On Being Star Struck

So I’ve only been here 3 weeks and I already have enough celebrity encounters to make TMZ jealous. Part of the job description required a person to have the ability to” not get star struck.” Lucky for them, I’ve never been that type. I’m just not an excitable person. Well at least I thought I wasn’t…

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The people that come in for meetings here are big name producers, actors, actress, writers, and my biggest celebrity crushes. Crushes that I would never think I’d meet in real life, let alone be validating their parking! So when James Franco (yes I just named dropped) walked in, my ability to be unexcited went out the window. My heart was racing, but I had to appear calm and collected.
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However, I didn’t know what to do with myself or my hands.
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The first thing I thought was, I cannot look at him; because then he will know I’m silently obsessing over him. So I made sure to look in any and all directions but his. Then my next tactic was to not pick up my phone and send this mass text: “James Franco is 5 feet away from me. Might faint. Please help.” Because if he saw me pick up my phone he would know why. And lastly, I had to pretend to like I wasn’t paying him any attention whatsoever. I thought I was doing a pretty good job unless he could see through all my smooth moves.
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When he went into his meeting I breathed a sigh of relief. Then his assistant came back and asked if I could call into the meeting and let him, “Mr. Franco”, know his food was here. Not only do I get to be in the same room as Mr. Franco, but I also get to let him know his Baja Fresh is here?! So I causally called into the meeting and said “Mr. Franco’s food is here.” I put down the phone as if I just got off the phone with the president and he personally told me, “Good job Kiana.”
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So yea, I don’t get start struck at all.

New Gig

So, I got the job! Well sort of. Remember how I was saying it’s really hard to get a job in entertainment? And how I was thinking about moving to New York to escape the Carter regime?*  Because I’m not getting any younger and bills aren’t getting any lower. Why not take another uncalculated risk? Two weeks ago I decided I would just make the move.

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While I waited to hear back from my last interview, I kept applying to jobs, half-heartedly.  I received a call back literally an hour later for an assistant position for some no name creative company. Turns out it was a temp agency and they wanted me to come in the next day for an interview. I went in for the interview expecting to hear about a short term job with very little pay that I would none the less take because I needed the money if I was going to move to NY. The recruiter informed me that company name was concealed from the ad due to its prominence. When the recruiter causally named the mega cable network, I did 17 black flips and the running man, on the inside. I couldn’t even focus after that. I kept thinking about all those jobs I applied to, the cool production company, the adult playgrounds, and the camera equipment company that never called me back. All those jobs meant absolutely nothing compared to the cable network I was going to be working at for the next 3-4 months (hopefully longer if I’m lucky).

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So here I am a year since I took my big leap of faith and quit my secure salaried job. A year since I’ve had benefits (don’t tell Obama). A year since I decided to pursue a career in writing full-time. And because I’m not trying to lose this position I’ll just let you guess the network. Here’s a hint: which network received the most Emmy nominations this year?

 

*Yes, I know Jay and Bey basically rule New York and it doesn’t make sense that I would move there to escape their reign. It’s called irony.

How are you a person?

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People in LA are weird. Or should I say “LA people” are weird. The snobby, rich, superficial, vapid, assholes – these are the people that give LA a bad rep. These are the people that tourists come to see, to reaffirm their stereotypes. I’ve always been anti-LA people, but I never really knew what these people were like until I started working in a West Hollywood restaurant. I’ve watched girls walk in so distracted by taking selfies, they can’t find their party that’s seated right in front of them. I’ve seen parties enjoy a full course meal while never looking up from their phones. And while I’m standing in front of the hostess post, people walk past me to seat themselves and then look at me crazy when I hand them a menu! I always think “how are you a person?” Like how do you live in your tiny boring bubble of self involvedness? Yes, involvedness.

There’s one guy who comes in every week and refuses to sit next to kids, which is fine. I get it. Kids are loud and sometimes disgusting to eat by, but it’s not that he just won’t sit near them, he needs to either sit in another section or leave the restaurant completely. It’s like he’s allergic to kids. Either that, or he’s a weird warlock creature who hates kids because they bring joy and love into the world breaking his immortality spell. That’s my exact thought every time he says, “I don’t want to sit near those kids.”

Then  there was also this old guy (over 70) who was having lunch with a younger woman (maybe 30). A party of about eight really old people (over 70) were seated next to him and his young date. He asked if he could be moved because he didn’t want to sit next to “all those geriatrics”. It’s the equivalent of me asking to not be seated next to a bunch of 30 year olds while I’m on a date with a teenager. The logic behind his request/statement? He didn’t want his obvious gramps chaser date to replace him for another old man boo?

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The reality is these people don’t live in reality. Or least not the reality that we all live in. Sometimes I have a hard time smiling and being the ray of sunshine in the midst of all these horrible people. I just imagine them as babies. Babies that were once cute and innocent. And for some reason didn’t get enough love or were raised by even more horrible people.  Then I feel sorry for them. And then I laugh when I think about what they looked like as a baby.

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