I Just Want to Bang on the Drum All Day

All my life I wanted a sister. Not to say that my brother wasn't great, but, you know. He had a penis. And all the things that come along with penises: he hocked loogies in the shower and left glasses of milk on his bedside table for weeks at a time until they turned to curd. No, I wanted a sister to share clothes with and swap magazines, a sister who could straighten the hair at the back of my head. And what do you know? My brother with the penis finally came through and gave me one. In August he married the awesomest girl, my sister-in-law Morgan. She just might kill me for this picture because her eyes are red but it's the only pic I can find. All of their official wedding photos are secured or some such tomfoolery and I cannot cut and paste. So here you are: my beautiful sister Morgan whose eyes, I swear, do not glow red in real life:

Morgan is our guest poster for today. As you can see, she wrote this piece last month but it is particularly timely for yours truly now. Presenting Morgan: the sweetest, prettiest sister, even if she does live 600 miles away and thus the hair at the back of my head is still wiry.

It’s 5:30am on Tuesday, October 21st and I am leaving the office. I actually started work on Monday, October 20th at 7:00am. I worked 22 ½ hours straight and I get paid on a flat, which means I get the same rate for 8 hours as I do for 22 ½ hours. What benefit did I get out of working 22 ½ hours? None. I was this woman’s bitch. I am a slave. I am what’s her name. I am not appreciated by the woman who is making my life a living hell. So what am I doing?

I'll tell you what I'm doing: I am sitting in a production MOHO (motor home) right now, typing up this blog. I have to tell people who come through my “office” that want to use the clean bathroom that they CAN NOT go #2. I was a bit bored so I made a sign that says NO DUMPING PLEASE. And I found a picture of a dump truck and I put a red cross over it. I’ll probably have more free time between being ordered around to do bullshit stuff, so I thought I’d laminate the sign. I get such pleasure from laminating. And yes I travel around with a laminator in my car, just in case someone wants or needs lamination.

I went to college for what it is I want to do--not laminating exactly, directing. But I found myself at the bottom of the ladder and I’ve been very successful at working my way up. But at what cost? I’m already tired of working in production. I get the glamorous job of managing a crew of 60+ people, making sure every single part of the machine is oiled and ready to make some Hollywood magic. I spend most of my time sitting in a MOHO on a walkie talkie and a cell phone in the other hand. Fielding bullshit stuff. For instance, the same woman that kept us at the office until 5:30am just so happened to bring her shnoodle dog with her on this business trip. I had to find a PA that was strictly on doggie duty. It was my job to make sure that this PA takes the dog for a walk, picks up its shit and that the dog occasionally goes to a top of the line luxurious doggie day care where at the end of the day the dog gets a progress report. I had to spend HOURS researching the best doggie day cares in LA.

I absolutely love the art of making films. I love that every day is a different day, a different set, different people and everyone coming together to make this one thing. I love coming to work on sets and seeing the big 10 ton trucks parked along the street and all the gear being downloaded. I always get excited on shoot days. There is something about seeing it all come together. I have no problem working long hours if I am shooting, and a normal shoot day for me is a minimum 14 hours anyway. But at least I get the feeling of accomplishment. But when it’s a prep day and the agency producer is incompetent and needs to be spoon-fed and is fully taking advantage of the film shoot she is on… that’s when I find myself thinking that I want a career change.

I want a zen job.

I want a job that is little to no stress. I don’t mind responsibility. I can do responsibility. I want a job where I have normal operating hours. I want a job with health benefits and a 401 k. I want a happy job.

What is a happy job? I was thinking I would be completely happy working in a flower shop. I love the smell of flower shops. It’s still creative and they have normal hours. Besides the flower shop, I needed some back up ideas, so I put the google search engine to some good use and this is what I found: a website that lists the happiest careers. Editor's note: Dude. I'm totally going to become a hairdresser. Even though the only haircut I ever gave Bryan resulted in me having to then shave his head.

I can’t say how accurate this is, because I can’t imagine an accountant having the happiest job. As for the advertising job, well, I know for a fact those people are NOT happy. I felt the evil wrath of a tired, single woman who I swear sold her soul to the devil because I overheard her say I miss my dog more than I miss my children, that’s why I brought my dog with me on this job.

Oh, this is good. My producer just walked in. We’re shooting in Santa Monica just a few miles from the beach, and it’s 88º out, hot. We’ve got crew standing around carrying heavy equipment, so my producer comes in and tells me how freakin hot it is out there and that she wants me to send a PA to go and get 60 sarongs for the entire crew, so that we can all take our pants off and wear sarongs and get cool. What the hell!!!??? But I can’t say this. I just have to do it and try my hardest not to make a face that reads this is the stupidest idea ever. So now I have to end this blog and go online and find a store that carries 60 sarongs. At least I’ve ended this post on a perfect note.

Please if you know of a zen or happy career, share with us! And tell me where I should send my resume. Editor's Note: Me, too. Tell me where to send my resume, as well.