I haven’t booked a modeling job in over a month because my print agency here in Los Angeles has only sent me on one casting since I’ve been back from London. They either hate me or forgot about me. I’m still deciding whether I should go to New York or London for a few months this summer so I can book jobs to pay rent in my cheap Koreatown apartment and spend $9,000 on kale at Whole Foods. The summer is a slow time for commercials so I’m not freaking out over my lack of bookings. I considered prostitution for a good twenty-four hours right up until I checked my mailbox and got a surprise residual check. I picked up my cat and yelled, “KITLER YOU CAN EAT ORGANIC CAT FOOD AGAIN!”
Since I haven’t been working much, I’ve had time to write, download new music, and hang out with my friends who I abandoned about three years ago. During the summer of 2010 I met an ex-boyfriend and molded every bit of my personality into being his girlfriend. I was no longer Melissa, I was known as his chick, and I liked it. I moved to New York and had zero friends there. I was okay with that because I was working a shit ton, going on cruises, and singing karaoke in a Long Island basement. For the past three years, my life has been catered to my boyfriend’s lives. This is not a good thing.
I’m terrible at obtaining the balance between my own life and my boyfriend’s. I often think, “well this person is making me happy so fuck everything else!” I can’t tell if it’s an obsession or insecurity. It might be a little of both. I don’t stop thinking about what they think of me. I remember saying to my last boyfriend: “I thought if I did this you would be proud of me.” I was referring to a project that I’m currently working on. The only person I should be trying to impress is myself. Get your shit together, Melissa. Is there a pill for that?
Since being back in my apartment with my two roommates/friends from Michigan I’ve decided it’s time to act my age and not like the forty-something year-olds I’ve been dating for three years. Okay, yeah, one was fifty. But to be completely honest their personalities were not that of a typical midwestern forty-five year old, they were similar to my friends in their twenties. Despite their younger dispositions, they were all born before the moon landing. It’s quite a big disparity when comparing musical tastes or knowledge of Saved By The Bell. I do tend to have entertainment tastes of older generations (I’ll challenge anyone to Seinfeld Scene It) which is helpful while standing my ground in discussions about The Twilight Zone or The Honeymooners.
One of my favorite things to do is go to parties/bars where my friends are playing records (yes records) of Daft Punk, Hot Chip, 90s’s R&B, New Order, etc. and dance and have fun. I didn’t do that from 2010 up until a few weeks ago. I’m not blaming my relationships for stopping me from going to parties because I could have done that at any time. I just felt content staying home with my boyfriends and doing whatever they wanted to do. I didn’t bother asking them to hang out with my friends because I assumed they would be bored, and the very few times I did ask they didn’t seem overly interested. One boyfriend lived in Long Island and going to the city was kind of a long trip, and another was working twelve hours a day so I didn’t want to waste the small amount of free time he had with things he didn’t really want to do.
When you’re starting a relationship you get immersed into a whole new group of friends. I’m really glad I’ve met people over the years through boyfriends who I would otherwise not know exist. After a while of only hanging out with those people I got kind of bummed. Sure, I could call them friends, and I really liked them, but they’ve all known each other for years. I was the girlfriend they had to like. I needed to be around my own friends. I was voluntarily isolating myself for some weird unknown reason.
I was talking to an ex today and told him how I actually do things with my friends now and feel more like myself than I have in three years. He responded with, “where was that when we were dating?” I don’t know. I didn’t really have an answer for him. I abandoned lots of things and put my obsession with the relationship in front of everything. Melissa’s Dating Tip #1: DO NOT DO THIS.
I’ve been relying on men to make me happy since forever ago, so now I’m planning on relying on my own fucking self to make me happy because that’s what normal fucking people do. The best advice I’ve gotten recently is to accept who I am and not feel like there’s a time limit on success (whatever that means) or a perfect relationship. Eww, I sound like one of those girls on Facebook who post inspirational quotes. Feel free to stop reading to go vomit.
So on top of being an unemployed model who lives above a Korean drug-addict that listens to techno and probably makes meth in his bathtub, I’m also a person who has really great friends that don’t judge me for dating older guys. A year ago I would’ve freaked out if I knew I was going to get a real writing job, be in a commercial, and work in London. I would absolutely call that success, but for some reason it doesn’t quite feel like it yet. I guess that’s called ambition.
Let’s see how long my own advice lasts…
CUT TO: MELISSA’S NEW BOYFRIEND’S APT – SIX MONTHS LATER
Melissa: “What should we do tonight?”
Boyfriend: “I dunno, Netflix?”
Melissa: “Okay great!”