No freakin’ way.

Happy yyyyyyyyy New Year! A little late yes, and my Y key is stuck, but better late than never, right?

I’ve a rough cut to turn in tomorrow and less than half the footage I want is actually on tape and not just in my head. I’m not as skinny as Stana Katic yet and even though I know that is pretty unattractive in real life I’m still in denial that being a size 0, 1, 2 or 3 is the key to happiness and if I could just stop needing food to be alive I’d be so much more happier.

I was a lot skinnier when we didn’t live in the ghetto. About a week ago after my night class I arrived home to see a helicopter hovering over the apartment complex next door with a searchlight scouring the area. As I pulled out the tripod I had checked out from the film equipment room encased in an outwardly suspicious looking oblong black canvas case the roar of whirring helicopter rotors grew louder and I felt the spotlight fall squarely on me. Oh, shit, I thought. A “Moslem” holding an AK-47. 

Thankfully, the pilot was a fan of NPR and not Limbaugh, so the spotlight veered off me in search of more criminally greener pastures.

I used to work out a lot more when there were not punk men lounging on their salvaged couches outside at all hours of the day and night following me with their eyes. Get a job punks. One guy even had the audacity to cross the street, approach me and tell me “you look like you’ve lost weight.” Vhat. Zhe. Hellz. I was even more taken aback when I found out from my mom that he occasionally cuts our grass.

Since we’ve been here

1) Our neighborhood went under lockdown when a SWAT team had to be called in because a neighbor’s kid had barricaded himself in the attic with a shotgun (I can still see a bullet hole when I walk past the house the few times I do workout in the neighborhood

2) Somebody got shot in the stomach

3) Somebody got shot, period.

It’s not all that bad all the time. But still…can’t wait to live somewhere else where there is peace, quiet and properly employed people.

 

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