wigging out

Still no ride to the shoot. Crap. I sent a nice mass e-mail to everyone asking please for a ride, I will even pay for your gas. No response. The shoot is tomorrow.

I was hoping that at least ONE person would help me out. I mean, I would be nice and help this person out if she needs a ride to the shoot. God, why?!?!?! Now, I have to call the production manager, who really scares me by the way, and explain my situation. My ride bailed out on me. I can't find a ride to the shoot. I'm really extremely sorry, I really want to be there, but I can't make it. Damn.

I wish I wasn't such a little girl about this, a little wuss. I wish that I was strong, brave enough to make more friends.Friends with cars who work on shoots. God, I'm so pathetic. I was even more pathetic yesterday. God, you should have seen me. If you have seen me, you would have slapped me silly for being such a Prufrock.

Went to the Collective @ the Coppola--a little student film festival--last night. The guys that I spoke about in my post "the opportunities continue" were there. The guy that I think is cute (S.) was there. I was walking down the stairs with my friends toward the theatre, wearing my dorky Holden hat. He was outside the theatre looking real cute with jeans, a button down shirt and tie, and a blazer. I felt like a real dork with my hat--but it's oh-so warm--and kept my eyes on the ground. Here it is, the real Prufrock moment: I pretended not to see him. In my mind, I thought, "He won't recognize me. I'm nobody. Just that stupid girl he taught to use the clapper board. That was two weeks ago almost. If I said hi to him, he would just think that I was weird. It would be pathetic. I'm nothing to him. He probably doesn't even know my name."

We walked in to the theatre. While we were sitting down, waiting for the films to start, he and the guy who lent me his scarf and gloves (P.) did a little introduction. I was sitting at the edge of the row. They were going up the aisle near me to get back to their seats. A girl, standing by my row waited at the side. She hugged S., no more than three feet away from me. "Of course," I thought. I kept my eyes on the ground.

I'm going to stop writing about such sad things now. The night went on like that. He was so near, and I was too afraid to say hello. Why must I be the first to make a move? Well, I don't want to depress you too much. I can't help but be afraid, think of the worst, imagine the rejection before it's even realized. I've been a Prufrock for too long.