Dear yours truly,
We love it. You're signed for a six month mini series.
Love,
Lifetime.

[title]: The Karla-Josephine Lino Movie.

Dear Lifetime; television for women,

I have decided to write a screenplay about a dream I had (very) loosely based on my life. Enclosed is part of my screenplay... I have figured I will write this over a period of time and will continue sending several paragraphs to you. If you like it (and I know you will), you can call me at my personal number: 1-(900)-hoe-bags and we can negotiate filming and production.

-Yours truly.

Scene 1

[Begin scene with LFO-"Summer Girls" playing. Scenes of the beach or a lake and a somewhat shifty looking neighborhood.]

/begin opening credits credits.

Jennifer Love Hewitt- [lead character].

Lindsay Lohan- Herself.

Tori Spelling- Judith.

Jennifer Love Hewitt voice [montage of scenes and random shit still happening]:

I had moved back to Fictitiousville after five years of being away. My godmother had died and she had left me everything in her will. I was entitled to all the bullshit in her life, her house, her cat, and her car, but she had money and now I had money. Fictitiousville was a pretty ridiculous town, there was nothing really there except burn-outs and the parents everyone left behind. Everyone I knew left, except my best friend.

[Jennifer Love Hewitt is sitting on the front porch of her newly inherited house with her cat, Candace. Lindsay Lohan enters scene.]

Lindsay:

Hey you.

Jennifer Love Hewitt:

Hey Lindsay. Long time, no see.

Lindsay:

Yeah, it's been a while. I'm sorry about your god mother. Must be rough.

Jennifer:

Yeah, it is, but what can you do? I hate being here but I can't afford living anywhere else right now.

Lindsay:

[sad look, slight silence, then looks up with a smile] Wanna do coke?

Jennifer:

Maybe later, I need a reason to, ya know? I can't just do it without a reason... though this is kind of reason enough.

Lindsay:

[sits next to Jennifer] How about we go out tonight? I could introduce you to a few new people...

Jennifer:

Yeah maybe I should. Everyone left... well I mean you're here... Maybe I should go out, my treat, you know, since I'm a little loaded with dead-people money now.

Lindsay:

Cool, let's do some coke.

Jennifer:

Okay.

END SCENE.

It's Been Ages.

Samantha,
I don't have an outline of what I want to blog about today... I haven't blogged in a while but I've kept tabs in my mind of what I wanted to write about. In conclusion, my mind isn't the best place to keep tabs since things get shuffled and lost in the gray matter. My long work days have caused this weekend to be a hybernation-fest... I literally slept in the afternoon and woke up late morning since friday night, now I'm sore as fuck.

I'm also on MySpace right now, browsing through old friends and I've stumbled upon one of my old guildmates back in my Guild Wars era that I miss ever-so much. It's really weird, I thought he was cute in the nerdy, pasty, Mid-Western boy kind of way, but his pictures are really weird and not the good kind of weird. Like pictures of him without shirts posing in bathroom mirrors--if I recall correctly, that was very 3 years ago. He doesn't really have much bragging rights when it comes to his body either, he's really skinny and not much muscle. See, I'm not much of a muscle adorer when it comes to guys, but those pictures could have been avoidable. Now my cornea is embedded with pasty, skinny, shirtless MySpace pictures and I'm scarred for life or until he comes up with a safer default.

I'm going to make a swordfish sandwich for tomorrow's lunch... I am the master.
-KJ.

Hello,
Well I haven't been able to blog because of the Pebble Beach AT&T job assignment I took on the past couple of days. I was assigned in the main cold kitchen in this hotel called The Lodge and I had major anxiety over it, mainly because it was my second week of culinary school and I have little to no training in the restaurant industry... Sure, I have my uniform, but I don't even have my knife kit yet and I barely learned how to chop vegetables. Though it was actually pretty overwhelming, to my surprise, everything was really chill and somewhat felt like I was in a mini-series. Let me elaborate.
Karla-Josephine: The protagonist. A young and aspiring chef who was sent to do an externship at a fancy resort. She is shy and unsure but starts to open up upon meeting the rest of the staff.
Irene: Karla-Josephine's supervisor. She's a cook at the cold kitchen and is both cutthroat and compassionate. She puts Karla to work right away with challenging work that lasts for hours and shows her no mercy, but is very maternal and encouraging.
Jackie: A senior culinary student. Very accomplished and quiet at first, but warms up to Karla after a few assignments.
Antonio: The comedic chef. He's the comedy relief of the group, very light-hearted but an amazing chef.
Hugo: A chef who may fancy Karla-Josephine. He jokes around is the kindest to the rookie, Karla.
Kellie: A caterer. She's rough around the edges and isn't afraid to say words like "fuck," "shit," and "pussy" in the kitchen. She gives Karla a leg up in the catering game and often makes crude jokes one can't help but chuckle at.
Romy: An older cook. He's been working at the resort for 25 years and knows he has nothing much to worry about when it comes to his job. He's quiet but jokes around with Karla often because they both share the same heritage.
Jun: A cook. Slightly odd but makes an effort to get to know Karla. He finds that he possibly knew her grandmother many years ago.
Tony: A chef. Quiet, odd, but has a pretty nice personality. He used to live in San Francisco and often talks about the City with Karla.
Busboys: A group of guys that mostly speak Spanish and refer to Karla as Karlita.
If this were a series, it would kind of be like Cheers, only with a culinary twist. Where everybody knows your name, like literally, whenever someone came in, we would scream their name no matter how early or late in the day it was. The ensemble of people in that kitchen really clicked and worked, even when things were stressful. My favorite parts were probably the smoke breaks, not necessarily for the cigarettes, but for the conversations we'd have and I got to know many of the culinary students from my school that I haven't gotten to talk to.

Anyway, I'm tired and don't think I'm making sense anymore.
Presidents Day is tomorrow. Yay for presidents. I hope to write something more interesting soon.
-Karlajosephine.

Charts And Schematics

http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v194/unstyled/charts%20and%20schematics/

Dearest Samantha,

It's been a while since I've posted, but the lack of a laptop plays a giant role in my internet access. Anyway, I've called you plenty of times to tell you the travels and journeys I've been on this fateful week and I thought I'd paraphrase each day:

Monday: First day of culinary school and my close-to-similar (to SFSU) life at a junior college. I met my four classmates, 3 guys and me. It reminded me of always being the token girl in certain groups of competition... ie. martial arts, sports--you know, back when I was active. The heat was bullshittedly hot so I already wasn't as much of a fan by then. The four of us sat awkwardly at the table, avoiding each other's glances and points of vision, me periodically staring at my phone, hoping someone would text me so I could look like I was doing something, but alas, no one sane is awake this early. The executive chef came in and gave us a run down on what culinary school is going to be about... Junior college was pretty regular, I was having a shitty time in guitar because I was in that awkward stage of being between "beginner" and "intermediate."

Tuesday: Okay I'm going to write smaller entries because I'm tired... Ummmmmm tuesday, the day of dissecting the "pussy pussy" -- that sounded horrible but my foreign lab partner in anatomy thought that "pussy pussy" meant cat. Oh the irony of language barriers. Anyway, I dissected a cat, I know how a dead cat looks like... I know it's body system. I am the scientist of Generation Meow.

Wednesday: I met the love of my life in class. We're going to get married since he walked me to my car.

Thursday: More "pussy pussy" and foreign antics. ANDANDAND I had to give presentations about fruits and vegetables in front of third graders. My executive chef is a jedi, she TRICKED us into giving presentations and lugging around food because it would teach us a lesson... it did teach us a lesson though, I can give presentations without freaking out and I can probably bench press a wagon of vegetables.

Friday: I GOT MY CHEF'S COATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. Pictures on Facebook.

Anyway, culinary school is amazing... It's starting out great and I've put those lumberjack Timberland boots I bought for my Halloween costume to good use, they are officially my culinary shoes since they're legit and make me look like a badass. I also am a little taller and can see over stock pots since I'm short shit. There is another girl in the semester above me, but the class that's a semester above mine is almost all boys except for that girl. My executive chef, who is also a girl, told me personally I'm probably going to work really hard, just because I can't carry nearly as much as a guy and can't reach the higher shelves, but she has faith in me and stuff.

I have to go... I'm helping out at a culinary event tomorrow. Yes a sunday, but I get monday off. Farewell.

Sincerely,

Karla-Josephine.

KARLA-
I love transportation. I love it so much. I love the act of travel more than anywhere I could possibly be going and more than anyone I could be going to see. That's awful, but it's so true. I love moving scenery and moving people. In headphones and a black coat I slink onto your public transportation of choice with almost only one intention- watching you...judging you. This weekend was no exception. I went to San Jose on the CalTrain. I was visiting a couple of friends, a couple of best friends, one I hadn't seen in at least six months. It was great.
My trip on Saturday has almost completely left my mind. Nothing incredibly exciting happened, though. I'm assuming that means that nothing that great happened. Nothing that great ever happens, but that doesn't make any trip any less great.
I just got back a couple of hours ago, though. You mentioned a blog, I figured what the fuck.
I got onto the train and made my way to the seats on the second level. I find it hard to believe that there are people that don't sit on the top when they can. It blows my mind. Not only is it stairs on a train (great,) it's such a great place to watch people. So I sat myself down and did a preliminary look around. I guess the guy in the seat parallel to mine was doing the same thing, because we looked in each others direction at the same time, then we both went back to looking out the window. He was wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up in the best kind of way and cowboy boots. I don't understand and I don't understand and I don't understand, but for some reason it worked. It was great. He had a canvas backpack, the kind that kind of makes a person look like a vagrant, and I don't know if you know how I feel about vagrants, but I love them. It goes with that whole writer thing. Maybe he wanders around with his backpack (which was filled with another plaid shirt) and crashes on peoples couches writing poetry and thinking. I have issues, but that's beside the point. So I put my feet up on the chair across from mine and read until I realized that I didn't feel like it, and then proceeded to sit there. That's when I got to see that chick dance. I watched her get progressively more in to her music.

SOMEDAY I WILL FINISH THIS!

Caturday.

Dearest Samantha,


It is a Saturday afternoon... I do realize the title is quite cliche but it makes sense... it makes sense. I feel you about wanting to be a writer though. One of my life missions is to write a memoir-esque collection of essays about my life. I have several fictions I've attempted to write, but I figure I lack imagination under a sober mind. I try to make for my fiction-writing shortcomings through song writing, musical compositions, and (of course) the culinary arts. I figure conceiving other forms of "art" satisfies the same mouth, per se. I think you would be much better at writing fiction, something mind blowing and deep... My imagination is lackluster and I figure my own personal stories are far more interesting and make more sense than whatever fiction I decide to write. I know, I find it a bit self-indulgent writing about one's self, but it seriously feels like it's the only thing I can write with any trace of interest. Up there in my interest in writing is my interest in music but I'm so insecure with my musical inclination.







Anywhoot, yesterday was friday night and it made me think. Let me go back and look at the typical friday night a year ago... Karla-Josephine a year ago would spend a friday night either playing video games OR go out with her friends to a crazy shindig of either massively amazing or lame proportions. Lame proportions meaning a party in The Villas townhomes in San Francisco that a friend is holding where a bunch of people I don't know end up going and taking up too much space on the dance floor. Then you start talking to a guy and he is either on parole, an uneducated rapper named Deli trying to make it big (TRUE STORY), or a high school junior trying to pass off as a 22 year old student at USF. Or he could just be a loser... or all of the above, I wouldn't rule that out. But despite the lameities a night may consist of, it will always be funny to laugh at a few nights after, especially if you have your girls who can help you recall the facts. An amazing night could start out the same... a party at a familiar face's pad then you meet some nice people, possibly even a boy who makes you believe they're not all assmunches. A simple night, but sometimes simplicity is key when trying to make a night to remember.
I used to be so active and outgoing... yesterday night was spent watching a 20/20 two hour news segment about the chemistry of faling in love. After that, I spent the night with my personal deity, Chelsea Handler. I love her show, it's my favorite source of retrieving pop culture news. If I were to be a writer, I'd LOVE to write like Chelsea Handler. She holds nothing back and doesn't give a crap how honest her words are. I finished reading her book My Horizontal Life a few weeks ago and it was probably one of the only books where I caught myself laughing outloud. It's a good book if you're into raunchy yet hilarious sexual ventures manifested into a clever memoir.



I ended the night borderline overdosing on generic nighttime cold medicine and generic allergy pills. It was weird, I forgot I took cold medicine and took my allergy pills and I started to worry. I went into slight hysteria and started to feel my liver shutting down and my kidneys failing but luckily the histamine kicked in and I knocked out after eating a Chewy bar and a popsickle.

Part of me really misses the crazy nightlife of drinking excessively, dancing with little to no rhythm, and meeting people who are just as down to spoon as me... I don't know what to make of it. I'm not upset in the slightest that my current friday nights consist of me sitting in sweats all day watching the food channel and sleeping face down on the couch to the studio audience laughter on audio from TV Land, but I couldn't help but think of how I would be if I still were in San Francisco. I guess I know monday is the start of me not being a drop-out anymore. 14 units and culinary school, here I come.





I'm going to be an asshole and indulge in pretentious coffee at a pretentious coffee shop wearing a cashmere sweater.
Sincerely,
Karla-Josephine Boring.

Dearest Karla,

I don’t know where to start.
I guess I’ll tell you about why I got all…like this. I mean, I know this blog will dissolve into frivolous meow meow posts, but for now, background. I guess it’ll be hard to digest if you still believe that I don’t read, write, go to school or do anything but sit around in my pajamas.
I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but I don’t have a great story. I don’t have that story that would flow so perfectly, that story that I could sneak symbolism into, it makes people cry and use my quotes, that story that would make me feel like I could be something, affect someone. I still want to live that chain-smoking, hard-drinking (to the point where booze don’t get you drunk, they just get you to normal..), almost moral-less existence, but then write about God or something. God trapped in a love story that could never work out, and also everybody dies. Nobody gets anywhere. Ah, I love it.
I want to live in a time when I could have communicated with like minds. Maybe we have a cause, or maybe we are so causeless that we get to sit around and drink and smoke and write. People look up to us; maybe buy t-shirts influenced by our work. They’re like me, those people buying those shirts. They want to be something. They copy down our quotes. They buy a pair of black sunglasses and move to some big city.
I’ll buy some sunglasses. I’ll move to some city. Why is this my idea of how to make it as a writer?
So I’m studying the mind. I’m studying religion. I’m studying something to turn it on. Something that can inspire me and help me realize what I see, what I want to see.
It’s just that some words are so beautiful.
But really, I won’t go anywhere. I won’t do anything. If I had anyone to communicate with, these so-called “like minds,” I probably wouldn’t be sharing my opinions with them anyway. That’s my shtick. I don’t have opinions. There’s nothing happening now that I can bring myself to care about, anyway.
I do, though. Care. I care about some things so much sometimes.
I want to be a part of a scene, but none of them are right for me.
So that’s what I mean. I want to be a writer.

and I'm trying to leave you this comment, but the word verification isn't working for me, so I'll leave it here...
in regards to your post...

Tangent - some kid in my Medieval Philosophy class mentioned the Land Before Time in class. It was supposed to be a joke. The professor was discussing how time could exist before time was created by God or whatever. I might have cried, if I hadn't felt so much like committing violent mass homicide.
but I saw AirBud when it came out. Saw it in theaters with my mom. I remember the theater, and it doesn't exist any more.
Anyway, you know where I stand of the ultimate battle of good v. evil, right v. wrong, cat v. dog. I'm done with dog movies.


-Mantha Ray

p.s...I just realized I think I always liked blogspot better.

Air Meow.

Dearest Samantha,

I'm sure you got the text about my original blog idea, but thanks to the kind people at Wikipedia, I decided not to write on the topic... Guilt, nothing but guilt. Anyway, instead I wanted to write about the large flux of dog movies out in theaters and DVD lately. I know your roommate/my sorority sister Britney is probably stoked about it since I know she's all about the Beethoven dog movies (just kidding Britney, on the off chance that you're reading this) but I feel like all these movies are a little much. It started with Marley and Me, which seemed like a cute idea and I guess I wanted Jennifer Aniston to get back into the movie scene again... but then Hotel for Dogs came out... Camilla Grey from the band Uh Huh Her said it was a cute movie that made her cry, but then Space Buddies came out. WTF Samantha... WTF? Where's the love for the cats? I'm getting kind of sick of the Air Bud franchise... it's up there in my hit list of annoyances next to The Land Before Time series, which is only on the list because dinosaurs scare me, especially those of the singing cutesy nature. Call me a cynic, but isn't the talking golden retriever movie idea a little played out? Maybe it's just my Comcast, but every commercial break, there's a Space Buddies commercial with puppies going to moon or something and saying hip different cute phrases about things and crap. Maybe it's just me though, I get bothered by realistic animals talking.

Anyway Sam, here are a few movies you should check on Netflix if you're into Air Bud:

Air Bud: Golden Receiver (1998)
Air Bud: World Pup (2000)
Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch (2002)
Air Bud: Spikes Back (2003)
Air Buddies (2006)
Snow Buddies (2008)
Space Buddies (2009)
Air Bud: Aussie Rules

Check your local listings.

Sincerely,
Karla-Josephine Bud.

Generation Meow

Dr. Frasier Kat