[What's Next?]

So... I've been a bit of a bad blogger. To be fair, it was all for your own good. I told myself that if I didn't have anything amusing to say, you wouldn't read it, so I shouldn't say anything at all. You guys are just a very tough audience, you know. So, this is really your fault.

Jerk.

Anyways. It has officially begun: my life as a member of the fabulous film industry. I'm well on my way to being an upstanding member of society. Or at least, I'm now one who helps the economy by paying rent, so I suppose that's something.

The last week has been a blur of meeting people, getting back in the swing of being a student, and simultaneously feeling excited, nervous, overwhelmed, and scared. Somewhere between the realms of I'm Gonna Be A Kick Ass Studious Mother Fucker and Holy Shit, Why Am I in the Same Class As That Dude Who Has An Emmy. It's... odd, certainly. But I've never been one to turn away something because it's odd.

I will say, however, that for the first time ever, I'm living to work. With college and definitely with my job, I always felt like I was working to live. I was only there as long as I had to be there, and whenever I was kept late, that nagging little voice in the back of my mind did a routine of "It's time to go home. It was time to go home five minutes ago. Why aren't they acknowledging this fact? Maybe if I jump out that window, I'll get to go home sooner. What are my chances of splatting on the ground if I do jump out that window? I wonder if it even opens. I should've planned ahead and stuck something squishy outside the window, just in case it came to this." And then my mind wandered off to giant Twinkies, and I usually was able to keep myself distracted until I was finally set free.

But that isn't happening here. I get out of a 7:30 class and think "what's next?" Who can I talk to? What can I work on? For the moment, it's wonderful. I really do hope it's something that sticks, even in the worst days.

Five days into Boot Camp, I'm feeling pretty good. I adore my team, and we're working on a project that's a shoot off of an idea I've been playing with for years. We don't quite have the pitch down yet, but on Friday, we get to pitch it to the cinematographers, editors, and production designers.

Apparently, as a responsible producer, I get to be the one who gets up in front of everyone and coherently and convincingly explains to all of them why our project is worth their time.

That... should be interesting. But that's a story for another day.

[You Were Perfect, Bamaloo. Like a Ninja.]

I figured when I got here, I would probably see a few stars that I absolutely adore. It's Hollywood. I'm in film. That's just how it goes.

Of course, this one was one I never really expected.

For anyone unfamiliar with the pure awesome that is Ninja Warrior, it's a contest that's going on nearly thirty runs in Japan. The single hardest obstacle course ever constructed. So much so that Olympic athletes try and fail. Routinely. So much so that only two men in the 26 runs of the show have ever finished all four stages and achieved total victory.

One of those men is Makoto Nagano. He's also adorable and my total hero. And I shook his hand.



Much more than the obvious amusement of people completely wiping out on the course, I love the people who run it. The ones who dedicate their lives to training and perfecting their bodies so they can try and achieve total victory. The course takes an insane amount of speed and arm strength. It's like their own personal journey.

But the thing that really sets Ninja Warrior apart? They're all rooting for each other. They're not on the same team, but they act like they are. There's genuine happiness at each other's success and real heartbreak when they fail. It's so rare that you see that. Being able to be so truly empathetic? I think that's a pretty damn special thing.

Also, someday, I need to be a ninja. But that's another story.

[They Used to Call Me Anal Girl. I Was Very Neat and Organized.]

So that song about walking 500 miles? I officially deem anyone willing to do that crazy. Seriously, that doesn't prove your love, just your insanity. I might be biased at the moment, considering we drove through several 500 mile stretches there that had absolutely nothing in them, but I think my point still holds.

Just throwing that out there.

10 days, 2600 miles, and three time changes later, I'm just about settled in to my new apartment. All things considered, it all went pretty smoothly. Mostly. There was the slight issue of my property manager not looking at the box before giving it to the previous resident, and thus giving away my brand new, freshly delivered PS3 (which he adorably kept calling a 3SP), but the dude brought it back, so I'm willing to let that slide.

Anyhow, the place looks adorable. I'll have pictures up on Facebook soon. Ish.

However. There is one place now on my Hate Is A Strong Word, But I Really, Really, Really Don't Like You list.

IKEA. The Swedish bastards.

You can charm me all you want with your $1 cinnamon buns and your delicious hot dogs. Forcing me to walk through your entire store is still evil. And after having done it about six times in the last three days, I'll be very happy to never ever do it again. Especially since everyone in your store seems to be stoned or drinking a regular supply of the pretty chemicals under the sink, therefore can't operate a shopping cart, walk in a straight line, or understand that when I make the impatient noise with my shoe, it means move the hell out of my way.

Furthermore, you need to have a rating system on your boxes. I've taken the liberty of coming up with one for you.

1 - This thing is awesome. You take it out of a bag and voila. Instant fluffy pillow.

2 - Only common sense required to put together. Put shade on lamp. Turn lamp on. Success!

3 - The instructions are pictures! You like pictures.

4 - The pictures lie. They say this has 64 screws, but there are definitely only 57. And 12 of them won’t fit where they claim they will.

5 - This piece may induce slight cursing and/or mutterings.

6 - This piece will induce definite cursing and/or throwing things.

7 - Attempting to assemble this will cause you to set fire to the pretend wood in frustration.

8 - Attempting to assemble this will cause you to set fire to your house in frustration, just to make sure the damn thing burns.

9 - Even though it doesn't require you to use any power tools, trying to put this together will most likely end with you slicing off your hand. Possibly both hands.

10 - The world will actually explode if you even try to take this out of the box. There are three digit numbers in the instructions. Seriously, buying this will cause the end of the world. Do you really want to be responsible for that?

I'm forwarding a copy of this blog to the CEO of IKEA, so definitely look for this new system next time you're there.

Luckily, daddy was here to do his Guy thing and put everything together for us. Including the obscenely complicated entertainment center, which now looks awesome. As does the rest of the place.

Oh, though I finally have something good to say about Texas. Besides the song Ohio (Come Back to Texas), anyways. In Amarillo, there's a millionaire with apparently nothing better to do with his money than bury 10 beat up old Cadillacs in the desert so people could turn them into art. I use the word lightly, in the modern sort of sense, since I'm not really sure spray painting "Bite me" counts as art.



I, on the other hand, made my mark in a way everyone could enjoy.