I finally understand what my uncle meant by “Amer-I-cans”. They’re all so confident and full of themselves. Nobody ever says I’m hoping to be an actor or I’d like to be one. It’s always “Hi my name is x and I’m an actor”. I guess a bit of their brashness rubbed off on us during the tiger years, only to disappear with the bailout money. I bet if you were to ask Cillian Murphy if he was an actor he’d probably blush and say that he starred in a few films, nothing serious or make a quip about how it pays the bills. Everyone here thinks they’re a star. Nobodies just a waiter or bar staff-they’re undiscovered talent. Although judging by their wages you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise. The only tips I ever received back home working in bars or restaurants came in the form of thinly veiled threats. I don’t think a day ever went by without having to endure the clever dry wit of new money mouth, “You trying to catch the bloody thing back there?” Over 150 years and we’re still blighted by the fuckin’ potato and its simplicity. Good food takes time. Not that I’ve had any in a while. I gave up on eating out over here long ago because of the service. Every meal is like a fuckin’ date. You can’t just place an order, eat, and leave. You’ve got to court your waitress, validate her existence, and tell her a thousand times that “everything is okay”. I got sick of having to whore myself out every lunchtime and all while paying her handsomely for the experience. I don’t want to know about your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Please just let me eat my fuckin’ sandwich-you’re getting a tip regardless.
Even having a quiet pint in a pub is an ordeal because I don’t have the cash to be tipping after every single drink so
The only one I see with any star quality in the house so far is Tori although I don’t think it’s the type of star she’s aspiring to. It’s actually quite hard to see any of the
All the housemates are so ridiculously good looking that it’s hard not to feel Irish. We must be the only race in the world that the sun actually makes more unattractive. Either I burst out in freckles or turn an angry red. Everyone here looks like a golden movie star; while I look like something a car ran over and left for dead. Come to think of it the only ugly people I’ve ever met in LA are usually tourists or ex-pats.
Looking around the house-my new home-I can’t help but think about the lads back in Dublin going through their tired, grey, work-a-day existence. That is
“So Mike you ready to tear up the clubs later?” Kelly says in such a way that it’s more of a command.
“Sure. Any suggestions?”
“Have you been to Mood yet?”
“I don’t mind as long as we don’t waste half the night queuing.”
“Don’t sweat it
I’m about to respond but she’s already gone. Does she even want to go clubbing or was she just letting me know she’s got connections? I sincerely hope it’s the latter as clubbing LA style is a very sober experience. All the guys do is high five and hand slap each other while the girls prowl around tables looking for the one with the most magnums.
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