(BACKPOSTING) Video Vixen 1/21/06

Anthony, who swears I am the one who will make it big as an actress one day, is in fact the one who will probably make it to stardom before me. This dude, who believes he’s in music videos all the time (he even pauses to do slow mo moves while we drive by the barber shop), and often gets mistaken for Daddy Yankee the same way people swear I stem from the same genetic makeup of JLo and Angelina Jolie (huh?), finally ended up with a star role. Carlos, Anthony’s coworker and friend, along with his boy Pat manage/promote a rap group named Nuphsed, consisting of Ink, Alonzo and Jay. I tapped into their music on myspace (www.myspace.com/sooocunseeded) and realized the trio was actually very skilled.
The shoot was scheduled to go down @ 6pm in and in front of Anthony’s bodega (translation = a corner store). The premise was to scheme the viewers into thinking there was a drug deal going down in the store when in actuality it was just an exchange of Nuphsed’s CDs. Carlos told me they would throw me in the video somewhere so I went hood glamorous to “the set” at about 5:30pm. Dressed in a Sherpa jacket, wife beater, jeans and knee high boots, I was too cool for school, but too stupid for bracing rapidly dropping temperatures and wind gusts that made my eyes freeze.
By 6:30 Carlos and the crew had not yet arrived. They were lost somewhere in East Brooklyn. However, an old school Bentley was parked outside the bodega with the group’s entourage milling around, and I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of cops who would mistake the shoot for a real drug deal. A Bentley in Sunset? Who does that?
At around 7, Carlos, after making it all the way to Staten Island by mistake (shit we could have just shot it in my nice warm apartment), finally makes it to the bodega with the group and cameramen. Now there were about fifteen to twenty people inside and out of the bodega causing much commotion amongst the neighboring buildings. I heard a passerby say, “I think that’s Fifty cent in there.” Right, and I’m Olivia… NEXT! The filming began, but I missed the first part because I was being wooed by a ten year old who apparently has six girlfriends spread out across the nation. “I move a lot, but I keep in touch.” Well that’s nice of him.
When the outside work was done, an entourage now totaling about twenty-five people filed by me through the door and Anthony’s part was ready for filming. I hung with Clay (my new ten year old long distance boyfriend) and watched Anthony do his best impression… of himself. He approached Ink like he would any of his boys that walked into the bodega and proceeded to follow the script without sounding fake. I’m proud of you boy!
Next scene was downstairs in the “pool hall”. I followed along thinking the stairs would at some point just snap in two with the weight of five men at a time trudging down. As I am still alive writing this, they obviously held their weight. The basement of the bodega, housing a pool table, was dingy, poorly light and smoky…perfect for this type of video. Pat directed everyone to stand around the pool table and pretend to play C-Lo which neither I nor Alonzo knew how to do. I grabbed some cash props and fingered through the money like all the pretty girls do in rap videos while Alonzo went through his chorus beside me. Dice were rolled continuously and I never knew when the numbers on the die were a good thing, so I just wanted for everyone else to hoot and holler so I could join in the understanding.
After about twenty minutes of stage work we were finally done and the video wrapped up. The entourage dispersed, and the group, the managers, the cameramen, Anthony and I gathered together for some pics.

Good times! I’ll let you know when the video drops and where you can see it.

Wax on/Wax off

“So where should my threshold for pain be at right now?” I asked Marj as we jumped on the W train and headed downtown.
“I’d say between high and extremely high.”
“Have I ever done anything mean or wrong to you?”
“No.”
“So why are you leading me into the depths of torture that I am about to experience? I can’t go through with this?”
“Oh shut up, Elle. You’ll be out in ten minutes and it’s totally worth it. You’ll feel like a new woman.”
“More like a newborn baby that is nowhere near puberty.”

She grabbed my arm, lead me down Prince Street to a door that had Haven written across it in choppy, artistic font. “You okay? You don’t look ok.”
“Am I shaking? I think I’m shaking.”
“Just think, you’re doing this for Anthony.”
“If I continue thinking that I may despise him later. I need a stronger tool of motivation, like maybe I’m doing it for world peace.”
“Right because you being smooth as a baby’s bottom is going to halt war in the Middle East. Come on!”

She led me through the doors and down into the spa’s lobby. Soft Indian inspired music played from hidden speakers and flowery scents entered my nostrils. Everything was decorated in earth tones and pale purples. It was all so…soothing.

“This is the calm before the storm, isn’t it?” I asked Marj.
She rolled her eyes at me. “Go check in. That’s the line (she pointed) for check in and that’s for check out.”

I had a strange flashback of being checked into the hospital for my recent surgery and thought maybe this was a hint I would need doctor visit follow-ups after having this procedure done as well. Knowing Marj might just pound me if I didn’t get on with it, I went ahead and told the receptionist my name, all the time wanting to ask if there was a backdoor.
While waiting for my appointment I played my Ipod for Marj who marvels at such technology and constantly told myself this couldn’t be that bad. Ten minutes later a small Indian woman by the name of Yasmin called out my name. I gathered what nerve I had left and followed her into a small room that was decorated in hopes of masking the fact that it was truly a room of torture for unknowing women. A medical examination like bed sat against the east wall on which Yasmin told me to lay down with no clothes covering me from the waste down. I wanted to ask her where she went to school, what she got her degree in, who had authorized her to put me through hell? But, there was no time for that. I was already here, locked in a room and there was no going back. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that Marj had told me this would only be ten minutes of my life and that afterward I would love her for it.

Except it wasn’t ten minutes, it was twenty.

“Since this is your first time getting a Brazilian wax, it’s going to take a lot longer than it would for Marjorie,” Yasmin said.
“Thanks,” I tried to smile through the tears that wanted to burst through, “she failed to tell me that.”

What does it feel like? Imagine your arm was as hairy as a man’s. Imagine you place the stickiest tape ever created on said arm and someone tells you “Breathe in…and now breathe out” and as you breathe out they rip every strand of hair out of your arm. Imagining? Well times that by at LEAST ten.
Twenty minutes later I was numb and my legs were shaking from being stretched into positions that lead me to believe I need to get into Yoga in order to feel comfortable doing this again.

“You should make your appointment now for February. Everyone who hasn’t come all year wants to come and get this done the second week of February.”

My skin was still pulsing and swollen and screaming at me, and this woman wanted me to commit myself to another round? She lathered me with hydrocortisone and baby powder and sent me on my merry way. I couldn’t even walk straight. My “little one” was all confused. “Have I been born again mommy? Why is it so cold and airy down here all of a sudden?”
Marj sat waiting for me in the lobby with a huge grin on her face. Why she actually thought I would walk out of there ecstatic is beyond me. I went to the Check Out, paid the $54 for my pain, which is actually a small price to have someone take so much time all up in your personal area like that when you think about it (if only it didn’t involve hot wax and skin swelling).
As we walked out Marj wanted to know how I felt, what Yasmin did, how bald I now was, but unfortunately my bus was coming and I couldn’t share this entertaining information with her until the following day. Was it worth it? That night I would have said hell no. But now, two full days later I’m actually feeling very free and clean. I’m not sure if that’s enough to make me schedule appointment number two, but I still have some time to think about it.
The next morning, my friend/co-worker comes to my secluded desk and asks me how it went. We both get into gritty details because there is no one around to hear us… or so we thought. I suddenly see Beetz freeze and cock her head back to look into my boss’s office. “Hey Mike, what’s up?”

Every non-existent hair on my little one stood up and I held my breath.

“Not much,” he responded which proved he was really in there. Mike, our IT guy, had gone into my boss’s vacant office to synch her blackberry much earlier in the morning and I thought he had left. Apparently he had not, and more apparent was the fact that he had heard our entire conversation, which leads me to the reason I am telling this personal story in the first place. Because if IT guy now knows that Elle J Rivera is walking around with a Brazilian, then all my readers have the right to know as well.

Social Science Experiment?

Every morning I take an express bus from Staten Island into the city and, if I’m on time, I catch the same bus driver. Said bus driver is bald, wears an MTA cap and Oakley looking sunglasses that only intensify his hard ass demeanor. When you board the bus he does not look at you but instead keeps his focus straight on whatever dream lies ahead of him. I once made the mistake of saying “Thanks” on my way off the bus when we reached my stop. He said nothing, but continued his onward gaze.

I thought there was a possibility he was mute, until an unknowing passenger made the mistake of telling him he’s missed her stop. He grabbed the PA and said to the entire bus, “Passengers you need to realize I am not a mind reader. I cannot look into the future and figure out where you want to stop. There is a button that was constructed for such notifications. You’re supposed to press it when you would like me to stop.” Ouch. I cowered into my chair, feeling the pain of the scorned passenger. As people filed off the bus they said “Goodbye” and “Thanks”, but he never took his gaze away from the road and never said a word to any of them. This guy was brutal. So I kept my mouth shut.

From that point on, I never kept my Ipod too loud in hopes of hearing what would come out of his mouth next. On a different day, a passenger asked if she could get off while we were stopped at the light. Again he grabbed the PA and began a speech, “Passengers it is only my duty to pick you up and drop you off at designated bus stops. As far as I can see, I am on time and not in a rush. If you are late to work it is not my problem.” What balls this guy had, and yet his attendance never faltered, apparently no one ever complained. And in some strange way, I liked him.

Today I was the last one on the bus. I tiptoed up to the front as to not disturb him. I sat in the first seat, and rang the bell two blocks ahead of my stop so that he would not miss it and I would not end up on 57th street too afraid to say anything. At 54th he stopped and opened the door to let me out. I grabbed my bag and rushed forward down the steps. As my foot hit the second stair I heard him say, “Have a nice day”. I stopped dead in my tracks. I thought I was hearing things. My heart pounded and I had the craziest feeling he was going to beat me up for not saying, “You too” fast enough. I turned and said, “You too”, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on whatever miraculous being that keeps him so focused and impartial. I ran off the bus and towards my job swearing the whole time that a candid camera would pop out and tell me I was being made a fool of on national television. At least that would have made some sense.

Underground Rock

My work husband, aka Suozzi, finds me online today. “You’re coming through tonight right?” Shit! He’s auditioning at CBGB and I totally forgot. I also happened to forget it was a national holiday except for the fact that I didn’t have to physically go into work, and I was stuck in a rut of being lazy. How could I not support the man who walks half a hallway to get me a bottle of water because I swear my legs hurt too much for me to do it myself (he sees through my fibs but gets it for me anyway). Besides that he and his band totally rock and I want to be a part of their pre-fame time period. Throwing on my Chucks and looking slightly 90’s punk, I jump in my car @ 8:00p.m. Before I know it I am searching for parking on Bowery by 8:15. The set is to start at 8:30 so I quickly grab the first parking spot I see, walk to Bowery and begin heading North, unsure of what number building I was standing near. When I finally saw a number sign I realized I was around 150 Bowery… CBGB is at 315. I cursed at myself and realized I had walked too far to turn back and get my car. I started to sprint which only encouraged the wind to whip more strongly against my face. I dashed across the 4 lane street and accidentally jumped onto what I thought was wet ground, but what turned out to be a three inch deep puddle of black watery ice. Mind you I said I was wearing Chucks …canvas Chucks. Within seconds my feet were soaked and I was yelping in frostbitten pain but I continued on. Ten blocks later I finally arrived, shaking terribly from the feet up. Paid my three dollars and entered the nostalgic rock haven as Serial Obsession started their set. For a Monday night, not to mention a holiday that ended a long weekend for many, the place was packed, and rightly so. Suozzi (Mike) was totally into it:

Now I understand why he keeps his hair long; it’s needed in order to emphasize the swaying movement he makes as he becomes enraptured by the music. Someone shouted “Suozzi is God!” after the first song and I was ready to throw my bra on stage. Ok maybe not my bra, but DEFINITELY my glove. They rocked through I think five songs and I can’t wait to be there when they do it again on a Friday or Saturday when I’ll have to wait online just to get in to see them. There is something fulfilling about seeing an unknown band or artist perform live, there is a genuine love involved that many artists lose as they begin to make it big… don’t lose that Suozzi!

To check out the band go to their MySpace website: http://www.myspace.com/serialobsession

As a side anecdote…I saw something familiar in the face of a young man standing behind me. Several times I pretended to be looking for someone just to get a better glimpse of him.

I know who that is! I finally exclaimed to Such and Drea…That’s Papadock from 8 Mile. And it was. Didn't have a clue what his name was until I searched IMBD. Turns out he's Anthony Mackie:

Random seeing him there.

And in closing, I must of course include the latest picture of my little princess.

Family Matters

There’s something about my nutty family that brings me complete serenity, namely my cousin Nicole. My first memories of Nicole are from a period in time where she thought I was her baby doll, me two years old and her four. Constantly running after me and struggling to raise me into the air, she toyed with my hair and helped my mom dress me. Within the years that followed I morphed into the baby cousin (youngest of three girls who had only two years between them) who was easiest to manipulate and most likely to be tortured, bringing on what I would call a love/hate relationship between us… Took me a while but I finally got over the claustrophobia caused by Nicole and our older cousin Danielle laying on top of me while holding my nose. Fun times. When high school came around we all finally reached a happy medium and Nicole became my partner in crime, accompanying me on many an exploration in my senior year of high school. From then on she’s been more like my sister than a cousin. She’s there to hear me beef and has a completely original ability to make me laugh and act delirious when there is not a drop of alcohol in my system. Tonight was no different.

Needing an escape from my life I drove to Nicole’s house in what I think was rain/snow/slushy stuff. When I had phoned her before driving over she had told me her parents were headed out to dinner. Under the impression that twenty minutes had been enough time for them to depart, I rang the doorbell furiously upon my arrival at her home. I jumped up and down waving my arms in front of the peep hole anticipating her usual rant of curses and screams at my impatience. Instead a stranger opened the door and I blushed bright red.

“Hi, umm… I’m Nicole’s cousin.” Twenty years later and this bitch was still setting me up for torture and humiliation. It turns out the startled woman was Nicole’s neighbor with whom her parents were to dine. I smiled my way through the neighbors, kissing Nicole’s parents hello/goodbye and asking where the pain in my ass was. “Upstairs”. Throwing open her door I glared at her playfully and she laughed in my face. “Jerk.”

I settled down on her floor and was quickly captivated by the ABC family movie I always find myself watching in her room, whether it’s Home Alone, Parent Trap or Stepmom. Nicole distractingly began to dance around in a new jacket she had just purchased from TJ Maxx. I never understand how this girl miraculously finds brands like DKNY and Calvin Klein when I can’t dig up more than no name, non-matching, neon colored crap. The chocolate corduroy jacket with fake sherpa lining fit her perfectly and I marveled at the price tag of $20. “They have it in medium too (she’s a size small if not smaller),” she said to me. “Well that only means one thing,” I said, and immediately she began to pack her purse and put on the new jacket. Another thing Nicole’s is good at: bargain shopping.

The snow/rain/slushy/yukky stuff had turned into hard rain as we sprinted across the TJ Maxx parking lot. Once inside she bee lined for the coat racks and began her impeccable search for my medium sized jacket. In the mean time I walked along a line of sad looking blazers. Within minutes Nicole was at my side with jacket in hand. She gave it to me and when I complained about there not being a mirror for me to see myself in, she pushed aside a huge potted plant revealing a once hidden wall mirror. So resourceful she is. The jacket was a perfect fit and I realized that if I ever make tons of money I will hire Nicole to walk around with me when I shop to be my good luck charm. Similarly in Payless her presence lead me to a decent looking pair of black kitten heels that I need for the long hours I’ll be playing receptionist at the convention next week. I turned to her and said, “Bless you child, you are my savior.”

After a nasty bout with a KFC drive through waitress (who I’m sure spit in my coleslaw), we took some cooked food back to Nicole’s house and chowed down. I stopped to ask what exactly is in coleslaw?
“What do you mean what’s in the coleslaw? Why don’t you just eat it?” she laughed at me hysterically, mentioning something about the look on my face as I stared at the runny white, orange, green stuff on my plate.
“But what’s in it?” I asked again, not understanding why it was so funny.
“There’s nothing in it, it’s just coleslaw.”
“But these are carrots, right?” I asked picking up an orange string with my fork.
“Yes, carrots, cabbage and watery mayo.”
“Well that’s what I meant, dumbass,” I said to her.
“Oh you meant the ingredients,” she laughed harder now.
I began to laugh as well, “Jesus, did I have to say ingredients? Why are you so proper? I meant in as in what’s it made of! God, Nicole.” We were both laughing so hard I ended up spray spitting on the coleslaw myself and never managed to eat any.

Once the food was digested we decided spontaneous dancing would help burn off some of the extra crispy crust calories. Busta Rhymes boomed over a technotronic beat and I moved robotically as if I really knew what I was doing. In my own little world I was doing just fine. Nicole was shaking around and dropping her ass to the floor every time the beat dropped for the chorus. It was a full on party regardless of the fact that the only participants were two twenty-something idiots and a couple of stuffed Tiggers. The cramps that occur from not fully digesting your food before creative dance sessions overcame both of us and we settled down to some softer music. Nicole lit candles all over the room and I began to wonder if she was trying to seduce me. “No jerk off,” she said, “I’m trying to make it look more like a beach.”
“A beach?”
“Yea, you never noticed my beach theme? Over here is the sun mirror, and these bamboo trees are like palm trees and (I was already hysterical laughing at this point) see this frame (she brings over a frame to me) it has seashells. See?”
Between bouts of laughter I told her I saw just fine, but that I still thought she was nuts. She played what she thought would be a Relaxing Sounds of the Ocean and Jungle CD, except every time I got used to the rhythm of the ocean or the harmony of the grasshoppers a sharp piano or drum would start playing that totally fucked up my Fen Shui (sp?) vibe. “What is this shit?” I asked.
“Relaxing sounds by Yankee Candle.”
“No wonder, what would a company that makes inaudible objects know about the sounds of nature?”
Regardless of how non-relaxing the CD turned out to be, I was suddenly very sleepy. “I think its time for me to turn back into Clara Kent.”
“You gonna be ok?” she asked me.
I smiled at her and realized that no matter what these next few months bring, there are people in my life, Nicole in particular, that can make everything just seem right if only for a moment, and it is in that moment that I am able to regain my clarity. Feeling much better I told her, “yes” gave her a hug and headed home.

Lost in Translation

Yesterday, one of the most hectic work days I’ve experienced in a while, I notice my voicemail light blinking. Calling in, I hear a message from my co-worker/friend Mike.

Mike: “Whoa… I just got sacked. Wow, it’s going to take a while to clean this one up.” Click.
Me: WTF? He got fired? What? Why? How?

So I stop what I’m doing and call him back.

Mike: Hello? (he seems rather calm considering the situation).
Me: Hey, what the hell was that message about?
Mike: I was writing this email to Su, how do I say Happy Ending in Spanish?
Me: why is asking me to translate fallacio when he’s getting fired? Is this how it happened? Literal translation could be Feliz Terminar.
Mike: Thanks.
Me: Wait, I’m lost. What happened?
Mike: Why’d you do it?
Me: Do what?
Mike: Sack me.
Me: I don’t have the authority to sack you Mike. What are you talking about?
Mike: You’re phone when straight to voicemail when I called, I see how it is.
Me: Straight to voicemail? How’d that happened.
Mike: You sacked me.
Me: (getting frustrated) How can I fire you?
Mike: You’re firing me?
Me: (taking deep breath) didn’t you say in the voicemail you got sacked?
Mike: Yea, you pressed the Send All Call button on me when I called before.
Me: (starting to laugh) you mean SAC as in the button?
Mike: Yea, that’s what it’s called.
Me: I didn’t SAC you Mike, but now I’m considering it.

Gotta love office humor.

I have some catching up to do… will be back before the day is over.