God" about five or six times because oh my God, she got me a video iPod. She also got me this lovely purse which I now carry everywhere with me, and she said she thought of me when she saw it, so go Sweets. There was a card inside that said "Dude, I can't even begin to thank you for being so helpful and amazing. I can only hope we do it again-PLEASE call me if you're ever in L.A. -SM"

I told her that I'm actually thinking of moving to L.A. at the end of the month and she goes "oh really?" Then when her car arrived to take her to the airport and I walked her down, she gives me a huge hug and says "you have to call me when you get to L.A." Per Magoo's advice, because the Set Designer told her that in this industry you have to be bold and tell people you're looking for work, I e-mailed Sweets' agent and manager to thank them for everything, let them know how much I enjoyed working with them, and also that I'm moving to L.A. and could they keep me in mind if they hear of any assistant positions (of course the actual e-mails were very well written). Sweets' manager, a higher up at the ultimate talent management company in Los Angeles, sent this response:

"I absolutely will and thank you for helping Sweets out so much. I think its pretty evident how she feels about you and we all appreciate your hard work. Please stay in touch and I will keep my feelers out there for you. Cheers..."

This naturally made me feel fantastic, and Hipster e-mailed me this the other day:

"Also, just another big THANK YOU for working so hard with us.
Hope this finds you well and at this point very rested.
XO,

I think more than anything, I'm just jazzed about working a job where everyone appreciated me. It's the best feeling ever.

Sweets has to be back in New York in a week to do press for her latest film and she e-mailed me to say we have to hang out when she's in town, so even though I don't have another job lined up at this very moment, it looks like I have a new friend.

I hope you all enjoyed the Chronicles of Sweets Magee, and until I have a new actor to take care of, be well.

Honey, I won't be home tonight. I have a hooker coming over. Well what about the pool man? He seems to like you.

I'm feeling very vintage right now, so here's a little gem from almost a year and a half ago when I was on the verge of quitting my "devil wears prada masquerading as a production" job in NY. My mother met a high profile CEO on one of her flights who not only went to Fordham, but was in the early (and I do mean early) stages of putting a documentary together. When she began oversharing intimate details of my life, which included that I was looking for a job, he apparently gave her his card and told her to have me call him (personally, I think she had successfully boozed him up to the point where he forgot where he was and confused business cards for acceptable currency over international waters). This was followed by my mother berating me to the point of blackmail in order to get me to actually agree to meet the man, but it was a memorable encounter nonetheless...despite the fact that my mother basically pimped me out.

The first part of my evening I felt as though I was on a blind date. T said he would be at a Christmas party until 7:15pm but he could make it up to the Carlyle, where we were set to meet, by 7:30 or 8pm. I made sure I was at the hotel by 7pm in case he was early and to pretty much just to get the eff out of the office before JB asked me to complete another ridiculous task. It was ungodly cold out and I ducked into the pharmacy across the street to kill time. He called at 7:15 to say he was just leaving Chelsea Piers and asked how I would even recognize him? When I told him I googled his photo, he joked "it's hard to believe how handsome I am." Ha. Ha. Ha. He said he was wearing a fedora and told me to scope out the bar and find somewhere quiet so we could talk.

I walked into the Carlyle and felt like I was high society because it's an amazing hotel, and frankly, I looked fabulous, making sure to dress in my most capable looking outfit. After a Tommy Lee Jones sighting and some bordeline frantic pacing because my cellphone kept going in and out of service (causing me to miss one of T's phone calls) I had a voicemail informing me he was stuck in traffic but I should start a tab and drink as much as I wanted. Seeing as I was there to try and get a job working on eradicating Polio in Africa (try to contain the hysterical laughter), I opted to just wait for him to arrive.

I moved to the lounge near the elevator bank which is prime people watching real estate, only to have him call and ask where I was since he was already inside the bar. Apparently I didn't realize there was another entrance. The joint was pretty hoppin' and I felt like I was in a Raymond Chandler novel. It looks just like one of those old bars in LA with the overstuffed leather booths and everyone drinking high class cocktails. T even reminded me, ever so slightly, of a poor man's Humphrey Bogart, especially with the fedora on.

The only seats we could find were right next to the piano and the live entertainment had already begun, making it exceptionally hard to hear one another. I spent the whole time awkwardly leaning forward because he was reclining back in his chair, then sitting up straight so he didn't think I had bad posture. I found myself caught in this swinging pendulum type movement which I couldn't break out of. I soon found myself faced with an even greater dilemma than the noise: what alcoholic beverage is acceptable to order when on a "job interview?" A cocktail might be miscontrued as too serious a beverage, a beer could be deadly in that with my luck the carbonation would send me into a burp fest, and water is just a waste because we're in one of the most famous bars in New York City. I went with wine. He ordered an Amstel Light. Go figure.

At first I didn't think he was even listening. I talked about why I'm leaving my current job, blah blah blah, and he really didn't seem that interested. But whenever I joked about Fordham, or traveling, or my mother, or any possible anecdote I could come up with to ease the awkward tension, he laughed and it was genuine. The fact that he kept telling me how impressed he was that I drove the RamVan, worked my way through college and that I'm not intimidated to quit my job and start fresh made it feel like I was catching up with an uncle or something. He added "your mother is certainly proud of you," and I wasn't sure if it was genuine or a ploy to butter her up since he knew I'd report back to her. Either way, it's always delightful to hear that from someone other than your mother because they have to say it. After all, they birthed you, they don't want to admit failure.

RE: the documentary, a project attempting to wipe out the polio epidemic in Africa, he told me the people interested are all good friends and include a NY Times reporter who pretty much came up with the story idea, an Academy Award winning documentary film director, the former VP of a major movie studio who just left to branch out, and T, who would act as "the money." Basically all of the pieces are there, he's just got to put them together.

By the time I finished my glass of Shiraz the introductory conversation was coming to a close. He said he'd keep me posted of the developments and I thanked him for taking the time to meet with me knowing full well that this man was just doing a really excited woman a favor by meeting her daughter to talk about a future the two of them would never have. When he asked how I got to the hotel and I told him I took the subway, he insisted on giving me money for a taxi. I told him he didn't have to do that, and he said "No I insist, I feel terrible for making you wait." And as he walked me out he handed me a twenty. I have a sneaking suspicion he was going to meet a lady friend seeing as he went right back into the hotel and the Carlyle is quite a hike for two people with downtown offices to meet for cocktails.

I pocketed the $20 bucks and took the subway anyway since I was making less than minimum wage (if you calculate the hours I was putting in) and it seemed too frivolous an act to cash in on. I called J to tell her all about my peculiar evening, she loved that he told me to start a tab, wondering "was he trying to get you drunk?" Then when I said he bought me a glass of wine, gave me cab fare and sent me on my way, she said "you're such a callgirl." Callgirl or not, I think it's fantastically funny that thanks to my mom, I met a 62 year old Fedora sporting stranger at the Carlyle bar and had a drink where we talked about polio.

This is my life.

I'm Irish. I can't get drunk, all right? I know exactly what I'm saying.

A glorious holiday where we can drink our cares away, sing merry songs and try to convince our friends that we really can do an Irish jig. Sadly, I was supposed to do all of this in NY but thanks to a snowstorm which hit in the wee hours of the morning, all flights to the Big Apple have been cancelled. But I'm not gonna cry...and I won't be racked with my countryman's guilt for something that's not my fault. Instead, I'm going to run to the nearest pub once my "work" obligations are completed, and drink myself silly. What's the phrase I'm looking for to comfort me in such times of woe? oh yes, "time for a pint!"

And I'd like to thank Duke for completely effing up my bracket...you couldn't wait until the SECOND round to get knocked out? So not cool...

Stop talkin', tighten your shock absorbers and get in.

After my run last night, I was feeling a little peckish and decided the Liberty salad courtesy of Escape from New York would suit me just fine. Deliciously stocked with artichoke hearts, fresh tomatoes and what appeared to be all of Northern California's onion supply, I happily chowed it down and then settled in for the insanely morbid premiere of The Riches



Who knew that in only a matter of hours, my life would be in danger? Thanks to the crap load of Allium Cepa in my din din, there was such a fire in my belly when I went to bed that it caused me to dream I was one of five people lured to an undisclosed location by two mad scientists who were hell bent on harvesting our organs. Then it kind of morphed into the Transformers because we all rearranged our molecular structure to become a parking garage and hide from the the evil creatons. Why a parking garage? I have no clue, but you cannot question the subconscious.

I'm glad to report that I did not wake up in a tub full of ice, and that the next time I order my tasty salad, I'll specify that I'd prefer it sans onions.

I've got to do something about the way I look. I mean a girl just can't go to Sing Sing with a green face.

I've learned that when imbibed on mildly cheap champagne and wasabe oysters, you feel it's appropriate to wax poetic with borderline strangers on everything from life to love to sugar daddies who hit on your co-workers. I've also learned that this particular brand of mildly cheap champagne triggers a fantastical phenomenon known as "spill as much of your drink on me as possible." When this apparently failed to stimulate the senses, the masses switched things up by vigorously hugging, shaking or even pinching my ass so that I managed to spill my own drink on myself.

I do so enjoy going home smelling of brothel and wet rag.

I'm not crazy; I'm just colorful.

This is Doodies. I get to babysit him starting this weekend while Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid galavant across the Southwest. Due to one fang protruding outwards while the rest stay in his mouth, the haphazard DIY haircut and a slight wobble, Doodies at times can appear mildly retarded. But don't fret, he's quite gifted. For a milkbone biscuit or a wedge of cheese (not too much tho, don't want to give him the squirts), Doodies will do a full roll over for you. Just be sure to exaggerate the circle with your hand when verbalizing your request, or you might confuse the little bugger. I'm not kidding, once while slightly intoxicated my circle looked more like a square and Doodies' head almost exploded.

God, I didn't know you had this problem with, with yelling in my face.

I'm very pleased to see that my fallback retort for any conversation, "I will cut you bitch!" is spreading like wildfire. Not only does my Argentinian co-worker spew it whenever his computer gives him attitude, but one of my boss' best friends has used it not only to sign a card, but to send me well wishes too!

Just this afternoon I received the most delightful e-mail directing me to Career Builder's website where you can send "Monk-e-mails" to all your friends, or enemies, or frenemies for that matter. The site allows you to select your monkey, his accoutrements, AND dictate what he should say.



But, by far the best part of my day was the convo that followed such a magnificent gift:

me: "You know just what to say to a lady to make her feel special! But who you callin’ “bitch” bitch?"

her: "watch yourself going around dark corners at night...sharp, very sharp, objects lurk about...click click-click...and don't look into any mirrors you never know who's standing behind you...click click-click"

me: "I know where you live..."

ah...good times, and to think, it's so easy a monkey can do it!

This is Tommy. He tells people he's named after a gun, but I know he's named after a famous 19th century ballet dancer.

I saw a very good looking gentleman on the bus this morning. Actually, I was the one on the bus and he was on the street. We were stopped at a light and I was reading about some weekly pub quiz advertised in the window of a bar-which made me think of the Office, which made me giggle-when he walked into my life. He bared a striking resemblence to Jason Statham but with more hair, and he was definately from the UK based on attire, strut and mobile phone. I asked myself "could this be love?" then watched in horror as he blew a huge snot rocket in the middle of the sidewalk at 10am.

I think not.

le sigh...

Why is the cork on the fork?

When you have a beer at lunch because no other beverage partners quite as nicely with your lamb curry and nan, you start to feel the mid-afternoon slump a little harder. Fortunately there's San Pellegrino Limonata and 30 Second bunny theater.

angryalien

Of course I'm doing real work too. Of course...

And you wouldn't be so brave if you'd ever smelled the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Dear Co-Worker,

When dropping a deuce in the office toilet, one so foul it's as if you've made a pact with the Devil-for God knows what-and he's carrying out his well hatched battle plan to slaugther everyone's olfactory epithelium's (not gonna lie, totally had to look that up), then please, please, PLEASE have the courtesy to not only use the ginormous can of air freshener purchased for just such an occasion, but it might be wise to leave the door ajar in order to air it out a bit.

Thank you kindly,

One of three employees who had to hold their breath while peeing.

Oh, I love her. What a perfectly beautiful little lady.

watch it. over and over and over again. because it's adorable, NAY, unimaginably cute and it gets me every time. we're talking major schoolgirl giggling here.

one keen observer...well observes: "mom almost smushes baby with fear and shock..."

Well I haven't exactly been the monk of the month or anything like that but I have been making an effort.

The latest RADAR magazine fell on my desk yesterday, the feature story being "Toxic Bachelors" with the head of Colin Farrell photoshopped onto some guy lying in bed with a nekkid woman. No surprise there, but what is positively scandolous in my opinion is not that they show Flavio Briatore in bikini bottoms so tiny they barely fit a nut, let alone both butt cheeks, but that Charlie Rose is listed as one of the 20 or so Toxic Bachelors. What?!?!?!?!?!?! You mean the smooth voiced, well dressed, highly intelligent host of The Charlie Rose Show who so eloquently said "The question is just as important as the answer," is really just "a straight-up horndog" according to a longtime friend quoted in the article? RADAR also assigned icons to give you a quick rundown of these bachelors warning signs. Good ol' Chuck gets dentures in a glass to signify that he's an old timer and handcuffs because he's apparently kinky.

I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

And in case you were wondering, or if it ever pops up as a question on Jeopardy, the mag also points out Rose had his mitral valve replaced with a swine's. So I guess he really is a pig.

I feel awfully happy... in a sort of sad way.

It was a bright day, a tad nippy, but the sun was shining and all seemed right in the world. I wore my pageboy cap because the morning chill of a fast approaching storm made the simple task of washing my hair seem too unimaginable.

My boss was set to attend the symphony gala that evening with the executive publisher, Margie (don't let the cutesie name fool you, she conducted my third in person interview and was hands down the most intimidating interviewer I've ever come across). I was dispatched to Neiman Marcus to pick up the dress my employer purchased earlier in the day and was having steamed in preparation for the night's events.

It was nearing the end of the day, 5-ish to be exact, and I was anticipating the crisp taste of an ice cold Heineken and shitty tv. Neiman's is just around the corner from my office and I decided to cut in through the cafe door rather than walk around the block to where the main entrance is. In between the cafe's tables and bustling display counters sits about 10 or so marble steps that lead up to the main floor of the department store. I had just about reached the top step when I saw Margie rounding the corner. She smiles at me and asks, in a very friendly fashion, what I'm doing there. I tell her I'm picking up the lady's ensemble and she jokes "she's not ready yet? We're supposed to leave at 5:30!" We half laugh, say "I'll see you later" and begin to go our separate ways.

Little did we know we would soon be heading in the same direction. Either the heel of her shoe became entangled in the hem of her pant leg, or her ankle momentarily gave out, only God knows for sure, but what is certain is that we were about to be forever bonded in this thing called "life." As her body started to shift too far forward a look of panic and confusion washed over her face. A look that I interpreted as "I will be fired on the spot if I cannot save the CEO from impending doom." I braced myself by grabbing a tight hold of the bannister and reached my other hand out in a desperate bid to catch the falling powerhouse, but there simply wasn't enough time to take a solid stance with the four inch wedges I foolishly selected to accessorize my outfit.

The sheer force of her propulsion ripped me right out of my failed stronghold...what followed next was a blur of white, partnered with a snowball effect of asses over elbows culminating in a hard collision wih the marble base of the treacherous staircase. The patrons dining around us gasped in unison and a waiter rushed Margie to get a status report on her condition. Margie was still holding onto my left hand and immediately looked at me and began apologizing profusely for taking me down with her. I told her she was being ridiculous.

After a moment to collect my thoughts and make sure I didn't dislocate anything, I picked up the blackberry I sent on a flight mission (that thing has hit hard ground from great heights so many times, I almost want to pull an Uncle Buck with the porcelain plate and see if it's truly indestructible), pulled up the lascivous blouse that had migrated to below bra level, and helped Margie back to her feet. We exchanged a few more "are you okay?, I'm fine, but are you sure you're okay's" and went on our merry ways. I successfully made it up the stairs in one piece, grabbed the item I was assigned to collect but opted to depart the store from another angle so as not to come face to face with the 15 or so patrons and employees who caught the late afternoon show...

Other than a mean bruise on my forearm right below my elbow which I keep leaning on by accident, an invisible one on my derriere, a decent sized one on the front of one thigh, and rug burn type thingy on my shin, oh and the fractured ego, I'm in pretty good shape. I think I might have a fall back career (pun intended) as a stunt woman.

And that is why that day shall forever be remembered as the day the executive publisher and the personal assistant were brought down to the same level, and helped each other get back up.

Cue the golf claps...