November 7, 2012
Carr in Punishment

My workday started just as everyday before, I was fighting my anxiety and tried to keep my act perpetuating (and my puke below throat level) as if I knew what I was doing. It would go something like this: I was in the office hours before everyone else. This gave me the time to make sure everything appeared as if I was an expert. The only problem with this was I was loosing much sleep. Growing adult acne at an excessive rate and my scrappy girly grooming qualities had withered with any confidence I may have saved through my awkward life.

 As I finished setting up the Avid sequence for my hot headed, quinoa eating, pre-Modonna (I believe my reference of the Pop Queen that just can’t let Lady Gaga borrow her over surgical spotlight really helps accentuate LA’s stereotypical disposition) editor I downed my cup of coffee hoping for a cocaine like buzz only to receive a completely drenched white t-shirt, shit (I promise I do not have the boob capacity to make this more then coffee on a shirt)! As I blotted down my shirt I was forced to notice the awful jeans I had walked into that morning: A straight leg with a mom like waist that gave me a pre-historical flat butt.  However, the problem was I had sketched a dejected, anchor with eyebrows on the thigh of my pant leg somewhere on a drunk Saturday night. However, it was not art it was rubbish.

          My day gig seemed consistent with my unpaid life, a dirty-pig debauchery. As I finally got my works ducks in an askew line I took cover in a bomb-shelter like editing bay. It was warm. It seemed safe. However, it felt so comfortable that it was like hypothermia as the victim feels a warm sensation, as if the coldness is fading, but this is a sign that the hypothermia is getting worse…next step death.

 As a warm tingling sensation took over my body a stunted, frail body stood in the doorframe. His grain built voice echoed like a girl, a girl with facts. I “fucking sucked” according to him. His voice was so damn organic that my chemical-addicted brain could not process. This guy had the communication of the family that I came from dysfunctional. Then I was suddenly prepared I knew how to survive this… Stay quite and function like Taylor, Swiftly. 

 I exited the building to head up stairs to grab some files for my sweet boss man. Just as I headed for the stairs I sneezed. I covered my mouth for I am 87% a lady. A man turned the corner. I expected a “bless you” or a casual “gesundheit” What I got was “Eat your own shit”! I waited for laughter to trail but all that was received were his confident eyes as he quickly entered what seemed to a supply closet. Stunned, I looked for any stranger to participate in one of the coldest moments of human interaction I have received in my perhaps, uneventful twenty-eight years. I stood there in the isolation of my job and the mean of my morning that lingered.

 Of course as I entered the production office I made jokes with colleagues about what had happened because it was a pretty impressive story. However, this was also a key moment of my denial, I was not happy.  I had worked through school and almost five years after to have a chance at this job. The problem was I had been lying to myself in and I hadn’t been ready to admit that maybe this: my present life is not really what I have ever wanted. Swoosh! The biggest truth is that I had known this much longer then my memory will ever recollect

 Join me now friends, foes, and (fingers crossed) a kin member, as I now take a job in post-production that is low key and mindless. To work whores’ hours for not whore pay to give me the break to find out maybe what will provide me with fulfillment and confidence I know it is about time I deserve it.

 ”To go wrong in one’s own way is better than to go right in someone else’s.” - Razumihin, Crime and Punishment  

6:19am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZKLuXyWnvSFo
(Notes: 1)
  
November 23, 2011
suicideblonde: Chloe Sevigny… <3

suicideblonde:

Chloe Sevigny… <3

10:47pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZKLuXyCL0_1A
(Notes: 811)
  
November 18, 2011
A Sister by an “Other” Mother…

I know it seems that I have already fallen short on my endeavor. However, I have had much anxiety about not writing and have been looking forward to it very much (this shows I care and now you will bond with this compassion offering). I have been a little busy (really, I haven’t even caught up on my normal television programming this week). Being unemployed gives one a lot of time to over-think and to create an unrealistic mound of expectations.

I feel by now I have a had the time to create a small inspired piece of The Sistine Chapel in my bathroom, I should have finish all of the six books I can’t seem to commit to, and, at this point I should be in a long, engaged, email exchange with Sophia Coppola over my screen play.  However, I am sitting amidst an incomplete, rearranged, living room with a cat named Chicken (who seems embarrassed by my lack of accomplishments and seems to be throwing her everyday achievements in my face) trying to find the motivation to drive four blocks to make a drop-off at the local, hipster, Good Will center.

Growing-up I was strange. I was an “other”, man. I liked liverwurst and mayonnaise sandwiches (this is the first time I am coming clean about this. I usually just put the blame on The Mother for this lunch option), I hated getting dirty (I would clean the souls of my shoes on a daily basis), and, I loathed recess. I became a staple of comfort for the teachers on duty at this time. At the young age of six I had them discussing their relationship queries and the most intimate gossip with me and I adored it. I didn’t care much for my peers.

My childhood was pretty unconventional. I will not delve into subject because that is just uncomfortable for all three of us (Like when a couple has an impromptu argument in front of you and your only resource is to hand out the unappreciated high-fives). My mother is a fantastic lady. She can make any lackluster moment come to life with a bad joke and her infectious laugh. There was never an overflow of money at our disposal but my mother never let that define our situation. If you want an experience, a dress, or a stellar party, all you need is to slightly relinquish your rights to sleep, creativity, and, obnoxious determination.

As a child I was very exposed to creating everything. Very rarely was something new in our home but it always seemed to be of better quality then I imagined. I used to be so mortified when my mother would pull over and pack our car with furniture off the side of the road. However, she managed to bring it back to life and more beautiful then it once was. I now have found myself sneaking behind dumpsters and loading up “perfectly good chairs” into the back of my vehicle.

With this all explained I recently have become extremely attracted to taxidermy. It is n odd fusion of something that once was so alive and being able to harvest that moment. I have realized that this trade is not something that I have tools to acquire from the internet so this weekend I am going to attempt the beginnings of faux taxidermy. So, until I have fulfilled my high talk I say: “Good night, and good luck”.

6:16pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZKLuXyC5z9fP
(Notes: 1)
  
November 15, 2011
Discombobulated, Bippity, Poo

Well, my name is Dannielle Carr. I prefer dcarr. Whenever I hear my actual name it is an uncomfortable, out-of-body, experience. And here’s the thing, for the last six years (this number is rounded in order for me not to feel attached to my actual age). I have been wandering different streets. Sometimes in San Francisco, then Florida, there are also some close to home in Southern California, and others, I shouldn’t’ brag about. I was always so sure that I had enough time to figure it all out. “Figure it out” is a loose term for, what career I want, what I want in love, how to be the good friend, to have one of those photos in a perfect, sunny, afternoon, where I am slightly laughing, without a single care in the world, because, I just have it all figured out.

Now at 27 I haven’t really accomplished the euphoric, inner-peace thing, but I do have one of those photos. However, I believe I am drinking whiskey out of a teeny-tiny cup. I know that I need to see more of my goals through before I will ever be slightly impressed with myself.  I want to start this before the New Year hits so; perhaps I can sleep in New Years day and not have such anxiety over my hangover. My goal is to rev up some engine. Actually, I never want to rev any engines. I will simply hold myself responsible (this sounds easy but man, I can talk my way out of things and there are so many bad, but, delightful shows on right now). I will continue this blog alongside other endeavors which, I shall share. 

With my goal aloofly stated I would like to mention that I have a viciously talented sister and she is the older one. Therefore most of my goals I have set out for myself she has most likely achieved brightly, without the help of youtube, and all before I got my driver license (I passed that test the first time at the sweet age of 21). In order to have a sympathetic audience (I predict my beloved friend Emily and my mother as my following readers) I will tell you that out of boredom my sister purchased herself a harp. She then taught herself to play and then sold it because it really did not captivate her full attention or her talents. I know she is a disgusting human being.

I have written this entry multiple times but have never followed through. It has always been too drab, too Dr. Seuss babbles without the rhyme, too depressing without the uppers. I am not saying that this attempt is any more attractive but, here I go, I m following through. I will find you tomorrow… 1,2,3, OLE!

3:46am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZKLuXyBylVsl