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“If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is."
 ☆ Charles Bukowski

No excuses.  I’ve been slackin’.  It’s been a long five weeks of feeling like I’m not sure why I do this any more, this whole Phetasy thing.  This online journey I’ve been on for six years.  This freak show of a website that’s part spirit, part sass, part story and part Skinemax. 

Some of you have been along for the ride for six years, since I took myself on tour the first time, right after I launched the site back in 2006.  Some of you discovered me through various other random creative endeavors:  the infamous “BITCHELINA: The Lost South Park”, stand up comedy, the Pillow Fight video (that College Humor stole and re-shot w/Michelle Rodriguez—HACKS!). Some of you have been reading me since I was a waitress in Newport, writing a local column.  Some of you are just discovering the wonderful world of a lunatic on the loose as we've crossed paths on my travels.  All alliteration aside, sometimes I suspect, perhaps Phetasy has served her purpose, whatever purpose that is.

I’ve become overly subconscious about the number of “I’s and me's” in this damaged, First Person account of things as they unfold.  In a world where people have high ideals, work to “make a difference” and will literally drop dead running for a cause—I’m a pretty useless, lazy, self-centered human just trying to survive and tell my story about it.

On the other hand, before I implode and shut the whole site down, I’ve been at this long enough—six years now—to know that I also go through phases where I just don’t want to share.  I know myself well enough to realize when I’m just in a funk and also know I don’t need to spew that negative mental garbage into the universe.  I save all that good shit for the stage.

Phetasy readers please know that when I’m silent like I have been for the past month—it’s usually because every time I sit down to write--I go off on some tangent about the state of the world and the dumb crap I see everywhere and how I think most humans are ultimately good but unfortunately, stupid and then end up having to cut half the essay.  No one wants to read that crap.  Then I’ll get really down on myself and my ghetto website and genuinely feel like I’m unoriginal and inadequate.

I also go silent when I’m in some kind of birthing canal, which I’m definitely in at the moment.  I feel in between worlds.  Leaving one state of mind and entering another.  I try to imagine myself back in my life, my old routines, even my old apartment and at the moment, I can’t. 

Joseph Campbell said, " The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. "  

This is exactly why I get on stage, why I decided to stay abroad despite it being logically and fiscally insane and why even when I hate myself, hate my writing, hate every word that pours from my fingertips—I have no choice, but to keep writing.

I’ve basically contributed to Phetasy on a pretty regular basis for six years for no reason at all other than the fact that I felt like it. But
the truth is—even though this site is all about me—it isn’t about me at all.

I’m continually humbled by an email or comment from someone telling me they are inspired or they relate or I made them laugh.  I may not be saving the world, but I suppose if I can inspire one person and make another one laugh--this lazy, self-centered human's work here is pretty much done.

Or’s just beginning. 

I’m glad we had this little chat.  Maybe I won’t shut the site down after all. 

Rumi Was A Prophet.

"Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.

Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul."

Easy Homemade Pesto

This recipe is super easy & delicious, I make it every Sunday and add it to pasta, put it on toast or throw it in salads or soup to add a little flava':

2 cups of basil (loose, no stems, rinsed/dried)
1/2 - 2 cloves of garlic (depends on how much you love it or not--I use 2)
2 tablespoons pine nuts or walnuts (lightly toasted in a dry skillet)
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 fresh grated Parmesan (if your Lactose you can leave it out)

1.  Combine everything but the cheese in a food processor (or a magic bullet).
Only use about 1/2 the oil.

2.  Process/Blend and add the rest of the oil gradually.  Stores in fridge for 2 weeks, freezer for several months.  Add the parmesan by hand just before serving.

Voila & Bon Appetit! 

Pillow Fight Promo 3

Pillow Fight Promo 2

Pillow Fight Promo 1

My 2nd Time. Ever.


Holy crap.  It’s June.  I go offline to focus on finishing a project and the next thing I know almost 9 months have passed.  Friends of mine have babies and I don’t even know it because everyone expects you got the tweet.  (I have the opposite problem and assume no one is listening until something innocuous I say pisses someone random off and I am reminded of the fact that people still know how to read.)

So where did I go? People in the entertainment industry are constantly chewing my ear off about how I need to focus, focus, focus….blah blah blah.  So I do.  I take their dumb advice and focus on finishing 2 television pilots.  Then, I focus for six straight months on finishing a screenplay.   Which brings us to January 2010…

I focus on the next step in the process—the business of writing.  I focus on agents and managers.  I focus on pitches and meetings.  Here at these meetings, I hear the same damn, thing.  Do you want to write for television or film?  Are you a writer or a director?  You need to focus…

So I do.  For months.  Things get ugly.  Fast.

Suddenly, I don’t know what’s wrong.  I can’t get my energy up.  My body is revolting, my back hurts, I twist my ankle…all signs to me that I need to slow down and take a look around.  When I do, I find myself in a k-hole of despair.

None of my usual tools I’ve gathered over the years seem to work in fending off the blues.  Not yoga.  Not meditation.  Nothing.  Not even Coachella, which normally kicks my winter doldrums to the curb, makes a dent in the depression.

I start reading a lot about the end of the world.  I go on dates and find myself sounding like Debbie Downer.  "What the Hell is the matter with me?" begins my journal entry after not writing a word for 2 months.  I write 15 pages. 

Ohhhhh….now I see. 

I've been so focused on becoming a writer, I haven’t been writing.  The one tool that has never let me down.  The one thing that, no matter how dark it gets, will always make me feel better.

I realize something:  I need to make a choice.  Focus on becoming recognized and paid as a writer, or, focus on getting as much of it out of my head in whatever precious time I have left.  Yes, it would be lovely to get paid oodles of money to write scripts--but I am also privileged enough to have extremely rewarding jobs that pay the bills.  And yes, it would be amazing to see any of my projects on a screen.  But again I find myself in a position of either running around, trying to get people to make projects for me—or figuring out ways to make the projects myself, for Phetasy.  I am a writer.  I don’t need a book deal or an agent to know that.  I just need to take a look at my state of being when I don’t write.  And lemmee tell ya'--it ain't pretty.

As it turns out—I am focused—on writing.  Whatever form my writing takes is of very little consequence to me.  It just needs to come out.  Or I go to Crazytown.  If I focus on anything other than getting words to the page, that’s exactly where I’ll end up.  And I don't look very good in a straight jacket.

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