Goodbye 2008, hello 2009
I promised positivity in this entry. So let me sum up my 2008:
--I moved to West Palm Beach. Finally.
--I saw POM five times, met them four. Got to flirt with Wes Scantlin.
--I turned 40. (Wait...that's not a good thing...is it?)
--Did I mention I got to flirt with Wes Scantlin?
After that, not much else I did last year matters, does it.
Well, maybe it does. For all my gloominess, I have to remind myself that I did make a wee bit of headway with my DJ career, made at least one valuable contact as well as others that may prove well to me in at least minor ways.
My father constantly reminds me that I knew it wasn't going to be easy. I'm aware of that, but why does it have to be so fucking hard? There are days I think I'm doing okay; others I just want to throw in the towel, pack up my computers, POM cds, and my cat, and drive back to Jersey. But I can't, because I'm stubborn and hate quitting things.
Yesterday, in my continuous quest of getting my name out there, I contacted on Myspace a local DJ who posted a bulletin about an upcoming night he was promoting. The bulletin also contained his phone number. I called the number, chatted with him for a few, culminating in his inviting me to check out a club in Ft. Lauderdale with him. Though I was going to make another drive to Ft. Lauderdale on Wednesday to audition for a new nightclub, I agreed. As the cliche goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I made it a point to give out a business card to every person I shook hands with. I flirted with anything I talked to that had a penis (or not--at one point I let a shot girl pour a Sex On The Beach in my mouth). I even hung in the VIP booth. The DJ boy I hung with in question got majorly drunk, professing his desire to sleep with me. I might have gone for it, but my gut instinct was to keep him at bay as he's more valuable to me out of bed than in. Score one for my baby cougar ego though--he's only 22.
Yes, I thought that last night was a great way to kick off 2009. Until my camera hit the ground and broke. Fucking terrific.
--I moved to West Palm Beach. Finally.
--I saw POM five times, met them four. Got to flirt with Wes Scantlin.
--I turned 40. (Wait...that's not a good thing...is it?)
--Did I mention I got to flirt with Wes Scantlin?
After that, not much else I did last year matters, does it.
Well, maybe it does. For all my gloominess, I have to remind myself that I did make a wee bit of headway with my DJ career, made at least one valuable contact as well as others that may prove well to me in at least minor ways.
My father constantly reminds me that I knew it wasn't going to be easy. I'm aware of that, but why does it have to be so fucking hard? There are days I think I'm doing okay; others I just want to throw in the towel, pack up my computers, POM cds, and my cat, and drive back to Jersey. But I can't, because I'm stubborn and hate quitting things.
Yesterday, in my continuous quest of getting my name out there, I contacted on Myspace a local DJ who posted a bulletin about an upcoming night he was promoting. The bulletin also contained his phone number. I called the number, chatted with him for a few, culminating in his inviting me to check out a club in Ft. Lauderdale with him. Though I was going to make another drive to Ft. Lauderdale on Wednesday to audition for a new nightclub, I agreed. As the cliche goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I made it a point to give out a business card to every person I shook hands with. I flirted with anything I talked to that had a penis (or not--at one point I let a shot girl pour a Sex On The Beach in my mouth). I even hung in the VIP booth. The DJ boy I hung with in question got majorly drunk, professing his desire to sleep with me. I might have gone for it, but my gut instinct was to keep him at bay as he's more valuable to me out of bed than in. Score one for my baby cougar ego though--he's only 22.
Yes, I thought that last night was a great way to kick off 2009. Until my camera hit the ground and broke. Fucking terrific.