|Emily AC: Multi-Talented Comedian||
So I went to Hallenback on Cahuenga tonight. $7... more than some; less than others. Although, all of them are too much for the moment (as is the case of most of America--I know I'm not alone). It was awkward there because the host was a bit of a jerk. Not the worst... but enough to ruin my night, all the same.
I went to the front and asked where to pay the admission. The guy said that I could just get $7 of food. So I did. Then I asked where the sign up sheet was to this guy. He was the host.
He asked if I was a comedian. I said yes (I got booked on my first audition. I am a comedian). He asked, "Are you any good?" in a snooty tone. I said, "I hope so." He did that stupid-sneer-contempt sort of laugh.
He asked my name. I told him. He asked how to spell it. I said, "A-C just the letters." I gave a pleasant smile, as I usually do to everyone, even if I think they're being rude (like he was). This is because I'm used to people assuming I'm pure evil upon sight. Some people take time to "convince" that I'm not.
I said, "Like acceleration currents." He chimed in with a cocky look, "you mean alternating currents." I said, " yes, whatever, that's right." He looked very satisfied. Look... hey, you got me. I made a teensy mistake--better assume the worst of me, now (although he already was, gaging by tone, gesture, and facial expression).
Sign up was at 7pm. It didn't start until 8. the host wasn't friendly--and I'm shy (plus... people don't do friendships at those places), so I played on my phone. A few minutes before 8 I asked if there was enough time to go smoke a cigarette.
He said, "Yes, there's enough time for you to slowly kill yourself." So I said, "Indeed, I would like to go slowly kill myself." Then he tries to guilt trip me about his mom dying of cancer due to smoking. I said, "Well I'm still smoking." With a look of contempt on MY face.
Just for fun... not to rub it in his face, or anything--I re-looked up the cancer rates over time vs. smoking rates over time... Statistics suggest that smoking isn't the cause (though I already knew that, because I'm not a fucking lemming and I do my research). Our cancer rates are up the highest they've ever been at the same time the smoking rates have been cut by more than half of what they were 40 years ago. You'd almost think that people quitting was what made cancer more prevalent... But studies suggest that already existing cancer is worsened by smoking. So it doesn't help things once you get cancer; but it can't possibly be the cause.
Furthermore, smoking helps you think and it helps you manage mental illness. That's why many psychologists don't encourage their patients to quit unless they actually want to. But, no, I didn't bother mentioning these things--even though I pulled them up on my phone in seconds. No point.
It wasn't that I was a smoker... It was just that I'm ME. He didn't give this treatment to anyone else there. He said it was a lottery and told me to pick a number. He didn't write it down. I made the assumption that I would be going last. I was second to last in the lineup (not a bad guess, huh). But I didn't pay $7 just to do comedy for a guy that wouldn't laugh at my jokes and was a complete asshole.
Seeing as everyone leaves when they're done... I left way before it was my turn. Here, again, another rape joke night. People making light of women complaining about being objectified; all while looking at me. I just didn't want another night like that.
My set is about how I'm going to kill the next rapist that tries to get me. This is a rape bar. Another one. I've already had to thwart three potential rapes in a year and a half.
Every person I've met out here pretended to be my friend so they could have sex with me. Except the crazy religious slut who was desperately trying to save my soul by being a massive bitch to me (long story short).
So... I wasted $7 that I need on another night of bullying by assholes that all see me as jailbait. No--it wasn't what I was wearing. It's just me. This is how it is out here for me. In LA I'm a rape target. I've never felt this way in my life.
I'm homesick just for people that regularly smile on the street and make conversation in long lines. I miss adults naturally gravitating toward each other to make small talk about the weather and such out of boredom.
People still tried to use me for sex back home... but at least they tried to be nice about it in MN. I definitely think being thin is a main reason why I have to deal with this. As a fatty in LA no one ever tried to rape me...
But when I hit size four--it's just everywhere. It makes me uncomfortable. Why should I go anywhere if I'm going to get this treatment all the time?
I'm not allowed to mind my business and blend in with the scenery; I'm pretty. And before some asshole tries to say I'm full of myself, poeple tell me this everyday. They marvel at my age and the fact that I've had three kids. It's observation--natural deduction.
Certainly, if I were ugly, people wouldn't leer at me as they tell their rape jokes. And lick their lips. And smile really creepy. But that's merely speculation, because how would I know?
I didn't ask to be pretty. I don't like it and I don't care about it. I keep my looks up for my husband, only, but it's helpful in the entertainment industry. But that's if you want to be constantly vigilant, I guess. I'm not so sure that I do.