Cecilia's Shorts

The Oscar nominee films I've seen

2010-02-15T15:10:00.000-08:00

Avatar
An education
Broken embraces
Julie & Julia
District 9
Inglorious Basterds
Nine
Precious
Up in the air
Up

Want to see:
Crazy heart
The Hurt locker
Food inc
El secreto de sus ojos
La teta asustada
The blind side

Outraged that wasn't nominated:
It's complicated

Mosca Muerta

2010-01-29T00:01:00.000-08:00

Soy patética. Si seré ridícula. Tener que soplarme semejantes numeritos con el único objetivo de volver a cruzarme con él. Pero ya lo decidí. Esta vez no se me escapa. Le tengo que hablar. Llevo mes y medio acariciando la esperanza, elucubrando desesperadas estrategias de seducción en medio de aparatos de musculación, pesas y caminadoras. Quién me manda a obsesionarme con ese lamido escurridizo. Me bastó verle una sola vez para quedar prendada. Nunca pensé que un huesudo me pudiera quitar el sueño. No sé si fue su andar desgarbado, su peinado a la cachetada, o si fue su mirada huidiza, desorientada. Tal vez fueron sus largos shorts caídos a media nalga. O la argolla que pendía de su nariz. Quizá lo que selló mi perdición fue su tatuaje de Shaggy. Si le gustan las caricaturas, especialmente Scooby Doo, es que definitivamente tenemos mucho en común. Puede que me haya sentido atraída por un fenómeno de identificación. A leguas se veía que él tampoco encontraba su lugar en éste circo de torturas gimnásticas. Me pregunto qué diablos hacía alguien como él en gimnasio. Lo más probable es que se hubiera ganado un pase en los cereales, tal y como me sucedió a mí. Lo cierto es que aquella memorable tarde en que lo observé deambular por primera vez en el gimnasio, no pude sino observarlo con disimulo. Su rutina me permitió babear un rato contemplando sus ojos turquesa cuando miraba desalentadamente las pesas en el suelo, sus manos grandes asiendo con fuerza la barra y las venas abultadas de su cuello en tensión bajo el peso de lo que, calculo, bien podría haber sido el peso de mis huesitos. Me acuerdo que cuando soltó la pesa y con ella todo el aire contenido en sus sufridos pulmones, su mirada aterrizó distraídamente en la mía y no supe qué hacer. Sabía que tenía que corresponderle con algo más que unos ojos exorbitados y una quijada desencajada, pero este cuerpo mío no respondió. De pronto, me saludó con una ondeada de mano que me cortó las piernas y sin saber muy bien porqué, me di la media vuelta y corrí a esconderme detrás de un aparato. Desde entonces sueño con reparar mi cobardía, sueño con encontrármelo y decirle de lo más naturalmente, "hey!, hola!, otra vez por aquí? si? hola me llamo Morgana y tú?"...

Insisto en seguir viniendo, aunque odie este lugar porque sueño con consumar éste amor más allá del ámbito de la imaginación. Aunque hace tanto que no lo veo que me pregunto si realmente existió o si solo fue un espejismo. Si supiera lo que he tenido que aguantar con tal de volver a verlo, carajo. Y es que hacer ejercicio es para mí un verdadero calvario. Generalmente en cuanto llego, sondeo el lugar y si mi única motivación encarnada en la persona de Shaggy no está, me subo a la primera bicicleta que encuentro, entro en transe hipnótico y pedaleo pensando en que cada caloría perdida se premiará con un beso suyo.

El otro día, para matar el tiempo y aligerar mi dolorosa estancia, me divertí subdividiendo en categorías a toda la fauna que frecuenta este lugar. Están los que vienen a lucirse y los que vienen a echarse un taco de ojo. A estas dos grandes categorías se vienen a añadir otras diez. Cinco entre el género femenino, cinco entre el género masculino.

Las mujercitas, por ejemplo, somos todo un show. Están las atletas adictas al ejercicio, que se la viven día y noche transpirando como si fuera una misión mística. Están las gordas víctimas de la celulitis, que dejan jirones de vida en los aparatos de entrenamiento aeróbico. Están las desgraciadas cachondas que desfilan como pavorreales (pecho inflado y trasero parado) que nomás vienen a humillar con su irreprochable genética y a recargar autoestima midiendo su poder de seducción en los termómetros masculinos. También están las seudo intelectuales de look de "matadas" tan estudiado como el de las anteriores, solo que añaden a su personaje, un toque de inaccesibilidad parapetándose detrás de un libro y de unos lentes para dejar bien en claro, que no son completamente superficiales. Y, por último, están las divertidas rucas, que se las dan de jovencitas, que caminan como tales, se miran en todos los espejos como tales, intentan seguirles el ritmo a tales, pero al final, andan arrastrando el pellejo con la lengua de fuera y nadie las volteó a ver como a tales.

Yo me sitúo en una categoría bastante folclórica. Digamos que gozo del estatus de mosca muerta. Navego con bandera de “yo no fui, yo ni quería, al fin que ya me voy” con mis combinaciones de desgraciada cachonda, mi actitud de seudo intelectual, mi rutina para gordas y mis resultados de ruca. Solo yo sé por qué lo hago, o mejor dicho, por quien lo hago. Aunque los efectos no siempre sean los deseados.

Los fulanos se confunden, ¡y con justa razón! Pero debo confesar que a veces resulta divertido y que gracias a eso pude clasificarlos también. Están los robustos (por no decir mantecosos) físico-culturistas inflados a base de esteroides, que siempre están al acecho de miradas de reconocimiento. Los "inflados" saludan con libertad enojosa y aliento de ayuno forzado, se permiten dar consejos acerca de las ejecuciones y, así nomás, sin que nadie se los solicite, le cuentan a una las series. Por otra parte, están los perritos jadeantes. Les llamo así porque se dedican a pasear por el recinto, ansiosos y tembleques (como perros excitados meneando cola), con el único afán de desvestir con mirada rabiosa a cuanta hembra se cruce con ellos. Esos ladran, pero no muerden. También descubrí a la especie antagónica: los exhibicionistas de la onda que buscan llamar la atención a toda costa y se saludan de un extremo al otro del triste lugar, impregnando el ambiente de un generoso olor a sobaco. Ésta fascinante categoría se distingue por divulgar alto y claro sus crujientes aventuras como diciendo, “!mira qué popular soy!” colocándose principalmente cerca de las caminadoras, escaladoras, bicicletas y demás instrumentos de tortura aeróbica, es decir cerca de la zona femenina. Si bien es cierto que sólo consiguen ahuyentar hasta a la más tolerante, cabe mencionar que ejercen un considerable poder de atracción hacia la especie de su mismo sexo. ¡Cómo abundan los gays en estos lugares! A los especímenes de ésta categoría, no les gusta alternar los aparatos en los que se posan sus apretados y bien ejercitados traseros. Les choca y les repatea que los vean correr, sudar o despeinarse. Nunca pierden el estilo y les irrita no ser la flor más bella del ejido; de hecho, apresuran el paso para no tener que estar en el mismo perímetro que las mujeres, y se van dibujando una mueca elocuente cuando una osa verse en el mismo espejo que ellos. Pero sin duda, la quinta categoría es, la más divertida. Secretamente los identifico como nerds. Éstos inocentes palomos, no pueden evitar que se les vayan los ojitos y se ponen tiesos cuando una pasa al lado de ellos para cambiar de aparato. (Más de una vez he cachado a alguno de estos representantes sufriendo una violenta y repentina erección, sorprendidos por un simple gemido femenino que se escapa y se escucha por ahí tras un esfuerzo halterofílico.)

Y en medio de toda esta exuberante fauna apareció Shaggy. El flaco de oro de mis desvelos que sigue sin venir... Por favor, que venga esta vez. Tiene que venir, tiene que venir. De otra manera de nada habrá servido estrenar ombligo perforado y atuendo de facilota. Sé que se me ve el nacimiento de las nalgas. Lo sé. Y por lo visto, aquel nerd, también. Ya van varias veces que lo sorprendo mirándome y nomás se hace el loco dizque limpiando sus lentes. Aunque, viéndolo bien, puede que tenga sus ventajas. Lo podría utilizar como conejillo de indias, solo para comprobar si funciona mi disfraz de pecadora.

Ahí voy. Si me sigue hasta el área privada y aislada de abdominales, lo provocaré hasta la indecencia. Aquí viene. No hay nadie más que los dos. Se pone en el aparato de abductores que queda justo enfrente de donde me recosté. El pobre se quiere lucir sobrecargando el peso, pero la yugular está a punto de estallarle. Lo miro como quien no quiere la cosa entre serie y serie y lo noto vacilar ante el penoso dilema de rectificar su optimista estimación de peso o de aguantarse como los machos. Le sonrío y cambio de postura para trabajar los abdominales bajos. Subo ambas piernas flexionándolas hasta el pecho, ofreciéndole el espectáculo sugestivo que se transparenta a través del delgado algodón sudado de mi body. No oigo el rechinar de su aparato. Ya se le ha pasado el tiempo reglamentario entre serie y serie. Me reincorporo y lo cacho boquiabierto, patiabierto, todiabierto mirándome exactamente donde me imaginaba. Se da cuenta que me doy cuenta. Bajo mi mirada fingiendo un terrible bochorno y fatalmente cae a la altura de su entrepierna. El pobre cierra los muslos de sopetón. Sospecho que mi plan está funcionando y retomo la serie con más brío.

Seis, y soplo, siete, resoplo, ocho, jadeo, nueve, suspiro, diez, suelto un leve quejido, once, mi amigo sigue sin mover un dedo, doce, escruto sus reacciones y el sonso se atraganta con el agua, trece, lo acuchillo con ojos ladinos, catorce, cierro los ojos para que pueda observarme sin miedos, quince, siento la mirada hambrienta de cuatro ojos clavados en mi piel, dieciséis, me incorporo apretujando los párpados con fuerza y mi gemido roza el orgasmo, diecisiete, soy una maldita y me siento más observada que nunca, dieciocho, decido abrir los ojos a media asta y alucino la imagen de Shaggy en el espejo, creo que es por la falta de oxígeno, diecinueve, -¡ES SHAGGY!- el nerd jala su servilleta hacia su vientre, mi resuello se torna en vergonzoso chillido, el estómago se me sube a la cara, la sangre se va de los miembros, mi corazón estalla sin ruido.

-¡Perdón, no sabía, los dejo! -lanza Shaggy ruborizado antes de darse la media vuelta y salir disparado, dejándome aquí, fosilizada, con un ¡“Espera”! silenciado atravesándome el esqueleto.

2010-01-16T11:59:00.000-08:00

I discovered this video Yesterday and I really like the visuals. Not to mention her voice...

When imagination flows...

2009-12-09T03:36:00.000-08:00

I am having such a blast writing my TV series! The novel was about self discovery through sexuality and transgression, the movie was about self affirmation through art and specifically through photography, and now the two of them came together in such an explosive mixture!

Now M. expresses all that fire that runs in her veins through singing, E is now the old me, the daydreamer writer who works in a movie complex and has several identities in the web! And the mom is the attractive authority figure that inspires respect and snatches ahhhh, sights from the younger hot doctors! Yeah Mama! How to forget!

I could bring back all the 21 characters from my novel, all of them and many more, and make a sexy tragic comedy filled with musical spontaneous performances. Man this is so much fun! No sleep, coffee and cigarettes, wine and cheese, singing and dancing to the rhythm of masterpieces! Writing writing writing, crafting crafting crafting while everyone sleeps. I'm fluid dynamite. I'm reviving the frenetic orchestrator that was screaming from my guts! Hello the good old me! It's so good to be a creative lunatic all over again! Only it gets better...

Shit I can't write in English... What a frustration... I go back to work. I already gave birth to the treatment and 8 episodes. All that in 3 days. I love this city... Don't want to leave!!!!!!!!!!

Longing...

2009-12-06T14:14:00.000-08:00

I finished writing the Treatment of my Novel
I finished writing the Treatment of my Script
Now I'm facing a whole different animal: the creation of a TV series.

I'm musically inclined, and so will be the protagonist of the TV series. While looking for inspiration, I stumbled into this group The Swingle Singers.
They are a cappella group that sometimes uses the accompaniment of bass and drums. They produce complicated, technically impressive covers ranging from modern classics (The Beatles) to classical music (Tchaikovsky, Beethoven) to opera (Rossini).
On top of that, they are funny! OK, so here is a little taste, enjoy!

I'm back into the conception of my third baby,
Cheers!

Immigration status... pending...

2009-11-29T16:24:00.000-08:00

This is where I belong.
I don't want to leave.
City of Angels...
Don't want to say goodbye.
Not now, not like that.
Please, rescue me!

MIRACLES...

2009-11-27T03:26:00.000-08:00

My husband's visa renewal was denied; he cannot come back to the USA and I only have 2 months to prepare my departure.

My countdown has begun. I have 2 months to perform a freaking miracle in order to save us both.

Do you believe in miracles?
Cause I do.

I made a magical encounter. She believes in me...

A week ago she gave me a 2 weeks deadline to write the treatment of my novel, the treatment of my screenplay, and the treatment of my TV series.

2 months, 2 weeks, 2 seconds, one moment can change one's life.

And mine is about to change.

Big time! I know it...

Can you read my mind?

2009-11-08T06:13:00.000-08:00

Sometimes a look doesn't say anything and at the same time it's hiding everything.

I don't need to carve a hole into a tree and whisper my secret, for my tree is my very own core.

May filmmakers like Wong Kar Wai and composers like Shigeru Umebayashi never die.

In the mood for love, here are 10 minutes of pure cinematographic extasis. Enjoy!

For those of us who are so afraid of failure

2009-11-07T18:28:00.000-08:00

If you've never failed, you've never lived

Fuck you Cecilia

2009-11-05T18:52:00.000-08:00

I know exactly how you feel Ed. And at the end, I always say the same thing to the mirror...

What a feeling is beleiving!

2009-10-29T02:20:00.000-07:00

It’s a minor service; your car will be ready in about 2 hours-, the Toyota dealer says-, I’ll call you as soon as it’s ready.
It’s 9am, I brought my laptop with me because I already planned everything: I’m going to the Denny’s that is right on this same Ave, I eat a wonder GRAND SLAM, I hang out there and continue my translation until they call me.

At 11, the Toyota dealer calls, tells me the bad news: the brakes and the band need to be replaced. Instead of 98$ it’s going to be 644$. What??? Ok, so be it. (I’m a neophyte when it comes to cars, so I guess what needs to be done, needs to be done.) How long is it going to take? Just 4 hours more. What??? So, I smile to the waitress, she asks if I need anything else. Since I’m cozy on my sunny corner and I don’t want to be kicked out, I order more food.

After 2 eggs, 2 sausages, 2 bacons, 2 pancakes, 2 coffees, and a burger with fries, A-HA – well, I’m just about to explode and all I want is to get out of there and walk. Two more hours to kill. Shit. I’m heading Third street Promenade when suddenly I see “SPA special: get a 1/2 hour facial plus a 1/2 hour full body massage for 79.99”. That sounds like deal. (If I’m pampering my car, why not pampering myself.)

Oh boy! What a feeling. I don’t know what was worse, if the German esthetician that kept on squeezing the shit out my poor face-, excuse me-, extracting all the dirt(Are you ok, Ja? Ja, yaaaaaauch!) Or the Chinese lady that was as gentle as a truck driver, didn’t speak a word of English and literally massacred my back, my neck and my feet. (hold on! Is she really going to step on my lower baaaaaaaaaaaaaawhat a f!@#$%^&*!). All while my stomach is full and she kept on burping some insanely stinky gases. Lady, is this a war? Cause if you keep on bombarding me like that I swear to God that…Never mind.

Three kilos less of dirt out of my face, and 300 bruises more all over my body afterward, I’m finally out of there feeling… let's just say teary and nauseous. I’m thinking: “the only way I can fight off that smell out of my nasals, is annihilating all my smell senses with a cigarette". I WANT A FUCKING CIGARETTE!
I’m on my fourth day without a cigarette. I’m craving one and I think the onion smell of her burps penetrated all and every single one of my pores. I need a cigarette, a wc, and a shower, like right now.
I call Toyota. Oh! Half hour more. I keep on walking. I see another AD:

I call the Dr. He says : “you don’t qualify if you already started quitting” to which I immediately answer “Noooo!!! sir, see, I’m kind of slowing it down, not fully quit yet”. He hesitates and gives me a shot.
Guess what I did next: I ran to CVS,- yes to the pharmacy of course-, and bought 2 packages of smokes. It’s not my choice, let’s make that clear, it’s for the sake of research. So here I am again, smoking like a pipe.
But I know I'm going to pick up a DAY. D Day. I believe in me, yes! and what a feeling is believing!

DRAMA QUEEN ;-P

2009-10-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

Once again, I did not sleep.
I was wandering zombie-like on the set this morning.
On a shooting, once you’ve got the make-up and wardrobe on, it's all about waiting.
Thanks God: I had the chance to sleep before it was my turn.
When I heard CECILIA YOU ARE IN, I opened the door, stepped out, got blinded by the sun, and …
Suddenly I saw the crew, the pedestrians, the curious, the tourists, the locals, the dogs, the kids, the homeless and... Holly crap!
Are they watching me???
Nooooo people, I'm just a nobody! go back to your business...

Somehow this reminds that this is my dream,
That I’m living my dream,
That this is what I was born for.
(ACTING, and yes, I know it's only a commercial, but I'm in Hollywood, let me do my drama here)
So I took a deep breath,
let it all in, thanked for my incredible luck,
smiled and gave everything I had.
Algún día será en el set de mi película o actuando para los que admiro.

If I had the guts, I would go and rent a hotel room with sea view on Pismo Beach or somewhere on the PCH. I would not take my laptop. I would not take anything at all. I would just listen to the swell, me laisser bercer, dejarme arrullar and hopefully fall asleep. Deeply asleep… I just need to get some sleep.

Anybody out there wants to join me? Cause I’m chicken shit, and I won't do it unless I have somebody to...

visitors...

2009-10-26T02:45:00.000-07:00

The devil is playing games with me.
I felt went he came in.
Now he is under my bed.
He is scratching my mattress with his ivory nails.
I pretend I’m sleeping.
He jumped to the ceiling.
Damn he’s fast.
Stuck up there, crucified, ready to fall over me.
He's enjoying my agony.
Now he's right behind me.
I felt the bed sinking.
He uncovers my ears, pulling my hair back.
He whispers ghostly words. Indescribable stench.
I want to vomit but I pretend I’m sleeping.
I want to open my eyes, but I'm too scared to see
what he really looks like.
I'm paralyzed.

I dare to move.
Reach out for the light.
I'm still 4 years old.

Sin cigarro... DÍA UNO.

2009-10-25T18:13:00.000-07:00

10 am: Me despierto. Antifaz atravesado, rostro aplastado contra la almohada y tapones para los oídos pegados en el cachete. Olvida el glamour. Dormí un record inaudito de 8 horas. Amo a éstas nuevas píldoras. Ya no fui a hacer yoga. Pff… no importa. Dormir es sagrado.

11 am: Me doy cuenta de que llevo 24 horas sin fumar. Pero también sin cagar. Ya me tomé 3 litros de café. El café me hace cagar. Pero no. Sin cigarro, sin su nicotina contrayendo todos mis vasos sanguíneos, incluyendo a mi intestino grueso, nomás no puedo cagar. Ya vendrá, me digo.

12 pm: OK. Tons, ya comí mis wonder-huevos con champiñones, mi wonder-papaya con limón, miel y 3 toneladas de FLAXEED. Y todavía no hay señal de aquellito. Me pregunto a dónde carajos se irá toda esta mierda. Me la imagino paseándose por mi intestino como hámster en casita tubular. Quiero un puto cigarro. Me lleva.

1 pm: Por qué soy tan anal? Invierto horas de mi vida limpiando, barriendo, lavando trastes, ropa, vidrios, acomodando cajones con los productos todos con la etiqueta viendo hacia mi. (Por supuesto). Y no he podido cagar… Me pregunto si toda la mierda se está filtrando por el sistema y ya llegó al cerebro. A mis hámster ya les gustó mi cerebro, está igual de veriquetudo que mi intestino. Se están paseando por mi cerebro. Escribo mierda.

2 pm:. No voy a comer NADA hasta que cague. Vuelvo a pensar en mis hámster.s Cómo los quise a esos malditos. Me acuerdo cuando estudiaba en el suelo y que, como los dejaba sueltos en el cuarto, pues venían y se paraban sobre mis libros para que los pelara. O cómo se trepaban hasta mi hombro cuando me estaba desmaquillando. Empezaban por los calcetines, se aferraban a la pijama y llegaban hasta la cima de mi hombro. Ahí resoplaban satisfechos. QUIERO UN PUTO CIGARRO.

3 pm: Me digo que un poco de movimiento a mover a los hámsters. Me pongo a bailar y a brincotear por el salón escuchando a PINK FLOYD a fondo. TZZT. TZZZTT. TZZZT. Y madres! Explotan la bocinas. Nooooooo! Mis bocinas no!Que explote todo pero mis bocinas Bose, no!!!! OK, ahora sí : QUIERO UN PUTO CIGARRO!!!!!

5 pm: Le llamo a Stéphane a Paris para preguntarle si sabe qué hacer. Lo despierto. Le muestro todo el cablerío por la we-cam. Veredicto: “jodiste la bocinas”. Le pido que me ayude a cambiar la foto de fondo de este blog. Cuando sonrío se me ensancha la nariz como a Piggy. Nada sexy. Me explica cómo, se va a dormir. Mi angelito se duerme. Me tardo horas en photoshop retocando la foto ideal. La subo, se ve de la mierda… Hablando de mierda. No he podido cagar. Ahora sí. Ahora sí. Ahora sí. QUIERO UN PUTO CIGARRO!!!!

(Continuarán las choco- aventuras de Cecilia y sus hámsters: lo logrará o no lo logrará…)

I'm on a mission: save my health.

2009-10-25T01:40:00.000-07:00

Next week's TOP 10:

1. Nail my performance on Monday. Sleep well on Sunday.
2. Send Jorge a nice card for his birthday + money.
3. Find out if SAG health insurance has programs to support quit smoking.
4. Change my gym subscription to attend BVH although that gym sucks.
5. Resend my resume to all the private language schools. Change query letter.
6. Call the Spanish-speaking shrink; ask how much he charges.
7. Big 65 000 service for the car.
8. Now that SMFW is over, look for photo classes.
9. Find a physical therapist for this back pain. At least get a massage.
10. Translating the script now that Gary is willing to help me;-)

I.C.E. or R.I.P. ?

2009-10-24T02:16:00.000-07:00

Sex: female.
Ethnicity: LH.
Weight: 47 kgs.
Age: 35
Declared dead at 12:05 pm Friday the 23rd of October 2009.
Circumstances: run over by a yuppie on the intersection of Santa Monica Blvd and Poinsettia Ave.
Who is she? Nobody.
I.C.E.? None.
To the morgue. If not claimed in 3 days, incinerate. No funeral, no speech, no last goodbye. No family around. How long would it have taken for Stéphane or my brother to know that I died?

What a shame cause at least I would have been a very easy body to prep for an open casket funeral. All hair and make-up ready. Not like when I had to redo my mom’s, right there on her casket, a few minutes before her funeral because I just couldn’t stand the atrocity they did with her face. My Mom was beautiful. She deserved to look like her. Thank you.

WAKE UP CALL. Well, Today I learned 2 important things. 1- It doesn’t matter if you are running 5 minutes late for an audition (where you’ll still have to wait for an hour before it’s your turn) 2- the meaning of the abbreviation I.C.E…. Basically, after recovering from the shock, the first thing I realized was that I didn’t have any contact number on me. My husband is in Paris. My cell phone has a security pin. I don’t have a ID plaque hanging from my neck, and the AAA car or the GYM card aren’t that helpful after all. I.C.E. Now I know…

I screw up big time my audition. I drive all the way down to the beach. I decide to go for a walk to shake that out and thank the universe for being alive. Call my husband. I can’t reach him. There is 9 hours difference. I keep on walking. I see the ocean, I feel the sand,(always wanted to live by the sea). I see happy people, families, babies, couples, enjoying their beautiful Friday afternoon.
I thank again. Try to enumerate 30 things I’m grateful for. I feel better. I sit away from the happy people.
I cry. Just a bit, I mean, come on! I'm still in the City of Angels and one of them saved me from... Plus, I don't have kleenex.

I call my friends to go out for a drink. I could use a drink. Plus, I’m celebrating, damn it. So many things to celebrate, if I really, really want to. Karla is programmed for a C section for next Friday. So she might not be able to drink.I think. Marissa and Karen prefer a nice cozy dinner. So they rather go somewhere close to their place. Of course! All the happy friends that are happily married live on the happy Valley, where there are the best happy blue ribbon schools and where the happy houses are adorned with happy Halloween decorations. “Aroma café” they say. Fine.
I drive all the way up to Tujunga. I see Karla. I say… “You look beautiful”. And I mean it. She is glowing. I can’t resist the temptation of touching her belly. Ivanna moves. My heart stops, roles down the precipice and shatters in silence. I don’t even know if I can have kids, but I’m 7 years older than her.

We make the line, yes the line, to order something to eat. I observe the people around us. The fauna is different over there. So behind us are two teen actresses I’ve seen on Glee or Community or god knows where else. They can’t say a sentence without at least 3 “like”. In front of us there is this guy with the very studied neglected-look bragging about the movie he is producing with Ben Stiller. I think, DING! I should mingle. I’m supposed to approach 3 strangers a day to grow my Rolodex. WHAT A HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY. Hey! I like your show. Oh, great thanks. Welcome. Bye. Bye. Hey! So you are a producer. Are you into indie character-driven, female lead- movies in Spanish?. Are you serious? Yeah, that's what I thought. Need an assistant who can't write in English? No. OK then, bye. Bye. Fuck it. So, I keep on my nice conversation with Karla.

After 4 hours debating about how age changes our metabolisms,latest anti-aging resorts, how dangerous is to sleep next to blackberries, illnesses mutations, vaccines, good places to buy a house, wonders of motherhood and how they all managed to quit smoking, I feel “more prepared” for when it’s my turn. Only I’m not going to get the H1N1 vaccine after I saw this one hour solid explanation of the reasons why not to, I don’t want to live in a isolated house where I’ll spend half of the year alone with my baby, and I’m kind of considering a water birth now that my newly-parents neighbors insisted on me watching The Business of Being born.
But I do have the motivation to quit smoking...The coughing is getting ridiculous.

So I get back home. No dog to welcome me, no happy tail swinging. No cat, - I don’t even like cats anyways-, no hubby to hold me or share with me his latest thoughts. NOPE.
But I won’t complain. I love these girls. They are my family. We laughed a lot. I’m good at making others laugh. People find amusing my fevered argumentation, my sarcasm, my crudeness, my shamelessness and my flowery expressions. The rest is gimmicks, and we clowns master the art.

So it was not a bad day after all. I’m still suffering. Yes, but that means I’m alive. Pretty alive.

I'm not transparent after all...

2009-10-22T18:13:00.001-07:00

OOOOOOOOHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
I’M BACK ON BABY!!!!!
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!!!!
FUCK THAT!!!!!!!
PUUUUUUTTTTTTAAAAAA!!!!!!!
BOOOOORRDDDEEELL DE SA RACE!!!!!
FUCK THE LINES OF PEOPLE I BEAT!
I BOOKED TWO AUDTIONS ON A ROW!!!!!
NESCAFE and HEINEKEN people I LOVE YOU!!!!
OOOOOOOOOHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
MAMA!? ME ESTÁS VIENDO!?
ME ESCOGIERON A MI! A MI, A MI, DE ENTRE, NO SE 100?
QUÉ MÁS DA!!!!
SOMEBODDDDYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!??????
I NEED TO HOLD SOMEBODYY!!!!!

And heart attack…
We are talking big $$$$ here!!!!!
We are talking I might be old and the KOHL’S people just took away my distinctive air of femme fatale by bleaching my hair so badly that I had to cut it off, but I still have it, baby!!!!
I have it, I have it, I have it, have it, have it! I’m a fucking good actress!

Yesss!!! I have to celebrate this! Man! I even made a young HOT guy fall on his ass this morning just by passing in front of him when he was doing squats on a stability ball!
Ha!Ha!Ha! Sweet mother of Jesus, the look he gave me! Poor baby, he became red red, I mean red! I should have said something but his eyes piercing my belly, melted my legs and my brain shut off!
I’m digressiiiiiinnnnggggg!!!!!
FFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!
I’m going to go out this weekend! I need more looks like that to get me going!
Hellloooouuuu Los Angeles! I’m ready to NETWORK, baby! Bring it on!

Tomorrow I have another audition at 12 in Hollywood.
I have to nail it too.
But I can’t miss my sports class. I need my fix.
Oooohhoooo! I won’t be able to concentrate on Tonight’s class.
Bwuat? What? You were saying? Oh, yeah but did you know that:
I AM A CHAMPION, MY FRIEND….

2009-10-22T05:45:00.000-07:00

5:30 a.m. Once again I cannot sleep. Fucking nightmares. I dreamed I was on a parking lot, in my car, with my sperm-donor of a father driving. He looked as decrepit as Fidel Castro. In the back was the eldest snot of his 4 other engenders. He had to go through an in-curved track that led to the exit. I told him he had to back up or he was going to scratch the car. Proud, stupid and stubborn as usual, he wanted to demonstrate he was right and of course, he smashed the door. Fearing his reaction I said "I'm driving". I stepped out of the car that was no longer my car but an old wrecked yellow Buick with no doors. The seat-belt was tangled and hanging all the way down to the pavement. I started making jokes about it and they both laughed.

That is my nightmare. To think that I could laugh with those assholes. Never. Never. Never. I will never forgive you for hitting me, marking my face so badly that I could not attend school. And I don’t know if it’s because I just found out that you had a stroke and you are hospitalized, but I want you to know something: I thought I was over it, but it still hurts. And I will never share an outburst laughter with you.
Ever.

I close my eyes. I see my brother alone in the beautiful yet declining house my mother left us. Head between his forearms, shrinking in a corner. I open the curtain, the house is under water and there is this colossal shark waiting for us. So big I cannot see him entirely. I can see its scared skin though. His black eye slightly moving. The strength of his body moves significant amounts of water. Water that starts filtering through the windows. I need to go to Mexico and help my brother. I miss him. Miss my house, miss my roots, miss the lemon tree I planted with my mom.

I cannot sleep, damn it. I smoked way too many cigarettes tonight. When I take a deep breath my lungs burn and I cough. One. Two. Three sleeping pills just can’t seem to be enough to palliate this sick trip.
I think I fucked up my left knee’s vastus lateralli yesterday. Early this evening, I was running in the dark and I stumbled into the rolling heater and crashed my right foot toes. They look pretty blue now. I'm shaking.
I don’t even know why I’m trying so hard to write in English.
This is not me.

Coffeehouses are NOT working environments...

2009-10-21T22:35:00.000-07:00

Today I decided to work on my project in a coffeehouse. One of the assignments of my “Street Smarts for Writers” is to go out and mingle. In other words, to do some NETWORKING. I’m tired of hearing the same old story. In this business it’s not about who you are but who you know, bla bla bla… Well, I suck at it. Especially in English. Try to be kind and open with a producer in this town. Try to maintain a 3 minutes conversation without them taking a long hard look at your cleavage. “You are so charming, why don’t we talk about your project over dinner. BTW I’m looking for a personal assistant”… Yeah, well “I’m looking for a sugar daddy that can’t get it up, how about that, honey? Sounds good? Maaan! I hate to lick ass.
Speaking of suckers and lickers and so forth, how in heavens am I supposed to concentrate if a COUPLE is performing a shockingly long tongue-kiss right in front of my face. OK. Please people. It’s not cool to eat in front of the starved ones. The girl was as participative as a mollusk can be. Just sticking out the tongue from time to time as some greedy viper or something. But the guy!Well, HE was a good kisser. Very intense, prolonging the moment before the imminent touch, passionately crushing his nose over hers, then descending to the chin, using teeth, sights, looks, hands, tongue, and…
Hey! Didn’t they say that horniness and acne would slow down with age? Well it’s bullshit. Or else, I’m in the height of puberty.
So I came back, took a long shower, a-ha, and ate like a pig. Basically all the 884 calories I burned Yesterday on my two hours- Olympic-level sports class.
8 pages translated so far- 3000 calories in between. Great! 8 pages reminding me that 20 years ago I was potable enough for paparazzis using me as a catch for taking compromising shots of married celebrities or crews betting on me so that I would dare to jump on the pole dancing floor of the club we frequented in Cancún… ahhh… those were definitely my good old times…
20 years already! AUCH!

I am an addict. I just had my fix.

2009-10-20T20:52:00.001-07:00

Ok, so it was not easy: I had to drive some miles, descend all the way down of a bottomless parking, fight for a spot, negotiate for a pass, (a week pass), push and run to get myself a space amongst the other addicts that were there half hour before me. Yes, on line. But then it was all worthy. The moment I had my first sniff, my whole system became an endorphin-machine. I just flew. And nope, this time I’m not talking about cocaine. I’m talking about a bulk of energy. I'm talking sports. Have you ever been hooked to someone’s, mmm, ok, let’s say, energy? Have you noticed how addictive can genuinely HAPPY people become to maintain one’s sanity? Happy people are magnetic. They are accomplished so they become givers. It has nothing to do with luck, all the contrary! They are superheroes, and the more they put on their plate, the more they shine. So yes, they can handle several households, several children, several jobs, several pets, several employees, several followers and still keep on studying. Even better, I bet they still have great sex. OUF! I’d better stop thinking about it. So, wait…let’s see… on my checklist, ah! Nope… False alarm… I can’t check anything of the above… Shit. Well, I’m still studying at UCLA for a 700th diploma! And if I get a pet… Nah! I completely spoil them, I get too attached cause I project all my need for affection on the poor little things. Plus it costs money. Money. (sight). I went out for a VO audition today. I hope I’ll get another check for my commercials soon. Now back to work. Still 150 pages to go… If only I would get paid for all those ingrate writing hours, I’ll be a zillionaire by now...
Magnetism definition (click)

If you are young... At Heart.

2009-10-20T02:50:00.000-07:00

So it's 3 am. My back, my neck, my eyes, my a.. hurt. My lungs are probably black by now. But why do I do what I'm doing? Who asked for it? Nobody. I should consider myself lucky. I don't have to wake-up and get to work. It's a privilege. I know. Still with every passing year, as I see other people my age achieving the milestones of a normal life - the car, the kids, the house, the nest egg-, I wonder... When did I lose myself?
I guess I just have to stay true to my dream. Because I would give my entire life to a moment. The moment I'll sit back on a movie theater and share with an audience my story. If I can touch another human being's heart, that moment is going to be worth a thousand lifetimes. So I'm getting old, but according to Landon Pigg "to be young at heart is worth every treasure on earth".

Alone againnnn, naturally...

2009-10-19T21:33:00.000-07:00

So hubby is gone to Paris for two months. It should get me going with the project, right? Full concentration. I made a workflow plan. Twelve pages/day should get me done with this non-sense translation by the end of October. This is not creative. I don't even know if what I'm writing is English. In Spanish it has my voice, my style, my language tricks. This Spanglish version is getting me depressed. If I think that, what would the execs think? I should go out and do this in a coffee shop or someplace where there is people. But I don't feel like it. I'm in the hermit-mode, plus my eyes hurt.
... echo ... echo ... Alone againnnn, naturally...

My tongue-twister IHOP commercial

2009-09-03T14:52:00.000-07:00

I already have 4 kids !

2008-12-12T20:52:00.000-08:00

My Acting reel from what I could get hands on to edit 01.08

2008-06-05T18:37:00.000-07:00