Yes, that's exactly what I mean. However, I mean we all have one inside. After losing that fantastic voice over gig, I went sulking down at the local bar. I've never been there, but I do believe if you need something you should always hit the local bar for leads. That was Thursday night. The bartender took my number down to give to the owners. I returned Saturday night for Karaoke and Wednesday I started as the new KJ. For those of you who are inexperienced, KJ is short for Karaoke Jockey which, yes, means I host every Wednesday and every other weekend.

I was quite nervous while training because in this five star operation they have a very fancy machine that's extremely sensitive to the slightest flaw in the CDs and had to learn a very sophisticated filing system. That is to say, this dive is full of busted up and missing CDs to ensure that I have to apologize to wannabe singers a lot. Finding a CD is like finding a clean sock in the closet of a stoned out, teen boy's closet. But I survived.

The following weekend I spent some time in LA auditioning, hanging with my friend Bryan on the Sunset strip and enjoying a lovely breakfast at Lulu's with my friend Kelly. I'm thinking I didn't get this part for an EMT partially because I didn't have my own uniform and partially because I didn't know how to make the line, "What's his name?" come alive. I'm so distraught about it.

Following that I zipped over to the filming of a web promo. I endured one woman complaining for an entire twenty minutes since she'd arrived. Her resume was terrible because she never got work. The shoot was a waste of time. She wanted to get home to her dog. She was going to leave because she couldn't just feed on the provided pretzels. I made the mistake of telling her to stay so she could build that resume and spoke of crazy things like integrity and opportunity. I then set her straight when the director came out by offering up to Whiney Wendy my "next in line status" to her so long as it shut her up.

Well, I wasn't that rude but it may not have reflected too well on me. It was, however, great fun for the other cast members to watch her squirm when the director called for next and I said, "Please, go first. I don't want to hear you complaining anymore." I got to be the hero for the moment so it was worth the sacrifice, I suppose. I even made a friend. And when they post my improv we'll all know if I was as smooth as I think I am. Well, smooth in the improv. This major hottie decided to sit with me once that woman left and I spent more time talking to his headshot than him. I'm not sure if girls who are taken should look into eyes like that.

Unfortunately, underfed and over-heated, the little monster inside me came out when I finally started off on my three hour journey home. I was hungry and the air-conditioning in our car is a $600 problem that can not be dealt with at this time, so when I stopped for gas I was, mmmmm, a little cranky. I went to the Arco where the cheap gas is and went inside to pay, but there was quite a line that I decided to avoid. On my retreat out, a humiliated kid bumming for gas money to get his grandpa and himself to Bakersfield was wobbling shamefully in front of my very determined, frustrated self. I mumbled, "Dude, dude," as he cut off my path to the payment machine for the third time.
Annoyed as I was, I considered putting five bucks on my debit and into their tank.

For those who don't have Arco, they have this extremely obnoxious system in the center of their pumps where you enter your pump number and pay from this communal money device. It DOES take CASH money for which you will be rewarded with a discount so the recession buster this time is get cash before you get gas! I followed the instructions, as I have a few times before, and went to pump my gas. Nothing. So I went back to the machine, tried again, and returned to my car. Nothing. I checked inside. Line. I'm hot, I'm starving. I'm fed up with dealing with machines. Truly.

What's wrong with more clerks? I like people to have jobs. I like the little friendly exchange... when there is one. Yet we are slaves. So again I went to the machine and again it refused to work. I walked back to my car, pulled out the hose, dropped it on the ground with a marked release, and very casually announced, "I'm out." I then jumped into our little red coup and peeled out of the busy Arco.

I couldn't believe my knee-jerk reaction. Did I think I was in a Die Hard movie? That's right, I'M THE FREAK OF THE WEEK! That was the most rockstar and/or scum bag move possible. I thought of the confounded and disgusted responses back at the unsuspecting service station and could just see myself on one of those cuckoos caught on camera shows. But I have to move on.

So if I was a hero for but five minutes, I wiped it all away and there are no heros for the wicked, this time. No, no. My tale is not over. Read about my karaoke lament, my brush with J-Lo and the KKK, and boob sweat at amyarena.com/blog or myspacemusic.com/amyarena and now, let me tickle your fancy with my oh, so witty one-liners on twitter.

be dramatic,

me
amyarena.com
myspacemusic.com/amyarena