Who Are You? And What Do You Do???!!!

Friday and Saturday have been pretty chilled compared to the last few weekends. Strangely enough, on Friday I was surprised to find out I was better off ditching the Mongolians in the end the night before. And here is why.

I finally made the wise decision to look for someone to take over my rent for the end of March, and I’ll look for somewhere cheaper. The pennies are being pinched big time. So, I put an ad up on Craigslist to sublet my room. That is how I met the Swedish girl. We go back years. She had arrived in LA last week, we’d chatted on Facebook, she was coming over on Friday to check the place out. I spent the morning dusting my room with a pair of boxers(couldn’t find a cloth) and hoovering my bedroom with my foot(couldn’t work the hoover). 

So about 2 o’clock she calls over with her two friends. She is sound out, hot enough too, and seems cool. Her friends, on the other hand, are complete apes. Sweet lord, they were apes. The first one swans in the door snapping her fingers, fake lips, fake boobs, fake hair, tiny dress and massive heels. Sounds lovely I know but the receding hairline she was trying to hide wasn’t really my thing. Her first question, her first words out of her mouth to me were “What do you do? Why are you not at work now? Are you rich?”. I’m waiting for the hi, how’s it going, nice hairline, small talk but she skips all that. Ape. She doesn’t seem impressed when I tell her I work online (all I could think of). I ask her what she does…”I make men fall in love with me and buy me what I want”, snapping her fingers at me and waiting for me to laugh along with her. Oh right, you’re a whure, no need for the long explanation next time. The other friend asks then if I have a green card, am I a U.S citizen. I disappoint her with a no, why so? “Oh I’m looking for a husband, but he has to be American, you wont do”. I tell her I’m looking for a wife too but she has to be half Swedish, half Mongolian. She doesn’t get it. It’s hilarious in my head though, so I start to explain but just stop myself in time. Not another explanation joke.

So my roommate and I sit through a good hour of hearing how her friend’s place is much nicer, more expensive, another man fell in love with her last night, she might move to a nicer place, … please stop talking. Thank god I didn’t head to their party the night before. They would have maxed out the last €24 on my student credit card in no time. I dodged a bullet. Finally they leave, we’ll call you, last resort my roommate says. It was nice of the girl to leave a few strands of her fake hair behind as well though as a kind remainder. Ill use them to dust the next time around.

Unfortunately at this stage I think I’ll have to give up mocking myself about my solo clubbing episodes. Friday night the texts were flying in, five offers, from five separate people, I was a popular man. In the end, I opted for a place called Teddys with my roommate. I had texted the Bucket asking her to go see a movie but I think she’s changed her number. I’ll ring from a private number tomorrow to check for definite. Anyways, Teddys was a great call. Cool as funk. Its in the Roosevelt hotel on the Hollywood strip, so right in the middle of everything. Supposedly a great spot if you want to mingle with the celebs. Or mingle with me now. Whichever you prefer.

So we get in, my roommate and her friends go say their hellos, I head off on a little wander of my own. Order a drink, doesn’t max out the student card, not too expensive so (about $10). Its a small enough place, decorated vintage style, seems to be a VIP section of the hotel bar. So, I’m strolling around, trying to look cool and fit in, keeping an eye out for Ricky Bobby or Shwayze, no sign, when these two girls come up to me. I’m surprised they didn’t pass out from the posing and the cheek sucking they were doing while trying to talk. Their shoulders keep popping into me as well while they pose and ask me “Who are you?”. Again, I was waiting for the hi, how are you, you just posed your shoulder into my eye, small talk, but they skip that too. So I tell them, very slowly and loudly, MARK, M A A A R R R K, MARK. They look at me like I’m a bit slow, they understood the first one fine. “Mark what?” At this stage they seem to have gathered I have an accent of some sort, which makes them think I might be rich and maybe famous. Little do they know.

So, they ask again, “Mark, what?”. I give them my surname, and see one of them type something into their iPhone. I think nothing of it while I have small talk with the other girl…I’m from Ireland – Oh my god I’m Irish too – Sure you are – I am, I’m half Irish – Oh yeah, which half, top or bottom – Emmm, my Mum is Russian and I’m told I look like her so, bottom half? – Yeah, thats what I thought too.  The other girl turns back to me, “I cant find you on Google, what did you say your name was again? What do you do? Are you an artist?” I look at her iPhone and she has typed in “Markus” into Google search. Ape. I tell them I am an artist, I do love to paint, I’ll paint them if they like.  I don’t want to disappoint her by telling her my surname again so she can see there’ll be no Imdb.com result for it. I wouldn’t want to ruin her night this early or anything. So, I whip out the back in two minutes dodge line. Be right back, wait here for me. They see they’re losing me and finally ask what they really wanted..Do you have drink for us? I point to a bottle of vodka on the table next to me (obviously not mine), tell them work away. Do you have some…sniffs at me. I hand her a tissue.

As it turns out, it was lucky I brought my Kleenex handy pack as I was asked for tissues a lot in that club for some reason. As in everyone I spoke to more or less finished by asking me or offering me. If you are ever in LA though, I would highly recommend going there. Its a cool place, so cool in fact, that they don’t care about the no smoking rule in there and everyone puffs away. Now that’s cool. Plus the Irish accent is golden, best place yet. Just bring tissues.

Today has been chilled enough but good trickles of progress have occurred. I checked the blog stats after the big interview on the radio show, the daily individual blog hits have quadrupled, almost up to 500, wuu duu!!! I also have a meeting lined up with my roommate’s commercial agent for this Monday. Meant to be easy money if you can get it, and they need all sorts, so worth a punt(if it goes through this time). Plus, there is some interest in my writing from other sources now (not just people I’ve plagued to read it) after the blog got more exposure. It’s going nude next week.

This made me realize something today, which now I see is fairly obvious but a bit oblivious to me up until now. And that is that I must start small. Any little break at all. Better than nothing. I can’t just land my own sitcom, or get a role in a movie (starring role that is) that I’d love to star in and like to watch myself kind of crap. Small things lead to the bigger things. Aaron Speiser was actually saying this a lot the last time I went but must not have sunk in properly until now. I was too busy wondering what the Wayans had said to him next when he worked with them. Later down the road you can pick and choose more to an extent. The more I write it down the more blatantly obvious it is. I was only joking, I had figured that out all along. Sure. Until then though I  have to take what I can get, to an extent. I’m still not going to say yes to the porn offers that have come in.

I must do some research now instead of rambling on. Must check out Google and see if that girl who gave me her number last night was on that t.v show I think she was on. As if I’d be interested in her if she wasn’t. As if. Tut. Song of the day is a song always on when I blogaruu…Inní mér syngur vitleysingur by Sigur Ros, funreal.

Tags: LA, Sigur Ros, Swedish, Teddys, Writing