Filming was fun. I went to the set at 12:30 and arranged to have my friend meet me there for lunch. He's gay and when he saw my wardrobe he said, "No, Honey," and I trust him implicitly. So we went to the wardrobe trailer and played dress up in crack whore outfits for a few hours, adding more and more cleavage with each change. Gay men know all the secrets of 'chicken cutlets,' and double sided tape and things I don't even want to think about, but I looked ready to feed an infant orphan nation all by myself.
In the scene we filmed, I was watching a girl get raped and trying to intervene. Apparently I was doing too good a job because the other actor couldn't fend me off and finally asked if he could slap me in the face. Of course I said yes, and he was not kidding. I couldn't see out of my eye for about an hour so I waited for my vision to come back, stuffed my pie hole with Craft Service, and talked to an actress with a heavy Russian accent. She said, "I have been driving for just a short time and already this year, I have accident with three cars. And all three very brand new, expensive. And all named 'Mike." I thought my ears had deceived me, but no. She continued, "They should have a sign to warn me that their name is Mike."
It would be the only decent thing to do, really. She said, "I just start to cry and they forgive me." Her eyelashes were so long and she looked so innocent, I don't see how anyone could resist. I caught myself staring at her tiny body trying to figure out how a person's elbows could be bigger than their shoulders, but she didn't join me for quesadillas and sandwiches, so that was probably it.
Fried at the beach with my new friend and were in paroxysms of laughter as we watched a handstand-off between two men in banana hammocks. She thought one of the guys was imitating the other one and making fun of him but I think it was the Swedish gymnastics team taking in a little sun.

A pod of dolphins were nice enough to perform for us as we read Eckhart Tolle and used-car shopped in The Recycler. "I want an '07 Beemer with power windows, power doors, and Power of Now!" Eckhart told me that my stalking tendencies were from clingy neediness and I say phooey. Someone should decide if their intentions are pure BEFORE they kiss you. That goes for Dad's Bags as well, who has suddenly disappeared without a trace.

Had a lunch meeting with a producer a couple of days ago for the flight attendant comedy and as I was leaving, this lady who looked like a beige Cookie Monster, told me she had just spoken to the angels Gabriel and Michael and they wanted her to give me my messages. Piqued, I walked with her "wherever God guided us," which was uncannily to the ATM and had my crystals read. I had to make wishes out loud, and it was kind of like making a life plan with my accountant, only about spiritual matters. Funnily enough, both my finances and my soul are in shambles. Apparently someone cursed me at birth, and she eradicated it, so I've got that going for me. The thing about people who are a few shy is that they so totally believe every word they utter, you start to get swept up in it.
I have another friend who's schizophrenic. He told me he's the Chosen One and has been stalked by different incarnations of Mary Magdalene through seven lifetimes and to save the human race, he had to marry a girl and live in Hawaii so he could survive the Los Angeles Tsunami which was scheduled for last September. I only wonder who his bride is because I egged him on for three hours, but a lifetime is just a whole other kind of commitment.