LA Stories: VeilFire

The best part of feeling a little heartbroken is that it's proof-positive that up until very recently, your heart wasn't 100% broken.
And if it wasn't TOTALLY broken before, and it was brave enough to reach out, then it's probably not irrevocably broken now.

So, like the Death Star, it will again be Fully Operational.

As artists, we tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves. This is a terrible idea, but Jesus I really think it's the only way I wanna be. Even though I'm strongerbetterfasterharder, I chose to maintain that character trait. I wear my heart on my sleeve. It keeps my other organs from getting sh*t all over it. Yesterday I was reminded that yeah, in terms of my ex, I got a little gut punch, but I also dodged a bullet. I love that quote from HIMYM: "I made the greatest Train Dodge since 'Stand By Me." ...Well, not that first kid, but the other kids."

And that's how it feels at this point. Of course it initially hurt to hear that my ex was engaged, but it was no surprise. He had to propose to her to justify what he did to me. ("See, it was worth it, right?!?") Someday I'll wish them well, but yesterday wasn't that day. I've been on an amazing adventure the last 2 years, but sure I'm still allowed to feel the feels I feel. That's because I'm not a f*cking monster. I'm allowed to miss the good parts. Then I remind myself that he definitely sucked a dude's dick. Keeps it really simple that way.

After a really good chat with a really good friend, watching the sun set through a thin sliver in the Universal Studios Employee Parking Garage, I cried out all my sad and felt much, much better. Getting past the raw emotion that honestly, I hope I always feel, because it is a spiritual rocket fuel, and listening to a rational voice asking me if I wanted him back after everything he did to me made it very easy: No. Aw FUCK NO. We made speculations about the success of an marriage between a homewrecker and a liar. And then I felt better.

I had a trio of besties meet me at my apartment, and, true to form, they came bearing vodka and incendiary devices. Aaron, Arica and Chelsea arrived and scooped me up. I'd been planning on driving my Celica to California myself, and as such had loaded it with everything I needed to Get Rid Of but couldn't simply throw away. Some of these items I'd already given to Chelsea for various art projects- I'd been on a big "let's do constructive things" kick, but this last item in particular was a Big Ticket Item and needed proper care and handling. And fire.

It was my wedding veil- which I'd found in a box at my mom's right before I moved.

It's been in the trunk of my car, waiting for something special. Fortunately, we had something very special in store. Aaron drives and spirits us away to Chelsea's Thotful Spot, in a recreational area hidden within the city of Los Angeles. We park at a distance and, already giddy from the night air, bound across the streets to an open gate. The heat of the day had dissipated, and the sleek coolness of the night breeze, smoothed even more by a brief skim over a green lake, greeted our flushed faces. I breathed. And it felt so good.

"Pair up," Chelsea said, and two by two we held hands and made our way down a somewhat steep hill covered in row after row of bright white rocks. Like layers of shark's teeth, they gleamed up in the moonlight. I smiled seeing Arica and Aaron work their way down, Aaron in his famous boots and Arica in a borrowed pair of my shoes. The shoes are a gift from my mother, who would have an instant coronary if she had seen what we were up to.

Chelsea holds my hand. "Sorry guys," she says, "I got dibs on the stilt walker." I laugh and we pick a path down, sure-footed as cats all nimbly pimbly and high off a moonlit adventure. We reach the bottom of the slope and a dusty dirt path awaits. I don the veil, which also luminesces in the magic night, and feeling the breeze blow the tulle behind me like a forgotten useless ghost, we walk down the aisle, staying hand in hand.

Eventually we arrive at the Tunnel- kindling is gathered and Chelsea lifts the veil from its position over my face and kisses me. This is the second time in my life this has happened. I was grinning like a fool on both occasions, but this time there were no tears. The filmy gauze is spread over the kindling, and I pour some extra flammable 3-in-1 glue over it as an insurance policy.

Sparklers are administered- the very same sparklers I'd entrusted to my friends the day I left California, promising to come back. They'd been kept, because my friends believed in me. Aaron takes my phone to document the event, and Arica, Chelsea and I each use our sparklers for a different sort of Independence Day.

The veil goes up beautifully, the flames glinting on the Swarovski crystals hand-placed by someone who also loves me.

I thought of the woman who made the veil as it burned. I thought of my wedding. I thought of my ex.
And I felt... love.
Giggling beneath the streets of Los Angeles with sparklers in my hands, I felt so much love.
The veil had to go. I had to let go of that last little piece to get past the emotional hurtle of the day, and I let it go in spectacular fashion.

The little pyre blazed, mirrored by the tiny fireworks on our hands, until not single scrap of tulle was left- even the bag I'd brought it in- everything burned, burned, burned until the hurt from the day was gone, replaced by the warm glow of love. Only the embers remained.

Hello Ember. I know you.

You are the same ones burning in my heart.

But the ones inside me aren't a brushfire threat, and eventually the embers became ashes. After a quick vodka shot, for the safety of the City of LA, and also because it was the right thing to do, we peed on the ashes. All four of us. So hard to do that while laughing so hard. It seems to match the same sentiment my ex ultimately had for our wedding, so perhaps that'll be my toast to them after all. Mazel.

By now I'm intoxicated by night and moon and breeze and fire and oh yes maybe a little vodka- we have a DD, but we also have the park to ourselves, so we plop down by an emerald green lake as the wild geese call out to one another. I can hear their sounds reverberate through our tunnel, reminding me that eventually every living thing, veil, goose, good intention or lie, eventually becomes ash.

All we have is the exact Now.

Someday I will be ash too- and I'm so fucking grateful for every moment I spent surrounded by the love I felt this night. We chat, we share, I am again blown away by the artistic talents of my friends as the most amazing pieces are shyly passed around on iPhones. A nosy turtle periodically pokes his head above water to listen in until our inevitable laughter frightens him off. No one looked at a watch, but suddenly we all collectively knew it was time to go.

Denny's to-go, a shared bottle of wine back at my place, and some sweet goodnights at my front door. It was a really good night, friends. If I am ash tomorrow, I will be thinking not about pain, or regret, but about how grateful I am to have been allowed this opportunity. And if someone pees me out, I hope they're having fun. It's only fair- and it feels AMAZING to have your giblets that warm.

L.A. Stories- Heartbreak, L.A.-style

My friend Todd has made "Them's The Breaks!" his mantra when things don't go the way he'd planned. He bases this off of a cartoon he read as a young boy. The character in the cartoon threw up his hands and absolved himself of responsibility, and instantly felt better about the hand he'd been dealt. This mentality works exceptionally well for Todd. I wish it worked for me, too, because it would make bullshit like this a little more bearable...
Here is the story of my very first heartbreak in LA:
My first month here, I spent a large portion of time and energy emailing out personalized, individually-tailored cover letters and resumes to jobs advertising on the UTA Joblist. For those of you who don't know, the United Talent Agency's Joblist is an "insider" email which has all of the available positions within each agency advertised. If an Executive Assistant moves up a ladder rung, his desk becomes open. Any open Mail Room slots are advertised. Also, actual Executive jobs and Agency Training positions are posted as well.
Here is what is looks like:

Executive Assistant Needed at Boutique Talent Agency!
Wanted: fast-learning college grad with Mac skills, capable of dealing with "personalities," must have own car and knowledge of players. Reply to asstjob9@yahoo.whatever

If you're new in town, you don't realize that the entire list is a hoax. And you have no idea which agency is placing the ad because they keep it anonymous. So you write a cover letter like this:
To Whom it May Concern,
I'm an amazing fast-learning grad from College X, and I dealt with this (name drop) and I know the game, because I learned from driving my car which I own to all the player's houses to fix their Macs! Please hire me!

Then you sit and wait, and NOTHING HAPPENS, because what no one tells you is that this list is only put out because it's required by law to advertise for open positions. The position of Executive Assistant went to the Junior Executive Assistant. His position was filled by some producer's cousin's little league pal's dad's bartender's dealer's roommate, and the guy in the mail room gets shafted. No mailroom position is open. They are lying.

So you can imagine my surprise when one day, while on the set of Iron Man II, "Iron Boogaloo," I was called by a receptionist at Odenkirk-Provissiero, who told me that "Naomi liked your resume and wants to meet you." None of that meant anything to me, but I played along like it was the only job I'd ever applied for in my life, and agreed to come in for an interview the next day.

The receptionist emailed me directions, and I used her email address' domain name to figure out where I was going. And then I crapped myself a little:
Odenkirk-Provissiero is a new talent AND literary agency which caters specifically to comedic network writers and actors. They do pretty much everyone from SNL. The "Naomi" of which she spoke is Naomi Odenkirk- Bob Odenkirk's wife. Bob Odenkirk writes and stars in "Mr. Show," and Naomi writes and produced "Mr. Show." They have their hands in all that is funny and good on TV. They are the reason I came out here.
So I called in to Iron Man II that following day so I could interview, although I still wasn't sure what I was interviewing for.
I dressed up and drove from Long Beach to Hollywood, and was admitted into a small studios lot- my first time past a studio security gate where it wasn't a theme park!
I waited and watched as a chubby sweaty girl left the office I was headed towards- she looked upset. I knew she was the girl slotted ahead of me. I began to panic.
I said, "how'd it go?" She shook her head at me.
"Good luck," she lied.
I went in and met with Naomi and her Assistant, and we totally clicked- it was a flawless interview- the kind where everything I said was perfect and charming and encouraged them to ask more questions until we're all laughing together over something I said.
I was Charmed that day, and left the office feeling Snakes on A Plane. I got a hearty handshake and a "we'll call you." And I thought they would!
Lo and behold, they DID!
The next day, I was called by the Assistant and asked if I would consider being X's personal assistant. X is a fairly popular (High B-List) comedic actress on a #1 hit show. She's been in a few successful movies, and is known for being really cool and nice.
Naomi thought I'd be a good match for her, and told me she wanted to set up an interview at X's house so I could meet X and her fiance'. The assistant told me it'd be around 50K/yr and benefits. Needless to say, I was absolutely on cloud 9.
X was filming, so I had to wait 2 weeks. During that time, I served as a personal assistant to my Set Dresser, and cleaned spider webs out of her shoes, dreaming of the day I could help X pick out Manolos for the Red Carpet. The two weeks dragged by, and I lightly googled X so I could be conversant on things that were going on in her career, but I didn't go TOO into detail because I didn't want to be too much of a fan. I sweated. God, did I sweat. This job would be the answer to any and all of my problems at once!
The day before the interview, Naomi's assistant called and asked if they could change the time to the evening. No problem. She called again and asked if they could rearrange and bump it up one hour. Again, no problem. She called the third time to place the interview time at 5PM. For sure. Was that a problem? Hell no. The morning of the interview, she called again and asked if they could make it 11AM.
I threw on my clothes, raced through makeup and was in my car on the 101 when I got another phone call from Naomi's assistant. I answered, thinking it was going to be like the others, but sadly, it wasn't.
"X has changed her mind, and she really doesn't want a personal assistant at this time... Maybe in a couple of months, maybe in November?"
It was June. Fuck.
"Oh! Yeah! Sure, sure- no problem!"
But it was a problem. It was a big, devastating problem.
So I pulled over and cried, like any responsible heartbroken girl would do.
Then I called Central Casting to see if they had any work for that day. They didn't.
"Them's the breaks!" But these breaks hurt like a motherfucker.