I’m the one who writes every once in a while. And when I do, it sometimes causes a stir. Take that as your warning….
California (aka Los Angeles)
Everyone here is fake. The people that have been here their entire lives. The implants that arrived a few years ago, the tourists that arrived a few months ago. They’re all fake.
It’s all about who you know, who you work for, where you live, what scene you associate with, and where you eat.
“Ooh, you’re new? You don’t know anyone famous, I mean, as a friend? Well… You know what, I think my friend just arrived, excuse me.”
That’s right. I don’t know anyone here. And, I think I prefer it to be that way. I don’t want to name drop. I don’t want to rely on others’ current popular popularity to gain my own sense of “real” friends.
“A nanny? What do you mean? But *who* do you work for?”
That’s right, a nanny, Exactly what it sounds like. I change diapers. I feed this liquid, called “formula” to little babies. Twins, actually. Mr. McFartsy and The Little Princess. Ooh, they’re adorable. It’s for my uncle. They’re my cousins. I’m a nanny for my uncle. That’s right…. twins. Nanny. My job, that is.
“In the valley?!?!”
Yup, Burbank. The valley. But it’s just over those little hills, I really don’t understand why it’s such a big deal… I mean, I’m just around the corner from you, actually. Only my area code is different. I’m probably closer to you in distance, than most of your friends. Yes, near all of those movie and tv studios. The Valley – Burbank.
“You just moved here? Oh, have you been to ____ yet? No? How about ____? Oh, you’ve also got to get to ____.”
I just moved here. I haven’t settled in yet. I haven’t finished unpacking yet – hell, I just got my bookshelf this week. I’ve been to ___ and ____. Yeah, they’re cool…. But I don’t know if they’re my scene, you know? Got to check out the area a little more, see where I fit in.
“We can go eat at ____ or ____ or _____ or ____… which would you prefer?”
Hmm… I’m more of a tiny little dive kind of girl. I like those places that don’t rely on advertising dollars to bring people in. I like those places that actually *are* good and not *too* expensive. Really. I don’t need that fancy dining area on the sidewalk with candles and heaters. Yeah, they’re fun, but those restraunts make a casual dinner into such a big ordeal. Can’t we just order pizza?
People out here have forgotten what it means to “keep it real”. People complain about their jobs and lives just for the sake of name/event/business dropping; in hope that the cute guy standing next to them at the bar will turn around, happen to hear the name you just mentioned, and offer you some better job or life – all because you managed to mention *that* magical secret name. People complain to have a story that is worse than their friends. People complain as a means of conversation. People compete through their complaining and build up these tense walls between each other. These people, will become best friends, holding these walls back, only because in the distant future, that person may be able to hook them up with someone or something that they know. Begrudgingly, of course.
Not everyone is this fake… just an over-exorbanant amount of the people you find out here are. I have met some real people. Really. I just don’t want to complain about them to get you to listen.
College (aka “The Big Debate”)
You know, I’m not really sure that I want to go. I haven’t completely shut it out of the picture. I’m just still not ready for it. Give me time, I will figure things out…
I’ve got a friend out here that really holds it against me. The fact that I don’t have a degree attached to my background.
“You know, I could really hook you up if you just had your degree. They “require” it out here. They check your references. You can’t get anywhere without it” Check your references my ass. I could really give a shit.
Just because you have your degree and I don’t doesn’t mean that you’re better than me. I know I’m smarter than you. You just don’t know the “real” Jessica to have reached that level. Not many have.
I pass most people off with this whimsical attitude, one which they feel needs an explaination for everything technical or detailed that
will be told to me. “I’ve got to go through all these scripts and find the best tidbits to include with my latest project. You know, script – line for line – what the show is. Tidbits, I mean segments where we interviewed people and they talk about the show subject. My project, my assignment. What I’m working on. My job. For my bosses.”
Oh! OK! Thanks! Cause, you know – I don’t have my degree. I need everything in layman’s terms, you know – really easily explained. Did I forget to tell you that I don’t have my degree? Oh, ok – I forgot. What was a script again?
Come on, man! Give me a little more credit. I did manage to graduate from kindergarted, you know.
Just because I have no interest in what you do doesn’t mean that I don’t understand it.
Another thing – just because I don’t share the same taste in music as you, either, doens’t automatically make what I do like instant crap.
Who cares if the drummer is off a 10th of a beat. I like it. Deal with it. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t open your mouth. I can’t stand that heavy metal shit. Do you hear me complaining every time you turn it on? And puh-leaaaaze don’t give me the exact date and time you first heard that awe inspiring guitar riff for the first time. I don’t fucking care. Better yet, I probably just wouldn’t understand. But, that coveted degree would let me, wouldn’t it? Right?
Nanny (aka psuedo-mother)
I am miserable, out here in California. Really, I am. The nanny gig is *exactly* what I had expected it to be. I’m not stressed out by the babies, nor the actual responsibility of being the nanny. I’m frustrated with the person who is supposed to be here with me each day. The “Papa”. I get no help from him what-so-ever. From 10 am on, each day, it’s the babies and I. This was supposed to be a two person job. I was supposed to be the *helper*, not the sole caretaker.
So I nanny these babies… I feed them. I coo and talk with them. I change their dirty, stinky little diapers. I adore them. I guage and encourage their growth.
I am, for all intensive purposes, their mother. A single mother raising twins with no help from their legal guardian. I have the magic touch that quells their cries instantly. I am the familiar one whose chest they will fall asleep upon during the afternoon. I am the one who rushes to their side the moment their tiny little mouths start to bellow. I am the one who knows the last time they ate, pooped, and slept. I should not be this responsible for two babies who have two strong and capable fathers.
Their actual father (the sperm donor), my uncle, is not my complaint. He works through the day, and rushes home to see his children. He adores them. He tells me to get out for a few hours and relax. He knows what I do, but not to the fullest extent. The “Papa”, his partner, is the one who takes all of the credit and does little through the day. He’ll find excuses to escape for a few hours. He’ll run out to the outside office to check his email. For 4 hours. He’ll come in, hear both babies crying at the top of their lungs from hunger, and comment “Someone’s upset…”. He’ll fix himself a sandwhich, and go back to the office. Thanks for the help. Thanks for the sandwhich. Thanks for noticing that I didn’t need any help. Thank you very much.
He just isn’t taking on as much responsinility as I think he should. It was understood that Jessica is not here to be the mother. She is here to help. She took on the late night feedings as extra help, so the two fathers could sleep in longer segments. She stays up until 2 or 3 am to make sure the fathers don’t have to wake until 5 am. She did this out of courtesy, to make their lives a little bit easier.
But, I can sit here all night long and complain. Nothing will change until I bring it up. Maybe there are circumstances I don’t know about. Maybe our understandings were crossed. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I’m just a wuss about things like that and would just rather put it out there so everyone in the world can read it. But, one thought remains in the back of my mind…. What if I wasn’t here? What if I didn’t come out to help? They said the wouldn’t have hired anyone full time.
Apart from all of the complaining and name dropping I may/may not have done, I really an having decent time out here. The weather is beautiful. I feel like I’m on vacation…. Things just haven’t settled yet. When they do, I will be happier. Things will get better. People will change. I’ll actually meet more decent people out here, who will show me new things and places to hang out. It’s just that I wish that time could be now, instead of having to wait for it all to happen. Hurry up, already!
And I will post more often. No more once a month posting for me! Jessica’s back. She just had to get all the bitchiness out, first.
Thanks for listening!