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w00t! (Well, a tired "w00t", but a "w00t" nonetheless)
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Mar 12, 2005 11:00 pm
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Holy fuck am I tired.
Please to forgive any typos...I'll not be proofing this as carefully as I normally try to do....
So, looooooooooong day. Our run-through was great, I feel awesome about the work I am doing, and we are really pulling together as a cast and as a company. Our errant playwright said some very encouraging things, and that was good too!
I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. We have "load in" tomorrow, which signals the last violent paroxysm of work before the show opens. Fingers crossed that no one's head 'splodes!
I am feeling a bit lame that I have no date for opening night....ah, well. Perhaps they'll be a hot single pervert there to sweep me off of my feet....!
A girl can dream, no?
Night, everybody!
xoxo
~Mollena
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I. RULE. Excuse me while I whack off now....
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Mar 12, 2005 1:16 am
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I kicked so much ass today in my rehearsal it is a wonder that anyone in the Entire Bay Area can sit down tonight. Even the Persnickety Playwright was on my jock...and boy did it feel good to give her a gracious nod and then turn and walk away.
I have to say, though, the note that she gave the costume designer has to be the most Hilarious I've ever heard. I am wearing a corset-style bustier thing, and evidently my breasts are an issue. I distinctly heard the playwright ask, as we were modeling the costumes, "Are Mo's breasts going to be more under control? Because right now, they are way way distracting."
And she's straight.(!!!)
Feel the power !!!
Furthermore, I kicked ass in my audition today. If they don't cast me, it is only because someone sucked the director's dick.
...not that I wouldn't ... he was kinda hot.
Now, I am going to go whack off again. I have found my new favorite porn scene: it is this sister taking on and wearing out three men simultaneously in a fantastic gang-bang sequence.
Why do these things not happen to me?
It is not for lack of trying
because I have tried, on three separate occasions, to facilitate me being fucked senseless by 2+ men. But each and every time, one of them backs out. What the hell. OK, so and THEN they want to fuck me, but individually, and I am all, dude, if I wanted to fuck you individually, I would have said I wanted to fuck you individually.
Why is this so difficult?!?! I mean, it should not be too challenging to find three well-hung men who are confident enough in their sexuality that fucking a girl with a couple other guys in close proximity isnt going to take the wood out of their pecker. Perhaps I need to recruit porn actors
.or something
OK, NOW I AM going to go whack off. Wheres my Jack Daniels??
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A moment of silence: 3/11/04
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Mar 11, 2005 10:07 am
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...to remember those who lost their lives in Madrid last year...
And a moment of *sigh* for me...today marks the year anniversary of my breakup with my &%$#@! ex-boyfriend. The irony that is gutting me is this: one of the main reasons for our parting of ways was his non-committal attitude towards having children together...and now, it seems, I might not be able to have children naturally. Ain't life a bitch?
xoxo
~Mollena
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...of magnets, commutes and delays...
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Mar 11, 2005 8:56 am
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Well! The MRI went pretty smoothly
just hoping now that I can receive the results back sooner than later
Now Ive got to hobble across town, to one of the more inaccessible areas of San Francisco, that being Fort Mason, for my audition. I think it is going to take me about a total of 2.5 hours travel time: the buses to that part of town are tricky to catch, dagnabbit!
On the other hand, I could go grab a car from the City Car Share, of which I am a member. That would be a far sight better than the alternative, which is 3 busses and over 2 hours. Or a cab, which would probably cost me about $15.00 each way
Perhaps I shall have a little
ahem
personal moment to soothe the nerves before going in for the reading. That often helps.
Oh, look
my posts from YESTERDAY are finally showing up. I still cant believe that ALT actually has people read and approve all of the posts. Why not just have a bot go through, looking for key words, and let the people complain if something egregious comes down the pipeline? It is somewhat lame to have to wait so long for juicy tidbits from the ALTbloggers. Geez.
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An afternoon's onanistic odyessey...
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Mar 10, 2005 2:08 pm
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I lay curled on one side of the bed, trying to warm the chilly sheets, tucking my head into the crease between two pillows as the afternoon sun pours in. As the bed begins to warm, my thoughts drift....nothing particular, just on a generally erotic stream of consciousness...imagining someones hands upon my back, on my breasts, pinching and squeezing. I reach between my legs and, of course, I was already somewhat slippery and moist. Slowly sliding my index and middle fingers so that they straddled the hardening flesh of my clit, I keep my legs pressed together , building the friction, until I cant stand it any more. Extending both legs, I roll onto my back, legs sliding apart, as I increase the pressure against my clit, my pussy wetter. I quickly approach orgasm....then stall. How annoying...I considered digging out my vibrator, but dont quite want to.
Moving one hand upwards, I grope in the bedside table....there they are. Once or twice, someone has been in my room and seen them on the table, even played with them, but I don't think anyone really has ever questioned why the heck there are two clothespins just sitting there....my friends probably just assume theyre for some illicit purpose anyway. And they are correct.
I take the first and bring it down to where my nipple is peeking furtively from beneath the comforter, open it and let it go. Delicious pinching...I take the second, and apply it to the other. Not as tight this one...I move it closer to the edge of my nipples...there. much better...one hand strays over my belly and back down to my pussy, now hot and oozing. I rub my clit, pinching the lips and stroking gently, then harder...my other hand takes hold of one of the clothespin and twists it tighter. Involuntarily, my back arches up from the bed, my head thrown back, low moaning deep within my throat...and out of nowhere comes the thought could you stop now? I do, and it is like being thrown against a wall. Breath uneven, I pull my fingers from my cunt, put them in my mouth, and taste them. Rubbing my thighs together, I continue to tease myself, wondering how long Ill be able to stand it. Not very....within a few minutes, twisting on the nipple clamping mercilessly on my breast, I cannot wait any longer, and plunge my fingers back towards the slick confines of my cunt. Pushing my hips upward, pounding my clit with my hand, head rolled to one side eyes wide open staring into nothingness, I feel the inevitable beginnings of my orgasm...legs shaking and then tensing, odd grunts and half purrs sounding strange to my own ears, as my nipples are, impossibly, even harder than before, making the pins clamp even crueler. Even as the first part of the orgasm dies away, the tiniest movement of my hand on my clit sends me over the edge again, and I cannot withhold a strangled gasp, the blood pounding in my ears as I keep coming, and coming...pulling off the clothespins, I roll onto my belly and continue to stroke my pussy, the change of position creating a slightly different series of sensations....the musckes in my legs vibrating at a frequency that makes them seem slmost like shifting sand in an earthquake...
Still coasting, my hand covered in my own juices, I rub myself against my fingers and feel my toes curl as the lingering tail end of my orgasm passes through my spine, sensitizing my skin so that every fold of the sheet is like a caress....
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THE STORY OF JIM: Part I: The accidental toruists
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Mar 10, 2005 1:45 pm
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We all have our origin stories...this is the serialized epic drama about the man who first opened my eyes to some Intriguing Possibilities...I'll post it as I dig out the journal entries and old letters and writings.
***************************************************************************************************************************************************
I never failed to be amazed by the weather in LA. That singular character in the story of southern California was, in my estimation, primarily responsible for the excessively permissive standards and languid pace it had taken me several years to adjust to. After the violent meteorological mood swings of a City like New York, the perpetual warmth and comfort of Hollywood lulled one into a cozy rhythm of slavish slacking. December 7, 1993 was one of those typical LA winter evenings; 72° with warm El Niño breezes coiling through the canyons.
That evening, I had a Girls Night Out date with two friends who lived in Pasadena. They considered an evening in Hollywood to be tantamount to a long road trip to Gomorra, and they were not entirely unjustified. Nevertheless, I was tired of the endless trips I made to their side of the hills to enjoy the nightlife. After much cajoling and several threats, I bullied them into joining me in Hollywood for a night out. Kelly, the owner of a little Meat convertible, was to be our driver, as we deemed it the most Sunset Strip Worthy vehicle any of us owned. My own ancient Honda was hardly the car in which to pull up to the Valet parking at the Roxy.
Our first stop was Barneys Beanery, an established hangout for all sorts of Hollywood types. A few weeks prior, I had spotted several soap actors there, pretending to try to remain anonymous. And, they boast a menu of 375+ brewed beverages, so one would never be bored.
Kelly, Anne and I arrived shortly after 8:00 and took a booth in the section of the establishment that ringed a pair of pool tables. After ordering, we perused the scene at the bar and about the restaurant. There were the usual poseurs, several snuggly couples, and a table full of Irish and British guys whooping it up behind us. Having an avowed weakness for those blessed with English accents, I eavesdropped on their boisterous conversation as best I could. Two of their numbers were dithering about the pool table, amidst derisive shouts from their compatriots. Upon the arrival of our drinks, I was annoyed to discover that one of the pool players was bent over the game with his butt protruding well into the airspace of our table. Nice ass. Kelly commented, as I turned to find myself face to cheek with the khaki covered posterior of one of the pool players. Smirking, I waited until he had carefully lined up his shot, secured his guide hand and drawn back the cue...then I poked him, rudely, in the curve of his rear. Startled, fouling the shot, he jumped and spun around. WOULD you mind, I asked dryly not sharing such intimacies with a table of ladies without the benefit of introduction?! Sorry, love, came the lovely accented rejoinder Didnt mean to poke me bum in your face. Kelly and Anne, not wasting any time, started chatting him up and invited him to our table. His opponent strolled over, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. What, Cedric, you likely to chat up these birds over our game? Tearing myself away from our new friend, I came face to face with Him.
I had a smartass comment ready, but it perished on my lips as we caught each others gaze. Goddess, He was sexy...short black hair, dark eyes, quite well dressed. He seemed to double take as we saw each other, and then strolled over to our table. My face was hot...I was inexplicably nervous and just stared as He introduced Himself. His name was James. Same as my dads...came an errant thought...although there the resemblance ended. Or so I thought. As He continued to talk, I discovered that He was, like my father, a musician. But He played guitar, where my dads specialty was the sax, and He was in town on tour. He and his cohorts, the loud table of eurotrash at the table behind us, were evidently all part of the same tour. Trying to regain at least a modicum of my composure, I asked where He would be playing, and if we could see him play. He responded He wasnt sure where they would be, and asked me to remind him later, so that He could ask the tour manager, who even now was tipping a pint with his lads. As we made small talk, I was brought to a heated awareness of his leg pressed against mine, his hand grazing my bare arm, leaving goosebumps, and the possessive caress of His eyes upon me as I sat fidgeting. He asked if I wanted a drink. I think I said yes, and soon another beer materialized in front of me. During the conversational introductory small talk, He pointedly mentioned He had a girlfriend in England. My first reaction was a gut wrenching disappointment, then puzzlement; why would He tell me this? Why not just let it slide? He was only here for a little while, anyway why should I care? We were, after all, just having a drink. I shook it off. Let it ride. Have fun...what difference does it make?
Gesturing to the half completed pool game languishing on the table, He challenged me to a game. Excusing myself from the table (Anne and Kelly couldnt have cared less, as they were plotting to obtain introductions to the table full of Europeans anyway) I joined Jim at the pool table. I played quite well....for awhile. I couldnt focus with Him watching. I was vulnerable, giggly, and shy. Leaning over to take a shot, several braids fell into my field of vision. Impatiently tossing them back only generated a cascade of braids into my face. Hold off... leaning over, He pulled my hair back from my face with His fingers, His hand trailing over my damp skin. Involuntarily, my eyes were drawn to His, but I almost immediately looked away again...and scratched the shot.
Shit. No fair, you distracting me like that
Sorry. He smirked unconvincingly.
His turn. As He lined up the shot, I slipped over to the far side of the table, bending over the felt bumper, allowing the fabric of my blouse to gap open and reveal a substantial amount of the curve of my breast. His turn to miss, and I laughed as He sank one of my balls. The small talk continued, but I couldnt concentrate; all I could do was watch His every move...the gorgeous and firm curve of His ass as He bent over the table, the evident strength in His large and rough but somehow sensitive fingers, the deep gleam in His eyes...the colour of dark jade. By the time the game was over, I was hotter than I could ever imagine being. He steered me back to the booth, and we found it empty, Kelly and Anne having joined Jims friends at the other table. Laughing and flirting like old lovers, we were at the table for over an hour. He was staring at my mouth, and murmuring something about how beautiful I was and then His lips were upon mine and I thought I would lose it right there. My mouth parted slightly and He took my lower lip between His own, sucking gently. I kept my eyes open. He did too. As we parted, I looked at Him and knew I would do anything He asked of me. Lovely... He whispered, stroking my face again. I felt as though I had swallowed a shovelful of hot sand, and was unable to reply.
The evening grew late, and Kelly had to work tomorrow. She started making motions as if to leave. I panicked, not yet having any idea if I would see Him again. I reminded Him of His promise to tell me where He would be playing. Rousing one of the guys at the table, He asked where the next gig was. The tour manager pulled a large binder from his bag and flipped through it. The Shrine, it says. he intoned in lilting Irish tones. I laughed. Jim raised an eyebrow. The Shrine Auditorium? Like where the Academy Awards are shot? Im sure. Just what is the name of your band?
Well, He hedged Its not me own band, Im just playin backup on this tour
Whose tour?
Yever herd of an Irish bloke by name of Van Morrison?
My lip curled. Yeah, I heard of Him. Youre telling me you play with Van Morrison?
Quite
Well, then get me tickets for the concert. And for my friends too. I knew no one would believe it if I didnt have witnesses, and since I thought He was full of shit anyway, I wanted to have someone with me in case I was in for some odd occurrence.
No worries. By this time, Kelly was on her way out of the door. Damn, I wished I had driven myself...
As we stepped outside, Jims mates were all stumbling down the sidewalk, composing lewd limericks. Kelly was pressuring me into the car. Jim was writing something on a crumpled rectangle of paper from His pocket. A room number, the paper a piece of hotel stationary. He stepped quite close to me Are you doin anything tomorrow night?
Are you asking me out?
I guess I am
Then I guess Im not. I pulled paper from my purse, and wrote my home and work numbers down. Call me and let me know what your schedule is, OK? Anne was practically dragging me into the car. Hey, do you have to go? Me and the blokes was goin back up to the hotel for another round...you girls sure you dont want to come? I looked hopefully at my friends. No dice. Maybe I could join you... Anne was giving me the look of death, and I figured the sane thing would just be to call it a night and see if He rang me tomorrow. I guess Ill talk to you later.
I offered my hand. He took it and kissed it, gallantly. I laughed, but at the moment his lips left the back of my hand, he pulled me towards him. I blinked and my face was suddenly inches away from his. He smelled like hot smoke and honey. My mouth opened, threatening to utter some nonsense. Before I could, he closed the last few inches, barely touching my lips to his. Startled, my eyes stayed open and I watched him kissing me and his hand slid around the small of my back just in time to stop me from sliding down and I was all of a sudden so dizzy I thought I would hit the sidewalk save for his hand now both hands now his arms around my waist and he leaned further into me and now he really kissed me and involuntarily, my hands forgot the purse they had been holding up to this point somewhere far away I heard it splat onto the pavement and I tried to inhale and felt his tongue insinuate itself between my teeth delicious hot and slippery and I sighed, the sound manifesting itself in an almost inaudible purr and I felt his response a seismic quiver that ran from his belly to his head and into me and I couldnt keep my eyes open any longer and suddenly he pulled me tighter and it almost hurt and that was good and I felt his teeth on my tongue and I felt the tension in the back of his neck as I pulled him even closer and I thought somehow I could just keep him here forever and would I ever remember how to breathe and then it was ending and I opened my eyes to see his open too and we looked at each other. Tomorrow, then. He turned and ran up the block to join His friends who were whistling and catcalling from halfway down the block.
My girlfriends, convinced I was an incorrigible slut headed straight to hell, were obviously jealous. I was in a cloud.
NEXT: Part II: Suites for the Sweet...
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Please send me good energy!
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Mar 10, 2005 1:04 am
1473 Views
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....I have an audition this Friday. Please, please send out your good thoughts / prayers / karma. It would be REALLY good for me career-wise if I could kick ass in this audition.
This will be interesting: I have the MRI appointment Friday morning at 7:30 AM, then the audition at 12:00 Noon.
Ain't life strange?
Talk about a mood rollercoaster...we just love being Gemini!
Which reminds me of my semi-famous quote:
"We are Gemini. Resistance is Futile. You will be assimila---hey---where'd you get those shoes?!?!"
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How long...
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Mar 10, 2005 12:57 am
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....does one wait before checking in after a date?
I have, in my whirlwind of days, only now realized that it is now 3 full days since our date, and I still have neither heard a whisper nor read a keystroke from J.
:-\
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...of playwrights and personal paroxysms
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Mar 9, 2005 11:37 pm
1564 Views
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My goddess, what a day
I awoke feeling pretty icky, throat sore, the whole works. I received a call from my Director, early in the morning, as I was trying to muster the capacity to drag myself in to work. She had some concerns in light of my performance in our last run-through. Suffice to say this conversation did not go well. She basically said that the arc of my character was invisible, my diction at times so muddy as to be unintelligible, and that I wasnt hitting the core of the character. I was staggered: mostly because this was 180° away from the notes shed been giving me all last week. I really didnt know what to say, so I told her Id have to think about this and call her back. So, I hung up the phone, and sat and cried for about half an hour, then got really angry and frustrated, then cried some more. I called my friend Julie, who is one of my closest friends, and familiar with the ins and outs of our theater companys dynamic. Needless to say, I couldnt get it together to go in to work, so I called in and let those who needed to know that I would not be in.
Part of the problem has been that I am on some strong anti-inflammatory drugs
part of the problem is that I was in the midst of that awful hyper-extended period. Nothing impacts the energy like being on the rag for a month of rehearsal. But one of the main problems is an odd relationship with the playwright.
Since she wrote the part FOR ME, for the love of mike, one would think shed know I could do it. But she hasnt seen my process in a show, and certainly not seen me perform under the influence of various painkillers. Since she is in the room, and since she is incredibly protective of her words, she reacts to every and any little variation one might make in rehearsals. He writing style is such that my character drops a lot of words I personally am reflexive about utilizing, and it is difficult to remember, sometimes, that I need to say Sure you dont want to come back? and instead will correct it to Are you sure you dont want to come back? which then makes the playwright visibly flinch and furiously scrawl notes, which makes me feel like I have colossally fucked up my performance somehow. When she is only twigging about a word. Yes, of course I am aware that the word is the thing: I am a writer myself. But I am also aware that it really is deleterious to my psyche to be under the magnifying glass of the Director, the SM, the Musical Director, the Composer AND the Writer, and getting (often conflicting) notes from them all.
SO, basically the writer freaked on the director, feeling that I am going to fuck up her play. And the director twigged on me, and I had to justify my existence.
Sucked.
I spoke with some of the other actors in the show, 2 women whose opinions I could trust to be forthright. And I discovered that, evidently, the playwright has, in the past, fixated on an actor who she feels is not up to snuff in adequately purveying, with precision, the brilliance of her words. SO, I am not alone, frankly. Small, cold comfort. But the other women agreed that, while I have been in a sort of muffled space, it hasnt been a wholesale collapse on my part.
I arrived early to the space, where the camera crew from KQEDs Spark program were there, filming our rehearsal. They have been following us around intermittently for several weeks. I had forgotten, in my huff, that they were going to be there, and I looked like absolute refried dog poop, having spent most of the day crying or sleeping. But whatever.
I chatted with the Director, and basically got more clarity on her issues, most of which were, as I suspected, the result of the undermining worries of the playwright. The concerns about my energy level notwithstanding, my Director KNOWS I WILL NOT give a half-assed performance: she does need to see the potential realized before we hit the opening night. Which is fine, but jesus, it is hard with all of the shit I have been dealing with. I just wanted to shake the playwright YOU try learning an entire show, 3 songs, 2 solos, choreography, a million different physical poses, and all of your lines word perfect while on the rag for a month straight with a busted FUCKING KNEE and under the influence of Vicodin and then Relafen, for the love of great hopped up Jehosophat!!!
But I couldnt.
So, I did the next best thing. I pretended she wasnt there, ignored her entirely, and created a nice potted plant in my head where she should have been, and tuned out when she spoke.
Evidently, that helped, because I connected mush more profoundly with my Director in out work, and felt a lot better about the rehearsal. But man, talk about a Brobdingnagian P.I.T.A.!!!
Back to the mantra
I AM Fabulous
I AM Fabulous
I AM Fabulous
I AM Fabulous
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