And the Oscar Goes To...

I saw my name on the big screen. I had seen my name projected in the theater at Chapman, but this was different. Then I was a student; this time I was a professional. And on the screen at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater in Beverly Hills it looked great.

                 I worked on a documentary that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (the guys who give out Oscars every year) had made for Turner Classic Movies to kick off this year’s Oscar month marathon. It's called And the Oscar Goes to... I did some assistant editing work as well as some office work for the production (gotta start somewhere, right?). This wasn't my first professional project, but it was the first time I had the opportunity to go to a screening of something I was paid to work on.  I also worked on a movie last summer, Wish I Was Here, directed by Zach Braff, which should be in theaters in September, 2014.

                Dressing up and going to the premiere screening was an awesome experience. There were celebrities in the audience, as well as people I know and work with. But when I saw my name come up in the rolling credits I didn’t react the way I thought I would. I thought I would be proud, excited, scared… but more than anything I felt calm. It didn’t feel like as big of a deal as I thought it would; it just felt… right. I’m not sure how to explain it.

Brie, me and one of our LA besties Ms. Clay, Mr. Nelsen couldn't be there.

                I am not trying to become part of this industry to make millions or become famous (although I will not turn those down if I am lucky enough to get them), for me it’s about being part of something that will touch people. I want to tell stories and I think that filmmaking is the best fit for me as a storyteller.

I guess when I saw my name up on that screen I felt calm because it reminded me of all the love and support I have at my side. It was a gentle whisper that said, “You can do this.”

Let's All Resolve To...

This is my New Year's concession for blogging. It's almost expected, right? I need to write on all the ways that 2013 made me a better person, the obstacles I overcame and how I resolve to do amazing things in the upcoming year.

Maybe it's just the killer headache from too much holiday (remember that Berenstein Bears book?) or my absolute lack of enthusiasm for staring at my computer screen, but 2013 was a very angry year.

There was a lot of stress in our world when Mr. E graduated and we up and moved to LA- neither one of us particularly city-people. Sure, living here is great, but downsizing was a pain in the butt, budgeting is tough and we got slammed with a car break-down at the same time we were apartment hunting. Mr. E's playing heads-up-seven-up with jobs at the moment and I'm attempting that ruthless jump from temp agency to full-time employee- provided I continue to like this company.

But even outside our own sphere of the world things are looking pretty angry: we're hating on celebrities, we're hating on institutions, we're hating on everyone else's likes and dislikes, their choices, what they support, what they don't and how they do it. There's a lot of opinions out there, guys. I get it. There's a lot of ignorance, perceived or otherwise. There's anger and fear and shame and guilt and a whole host of negative qualities that could probably fill the internet a thousand times over.

I'll be the first to tell you that I can get angry easily. My coworker was very clearly (and very loudly) typing something repetitive today that just about had me kicking the cubicle wall (if I had to guess it'd probably be LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLZ,  the jerk). I get pissed when people go the speed limit on the freeway. I'm mad when my Disney Hidden World's game doesn't accept when I'm clearly pointing to the correct object.

None of this makes me happy.

I like to think that I follow a pretty wide range on the internet- those of you who craft, who read, who write, who snark, research, drink tea, hate tea, have kids, have dogs-who-think-they're-kids, love fandoms, love fans, support causes and just need somebody to talk to at all hours of the day (Hi, Twitter!). A lot of you preach to do what makes you happy. You pin it, you remind yourself of it all the time, but did you ever stop to think that it's less of an action and more of a choice?

World, let's make a resolution together. It doesn't have to be first or your list or kick off something else that's important to you. Can we please PLEASE remind ourselves to be happy. To let it go? To accept that the world does not play fair, does not have the same rules for everyone and we'll just have to agree to disagree sometimes. Stop the hateful comments. Stop the passive-aggressive responses. Every one of us is entitled to opinions but you don't need to say yours louder in order for it to be more correct.

I resolve to be a happier person in 2014.

I didn't need a generic time of the year to choose this, but it sure is a nice built-in motivator, isn't it?

Juicing Over.

I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am that I'm not juicing anymore. I joined my coworker in an effort to challenge myself- to see if I could do it, to see how my body responded to the absence of processed foods and wheat, and to potentially gain more energy.

Boy, was that a lie.

By day two I knew it was sort of working- I was cleansing alright. As in right through. But I didn't feel bad. There was no sick-to-my-stomach-feeling or indegestion or cramps. And to clarify, I was never really hungry (as long as I ate all my shakes). Frankly, I was drinking so freaking much that I couldn't think about much except peeing ever 2.4 seconds. Multiple bathroom trips meant multiple hand-washings and by the end of the week my poor hands were cracked and dry because of the heat and the soap. But I've never seen such clear pee!

The shakes were much better than that first day- sure, the first and last shakes of the day tasted like dirty lawn clippings (that would be spinach, lettuce, cucumber and celery, ya'll) but the other ones were passable. Lemon-lime coconut with avocado for good fats? Yes, thank you. Ginger-carrot-miso soup? Another serving. But that supplement water? Literally tasted like bile.

I made sure that Mr. E tasted all of the shakes. Even if he wouldn't do the cleanse with me I wanted him to know what I was going through when I sat back and complained about them. He was pretty smug sitting in his "Chew Only" camp, and he didn't even think my supplements tasted bad! What a weirdo.

The best part was the fact that if I added water to my shakes, I was able to chug them a little easier. This is super professional, especially when your supervisor happens to walk by.

The negatives:
I had a small sore throat almost every day. I'm not sure if this was because of a post nasal drip or allergies or my shakes, but juicing sure didn't help.
My hands are SO dry from washing them so often.
I never got more energy.
I was so bored by Day 5 that we decided to cut the cleanse short and only go 6 days- also partially because I didn't want to juice and have leftovers from my 3 serving shakes.
I missed fruit. A lot.

The positives:
I was never once achy. I certainly wasn't working out any more than I normally do (lots and lots of walking) but I wasn't sore or crampy, which was awesome.
I never had to think about what I was eating the next day- I always had a shake or two in the fridge.
I wasn't energetic, but I had a clearer head. I went through the entire week without coffee and never once missed it. I was able to get my projects done at work without that fuzzy "out of it" feeling.

So would I do it again? Probably not.

But if I did, I would add fruit. Lots of fruit to give that liquid coleslaw shake some flavor.

This is what I ended up eating on my last day- carrot fritters!

Feeling Cleansed

I'm doing something this week that I've always wanted to do.

Doesn't that feel good? Getting something off of your life list? Like paying off student loans or road-tripping to Vegas...

I'm doing a juice cleanse.

Beer bottle in the back not included.

 I often saw other girls (always girls) in college doing the Master Cleanse (water. maple syrup. cayenne pepper. lemons. laxatives.) and I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. Since then the cleanse fad has only gotten bigger with more and more types appearing out of the blue like crazy whack-a-moles. We even had a juicery open up down the street- that would be an entire store devoted to cold-pressed juicing. Sure, their drinks were tasty, but they were also 7$ a bottle. No, thanks.

This cleanse is apparently Gwyneth Paltrow approved. It's her Organic Avenue Diet, but- AND THIS IS A PRETTY BIG BUT- I did not buy organic, ya'll. Nope. I bought Costco and I bought Trader Joe's and I don't think I'll ever do this again. Apparently I'm drinking spinach and celery and parsley and Romaine lettuce for 7 days.

So why? Why am I subjecting myself to this?

To challenge myself- mind over matter.
I'm curious to see if it works the way they say it does: clearer skin? energy?
I finally found a juicing-buddy with a coworker. Mr. E plans to stay within his chewable diet, chomping away on everything non-leafy in our fridge.

I don't think this will lose any weight for me.
I don't think this will "clean" my gut- of all the biota who are SUPPOSED to live there...
I don't think this is a long-term diet, but at least this one contains food. Plusalso I may splurge a little and eat some sort of meat/protein dinner instead of more veggies because I really don't like broccoli/cauliflower/zucchini.

So we'll see how this goes! I'm excited.

But maybe I'll just chalk that down to stage fright.

I bet tomorrow I'll feel like crap.

My Five Year Letter

Dear self,

We just came home from a night in Burbank and by we I'm not talking royalty. My husband pulled the best impression of your young self that I've ever seen, head lolling to one side, deep breaths in and out as the street lights lit his mohawk between on-ramps and off-ramps so narrow they may actually have been blue prints for the Death Star. Tonight was magical and mystical and still a road block.

My tongue is sore from cheap Mai Tais. My elbows hurt from rubbing with professional amateurs. His teachers told him to meet and greet with the lower levels, the little ones who are looking for the right talent to bring them to the top.  Well, we did that, and were staunchly told in no uncertain terms that no one ever truly makes it. Glass ceilings and nepotism and type-casting run rampant in that old town, so who are we to change the game?

She talked to us from under the weight of years of hard work, drudging and slogging to get where she wanted, with opinions louder than the quiet voice in our hearts. She drowned out the optimism and talked right over the determination we both had. He and I sat quietly awash in her words and her wisdom of experience. Once we got back in the car we looked at each other and shared a moment and I knew she hadn't permanently silenced us.

We needed to hear what she had to say, just like we need to hear what everyone has to say: give us your wounded and your heartbroken, your sordid tales, your mistakes and your success stories. We want to hear them because we want to know, deep down, that every tale is different. Each story gives us hope that we, too, can be successful because we're not unique but we still have miles and leagues and fathoms separating us from them.

Listening to stories of the people that made it is inspiring and down-heartening all at once: the story goes that Harrison Ford was a handyman who happened to read lines one day. That Spielberg never got into USC despite his repeated applications. But they're household names now, so what gives? How can we tell that story too, but different?

Brie, the reality is, we may never make it, but in the end we'll make something for ourselves all the same. Big money and a million dollar home and agent-led movie offers was never the goal. Our conversations of the future always ended in doing what we wanted to do and being happy for that opportunity- and in that respect we're already halfway there. We may never make millions, have faces and babies splashed on tabloids or name our own sidewalk stars, but we'll enjoy what we're doing because we worked too hard to settle.

We'll make it because we're starting with the support system and the rest can fall into place afterwards. We'll make it because I knew from the moment he told me he wanted to be a movie director, the moment he confessed (by accident) he loved me, the moment we said "I do" and presented ourselves as Mr and Mrs E, that I would support him. His goals, his dreams, his wacky baggage were all packed and stowed with my own and ready for the ride we now steer together.

We'll wade through the muck with the rest of them, start from the bottom and work our way to the top, taking our turn at all the major milestones, but we have each other and that's years ahead of everyone else here. That's what sets us apart. He doesn't do this alone; I can't let him.

So here it is, your five-, ten-, fifteen-year plan: Just remember. Remember how bad you want this. Remember how hard you worked for this. Remember all of the side-gigs and pity projects and the hours and hours we've logged to get that one step farther. Remember the innocence and the naivete because you'll lose it in the City of Lights, piece by piece, and what's left over can leave you bitter and wary. We don't mind wary but we can do without being bitter. We have opportunities and blessings farther than the eye can see and there will come a time (or two) when we'll have to rely on just the memory of good things to keep us going.

Love,
The young and restless you

Self explanation

via

What in the world am I doing? I can barely keep a diary going for more than 2 weeks, and yet I've fallen (head-first) into an indefinite writing commitment. Silly me.

via

This is a lifestyle blog. That's what you call it when you write about the car breaking down the same week your husband starts his (mostly driving) new job, the crispy-crunchy-not-so-fluffy marshmallow cookies you found on Pinterest and all the wacky ways you've found to decorate your one bedroom apartment with three bedrooms full of stuff. And also movies and science and self-righteous venting, though maybe less of the latter and more cute puppy pictures. 




I don't fit in a box and neither does my blog.




It's a lot about me making and baking, the way I see it and the way I won't. About Mr. E, his trials in filmmaking, how our love of movies and each other leads to our happy ending. Plus a little about Ripley who's our kid-in-training and named after Sigourney Weaver, believe it or not.




Choose your own sandwich shops give me anxiety and Hershey's chocolate is never the answer. If I'm not curled on the couch binge watching a TV series I missed during he 90s I'm trying to bake the perfect pie crust or yelling at my sewing machine. Usually at the same time.




I'm still searching for what I want to be when I grow up. My life is full of half-finisheds and almost-dones, searching for practically perfect but always lacking somewhere. I find joy in accomplishments and graduating with a microbiology degree was the most fulfilling that i'd ever done until I got married. I'm still not grown up but we're getting there slowly with books on my back, a dog in my arms and my husbands hand in mine. 




Now that you know all about my love of sun-warmed blackberries and my dreams of a yellow kitchen, I want to know what makes you tick!