The End
I've reached the end of this crazy movie, and the wrap party is tomorrow. A thousand shades of memory, bitter/sweet, bitter/sweet. What a hard movie. What a fun movie. What a bad movie. I'm disappointed at the story, because I love the people so much. The director, my boss the production designer, the DP... and yet, the script leaves so much to be desired, that if it succeeds, it's really quite unfair. Sigh... oh well.
Concurrent with the conclusion of this movie, I've been entangled in a series of very unfortunate interactions with boys, in which the simple act of "being nice" has been misinterpreted as an invitation to ask for my phone number... don't ask me how I get myself into these kinds of situations, but lately it's been happening with alarming frequency (other things that happen to me with alarming frequency: being mistaken for a young Linda Ronstadt, being aggressively beaten-up by furniture standing at shin-level, being caught in a strange neighbourhood in the middle of the night, being stood up by my friends, etc) and I'm not sure how to get it to stop unless I go back to my stand-off-ish approach of unfriendliness, in which I start stonewalling people whenever I meet them. I used to do that all the time, and I've decided it's not my policy anymore, but I'm beginning to reconsider. It's especially kind of a headache these days, when I have a preferred gentleman friend that is so far away he can never go out with me and protect me from these vultures... ugh. I should learn how to successfully do it myself, really, but I'm just so un-good at it, and every time it happens it makes me wish he was here, more and more. Conversely, it also makes me grateful for the sheltered nature of Hollywood Je T'aime, in which nearly every guy is gay, and therefore no longer threatening. It makes for quite a pleasant and comfortable working environment, I have to say, and I'm going to miss the enveloping gay-ness, which is an opportunity for hugs and affection of a purely non-suggestive kind.
Now that I've ranted, it's time for a dinner of bean and cheese quesadillas, seasoned with avocados and chalula!
Concurrent with the conclusion of this movie, I've been entangled in a series of very unfortunate interactions with boys, in which the simple act of "being nice" has been misinterpreted as an invitation to ask for my phone number... don't ask me how I get myself into these kinds of situations, but lately it's been happening with alarming frequency (other things that happen to me with alarming frequency: being mistaken for a young Linda Ronstadt, being aggressively beaten-up by furniture standing at shin-level, being caught in a strange neighbourhood in the middle of the night, being stood up by my friends, etc) and I'm not sure how to get it to stop unless I go back to my stand-off-ish approach of unfriendliness, in which I start stonewalling people whenever I meet them. I used to do that all the time, and I've decided it's not my policy anymore, but I'm beginning to reconsider. It's especially kind of a headache these days, when I have a preferred gentleman friend that is so far away he can never go out with me and protect me from these vultures... ugh. I should learn how to successfully do it myself, really, but I'm just so un-good at it, and every time it happens it makes me wish he was here, more and more. Conversely, it also makes me grateful for the sheltered nature of Hollywood Je T'aime, in which nearly every guy is gay, and therefore no longer threatening. It makes for quite a pleasant and comfortable working environment, I have to say, and I'm going to miss the enveloping gay-ness, which is an opportunity for hugs and affection of a purely non-suggestive kind.
Now that I've ranted, it's time for a dinner of bean and cheese quesadillas, seasoned with avocados and chalula!