26-Sep-2006

Now where was I?  Ah, yes.  The weekend.  Sunday was restful.  There was the normal coffee drinking, jogging, painting of toenails while watching "Being Julia."  It's been a while since I've stooped to the level of giving myself a pedicure.  God, it sucks being poor.  Especially when you've ruined your right big toe five times.  How, you ask?  You paint it, wait 30 seconds, realize you're hungry, then slip into your houseshoes to go grab some string cheese.  Rinse.  Repeat.  I didn't become a rocket scientist for a reason, folks.  Plus, I'm used to someone else handling my feet.  I don't do well with such peasantry.

When my nails were finally dry, and I'd managed to throw on a slutty polka-dotted shirt (is it possible for polka dots to be slutty?) and some bitchin' capri pants, I headed out to dinner with Cliffhanger.  You'd think she'd be tired of seeing me, what with us hiking 20 miles on Saturday, then going to brunch, then to the bank, but she was determined to get on this blog with her new name, so dinner it was.  If you haven't been to Luna Park for the goat cheese fondue and the s'mores (complete with homemade graham crackers!), go.  Right now.  I mean, you might even see me there.  And I would steal your s'mores.  Anyway, dinner was lovely, and I was telling her that I can sometimes tell who reads the blog.  Like, I have an ex-boyfriend I can tell comes around sometimes. 

Me:  I know he checks the blog sometimes, but I don't get why.  He's the one who didn't want to date me.

Cliffhanger:  Duh.

Me:  Excuse me?

Cliffhanger:  (in her "duh" tone of voice) He checks it because he wants to see if you're dating anyone else.

Me:  (in my "I"m a sarcastic bitch" tone of voice) This from the girl who joined okcupid.com, then was appalled when she learned it was an online dating site.

Cliffhanger:  Are you going to keep throwing that in my face?

She's getting to know my ways already.  Three and a half hours after we started dinner, we realized it was past my bedtime, and so said our goodbyes.  God, can you imagine having to sit across from me and make conversation for three and a half hours?  What does one talk to me about?  Why does one want to talk to me?  But Cliffhanger pulled it off - she is the queen of charm.   

Monday morning, I got an email from Farrah asking if I could please send her all my September blogs.  Her evil workplace has blocked this site, so I send them to her manually.  After she'd read them, I got the following response:

"Talk about some passive aggressive shit talking while you were home----I loved it!"

Thank you for that, Farrah.  Like I needed to be reminded that I was Sylvia Plath sans the poetry and talent and suicide all last month.  Something in that Kentucky water... or maybe it was because my parents didn't have any moonshine in the house. 

Today I have accomplished a laundry list of things:  sent my pilot to our supervising producer on PD, spoke to Ballsy Gal re:  pilot and her agent, began to fan the fires of a bidding war between her agent and my faux agents, Internet stalked one of our current writer's ex-girlfriends (at his request.  He bet me ten bucks I couldn't find a picture of her.  What have we learned?  Don't tell me I can't.), read through the very first draft of my Monk spec and realized I kinda dig it. 

What did I forget to do?  Eat.  I hope this faux anorexia thing isn't starting again.  Especially not when there's free food all around me.