I've been hiding in doors being "productive" for too long. So it's refreshing to feel the drive to go out and hit the scene again. Tonight I attend this: http://www.younghollywoodparty.com/about.html
Equipped with a hot dress from Guess and some hair extensions (and a few cocktails down the ol' hatchet) I should be able to morph into a schmooze siren. A SCHMOOZE SIREN people!!
After all, there is only so much you can dream up in your room before you realize it's time to meet some people that aren't characters you've imagined in your head and/or written down on the page. Although meeting some L.A. folks you wonder if the difference is really all that blurry?
Anyhow, this former social butterfly is re-forming into...a social butterfly.
I've never been one to say "well, I have to go out for my career." That's icky. Like you're on a mission to use people under that great label we all love in Hollywood called "network." But there is that feeling, when you're an actress and writer in this town that every time you're out, you're on display, representing yourself and inevitably your career choice. When that question "so what do you do?" comes up, you better have the answer. Personally, I declare "I'm an actress and writer working ALL THE TIME but really trying to break into waitressing." At which point I usually get a little laugh or, as is 20 % the case, a "this-girl-is-not-taking-her-career-seriously" frown and the conversation ends abruptly.
Their loss. Because have you ever seen me out and about? I'm fun. No, no, seriously I am! This Ivy League intellectual turns into pure Eurotrash on the dancefloor and may I remind you that when I first got here Jesse Metcalfe (hot gardener from Desperate Housewives) tapped me on the shoulder and said I danced like a black woman. I'll take that as a compliment. Unless, of course, Jesse Metcalfe is a racist, in which case I've just outed him and ruined is career....some more.
Okay, so maybe some of this wild side is coming out after feeling down these past couple of weeks. The ego that masks the insecurity...boohoo. In which case I'll take some shots and sterilize that internal turmoil till it's dead. Dead, bitches. I mean it.
Wait for the pictures from Young Hollywood Party.
