Jezebel Taylor

2009 is here, bitches. And we all know what that means: this is the year when I turn 18! I've given this a lot of consideration and came up with a list of some pros and cons when that happens:

Pro: Cute older men can hit on me without feeling skeezy.
Con: Gross older men can hit on me without feeling skeezy.

Pro: I can vote.
Con: I can vote the year after the biggest election EVER.

Pro: I can join the Army and learn how to shoot real guns.
Con: Apparently... real wars? WAY less fun than paintball.

Pro: I can drink legally pretty much anywhere in the world.
Con: Except America.

All in all, sorta a wash.

My movie wrapped. I shouldn't say my movie 'cause my chief accomplishment was accidentally spilling the producer's coffee onto his desk. Truth is, I probably would have done the world a favor if I had ruined the film in the process 'cause this thing seems awfully crappy. Whatever. Look for it in a bargain basement DVD rack near you.

There's a rumor floating out there that I might be able to get a gig working as a PA in Boston for a sexy as hell young director I happen to know. I'd love to do it, if still possible. I don't know what my Mom would say about it. She's away from the apartment half the time so she'd probably never not even know I left.

If I did go, I wonder what happens to my apartment. Mom forgets to take care of the bills and all that crap, so it'd go to shit, I bet. I should find someone to sublet. Someone responsible. I don't want to come back and find out that the place is being used as a whore house or some shit. Or if it is, I'd at least want a cut of the profits.

So after causing a huge ruckus last time, I'm not going to be gossipy in this journal. From now on, I'll leave the celebrity to talk to Perez Hilton, 'cause I don't have that scribbling technology anyway. If I did, I'd be drawing mustaches and penises on celebrity faces all day long, 'cause that looks like fun.

I saw Twilight at one of those midnight shows on Thursday. I'm a fan of the books and stuff, but some of these people are like, insane. The tween girls were screaming so loud, I could have sworn at least few of them were actually orgasming. Overall I thought they did a good job. I mean, you could tell they didn't have the budget to make Harry Potter or something, so they did the best they could. They won me over enough to see the sequels.

My own movie's wrapping soon. I guess I should get another job at some point. I talked to my old friend Molly on facebook messenger, and she was all excited about going to college next year. In another world, that could have been me. I'm still young enough and I have the SATs and all that crap, so maybe I can apply at some point down the road. Don't get me wrong, I like working and being independent and all that jazz, but it'd be nice to be a normal kid. College seems like a breeze, compared to working or even high school. You go to class like once or twice a day. You do keg stands. You eat pizza once everyone's drunk and about to go to bed. Doesn't seem too hard. Only, it's pretty friggin expensive pizza, when you think about it. I'd need to save up tens of thousands of dollars just to veg out like that, which, at my job, would take me like 484 years. F that. I'll just hang out with college kids and steal their beer.

I used to think being a celebrity would be awesome, but more and more it seems like it sucks too. Like... everyone knows everything about you. I read that Kylie McKenzie collapsed and had a miscarriage. Christ. I feel so so bad for her. I mean... that sucks for two reasons. One, you had a miscarriage. Two, randomers like me know about it.

Also -- Samantha Lake got knocked up again. I swear, she must have taken Sarah Palin's abstinence program as a kid. This time it's with another celebrity's brother. Seriously? Are we running out of mega famous guys that we have to resort to their siblings now? It's like, whenever I sneak in to read blogs and journals, female celebrities either have to go lezzy like Lindsay Lohan or go hit on that d-bag from Seattle. We can do better, people. If I was famous, I'd only settle for Prince William. Or maybe Robert Pattinson.

Barack Obama's the president. Holy shit that's awesome. Yes we can yes we can. Or, yes they can. I didn't have a lot to do with it. I didn't donate or volunteer. I'm too young to vote. I thought about scamming my way in there, but I'm pretty sure they're militant about voter fraud these days.

Still, this kicks ass. I don't even know much about Obama, but I'm happy to see the Republican dickwads lose. Serves old man McCain right for being 113 years old and picking Sarah Palin as his backup choice. F Sarah Palin. I hope we never have to see her again. Maybe she'll get eaten by a dinosaur.

So the movie's finally going to wrap next week, which means I'm finally going to get a chance to relax. I've been working ridonkulous hours on this stupid thing. I actually don't mind the work and it's awesome to be on a set. I just wish I wasn't on this set working on this movie. Pretty sure it's not going to come out in theaters, no matter what they say. It's totally the type of thing where it only comes out on DVD, or like, sold online, or out of the producer's basement. Sketchiness.

Of course, there is a problem with the whole movie being wrapped thing. Back to the unemployment line. Mom's still paying for rent, even though she's over with her stupid boyfriend all the time, but somehow it never occured to them that maybe I could use some spending money too. I don't need fancy dresses or those oversized sunglasses or any of that shit, but food would be nice. I go to Mickey D's so often that the cashiers all know my name. It's like that old show, Cheers. We should be a sitcom. It'd be me, the cashier, and this old bag lady who talks to herself while she reads newspapers. Sounds like a hit.

People have been ragging me on for only being 17, so I changed all that. Now, I’m 22. Time flies by, doesn’t it?

OK so I’m not really 22, but that’s what my new awesome fake ID says. Ty (remember? the actor on the movie I’m working on) hooked me up with his buddy who makes them on his home computer. Making a driver’s license at home is so much fun. I made myself an inch taller and ten pounds lighter. Best of all, I got to pick a new name. From now on, call me Anita Gitrunk. I wanted to make it “Anita Getdrunk” but Ty thought that was like way too obvious. Still seems kinda fake, right? Oh well. At least it’s not McLovin.

Before everyone starts lecturing me on how I’m not supposed to smoke pot and get fake IDs, don’t worry. I won’t go illegal stuff and I haven’t even smoked pot since that one time. A fake IDs nice to have just in case you need it. I’m not gonna become a career criminal. Or you know, go back to being that.

I wish I had cooler stuff to update on, but so far so not good as far as my falling into Paris Hilton's circle of friends. What an elitist bitch to not want to hang out with a 17-year-old rockstar like myself. She looks like a man anyway.

Most of my time I spend on set, doing the bidding of whoever's around me at the time. It's like... tag or something. Whoever taps me on the shoulder gets to be the boss for the hour. Hey, it's fine with me, so long as they keep paying me. A couple other people on set are like, in college, and they're doing it for free. Suckers.

I had a cool experience too. Smoked pot for the first time. Like... I'm not saying drugs are rad and everyone should go do them. That's not even the point of the story. I was just chilling on set, waiting to be tapped on the shoulder, when this actor guy Ty started talking to me. He's like, 25, and the third lead in this movie. He was about to shoot this scene where his character's chased through a haunted house by this wolf/monster/cheap suit looking thing and he falls out the window. Into a well. I shit you not. Like, he falls four stories out of a house, and miraculously lands in the small opening of a well. Holy crap, this movie is shit on a stick.

I guess he thought I was one of the bimbo actresses, 'cause I doubt he makes a habit of talking to the slaves. He asked if I wanted to come smoke with him and some buddies in his trailer afterwards. Um, yes. I pretended to be a pothead, if only 'cause I usually get to hang out with the fat crew guys.

So yeah. Smoked pot with him. I don't even know if it effected me a ton. I sort of felt like I had a headache. Oh well. I don't plan to make a habit out of smoking up, but maybe I can hang out with Ty some more. He's no Paris Hilton, but he's no fat crew guy either.

It's a good thing I have this journal, 'cause otherwise I'd never get to read about all the craziness going down with people. I used to waste a lot of time on facebook, but this is sooooooo much better. There's a lot of dirt about famous people. That doctor guy Kingston got married to Keely Williams. saywhatnow? Bizarre. It makes sense in some way, I suppose. The dude's laid more pipe than the Mario Brothers.

At least I'm connected to show business through this thing, 'cause obviously my job's not the clearest path. I'm pretty sure the movie I'm the PA for is going straight to DVD. No one says that to my face, but it's gotta be. They have this scene with zombies, only the zombies look about as realistic as my Halloween costume in 5th grade. Seriously, I should have just given them my outfit and gotten credit as the costume designer. I don't even know what the thing's about. There's zombies. Plus there's this blond teenage chick (actually 28 but I guess they're pretending she's a teenager). She has a fugly face if you ask me, but she has big ta-tas, which comes in handy when you're running away from craptastic zombies.

Oh well. At least I still have people's journals to snoop in. It makes up for the fact that I have no social life of my own.

It's Risky Business time. Mom's off in Texas with the New Man, so I have the apartment to myself for the next few days. Can't wait to dance in my underwear! Woohoo.

'Course, it would be better if Mom left some money for me before she left. It's hard to have a wild party when you have $34.50 to spend on it. Mom's so ridiculous. She treats me like a cell phone. Sure, you always try to keep it around you at all times, but you do end up misplacing it once every few weeks. I'm an adult now though, regardless of what everyone tells me on these message boards, 'cause I have my own job and I pay for things myself, wild parties included.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some underwear dancing to do.

I was IM'ing with Cyn back home and telling her about my new job being a production assistant. She said it sounds like a sweet gig. She's 100% right, with the key phrase being sounds like. I'd have been in Heaven if you told me at this time last year that I could get a paying job working on a movie. Trouble is, I don't do any work on the movie.

I'm what they call an on-set PA, which is funny, 'cause I'm rarely on-set. My job's made up of being the producer's bitch for half the day. I get to do glamorous things like getting his car washed, or renting DVD's for him. Sweet. Then, when he goes home early 'cause he's had a hard day of ordering me around, I'm tossed around to be everyone's bitch. Must be what prison's like. Basically I wind up going on Coffee Bean runs all day. I shoulda been a waitress, 'cause I can carry like eight Iced Blendeds at this point. Worst part is, Coffee Bean's added all these extra fancy drinks, so it's damn near impossible to get them all right. Someone wanted a medium pomegranate smoothie, not a large, you idiot. Someone wanted soy in their vanilla latte, dumb-ass. Ugh.

At least I'm getting paid.

Mom wants me to meet the new man. She hasn't told me anything about him, other than the fact that he lives in Texas and his name's Henry. I did some research and found out that his real full name's J. Henry Spahn. According to google, he's some big muckety-muck oil businessman. You can tell by the name alone that he's rich. Anyone who uses an initial before his first name's either a real d-bag or real rich. Those tend to go hand in hand. The other way you know this guy's loaded is that Mom's dating him long-distance. She's over there in Dallas half the time, and over here half the time, maybe looking for a richer oil man.

She hasn't told Henry about me, which is about par for the course for her. Why mention your 17 year old daughter to a guy and scare him off. I wonder if I'm going to have to lie again. Last time around, she pretended that I was her younger sister. Chyeah right. She's never admitted her real age to me, but she's in her 40s at least. For a woman to go 20 years between kids would take a damn impressive vagina.

I've also been the cousin, the friend, the co-worker. One time she claimed I was her maid. That was fun. Every time he came over to visit, I'd have to hop around and pretend to sweep up. I hope she'll fess up with this guy and admit that she's my mother. I'm an adult now, all things considered. I'm done with school. I have a job. A shitty job, but still. Having a 17 year old kid's not nearly as big of a handful as a 7 year old. It's not like I want this jerkoff to help me with my math homework and come watch my soccer games.

I'm trying my best not to lie, honest I am. It comes more natural for me to make up things. Going from that to a normal life of truth telling is difficult, like trying to speak Chinese. At first, it's not an easy adjustment. Hopefully it'll get better.

One of the great lies they tell kids is that honesty is the best policy. True, if everyone lied, society would go to crap pretty darn quick. But... if just one person lies, well then, they're liable to benefit from that. Trust me, I know. I was at a job interview today, for PA work for this hot shot movie producer. I've never heard of him myself, but the fact that he had not one but two assistants seems to say he's a big deal.

He asked me how old I was. I'm 17. People don't hire 17 year olds for anything other than internships, so I told him I'm 19. I think I can pass for 19. A few times, I've gotten into bars before claiming to be 21, so 19's a cakewalk compared to that. I also told him I had a lot experience being a PA. Truth be told, I didn't even know what a PA was (a production assistant, turns out). After bullshitting about all my vast experience and making up a story about a film shoot gone away in Vancouver, he gave me the job. Honesty is the best policy. If you wanna stay unemployed.