30-Oct-2006

Today is the first anniversary of one of the worst days in my life, less because of the actual day itself, more because of the dark period it triggered.  I've talked (albeit very cryptically) here about it, but today I'm only going to say that I'm over it, I'm done, and I'm happier now than I've been in a long time.  So yay-rah for me, assholes.

I'm having a string of peaceful weekends.  I used to hate peace (that didn't sound right); now I dig it, because now it doesn't mean being left alone with thoughts I don't know how to handle.  I'm getting better at writing when I'm not in the mood to write (and so am better-equipped to deal with any persistently intrusive thoughts), and I also think I'm becoming less ADD about my writing.  I buckled down both afternoons and got a lot of shit done.  Friday night, I even went to dinner with a Vandy kid.  I was impressed that he'd made the effort to fly out here for one party (I did the same when I was living in NYC, except then it was to have dinner with my then-manager; I slept on the tennis pro's couch and got stood up by a guy who would later offer me a job because he felt bad about standing me up that night five months prior; said guy was Ex-Boss, and such was my humble beginning).  I was not impressed, however, that the kid spent the whole time talking my ear off about HIMSELF.  The worst thing you can do when you're at dinner with an only child is talk only about yourself.  Especially when you're supposed to be kissing said only child's ass.  And how the fuck can you talk someone into believing you're a good writer?  What's that, you say?  Pitching?  Well, fine, argue with me, but I will always believe they're two very different skill sets. 

I proclaimed my dinner dissatisfaction to Cliffhanger on our Saturday morning hike (and yeah, yeah, Cliffy, I know you said something about our hikes being "sacred," and "not blogging material," and "JC, Melissa, can't you ever shut your freakishly small mouth?," but you also don't like Question Day, so I'm going to do it, just this once). 

Cliffhanger:  So he talked about himself the entire time?

Me:  The entire time.

Cliffhanger:  Doesn't he know your ego needs a little stroking?  Like, stroke, stroke, slap?

Me:  What's stroke, stroke, slap?

Cliffhanger:  You know how you're really cool because you're good on the page AND you're good in person?

Me:  Awww... that's so sweet--

Cliffhanger:  --But you're also really short, and you need a lot of attention.  

Long, long pause wherein I am trying not to cry.

Cliffhanger:  That's stroke, stroke, slap.

Saturday night, I went to see LITTLE CHILDREN.  Before the movie, the Honeybee asked me what it was about.  I mentioned pet dinosaurs, a rock quarry, Mel Blanc; basically, I pitched her The Flintstones, so halfway through the movie, I could feel her staring at me with red-hot angry eyes.  It's the same look I got when I told the New York Lawyer DAWN OF THE DEAD was a psychological thriller, not a gore-fest.  I mean, if you wanna get technical, it's an allegory for consumerism, but she didn't see it that way, at least not after sweet little Vivian took a juicy bite of blood and snappy tendons from Lewis's neck.  Now who wants Pink Berry?

Speaking of which, I'd like to take this time to thank the New York Lawyer for saving my would-have-been royally sodomized ass.  I might have mentioned this before, but she's one of the maybe five (or 5,000; whatever - we don't need to get techinical here, do we?) people I know who is so obviously smarter than I am, and in such a modest way.  We spent a winter traipsing through St. Petersburg back in '01, then took one of the longest train rides ever (wherein the border guards tried to confiscate our passports and Visas, then threatened to throw us off the train) and had a blast in the Ukraine.  Also, she has been my TOBIEL spy for years, as they attended the same college.  She was the one who called and told me he was back with his ex, even after he'd called me the day before, offering to buy me a plane ticket to come visit him.  She was the first person I called, in a panic, when Oscar Nom finally told me he was married... Ah, good times.  Good.  Times.

Yesterday, after researching sexual misdemeanors and brainstorming for the pilot all afternoon, Cliffhanger showed up with her roommate, and we all piled into the Designated Driver's car to get Bay Cities.  Now, it's funny, because a year ago, one of the worst days of my life, I was at Bay Cities, finding out something horrible (and, let's admit it, something horrible that was also somewhat my fault) that was only one link in the chain.  But yesterday was lovely.  The sun was setting, oil and vinegar were dripping from our sandwiches, and I didn't have an unpleasant thought in my head as we ate.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say I didn't have a single thought in my head, but that would make me sound stupid now, wouldn't it?