I have long prided myself on being:
1. A genius
4. A Great Actress whom exudes effortless confidence, grace, and class.
5. Absolutely certain that numbers 1 through 4 would afford me the luxuries of budget-less vacations, handsome wealthy suitors, and posh homes in hills with yuppie neighbors I both loathe and resemble.
But somewhere between moving to Los Angeles and a bottle of vodka I became one of those nauseating Hollywood "actresses" who is better at balancing martinis than billowing bank accounts. I meant to start this blog ages ago to vent all my frustrations stemming from being a waitress/actress in LA while charitably advising future generations of Hollywood hopefuls. Fortunately, I've just stopped drinking long enough to be able to sit up straight at my computer (alcoholism: one of the many symptoms of "Wacktress Syndrome" to be explained in detail later) and tell you all about the trials and tribulations of following one's dreams of stardom no matter how stupid they may be.
Take note: this blog is not to deter anyone from pursuing their dreams; on the contrary, it encourages the chasing of them with reckless abandon just, however, with awareness of all possible and likely consequences. It is meant more for amusement than warning (but don't get it twisted, it is a warning). It is also to air all past events and every day occurrences that get on my nerves; the list of which is limitless.