As a personal assistant to a "B" actress, life tends to have its ups and downs. The ups come right after I get off work and the downs come when I walk in her Hollywood Hills mansion. Sometimes the downs come ringing to life at 3 AM with a shopping list. What does a bag of Kettle chips, band aids, Windex, and detachable erasers have in common? It boggles the mind. Try punching in an address into your GPS tracking device at 3 AM and see if you can stay awake.
Actors are fickle, that much anyone knows. But my boss is light years beyond fickle. She's a single parent with two kids, hanging on every call-back. That's understandable if you've got to make the mortgage on a mansion in the Hills. I just wish she wouldn't use me as her personal, emotional punching bag.
When I took the job, I thought all my Hollywood dreams would come true. I would get to meet famous people and schmooze my way into a film career. The problem is she doesn't introduce me to anyone. She only refers to me in the third person. "My assistant will get that for you." Thanks for the big break.
The amount of venom she spews my way is obscene. I'm still waiting for Emperor Nero to jump out of the bushes and smash me over the head with his fiddle. If her kids cry about anything, I get blamed. It must be the stress of watching mommy slide down from B actress to C has-been. It's a rough town, this Hollywood, but its even rougher when you're playing Hamlet to a has-been's ghost.
People think of her a "B" actress but her career has been in the gutter for the better part of a decade. She got lucky with a sitcom and hasn't been able to turn it into some bigger or better. I've accepted that I'm her foil -- her therapy. I'm her walking, talking punching bag -- and nurse. In the city of Angels, you've got to start somewhere.
Actors are fickle, that much anyone knows. But my boss is light years beyond fickle. She's a single parent with two kids, hanging on every call-back. That's understandable if you've got to make the mortgage on a mansion in the Hills. I just wish she wouldn't use me as her personal, emotional punching bag.
When I took the job, I thought all my Hollywood dreams would come true. I would get to meet famous people and schmooze my way into a film career. The problem is she doesn't introduce me to anyone. She only refers to me in the third person. "My assistant will get that for you." Thanks for the big break.
The amount of venom she spews my way is obscene. I'm still waiting for Emperor Nero to jump out of the bushes and smash me over the head with his fiddle. If her kids cry about anything, I get blamed. It must be the stress of watching mommy slide down from B actress to C has-been. It's a rough town, this Hollywood, but its even rougher when you're playing Hamlet to a has-been's ghost.
People think of her a "B" actress but her career has been in the gutter for the better part of a decade. She got lucky with a sitcom and hasn't been able to turn it into some bigger or better. I've accepted that I'm her foil -- her therapy. I'm her walking, talking punching bag -- and nurse. In the city of Angels, you've got to start somewhere.
About the Author:
If you want to navigate the venomous waters of Hollywood, make sure you do it with a reliable GPS tracking system. It's the only thing that's kept me going in this crazy town.
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