Today was a day that was mainly frustrating and exhausting, for personal reasons.

In addition, yesterday I gasped with joy as I opened my P.O. box.  A beaming, glowing ray of light fell upon the envelope from California EDD.  The angelic chorus sounded.  For a brief moment, the world was so very lovely.  Finally, finally after hours of fruitless phone calls trying to get through, several e-mails begging for a response, with only maddeningly robotic (and clearly deceptive) “we will get back to you within 48 hours” automatons to appease me…  FINALLY!!!!!!!  My claim forms for my extended benefits had arrived (in case you haven’t yet read my previous post on this subject, I am now owed several months’ worth of retroactive extended unemployment benefits, prior to my getting a job.  Sat down recently and tallied up the amount owed from the day that I filed.  Turns out I’m owed in the vicinity of a little over $5K at this point, which would take me 1/4 of the way towards accummulating the $20K I recently found out I need to pull out of my bum to get this house so that I can then start the whole fun part of seeing what’s involved to use it for transitional housing purposes to take in other homeless women/children (that’s a story for another post, but soon, I promise).

Ripped open the envelope to find… a (second) “approval” notice letting me know that yes, I am eligible for extended unemployment benefits (well, duh, same exact notice I already received waaaaaaaay back when this crap saga started)…

There were no claims forms included.

None.

Zilch.

Aaaaaaaaaand………… yeah.

Seriously.  I know they’re backed up because CA is now like the poster child mascot of insanely skyrocketing unemployment rate states (OK, besides Michigan), but what the eff?!?!?!?!?!

WHERE are my UI benefits?  With those I could at least start the process, combine those with the money I have on me now and I’d be $6K down, only $14K to go.

* * * * *

In other news, stumbled upon this book called I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed, by Kyria Abrahams.  She was raised in the same religion/cult/whateveryouwannacallit as I was (won’t reference it here, you’re welcome to look it up if you like, but if you’re a reader and a devoted member of this religion, I’d really appreciate you skipping the part where you leave me comments telling me how wrong I am about the organization, wrong for leaving, assuming you know everything about me, assuming you know everything about your own religion/cult/whatever, assuming you know everything period, etc.)

I read the first couple of pages and identified so strongly with it (plus it’s hysterically funny – the chick has mad sarcasm skills, which is kind of my M.O. too, so I liked her right off the bat) that I had to stay up all night reading it.

It really brought back waves of memories for me – I left the organization at 18 when I moved out of my parents’ house, although while staying with them they insisted on dragging me back, which I put up with to the best of my ability… zoning out, which I’ve perfected the art of.

Kyria really got the language and syntax and feel of what it’s like growing up as a member spot on.  Many of our experiences were alike – particularly the one where she swallowed a bottle full of pills in a failed suicide attempt and her parents ignored it, didn’t drive her to the hospital, nothing.  Left her to either get over it or else face the consequences of her actions and die.  That struck me so because I had such an eerily similar experience – at 14, in a fit of hopelessness, I impulsively swallowed a jumbo bottle of Tylenol (yeah, go ahead and laugh – but ODing on Tylenol causes liver failure, it turns out!)  My family’s tenant found me in the bathroom and called my mother, who blithely told him “have her stick her finger down her throat”, hung up and drove to Palm Springs with my sister for the week, leaving me to be sick and/or die while said tenant, also a member of this religion, shrugged his shoulders and went back to bed (turned out I was just in agony all night and the next morning.  Nothing major.  I was lucky.)

Now, clearly I got over the whole idea of death after that… agony like that made me decide it really wasn’t in the cards for me.  Nope, never trying that again *shudder*.  But still, it was scary.  And finding out that there was someone with a childhood so similar to mine – let alone her writing a book that is breaking into mainstream literature! – was kind of an eye-opener for me.

The last part of the book is the darkest.  This is where our life experiences varied more (and Kyria admits she has some medical/mental issues such as OCD, etc. that didn’t help with some of the more naive/destructive choices she made in her desperation).  She married super-young to someone she had nothing in common with, as children with our upbringing are wont to do (no premarital sex, and no secular “dating”.  “Dating” = “Marriage”).  She was, unsurprisingly, miserable, and started cutting, using drugs, and sleeping around to escape her marriage (adultery is the only valid and accepted reason to divorce, in this religion).

OK, slightly different from me – I never dated boys from my congregation.  I didn’t want to.  Was never interested.  There were, as she points out in the book, very few prospects, and I never felt like settling for a pale shadow of the real thing, just so that I could have sex or play house.  I knew even then that I wasn’t wholly and completely invested in my religion.  I think to some degree, I was always looking for the time when I could bolt.  I was attracted to men and dating and life outside of my super-narrow, controlled little world.  I saw hypocrisy and abuse everywhere I turned; not only in my own family, but in others in the congregation.  To have admitted so would certainly have meant trouble for me – even complete shunning from all I knew, including my own family.  So, when I turned 18, I simply disappeared.  I didn’t take any of the complicated channels that the heads of the congregation, or “elders” pretend are mandatory.  I refused to be labeled, refused to be shunned, I simply up and left and nobody ever questioned it.  Nobody ever really wondered where I’d gone or why, or what I was doing.  Nobody cared to investigate, they just made their assumptions and moved on with their lives, zealously preaching to anybody who would listen.  One more fallen angel.  Oh, well.

On the few occasions my family dragged me back this year, I was generally regarded with unease and suspicion, which amused me more than anything else.  You could tell it was in everybody’s mind that I must have turned into some little Satanic whore (paranoia and fear are big there).  Nobody knew anything for sure, and I didn’t volunteer any information on that score, neither confirmation nor denial, even when prodded, but some form of “sexual misconduct” was widely assumed, it was quite obvious.  After spending several years away, I had come more to grips with the knowledge that these people didn’t truly have any claim to me or sway over my life (in stark contrast to the certainty I had held in my childhood, that they could ruin me – or rather, that they could have God ruin me).  Now, to a degree, I enjoyed being the boogeyman, responding cheerfully yet bluntly when I spoke at all and seeing the awkward shifting and furtive glances at my outspokenness, my complete and utter lack of “spiritual” thoughts and goals, at least as far as they define such.  I had always been something of an oddball, even when a child.  I was disarmingly perceptive and never quite took things at face value as much as I “should” have.  I had opinions and ideas of my own, questions even about things in the Bible that made me uncomfortable or curious.  I was mildly bothered by the idea of “proving” a scripture by reading another scripture.  To some degree, I wanted to look at and hear all points of view before coming to my own conclusions.  This was highly frowned upon in the organization – looking at outside points of view was considered falling prey to Satan.  We were only to accept what we were told at face value by the heads of the organization, all mere men who were supposedly being “inspired” by God.  Chastised often for this moral failing, I did what I could to sublimate it, bury it, bend my will and conform.  It was embarrassing to be scrutinized and looked down upon.  It was embarrassing to be different within the organization, and also to be different outside of it – in school, and at work.  But, when it comes down to it, I was never the conforming type.  Now, I can find humor in my role as fallen, sinful, devious skank-ho; even relish it a little.

It wasn’t always like this.  It took a lot of struggling and therapy.  And reading Kyria’s book brought a lot of it back in a flood; despite the barbed humor which had me laughing my arse off, the feelings and pain beneath it were refreshed.  I don’t think anybody who breaks free from that kind of past ever fully gets over it.

Anyway, it was just kind of crazy and surreal seeing that there was someone else like me; someone who fought back (although sometimes in different ways) and got up the courage to leave.  We both had to learn to live in the real world – you’re not prepared for it at all when you come from that background.  You’re taught to fear the world, flee from it, dangers lurk everywhere ready to pounce on you.  In an interview, Kyria made a point that struck me as all too true – you are told by your family, your friends, your fellow congregation members that life isn’t worth living outside the organization.  That if you leave, everything will go horribly for you because you’re defying God, slapping him in the face, and being punished for it.  The irony, of course, is that initially that does often happen, your life does go sort of wonky – but not for those reasons.  It’s not difficult so much because the real world makes it difficult and you are being punished.  It is difficult because, never having lived in the real world, you have no idea to go about it, and have to start from scratch, teaching yourself and painstakingly learning through trial and error.

Six years later, and I’m still nowhere near done learning to adjust.  I don’t think I completely ever will be.  But… it’s a start.

So, I’ve got about 3 separate blogs I need to write and post within the next day or so Here’s the first.

I came across an ad last week looking for writers/fashionistas to do an advice columnist competition. I believe they were specifically looking for “the Next Carrie Bradshaw”. OK, I have to admit, I’ve never seen a single episode of “Sex and the City”.  Yes, I’m a traitor to my gender.

*pauses and waits for female readers to start slinging Manolos at me*

In any case, I figured I’d send in a quick letter anyway with my story, and see what happened. I mean, I’m less of a writer than a blogger, but I do love writing, and I love fashion, especially vintage and retro clothing. I bet I could out-cute SJP and her super-overpaid stylist any day, haha. In any case, it was a shot in the dark and I was quite certain I’d never hear back from them.

…a certain chika was called in for a screen test this week. Guess who? (hint: me!!!!!)

Of course, I found out over the phone just who these people were.  What I thought might be a dinky little unknown show, that might present me with some small oppportunity… turned out to be by Fremantle Media.  The American Idol/America’s Got Talent/Etc. guys.  the guys with all the clout.  With millions of viewers.  And the prize?  An internship at Elle magazine, being mentored by a very funny, slightly crazy, super-awesome columnist whom I’ve read for years.

Holy shite.

I went into the Fremantle Media offices and there were a lot of random actors sitting in the lobby, waiting to try out for a different project (a TV sitcom or something).  I was wearing the most adorable, brightest vintage ’50s dress I could dig up and I got a lot of funny looks.  A tall, rail-skinny chick stood in the corner, gesticulating and mouthing lines.  I was the only one there for the advice columnist show, so I started filling out my application and waiting for the casting director to show up.

This scary actor lady came into the lobby and sat next to me.  She was a bit older, in her forties or fifties.  She was like Carol Brady on crack. It looked like her plastic surgeon had had a field day with her – her eyes were open too wide and her smile was frozen in place.  She talked WAY too loud.  In the quiet lobby, her voice reverberated and echoed and people started staring at her.

“OH AREN’T YOU ADORABLE!!!!! WHAT A PRETTY DRESS!!!!!  EVERYONE LIKES TO GO OVER THEIR LINES WHILE THEY’RE WAITING, BUT I’VE FOUND THAT IT’S BETTER TO JUST STAY MYSELF AND INTERACT WITH THE OTHER ACTORS!”

I mumbled that I wasn’t an actor, hoping she’d go away, or at least take the hint and talk at the room level, which was at about a whisper.  After interrogating me about what I was there trying out for, and making sure the entire room knew that I was a) a “reality girl” and b) not an actor, never acted in anything besides a high school play…  she grabbed my half-completed application and started reading the questions aloud.

“LET’S SEE… ‘WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?’”

She looked at me expectantly, and I realized she actually wanted my answer.  I drily informed her that I was crying on the inside, right now.  In a way, it was more true than she could have realized, but she laughed and took it as a joke.

“OK, HOW ABOUT THIS ONE: ‘WHAT ARE 3 THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF THAT YOU NEVER REVEAL TO SOMEONE YOU’VE JUST MET?!’”

Ehrm… right, like I’m going to tell you, lady?  You’re already announcing my life story to the entire room.

“‘NAME A TIME WHEN YOU GAVE BAD ADVICE?!’”

At this point, I was thoroughly psyched out and ready to either break down into tears or else kill this woman with a smile on my face.  Luckily, I was saved by Peter, the casting director, who came out and called me back.

“OH MY GOD, I LOVE HER!!!  SHE IS JUST SO CUTE!!!!!  SHE JUST TOLD ME SHE’S CRYING ON THE INSIDE RIGHT NOW!” she informed him as I walked through the door.

I could have died.

Of course, I totally bombed it.  I mean, how could I not, I was in such a state of panic and psyched-out-ed-ness, and overwhelmed, and tremendously nervous just realizing the magnitude of even getting called in to test with such a company.  Peter was very nice, sat me down in a chair, turned on a camera and a spotlight (!) – which was a tad intimidating and “tell me where you were on the eve of March 6″.  He asked me a few questions, which I was totally struggling to answer and my mind kept blanking because I was completely freaked out.  He was very sweet about trying to gently guide me into showing a tad more personality, but I think I just sort of shut down.  Later on I thought about all the better answers I could have given, or ways I could have let my personality out more, but in the moment I was just completely stone-petrified.  Poor dude.  He was probably regretting wasting his time calling the homeless chick in, haha.

In any case, after it was over he told me if I heard anything from them in 2 weeks to 2 months, that would be good news, it all depends on the executives, etc. etc.  He told me that I did well (I think he has to say that, haha) and that he tends to look for interesting people over “models”, but that I am beautiful, and other very nice stuff.  Yay for nice casting directors.  Even if I bombed, I can still feel good about it now.  Thank God I wasn’t in a room with a nasty Simon Cowell wannabe or anything.  I think I would have completely crumbled.

I went into the lobby and pushed the “down” button to call the elevator.  Insane Carol Brady Doppelganger cornered me.  “DID YOU JUST GET DONE?!  I JUST GOT DONE!  I’LL TAKE THE ELEVATOR DOWN WITH YOU… YOU DIDN’T WEAR YOUR GLASSES FOR THE SCREEN TEST, DID YOU?  YOU TOOK THEM OFF, RIGHT?!?!?!?!?!”

*sadness*

(…I like my glasses.  They’re a part of me.)

* * * * *

In a clumsily-executed and only quasi-related transition:  Here’s the thing about a lot of actors, I think.  I’ve dated two of them, and it’s like they don’t know when to stop acting.  They’re so self-absorbed and wrapped up in their own head before they can care about anybody else, if they even can at all beyond that peripheral, crucial stage-like interaction.  If they’re interacting with you at all, it’s as if they’re visualizing the encounter on a stage, like trading dialogue.  They say what they feel would be the right thing to say, or would cause the most interesting conflict, rather than what’s real, because even they don’t know what part of them is real and what part is acting.  The vast majority of actors I’ve known are addicted to drama.  My last ex would deny this vehemently.  He always told me he was different, he prided himself on being able to separate his “craft” and his personal life.  And I have to say this about him, up front, he is a brilliant actor.  Fascinating to watch, and a Juilliard finalist.  For all I know, he’s packing his bags right now because he made it in to his dream school.

But again, the thing about actors – it’s so much harder to tell what’s real.  My ex did a fantastic job for two whole months of making me feel happy and secure, like we were having absolutely no problems… meanwhile, he was messing around on me with some floozy slut bitch man-stealing whore of a tart in one of his shows (lest you think I’m being too hard on her and too easy on him, don’t. I’m pretty sure I threw his Christmas present at his head when I found out.  True, it was a pair of tickets in a letter-sized envelope, but still.  Believe me, I know what a lousy, dickwad thing that was for him to do to me).  I can already tell you, if he found this blog and read it, the first thought to go through his head would not be concern at my circumstances.  If anything, it would irk him slightly that more media outlets – TV shows, radio networks, etc. – have expressed an interest in me in two months than ever have in him, so far.  He always seemed to like that romantic, “starving artist” conceptualization of himself.  Doing what he loved, screw practical concerns like food and housing and money.  Of course, it’s really easy to think that way when you still live with your mother (who was actually a truly kind and supportive woman), don’t pay a dime in rent, have a home-cooked meal ready for you every night, and have never been homeless in your life.

Maybe that sounds a little bitter.  And you know what, I’m going to fly in the face of 90% of the world and conventional wisdom and say it’s OK to be a little bitter sometimes.  If you loved and devoted yourself to someone, threw all of your effort and energy into making them happy, thought you were happy, they told you they could never leave you, would be an idiot to leave you… and then you found out it was all a sham, they had been cheating on you and completely negating everything they had ever said, every promise you had ever made to each other?  You know what?  It’s natural and OK to be bitter with that person.  It’s natural and a protection to dislike and mistrust them. Now, you shouldn’t let that bitterness monopolize your life, and you definitely shouldn’t take that mistrust and apply it to all future romantic interests, because that’s unfair.  I trust each and every man that I date until he gives me a reason not to.  That’s only right and fair, that I shouldn’t impose past disappointments on new relationships.  But yes, I am a tad bitter about being cheated on by someone who claimed they didn’t have it in them.  I am wary around actors because my experience dating two of them was so similar.

So, Steven Lords, if you ever stumble across this blog and recognize me… you’re a dirty welcher.  Oh, and if you google phoenixforged47 (your e-mail address) you show up as a member on Actual Incest porn forums.  I’m just saying.  You might want to look into some therapy for that.  That’s a pretty unhealthy fixation and it makes me look back at things in a whole new light.  I mean, that’s really, really sick, actually.  Yuck.

I really should thank Steve, though.  I mean, when it comes down to it, he cleared out of my life and opened up the way for the best possible thing that ever could have happened to me, the love of my life, a real honest-to-god good and upstanding man, the man whom I adore and treasure.  And no, I can’t talk about it any more than that.  Not just yet.  I wish I could, believe me, I’ve been bursting at the seams to for ages, but very soon, I promise.  Sorry to leave you guys dangling.

Well, I’m only three days late with it, but FINALLY figured out how to post the CBC interview with Jennifer Westaway:

I sound very nervous and am talking about a mile a minute, haha.  I got some super sweet comments from Canadian readers, and now I have to set about answering all of them (I like to personally respond to everybody)!  So, if you’ve left me a comment at any point this last week, I’ll have probably responded to it by tonight.  Really.  I swear.

Things have been a tiny bit crazy, there may be problems getting the house and I may need to come up with about $10K more than I currently have, within the next two months, in order to get it.  This means that I will need to look into selling the few remaining possessions that I have, including my antique 1934 baby grand piano, Ingrid… I dumped much of my furniture at a thrift store, but put her and a few other items in storage when this thing began.  I used to think that she would be the one thing I would never be willing to sell, and it breaks my heart to make the decision, but this is my dream house and I need to really take a serious look at what is most important to me and my long-term happiness.  I suppose I could always find another piano… but houses like my Victorian simply don’t exist around here, and I really am head-over-heels in love with it.  At the same time, I could get another piano but not another Ingrid; musical instruments have a sort of life and personality to them and I will miss her terribly.  I imagine she’s quite disappointed at being stored in pieces in the dark for the past few months, and will be even more disappointed that I’ll never play her again.  Or perhaps it’s just anthropomorphization.  In any event, I probably won’t make much off her (nobody is buying pianos at the moment; instruments that would have cost thousands a couple of years ago are going for mere hundreds or even being given away for free on Craigslist now).  I have a few other things that I suppose can go – a book collection of thousands of books (which also breaks my heart) and several hundred DVDs – it may be well over a thousand now, I didn’t really keep track when I was collecting them.  I used to work for Blockbuster Video, can you tell?  In any case, not very good resale value, but perhaps it’ll be something.  I also have the Dodge Ram that I inherited from Bill when he committed suicide.  It’s about 10 years old, and only worth about $2500 max, but it’s something.  It’s currently hooked up to the trailer, but perhaps if I eventually find a month-to-month rooming situation that works to my satisfaction, I can sell it.  I also have a fair amount of vintage clothing left, which I used to sell a lot of, so I’m thinking of starting to sell off the nicest pieces.  Still, not much of a resale market for vintage with this economy, but I’ll do whatever I can.  I will NOT lose this house.  I CANNOT.

I’m also gonna have to take a hard look and figure out exactly where I want to take tGGtH at this point.  I feel like I’ve veered off the original intent, which was survival tips and advice and resources.  I seem to be posting more and more personal stories about my daily life, which I’m not ENTIRELY averse to, but somehow I feel like perhaps I might eventually come off as whining about my life, when the original intent of the blog was to help others.  So I may want to start including more topical/homeless news/tips/links to resources type postings.  Thoughts or impressions?  What I want most out of this thing is to help others even in a small way, and also do my part to put the issue on the map.

Also, just curious… any of you guys think I could ever pass as an advice columnist?  The idea recently came to my attention and I find it somewhat intriguing, although unsure as to whether I may be the type.

Onwards I forage – to the comments!!!!!!