In Case Of Emergency

A few weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night looking like a cross between Angelina Jolie and the Elephant Man.

I was having an allergic reaction.

My eyes were swollen almost completely shut, my lips were huge, and my stomach and legs were covered in hives.

I know what you’re thinking – What are you allergic to?

My answer, dear reader, is this:

WHO THE HELL KNOWS.

Seriously, to this day, I have no idea what it was. And yes, DAD, I’m getting an allergy test.

After I woke up and got a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I called Noah in a panic and let him know that he needed to immediately get in his car, pick me up, and take me to the Emergency Room.

Somehow, Noah was able to understand me through my swollen lips. You know you are good friends with someone when they can decipher the words “allergic reaction” from what must have sounded like “amphergeek eashon.”

We got in the car and (thanks to Google maps) headed to what we thought was the closest ER. The “ER” turned out to be located between a Taco Bell and a Used Car Lot in a building that “used to be a church.”

Let me just say, when you think your throat is closing the LAST thing you want to be able to say is that you sought medical attention next to a fast food chain in a building that was once used to pray for the dead.

We finally made it to a legitimate Emergency Room (in a real hospital!!) and I checked myself in. As I was hastily filling out the required forms I came to the “Contact In Case Of Emergency” box.

I looked through the narrow slits that were my eyes at Noah who was supportively sitting there trying not to fall asleep. He just looked so tried, so worried, and so totally there for me.

So I wrote down his name.

It then asked me what my relationship to him was. I thought about that for a second. Neighbor? Writing partner? Producing partner? Acting Partner? Friend? Person Who Will Drive You To The ER At 3am?

They didn’t seem quite good enough.

So in my haze, with my fingers barely able to hold the pen I scribbled:

BFF.

I’m sure the nurses are still laughing about that one.

The night ended with lots of Prednisone and a hefty charge to my credit card.

Oh, and I lived…in case you were wondering.

And the very next week, my BFF and I filmed the pilot episode of Book Club. (Hive free.)

And it was amazing.


Partly because of Noah.

Partly because of the incredible direction by Ms. Katey Wheelhouse.

Whom I met because my car died outside my apartment one day and she offered to jump it. The rest is history. We became great friends (despite the fact I am her noisy neighbor who lives above her.)

When Noah and I asked her to direct this project she threw herself in headfirst and hasn’t yet come up for air.

And I think that’s the reason the filming of Book Club was such a success.

Because the people who I’ve surrounded myself with are the kind of people who jump your car without knowing you and forgive you for wearing heels and walking on your wood floor at 1am.

They are the kind of people who take you to the emergency room at 3am even though they have to get up for work early the next morning.

They are your “In Case Of Emergency” people.

And in a way, Book Club was an emergency.

For a while I’d been feeling like if I didn’t make something happen for myself here in Los Angeles, nothing ever would. That I would end up always regretting not living the life I had dreamed. Worried that I was on the verge of giving up, and moving on to something else.

And I can’t think of any greater emergency than that.

Unless maybe your throat is closing.

So thank you – to all my “In Case Of Emergency” people (you know who you are.)

Without you, this dream of mine (and Noah’s and Katey’s) could have never happened.

If I could put you all down in that little box on the hospital form – I would.

These two are great if you need to go to the ER or have your car jumped. They are also wonderful people to call if you want your dreams to come true.

Book Club

As a little girl I was the star of many big movies.

That I wrote.

And directed.

That my dad recorded.

That I forced my friends to be in.

There was:

- Dolls In The Night (a gripping short film about dolls who come alive at night.)

- Cody Lover (based solely around my love for a boy named Cody.)

- And the critically acclaimed Runaway Orphans (an action-packed thriller about – you guessed it - orphans who run away.)


I even created an entire silent film based around Wynonna Judd’s self titled debut album. Unfortunately, this was never captured on film but performed in a ‘one-night-only’ concert for my mother.

I know what you’re thinking: Her lucky, lucky parents….

And they only got luckier!

I bet when I went away to college and announced I was going to double major in English Writing and Theatre Arts they felt like the luckiest parents in the world! Especially when I followed it up by telling them I was going to get a History minor – you know, something practical.

As shown in my two college majors, I have always battled between my love for writing and my love for performing. But lately, I feel like the two have finally met.

And they really like each other!!

This merger began as I was driving down the 101 and had an idea for a web series. Instead of putting it on the back burner and never thinking about it again – I told my friend Noah.

And guess what?

He liked it!

After months and months of Noah and I developing the characters and writing the first season – it’s finally done!

I am proud to introduce to you:

Book Club: A Web Series for Bibliophiles

After being rejected from their town’s elite book club, a pill popping young woman and a deeply closeted gay man start their own book club made up of local misfits and both fall in love with the local librarian. Equal parts love triangle, celebration of the underdog, and homage to great literature, the series follows the story of Marlo and Thad, two people who desperately want a place in the small literary world of Walhalla, Iowa. Book Club explores both literary lessons applicable to daily life as well as the humor found in simple, monthly interactions of people dying to relate.

I know it’s no Dolls In The Night but, hey – that kind of idea only comes around once in a girl’s life!

And this time I have more than just my basement, my boom box, and a few reluctant friends.

We have shooting space, a FANTASTIC cast, and an INCREDIBLE director (Katey Wheelhouse.) Not to mention a Sound Mixer, a Director of Photography, a Make-up Artist, a Composer, an Editor, multiple Production Assistants, a Script Supervisor, an Assistant Director, and tons of support from our friends!

There are times when Noah and I sit back and look at this project coming together before our eyes and think –

We can’t believe this is actually happening.

But it is.

Somehow – it is.

What started out as a conversation over a few glasses of wine has turned into a full-fledged production.

We have high hopes for this series. Dreams of getting picked up by a network, getting funding to film the entire series, and creating the new “must see” show on TV.

Sound ridiculously optimistic?

Maybe.


But isn’t that what it’s all about? Giving yourself seemingly unattainable goals and then working your ass off to attain them?

I mean, if a silent film can be created around a Wynonna Judd album – anything is possible.

Minnesota Not-So-Nice

A few nights ago my friend Katie and I were running late to a film screening.

Really late.

The kind of late that turned my little red Yaris into a full out, balls-to-the-wall, racing machine.

LA has never looked so blurry. Except maybe that New Years Eve when I had one too many Tequila shots.

When we finally made it to the theater we were informed that the screening had been postponed by forty minutes.

Of course it had.

So, naturally, Katie and I spent this time drinking dirty martinis.

As we are sidled up to the bar, sipping our drinks and talking, a man over-heard our conversation and asked if we were going to the screening.

We were.

Now, some important facts you need to know about this man:

- He was very nice.
- He had lived in Minnesota for 15 years prior to moving to Los Angeles.
- He was drinking a large Margarita.

After awhile, Katie and I paid for our drinks and were getting up to leave. The man had not yet paid and was not making any effort to flag down the bartender (who was standing a few feet away.)

As Katie and I got up (the screening was starting soon) he looked at us, shrugged, and started to leave too.

Without paying.

HE DIDN’T PAY FOR HIS DRINK….IN FRONT OF STRANGERS.

Before I knew what I was saying I blurted out:

But don’t you have to –

At which point Katie squeezed my arm like a Velociraptor.

I stopped mid-sentence and started walking briskly out of the restaurant, whispering to Katie about all the freaks we encounter in LA.

Where was his shame?

Where was his dignity?

WHERE WAS HIS MINNESOTA NICE???

Maybe he had lost it in the move back to Hollywood.

Now, perhaps I’m over-reacting, but I have to ask: What kind of guy goes to a bar, chats with women he doesn’t know, and then openly shirks on paying his tab??

Apparently he does.

I was actually feeling pretty down about this. I mean, I know this could happen anywhere – but it didn’t. It happened in Los Angeles. The place where people write mean notes on your car and wear sunglasses indoors.

Sometimes all the crazy is just too much.

And just when I thought I needed a vacation to Minnesota, something incredible happened.

Now, I know this is a big leap – but stay with me.

I can finally talk about the big project Noah and I were/are working on. It’s a web series we are really proud of called Book Club. The only problem was we didn’t have any of the skills to get it made (other than acting and writing.)

We first pitched it to a production company, who loved it, but wanted to buy the rights to it. We were so honored by this offer but didn’t feel comfortable selling it.

So we were back to square one.

And then something amazing happened.

I just picked up my phone.

I called the most talented people I knew (who were also my friends.) All of them worked in TV and film. All of them have ACTUAL JOBS on actual TV shows. And asked them to shoot our pilot episode. FOR FREE.

And guess what?

Without hesitating. Without blinking an eye. Every one of them said yes. Every phone call I made was met with a resounding, YES! I started to feel like maybe that was the new phone greeting and no one ever told me!

Within 24 hours Noah and I now have…

-A director
-A director of photography (and a camera)
-Director of lighting (and lights)
-Script Supervisor
-A First Assistant Director
-A Sound mixer
-An editor
-A composer

These people are giving up their precious time and helping to make this dream happen for Noah and I.

And that’s when I realized that even though this city if full of people who don’t pay for their drinks, it’s also full of people who do.

It’s filled to the brim with people who will drop everything and share their time and talent to help out a friend.

So thank you to all of my generous friends. I’m taking you all out for drinks.

And I’m even going to pay for them.




More on Book Club later! For those actors that read this, we are holding auditions Thursday and Friday (May 13 and 14!) Email me for a character breakdown!

My Gift To The Earth

Over the weekend I traveled home, was maid-of-honor in my friend’s wedding, got a horrible stomach flu, met my college roommate’s new baby, and was asked approximately forty-three times when I was going to “find that someone special” and “start having children.”

It was a long weekend.

And not just because of the flu.

I love my friends back home very much. I am so proud of them and celebrate the choices they make whole-heartedly.

But when I go home, I am often pressured to feel those are the choices I should be making.

In fairness, the pressure does not come from my friends. Usually, the people who clap me on the back and ask me if I’ve found that “special someone” are over sixty and think Sex and the City is pornography.

When these people look at me, they see a single woman who needs some encouragement.

But I think these well-meaning people would choke on their lefse if they knew I don't feel like my life is missing something just because I’m not a wife or mother.

Why don’t they clap me on the back and tell me congratulations for being a smart, confident, single woman who is chasing her dream?

I mean, there are so many milestones in a single person’s life that should be celebrated.

- Not marrying the wrong person.
- Getting a promotion.
- Figuring out how to light your circa 1938 gas stove (seriously, I deserve something for that!)
- Being brave enough to leave your friends and family behind and chase something you’ve dreamed of for years.

And how about the biggest accomplishment of all?

- NOT getting pregnant all those years I could have. (Mom, could you please check to see if Dad is still breathing.)

I should throw myself a party! I can just imagine the invitation:

Please join Jessica, as she celebrates never conceiving a child. A commitment ceremony to herself will be held at sunset on Malibu Beach, followed by a party in her studio apartment (which she found and pays for by herself) where there will be lots of alcohol.

She is registered at Pottery Barn.

I could finally get those sheets I’ve always wanted!

And to really make me confident I’m on to something, I found THIS.

I couldn’t believe it. My single person choices are even eco-friendly.

So, happy Earth Day everyone!

I’m not having a baby.

Tales From A Los Angeles Grocery Store

Despite what you might think, there are a few things I won’t write about on the Internet.

Relationships – Because that could get messy.

My Day Job – Because I’m not stupid.

Sex – Because my brother reads this.

Crystal Meth – Because I don’t know anything about it.

But one subject I am about to break the Hollywood Hotdish silence about is body image.

To be honest, I’ve been avoiding it.

A woman living in Los Angeles complaining about body image is just so cliché. It’s just so over-emphasized. It’s just so Hollywood.

But as I was trying on dress after dress yesterday at Urban Outfitters, staring at myself in the mirror, and mentally swearing off sugar, carbs, and all food that can be described as “delicious,” I decided it was worth a mention.

Because I do think about it. A lot.

Too much, actually.

Now, I’m not the kind of girl who originally wanted to be a model and then – with a bat of my eyelashes and a toss of my hair – fell into acting.

In fact, I have a hard time liking those actors.

In spite of the fact that I’m probably (and hopefully) more talented than those actors, I wrestle with one dominant emotion every time I'm sitting in an audition surrounded by them.

Inadequacy.

A terrible, crippling feeling of poor self-worth.

Even though I know I’m better than that.

Even though I try and repeat what my dad always tells me:

You have a better personality than her!

It’s hard not to feel self conscious about yourself when you’re sitting next to a model.

I mean, who the hell cares about my personality?! She was on the cover of Vogue for God’s sake!

In a town that places so much emphasis on how you look (and what you drive, and what you wear) it’s hard to drown those thoughts out.

Yesterday, a friend of mine even refused to go to the store because he (HE) was in sweatpants.

REALLY?

This is a man who loves sports, who wears a baseball hat the majority of the time, who drinks beer - and not the fancy kind!

I was so shocked at this that I decided to do a little experiment. Could I go to the store in sweatpants?

When I stopped to think about it, I don’t think I ever had.

Now, I’m sure most of you are thinking: IT’S JUST THE STORE.

But in Los Angeles, going to the grocery store is an event. (Remember the red carpet?) I have seen women pushing carts in 6-inch heels, men picking out hamburger in Prada suits, and children begging for candy in dresses that cost more than my rent.

But I was determined to try this out.

I wore my sweatpants that sagged in the ass.

I wore that mustard-yellow t-shirt that has an obvious stain across the chest.

I didn’t brush my hair, I wore my glasses, and I didn’t even put on one bit of make-up.

I held my head high and waltzed into that store!

And even though the whole time I prayed I wouldn’t run into Steven Spielberg in the frozen food aisle, I did feel incredibly free.

I didn’t care about body image because I didn’t care AT ALL!

I picked out pears and smiled at strangers. I pushed up my glasses and read my coupons.

I got to the checkout and I was feeling good. I was feeling sexy and strong and beautiful!

And I looked at the cashier, held up my bottle of salad dressing, and said proudly:

Is this fat free?

Big Dreams

A few nights ago I dreamt I fed a hot dog to a shark.

In a laundry room.

While sitting on the dryer.

As you can imagine, it did not end well. Turns out, a great white shark's jaws are a lot bigger than an Oscar Mayer Weiner.

I narrowly escaped with my hand and apparently the shark was not satisfied becuase it flopped around (it was beached in the laundry room after all) and came after me.

It bit me in the inner thigh and then I woke up.

I know that this has nothing to do with Hollywood, or acting, or even is anything you want to read about.

But it's just SO WEIRD. And I've not been able to get it out of my mind since.

I mean, what does it mean??

So I thought I would turn to you, my readers (all seven of you) to give me your thoughts.

So, I ask of you:

What does it mean when you try and feed a hot dog to a shark in a laundry room?

B+

Last night for supper I had two dried out Easter Bunny Peeps.

I can’t remember what else I ate that day.

I am in the midst of working on a project with Noah. A big, time-consuming, career-driven project.

I feel like I’m back in college (without the quick metabolism and disillusions of grandeur.)

My freshman year, all I could think about was keeping up my grade average. Luckily, I had a roommate - Chelsea - who was the same kind of freak and became my best friend. There was even a weekend where we did nothing but homework.

36 HOURS OF HOMEWORK.

We would stare at each other across piles of papers, give a half-hearted thumbs-up, and say, “College is so awesome…”

That was also the year I almost accosted my history professor because he gave me a B+. When he told me a B+ was considered “excellent” by college standards I told him I had my own standards and could he please tell me how to get an A!

It’s amazing I didn’t become addicted to pills.

Chelsea and I later learned the word time management and were soon putting off homework to watch VH1’s “I Love The 80s” and taking late night trips to Coldstone.

Looking back on my freshman year I wonder what I was so afraid of.

Nowadays, I’m working like I worked in college. The same crazy hours, the same neglect to my diet, the same freakishly high standards.

But one major thing has changed.

If I had failed a class in college it wouldn’t have really mattered. Yes, I probably would have needed oxygen but it would not have affected the rest of my life.

Someone has yet to ask me about my college grades on a job interview or on a date.

Are you from around here? Are you a smoker? What grade did you get on your ‘Religions of Asia’ paper?

Not once.

The difference now is, if I don't work hard, there are real life consequences. Consequences like having to keep up my Ramen diet and having to wait until my fingers are numb to turn on the heat.

Real life success doesn’t just mean a mark on my transcript.

It means I was right to believe in myself.

It means I can stop eating Peeps for supper.

It means I can stop working three jobs (I’m lucky to have) but not passionate about and start working one job I am.

Success in the real world is not just about validation.

It’s about being able to provide for myself.

It’s about being able to get a one-bedroom apartment, travel to see my friend’s new baby, and being able to look back and think it was totally worth those years of struggle.

So here’s to real-world success!

And Doctor Sandgren, if you’re reading, thanks for giving me a B+ and some much needed perspective.

I hid under the bed for a week after that grade because I thought the world would cave in.

Surprisingly, it didn’t.