Stories over an open fire…

Well, let me tell you, when it rains, it hurricanes. With five crazy swirling clouds ravishing the southern pennninsula of this American landscape, I have taken my lottery VO coup to the next level. First off, the first checks came in. 17 hundred thank you very much, just for my session fee. Damn BITCH. This might just be a good god damned year. The pouring news though, comes from the fact that four more commercials could be coming my way. My sweet melodic dulcet tones shall once more be the last laugh in bringing you the amazing M’Azing candy bar. Hurray for me bitches. Hurray!
Im kinda still pinching myself over this crap. Sometimes, you just get lucky. Anyway, the thundering goes in other directions as well. My little dalliance with the special lady R. has now fizzled out. Neither of us said anything, literally. We just stopped calling each other, Very weird, no closure, just a vauge sense of… what happened? Not that we were meant to be or anything, but it is weird to be fucking someone one week and then not speaking to them again. Ive been working up my courage to email her a closure-like email, but im not sure what it is im trying to say: “thanks for the good times?” “it was nice having a few dates and getting some nuts busted?” none of these have the tactful closure I seem to want.
But the point is that I am now in the famine part of the equation. No sex, no intimacy, certainly no love, and just lots of loneliness and masturbation. (masturbation has that very interesting aspect of feeling fine some days, and sinful with a loser aftertaste on others, kind of like drugs, the shame and the excitement all rolled into one.) My coworker, Trick Daddy and I have now rolling tallies of attainable goals: Would we have sex this week, probably not, but how about by the end of the month? That seemed likely until now, where Sept has come and gone and we both wonder if October shall let us feel the inside of some woman other than the statue of liberty. October usually does well for me. Three of my longest relationships started in October or early November. And yet, the way im going, I feel like I might be trying too hard. I just got to relax and not care and then swarms of hotties shall buzz around me. The only caveat here being that I have to truly NOT care, kinda like the beginning of Swingers. If you pretend to forget the girl wont call, it is only when you have truly forgotten that she will sprint back into your arms. Catch twenty deuce, baby.

I know its been a while…

Listen. Life is tough. But sometimes, out of nowhere, you win the lottery. Or get a VO gig. VO you say? Voice over. That’s right. While working a job at my office, the creatives asked every guy to read the copy. I went into the edit room and did it really fast, uncaring, very monotone, just straight up: “The new chocolate bar with m & m minis in crunchy and peanut butter m’azing, are you?” Simple shit.
Cut to two days later, they are mixing the spot at the sound design house (sound lounge for those of you in the know) and I get a call from the editor saying I had to get down there to rerecord cause im in the final three call backs. But oh no! I have a client coming in a half hour and we got some shit to recut… he says fine, we will use your old one.
My client comes in, we do what we do, and bam, new call, get the fuck down here. Oh shit, off I go. Its only like 6 blocks away, down fifth into the building up the elvator to lucky number 13 down one floor to the correct studio, and into the corner recording booth, where the mike is hot and the feeling is nervousy (like that bushism?). they replay what I already had, and I try to mimic it as best I can. I get some comments and try it again. Reapeat: very nervous, not sure if I can recreate the nonchalance. Plus, the comments they tell you are just mastercard priceless: “um, could you do it like you really like the bar, but, um, the person listening doesn’t deserve it?’ Oh you betcha, I got that shit covered. I do it about 20 times. Then I do just the Mazing are you part. First, too much Ah-mazing. So just mazing, then they want more Eh-,mazing like em an ems. I walk out and feel like I have failed.
Cut to later that fucking day when the agency producer calls and tells me I am the new voice of M’azing candy bars. Well holy shizzle I say. Holy shizzle.
When the editor, my man Maury returns he asks me if I know how much scrilla I am about to possibly rake in, if in the parlance of our times, it goes ‘national.’ I say what, 2, 3 4, grand. He laughs. Try more like ten or twenty. That’s’ right bitch, who’s your voice over daddy now, huh, huh?