23-Mar-2006

My phone has been ringing off the hook this morning, with one boss calling on one line, one on another, then the art department calling my cell phone - I haven't been this popular since I read palms in high school (this was an extremely helpful and accurate dramatic device, most prevalent around the time of Homecoming and Prom, when I would spin my web of matchmaker-dom, aka getting the boys to grow some balls and ask the girls out).  Lucky for all of us here that the P.A. has switched us from Starbucks (otherwise known as "scorched to shit" or "tastes like a five-day ashtray") to Dunkin' Donuts coffee.  Otherwise, my head might have long since imploded.  So anyway, yes, three lines ringing at once, so I've been forced to start daydreaming about the weekend. Here is what I have (tentatively) planned:

Friday - Get out of work by 9:30, hopefully, then off to see a play with Date Boy, unless I am too frazzled from said work and have to cancel.  Mom has forbidden me to cancel on him at all, but especially because of work.  She says I hide from commitment because of my job - I say I hide from commitment because most men (and I'm not saying all, mind you) are commitment-phobic freak assholes.  So really I'm just putting them through said commitment-phobic paces when I say things like "I know this is only our second date, but what do you think about a weekend away in wine country?," or "When do I get to see if I hit it off with your parents?," or, my personal favorite, "I've set aside some time this weekend for us to pick out china patterns."  Gets 'em every time... and then I don't have to waste my time on them.

Saturday - Brunch with the NY Filmmaker and his Angelic Fiancee (his words, not mine, although she is a sweet gal) at Hugo's.  Then to the grocery (I'm trying out a couple new recipes this weekend) and home for Dawson's with The Other Me!  The jury's still out on Saturday night, although my guess is it will involve some wine, some Law & Order, and the clipping of Max's back nails.  We did his front ones last weekend, and boy was there one frisky feline on our hands.  So I'm gonna go ahead and budget two hours in for that, preferably pre-wine.

Sunday - Laundry, pilot revisions (I think I broke some serious ground on this yesterday), then drinks with the Talent Agent, who is upset with me because a.) I've rescheduled on him twice, and b.) I never take advantage of the fact that he's put my name on the list at Ivar every weekend since October 2004, and not once have I shown up.  See previous paragraph, wherein I describe the better things I have to do.  I'm just not the clubbing type.  I'm more the sit at home and watch television while clipping the cat's toenails type.  In fact, I haven't had fun at a club since 2001, when I was in Russia, in love with the Only Boy I've Every Loved, and we were doing vodka shots while slovenly grooving to Duran, Duran in a re-vamped bomb shelter. 

Also, I still read palms, so if you need to know your future, just call me up.  Beware, though, now that I'm supporting myself, I'll charge you 10 bucks.