30-Nov-2006

Venice, why do you torture me?  Most of the time, when someone asks me to meet them in Venice, my answer is a decidedly flat, "No."  It's not because I have anything against the ocean, or the surfer dudes, or the competitive Island's franchise.  It's because every effing time I agree to a dinner date in Venice, I end up lost.  Such was, once again, the case last night, when Oscar Nom suggested a Thai place there; I didn't have a better idea, and, besides, it's Oscar Nom, not a member of the "will still be friends with Melissa even if she acts like a diva" club.  So I got there fifteen minutes late, flustered, but still looking nice (I haven't done laundry in a long time, and last night I ended up wearing some sort of fitted black jumper that I think I stole from my high school best friend's mom), only to find Oscar Nom waiting with some summer rolls and a bottle of champagne.  I was recounting my story, apologizing, but throughout it all, I couldn't help smiling, because it's been a while since I've seen him (and what can I say, we both get a kick out of each other), and all of a sudden he just barely touched my hand with his, caught my eye, and said, "Melissa, please don't ever, ever change."  Well, sentiment aside (and I will confess I was thrown off by his request), he doesn't have to worry.  I've been the same person since I was about three, so my guess is I will continue to be stubborn, aloof, forgetful, paranoid, and extremely difficult to put up with.  He did have some extraordinarily good news, which I can't broadcast here, but suffice it to say, I'm very happy for him. 

He's still pestering me to let him read the pilot... I mean, clearly, I should just suck it up and send it to him.  I like it, I'm proud of it, but if you'll recall a little bit about yesterday's entry, I don't want him recognizing himself in it.  Sticky situation... sticky situation, indeed.  But he continues to be a champion of my career, so I'm guessing the least I could do is flatter him a bit.