No Words...

Where do I begin? Sheesh. What a few weeks this has been. No kidding. You ready for an epic tale? Sit back, grab a drink, and get to reading. I'll begin two weeks back.

An amazing thing happened. I got a temporary job that lasted exactly to the day of when my perm job was supposed to start back up. And I not only got the job, I nailed the interview. They showed me the stacks of resumes and did the whole bit of flattering me by saying they liked my resume the best and I was the first they called, etc etc. Then made a whole show of tossing the rest of them into the trash. Okay, so it was probably the best interview I've ever had. The show was something definitely cool and different. I heckled a bit a got a wee bit over my usual rate and everyone seemed nice and welcoming. So I was pretty excited.

The day I found out I got the job, I also found out that I got to edit a music video for an actual record label and an actual band and it could actually go on tv! (Maybe, possibly, maybe). Flying high here, right?

Okay, then things started going terribly wrong. I soon discovered that my once top-of-the-line editing system had plummeted so far below the line that it couldn't even handle aforementioned music video. Not only that, the new job was not quite as great as I had imagined. It was hard going back to working days when I had grown so accustomed to nights. Having people breathing down my neck and not being able to get online and waste time was definitely a downer.

So one problem at a time, I knew I wanted to do the music video. I had just wrapped up the short that I've worked on literally all summer and was excited to go to something different. The song is catchy and poppy and fun, with a hint of darkness, and altogether perfect for me. The director is someone I've wanted to work with for a while, and well, music videos have always had a special place in my heart.

At this point in my life, I was broke. Broke broke broke! I quickly learned that in order for me to update my system so that it could handle the project, I wouldn't even be able to update my exsiting software, (since it is an Academic version, [which at the time sounded like such a good deal]). I'd have to buy the super expensive bundle of applications I'd rarely use, one of which, enabled me to do the video.

Thirteen hundred dollars in debt later, I'm sitting at my computer, all excited and ready to install my new software when I discover that I need to update my OS X to even be able to INSTALL FCP 6. What?!? That would have been nice to know at the store where I had bought the software as they were closing and locking the doors behind me for the night.

I should have taken this as a sign that the universe did not want me to do this project. But I couldn't stop there. This was an unreturnable purchase and I was going to use it damnit.

The next morning I awoke nice and early and was at the store as they opened the doors. I went in, bought my OS X gazillion, (after the fated conversation with the nice salesman, "Do you really need it now?" "Yes. Why?" "The new version is coming out next week. You should wait until then." Of course. "I can't!"), and left the store feeling even smaller than I felt when I entered.

I got home and spent the entire day installing software, including yet another upgrade I had to download as the smoke flew from my ears, and then, finally, FINALLY, importing the footage. Somehow, someway, I still got the first cut done that night, right on schedule. I was doing my best to overcome these obstacles and desperately wanted to leave a good taste in the mouth of the director. The next day, of course, (this is getting ridiculous, no?), after all of that hard work, I discovered that one little tiny box had not been checked when I imported the footage, (not to get into too many boring specifics, but it's an HD project and this was the first time I was dealing with actual HD in my timelime), so I had to reimport. Reimporting caused all my current files to reconnect almost an entire second off, meaning I was basically having to recut the entire thing. In one night to even attempt to stay on schedule.

Can I just say for the record this was one of the most fun things I've ever had the privelege of cutting. Even so, I would have preferred to do it once, especially with the tight schedule we were on, but I digress. I stayed up late, starting off my week on four hours of sleep. I finished, yay, but the lack of sleep hurt me.

Monday-I went to work, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Tuesday-I went to work, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Wednesday-I went to work completely exhausted, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Thursday-I went to work even more exhausted, realized I had made a couple of HUGE mistakes, like sending a bad DVD to the Network, (eck!), cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, cursed my boss for not letting me check said DVDs before he burned and sent them, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Friday-I went to work unbelievably exhausted, didn't make any mistakes, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, got in my car and started to drive home. I was trying to make my way as fast as possible through the rain, (yes, rain in LA), and traffic, so I'd have enough time to walk my dog before the director came over. I got a call. EPIC! I warned you! (I actually had to stop and remember that other stuff because it is so pale in comparison to my next catastrophe. I was like "Wait, didn't something else suck like four days ago?")

My house, a duplex, had gotten struck hard by the rainstorm. The shotty old wire coming off of my bedroom and onto the pole had ripped from our house, still barely hanging on, but doing so in a vicarious manner. My roommate, who was home when it happened, had seen the sparks from the event, and ran outside. A small fire had started under our house. She grabbed the dogs and called the fire department. By the time they had gotten there, the fire was out and a large portion of cable/internet wires was a mess a black goo. Needless to say our cable/internet still hasn't been fixed!

They put up some tape and told us we needed the electic company to come out as soon as possible. It was around this time that I was finally getting home. The electricity was understandibly out, (just our house), and when I touched the back railing by the stairs, I got shocked. A loud, unbearable hum was coming from my wall, and our fire alarms were beeping mercilessly, as they run solely on electic energy and not batteries. The fire department had left and there was no fire at this time, so I tried my best to feel safe. My roommate went to a movie and I was stuck at home alone to sit and hope that, despite my gut telling me otherwise, everything was okay.

I kept getting wiffs of an odd odor that I pinpointed as a vitaminy smell. The fact that the fire alarms weren't working troubled me, but I tried to stay calm. Finally, sensing the smell was getting stronger, I broke down and called 911. I asked the fire department just to come back and investigate the smell. A little over two minutes later, four trucks came roaring into my neighborhood. My cheeks flushed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

They could not smell anything and when I told them that the railing had shocked me, they looked at me like I was crazy. The dogs had both yelped in the front yard, as if they were getting shocked too. They didn't believe that it was anything to be worried about. They left, as there was no fire.

The electric company was slammed and no one came that night. I also had to understandibly cancel the editing session for the evening. I couldn't even sleep in my room as the hum was not only annoying, but troubling. It sounded like a ball of electricity trapped in the wall. I slept of the couch. A fitful nights sleep at best. After a week of short sleep nights, my nerves were rattled and body, exhausted.

I awoke the next morning and me and my roommate both called the electric company begging for someone to come out. One house without power didn't seem to be a big priority. We explained it was an emergency, but there was only so much customer service could do.

Finally, after an unsettling morning, a lone man from the electric company came to investigate. He looked shocked and basically said, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

Duh. This is what we'd been saying. He was nice enough to call the dispatcher directly, hopefully expressing the severity of the situation. He was also nice enough to explain that somehow electricity had infiltrated our entire yard, or anything metal touching the house. And no, I was not crazy for thinking I got shocked. I actually did and thank goodness it wasn't enough to do any damage.

But he couldn't turn the electricity off. Basically that had to be done at the pole or something. For some reason, he couldn't do much. So again, I waited. Waited, sniffing the air anxiously. Roommate had gone to breakfast and I had stayed home, not wanting to leave the dogs alone. I was so nervous, just waiting for the house to catch fire, I actually packed up some things in my car. I just knew. I can't explain it, but I knew. I was putting my head between my knees taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down. I felt helpless. Like I was just waiting for it to catch fire. Like it wasn't a question of "if", it was "when". I literally was having an internal debate on whether or not I was overreacting when I smelled the vitaminy smell again. I didn't want to false alarm the FD again, so I waited. It got stronger, much stronger, and finally I broke down and called my roommate begging her to come home. When she got there she laughed at the fact that I had packed up my car, but as the rain started falling again, the smell got even stronger.

So I got on the phone with the power company and told them we needed someone now. Now. Then, my worst nightmare happened. My roommate saw smoke. I took the dogs outside and put them in my car, yelling to the power company that my house was on fire, it was too late now, and I had to go. I hung up, feeling utterly helpless and like no one seemed to give a damn that we've had this huge risk around us and no one could seem to do anything but wait. Wait for this, I guessed. Wait for the house to go up in flames. That's what it took it seemed. My roommate ran down a few seconds later, having already called the fire department, and said she saw flames. In my head, it was gone. The house was gone. When the fire trucks pulled up, I met them at the street and told them where the kitchen was. Immediately when they ran in, I started crying. I know. I'm such a girl. But it had been an emotional day and I'm terrified of fires and I really thought the house was long gone. And just to push the sympathy points a little higher, it was pouring down rain and I was completely soaked. And neighbors were coming up to me offering me umbrellas and water and to go inside their house and sit, but I couldn't move from the driveway, alternating from watching the house in horror, and not being able to watch at all, fearing I'd see flames from the roof. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that.

I'll add in here that we couldn't reach our landlord because of the Jewish holiday and he had left no emergency number.

I got dragged away from the house by a friend who took me down the block to her house and supplied me with dry clothes and made me calm down-which was probably a good thing. I think the firefighters were laughing at me. When I returned, it was business as fire usual. They had decided they had no other choice but to cut down the power line completely. They were inspecting all the walls with a camera thing to make sure nothing else was on fire.

A fireman, the chief I do believe, approached me and asked if I was the one that called last night about the "vitaminy" smell. I confirmed that was me, and he, in turn, confirmed, in his best apologetic tone, that I wasn't crazy. What I had been smelling was the old insulation smoldering in the walls. HA! (Although I'm not sure how much I appreciate being right on that one.) I knew I wasn't crazy. I'm pretty sure they felt bad about the jokes they made after they left. So yes, technically there was a fire in our walls for nearly twelve hours. This house we SLEPT in.

Anyway, that is how I spent last weekend. Hardly any damage was done, although the firemen did chop up one of our walls! The house has since been rewired, although not very well. Needless to say, we're not really feeling too safe here anymore, and are looking for a place elsewhere. Because of our dog situation, (them not getting along too well), we're going our seperate ways.

And now, I'm going to try and finish a project I've been working on and was almost done with before this big mess! Goodnight!

Awkward Moments

Why do I feel like my life is a parade of awkward moments that will never end?

The two that come to mind right away that happened quite recently are as follows:

The day I was talking to my dad about how secure I felt with my job, I got an email letting me know that the show I've been working on is going on a two-week editing hiatus. This was while I was on my week vacation mind you. So instead of trying to figure out how to survive without one week of pay, I found myself having to figure out how to survive without three weeks of pay. Big difference there.

The short notice and nonchalance that this message was delivered to me, made me a little angry. But I was okay. Then I talked to the other assistant, who was lucky enough to recieve a phone call, who told me he wouldn't be surprised if it was extended past that. And then, speaking to another assistant, confirmed my fears that this company seemed to have a bad reputation for these sort of unexpected surprises.

So, in fear of living on the street, I started looking for alternate employment. Temporary, if I was lucky. I applied for a couple of week/two week jobs, but didn't hear anything back. A friend got me an interview at the company he works for, and although they deal more in promos and behind-the-scene specials, I thought I'd go to the interview and check out what sort of hours/pay/work I'd be dealing with.

Well the interview went great. Which would usually be a good thing, but not really in this case. They could only offer me what I was making now with lots of overtime factored in. They also stated, "If assistants can make it here, they can make it anywhere." Which to me was the equivalent of them saying, this is the hardest, longest hours job that you could take in a thirty-mile radius. If this was an editing position, then sure, I'd be up for the challenge. But this is an assistant job which usually is pretty mundane work. I knew pretty much at that point that I wouldn't take it.

But they loved me. I left the interview pretty secure that I landed the job. Which sucked. I should have tripped the interviewer on her way out or asked if it was okay if I had every other Friday off.

I weighed my options, and knew that if I stuck out these two weeks, then I'd be in better position in the long run. And in this field, it's hard not to think of the long run. So I put my faith in mankind and optimism and hoped that two weeks would all the hiatus would be.

Of course, my phone rang the next day. Why is it that when you want a job, you don't get it, but a job in which you don't want, falls at your feet? Well, I answered, rehearsing how I was going to let her down easily. Sure, now I can think of a thousand things to say, but in the moment, I was nervous and knew I'd babble, and just wanted it to be over.

The first, and I mean first, thing she said when I answered was, "Don't tell me you found another job!" in a cheerful, playful tone. Ouch. One of those. And everything I had planned to say just flew out the window.

"Umm," I said, trying really hard to be eloquent in such an uncomfortable situation.

I felt her face falling.

"Unfortunately, I did," I said stupidly and filled with guilt.

It was just awful and awkward and I know she'll never use that as an opener ever again! Just awful. Man, I still slap my forehead when I think of it. Ultimate grimace.

Second uncomfortable situation is completely and totally my fault. I bought these amazing shoes the other day. I mean they are dressy and flat and patterned and have a dragonfly on them. I bought them before I went home for the wedding to wear to the rehearsal dinner. Well, they were a little small, but I figured they'd be fine.

I wore them the night before the dinner, to a family dinner thing, and almost immediately I felt pain when I walked. Squeezing toes, tell-tell rubbing on my heel. I knew it would be a long dinner.

By the end of the night, I was limping. Actually limping. My feet were seconds away from bleeding and I threw the shoes forcibly into the backseat when I got into the car.

I was forced to wear much more casual flip flops to the rehearsal dinner. Feet still aching and cursing me.

So upon returning to LA, I decided that I'd wipe the bottoms of the shoes down and try and exchange them for a bigger size.

There wasn't much wear luckily, but before I got to the store, I checked for blood stains once more.

I went into the store, shoes back in the box, in the bag, with the reciept, and asked a salesperson if I could exhange my shoes. He took them out of the box and inspected them. They passed the test! Home free! So he goes to the back and finds the bigger size, bringing them out to me. I put them on, and Viola! These shoes weren't made to hurt! They felt great! It was amazing. So I told him so.

Then, for some unknown reason, perhaps a miscommunication between brain and mouth, I go on to tell him how the other pair messed up my feet so badly. And THEN, if that wasn't enough, I went ahead and showed, yes showed, him my blisters.

Okay, so at this point, he's looking at me like I'm crazy. I don't realize I've totally just ratted myself out until a few seconds later. I immediately start backtracking, pretending I was talking about another pair but he totally didn't believe me. He's STILL looking at me like I'm insane. Because I am I guess. Who does that???

I innocently hold up my bag holding the old painful shoes in one hand and the new box in the other and ask timidly, "Where do I do the exchange?"

I could tell he was having an internal battle. Finally, and amazingly, he directed me towards the register. Somehow, I was still able to exchange my shoes. I did turn to my friend next to me "Ohh-ing" and "Ahhh-ing" over some other shoes and then proclaiming I would never shop anywhere else for shoes. Once he showed me the register, he disappeared rather quickly. I can only assume he was doing me a favor by doing that.

Let's hope lessons were learned from these experiences.