June 2006 Archives

In a frenzy getting ready to go home.  And of course, I'll be too busy eating, drinking, and making merry there to update.  But as for now, know that I'm doing well and thinking of you fondly. 

Also, everyone please watch "Little People, Big World" on TLC.  Oh, how I love summer television!!!

I just realized I am ravenously hungry.  Then I realized that I haven't eaten today.  Now I am going to go in search of food that isn't a Nature's Valley granola bar (read:  the only food we currently have at the office). 

Oh, and everyone wish the Designated Driver good luck on her interview tomorrow!  I won't tell you the name of the celebrity she's interviewing with, but I will say one of my friends from home could easily be mistaken for her.  Figure it out, bitches!

Thank you all very much for your comments.  A decision has been made, which, if I do say so myself, feels pretty damn good.  Now if I can only write the thing...

Forget that I wanted to write about how all I could think about during Tokyo Drift was that those cars would probably pass the smog test, forget my opus on The Family Stone, I need your help.  I have been given the opportunity to write a short, which has a lovely producer and financial backing attached.  I came up with ten ideas and pitched them to said producer last night, and he helped me narrow it down to three.  But from there, we couldn't decide.  In fact, the only decision I made was to post said three ideas here and let you tell me what you think.  You can leave your thoughts in the comment section, or text the word vote to... wait, better not text anything to me.  Such messaging has been known to confuse me.  Or flat out piss me off. 

So without further ado, the ideas:

1.) A man or woman switches barbers/hairdressers within in the same shop.

2.) A man is horrified when all his ex-girlfriends move into his apartment complex.  Twilight Zone-esque.

3.) A man invents a lover in order to break up with his psychotic girlfriend.

Thanks in advance for your help, dears!  

I meant to write today, really I did, but instead I had to devote my spare two hours to reading over my pilot one last time before I give it to the Faux Agents at our breakfast meeting next week.  I was supposed to have drinks with one of them last week, but then the other one got wind of it and decided he wanted to join, so we had to reschedule.  I didn't mind, mainly because I needed the night to study for my drivers' test, which I told them about.  They both promised to come bail me out of jail if I got caught for my "lack of legit," as I like to call it. 

Also, after $300 worth of repairs, my car has passed the smog test!!!

I have been asked to give my opinion of The Family Stone, and I was all set to do just that, when I realized, lo and behold, my bosses are running another show.  Which means staffing, scripts everywhere, and I still haven't figured out the new Staples order form, so everyone cross their fingers that I have enough brads to get through the day!

To do for the weekend:  Read a million Six Feet Under specs.  To which I say, why don't you people realize this show is over?  Would it kill you to write a Deadwood?  Maybe even a Rescue Me?  Sheesh... Writers.  Fuck 'em.   

I PASSED MY TEST!!!  Now who's taking me drinking?

I just made an appointment to take my California Drivers Test.  This Thursday at 8:20 AM.  Apparently, all I have to do is pass a vision exam, take the written test, and show them every document that has ever proved my existence and fiscal responsibility.  Why am I so nervous?  Is it because the last test I took was an Old English translation exam?  I would feel much better if I could just write a paper, or a list, or even a letter.

Dear DMV,

Here is why you should give me a license.  I am really smart.  I could read the traffic signs even if they were written in Russian!  Can you believe how cool I am?  Unless I'm distracted by, say, a Richard Marx song on the radio... then it's tear city, and I won't be able to concentrate on the road.  Sorry! 

Also, in ten years of driving, I've never gotten a ticket.  Wha, wha, wha, what???, you say.  Suck on that, DMV, I reply.

That is all.

xo,

Melissa

I'm sure I'm not the first person to say it, nor will I be the last, but I HEART TRADER JOE'S!!!  I got enough food for at least six meals, mixing it up with Italian, Indian, Chinese, and Mexican, for under ten dollars!  Granted, I didn't go for the Two Buck Chuck, mainly because we have a fifth of Belvedere vodka in the office mini-fridge, but all in all, it was a very satisfying trip.

Also, a word of warning to all those who go see The Omen.  First off, on a scale of one to frightening, it's about the equivalent of She's All That.  I don't know about you, but I like my scary movies to, well, scare me.  Take The Exorcist, for example. Did I sleep for a month after that?  Why no, I didn't, thanks for asking.  It's also the only movie I've ever seen in a theater where I looked at my watch every five minutes, not because I was bored, but because I was wondering how much more scariness I could take before I needed to barricade myself in a Catholic church and start reciting Hail Marys.  Am I Catholic?  No, I'm not, thanks for asking.  Second, I was under the impression that, if I went to see The Omen on a Friday at 10:30 PM, not many other people would be there, because other people should have lives that don't revolve around movies.  I was sadly mistaken.  It was a full theater, and a quiet theater at that.  Now I know I've given everyone a strict list of rules for seeing a movie with me, but horror films are a bit different.  In fact, I WANT a loud audience in a horror film.  It is, indeed, a bonding experience, and, to quote Clue, there is safety in numbers, my dears.  Quiet audience in a horror film = boring.  Last off, the kid they found to play Satan - WTF?  I think I did a better acting job in first grade when I portrayed Florence Nightingale for Character Day.  If he's Satan, I only have one thing to say:  Bring it.  But let me go eat some Trader Joe's fried rice first - can't fight small children on an empty stomach.   

You know what does NOT taste good?  When you chase your peach-flavored Flinstone's vitamin with a swig of Pellegrino.

Life Lesson Number 85937043082.  Learned.

 

Why did no one tell me that "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" is the saddest movie ever?  I feel a bit betrayed - I was always the type to giggle at "Beaches," or "Fried Green Tomatoes," but this is the chick flick from Hell.  Had I known, I might have opted for the traditional Monday night "SVU," but no such luck.  The damage has been done.  As once suspected, I do have emotions, and said emotions kept my tear ducts in business all night long.

In other news, the script is now safely in the hands of H-Berts and G-Money.  Done and done.  I love checking items off my to-do list, although today hasn't been quite as productive as I might have liked.  Part of this lack of productivity was due to the fact that, walking back from lunch, I recalled an essay I once had to write addressing the issue of whether or not America was, in fact, a democracy.  And I stopped dead in my tracks - I could not, for the life of me, recall why I would have done such a thing.  Surely it was not of my own volition - I'm not the type to go around arguing political theories, although I'll discuss GO till the sun comes up - no, this must have been for a class.  And it's not the kind of thing my high school would have assigned.  So I hurried back to my computer, logged on to Vanderbilt's poli sci department, and lo and behold, recognized the name of the professor and remembered taking the class.  Poli Sci 100.  The prof had distractingly large ears and an ego to match.  These are the kinds of things, whole classes forgotten, that bother my memory, which is as control-freakish as the rest of me.  I must have had one of those dreams last night where I was still in college and had forgotten to study for a test. 

But, for the record, I did think America was a democracy.  How sweet of me.   

H-Berts and G-Money have agreed to read me!!!  Which means I have to spend the day doing some last-minute tweaking of my "O.C." to make sure I didn't write anything embarrassing.  I have a tendency to confuse words like "waist" and "waste," which can get awfully confusing when one is, say, writing a sex scene.  So while I concentrate on differentiating the lovemaking of hot trust fund teenagers from a potential scat kink, please visit the Honeybee's website, www.honeybeemanor.com .  She has an amusing post about going out to dinner with the Hottie that should tide you over till I'm back!

A Weekend Conversation with the Honeybee:

INT.  MY ROOM   EVENING

The kind of place you live if you're nearly broke and have no health insurance.  The Honeybee examines the alarm clock as I drone.

ME:  Then I said, no, I don't want pink polish, I asked for red.  And waxing, no tweezing, on the eyebrows--

HONEYBEE:  Why is your alarm clock on military time?

ME:  Look, I may not be a dim-witted Republican like you, but I certainly support our troops.

HONEYBEE:  You don't know how to change it back, do you?

ME:  (head hanging)  No.

If my screenwriting professor were to read that, he would cringe.  But Xanga isn't conducive to screenplay format, and neither is Xanga Premium, so I've done the best I could.

Speaking of screenwriting, after Final Destination on Saturday, I was in for a treat.  You guessed it!  Fear with Reese Witherspoon and Mark Wahlberg.  Best.  Teenage. Stalking Movie.  Ever.  If you read my first post on Saturday, you'll know that the heat in this town was so bad that I could not even sit up to grab the remote and change the channel.  But USA came through for me.  Sometimes they have bad days - Grease 2, America's Sweethearts - but this weekend was particularly satisfying, and they should all pat themselves on the back. 

Is anyone going to see The Omen?  I prefer Julia Stiles in Save The Last Dance, where she is so incredibly awkward but still has great hair.  Maybe I will also enjoy seeing her get thrown off a building by her six year old Satanic son.  It's too bad she can't whoop his ass with a Ballet/Tae Bo combo.   

This is some information on Successful Writer's new movie, which he wrote and is now directing.  Once again, I've ganked something from Iplish's blog.  But really, I have been meaning to link it, cause it was the best script I read last year.  Laziness got in the way...

http://movies.yahoo.com/mv/news/va/20060602/114925117000.html

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0497972/

And now that you know about it, you get to be excited to see it for a whole year, instead of the lousy few months before the premiere when they start showing previews!

Another weekend post!  Mainly out of guilt, but what do you care?  I am currently chillin' at home (and by "chillin'," I mean sweltering - it's so hot in my apartment I think I might run out of water and start sweating blood), watching Final Destination.  Unfortunately, it's the USA version of Final Destination, which means less gore, and without the gore, well, it's more like just a Destination. 

My dinner with Oscar Nom was "the highlight of his week."  We tried this new Asian fusion/tapas place in Santa Monica.  It was a little fancy for my taste, mainly because I can work skewers or chopsticks separately, but not both together, and I don't think I should have to - someone's eye could get seriously injured. 

Yesterday, my morning was somewhat of a blur.  Somehow, somewhere, I found a lot of work that needed to be done, and then I had to venture over to the lot for some quality time with those in our production office.  I miss seeing them all... Sigh... Our Co-Producer, sensing my hunger-induced crankiness, offered to take me to lunch, and I gladly accepted.  During production, I never left my desk, because if I did, I'd get ten phone calls in as many minutes asking what to do in this case or that, and I just couldn't take it.  Luckily, the Designated Driver would call to make sure I was eating, and, if I wasn't, she'd bring food to me wherever I was.  That's just the way she is.  If someone complains to me that they're not eating, I will usually just congratulate them on their anorexia.  I 'spose I'm not so much the nurturer. 

Last night, I saw The Break-Up, and I have to say, it's the best romantic comedy I've seen in a long time.  Granted, I have a thing for Vince Vaughn, and also a thing for Jason Bateman, but it felt very real to me.  Namely, how a comment can escalate into a fight which escalates into a break-up which escalates into the severance of a connection that used to be so strong, and you just can't put your finger on why it's not anymore.  And I loved the ending.  Call me a cynic, I don't care, but I'm not one to forgive someone (maybe that's the wrong phrasing - maybe I should say that I'm not one to believe someone has changed) after they make one slightly grand gesture.  People don't change.  They bend when they need to, to make it seem like they've changed, but they always bounce back.  Which is why I say second chances can suck it.

Happy Weekend!         

Since many of you found yesterday's post to be depressing (I didn't mean it that way, I swear!  Just giving some examples of my overactive imagination), I have decided to make a list (list-making is one of my favorite pastimes) of the things that do, indeed, make me happy.  Because I am happy, I promise.  Stressed at times, but happy.  So here goes:

1.)  Our Co-Producer brought me lobster bisque from Ruth's Chris Tuesday night after the swanky producers' dinner to which I was not invited.  It's apparently all I would talk about on set when our craft service guys would set out minestrone and chicken noodle and other such nonsense, so the Co-Producer promised to make it happen, and, true to his word (as he has proven to be time and again), he followed through.  He has also become a blog reader, so please, everyone, say hello to my Hero of the Week!

2.)  In a flood of independence, I ventured out to OSH last night and bought a socket wrench.  Am I even spelling that correctly?  See, the metal thingies that hold my license plate on (no, I don't know the difference between a nut and a bolt, fucking sue me) were rusted, so I had to wrench them off.  Hence, I thought (or the Designated Driver told me) that I should buy a wrench.  So I did.  I will now not be put in prison for driving with expired tags.

3.)  Oscar Nom is yet again in town, and I'm having dinner with him tonight.  And, unlike the nights when we were in production, we won't have to meet up at 10 o'clock, or, as I like to call it "Past My Bedtime." 

4.)  I had time to go to OSH on a weeknight!

5.)  After scores of cursing, the Designated Driver has hooked up the Tivo.  I'm sure I didn't help, seeing as to how I was sitting on the couch eating lobster bisque and squawking, "It's not working.  I don't see a blue screen.  Are you sure you're doing it right?"  Of course, the Designated Driver used her token reply to my bitchiness when she said, "You soooooo need a man."  To which I replied, "I soooooo need to watch and record Law & Order."