14-Nov-2006

Thanks, everyone, for the kind (and yet snarky) words yesterday.  You'll be happy to hear I am feeling much better, thanks to eleven hours of sleep, Zicam, and the general Zen attitude I have adopted of late.  We'll see how long that lasts... I meant to post the first guest entry on Sunday, but I was nearly dead to the world, so I apologize.  You'll just have to wait till this weekend to be rid of me for a day.

Saturday night was New Boss's birthday party.  Now, I despise party planning, so it was a good thing New Boss did pretty much all the work himself.  The guy we had to deal with at the venue was a total assface (and, I later discovered, an assface with Pink Eye), averse to the idea of mac and cheese on a spoon served as an appetizer; really, against fun in any way, shape, or form.  When I arrived Saturday, though, the Pink Eye king hurried to introduce himself, then gave me a bunch of playing cards on ribbon to hand out to guests for the open bar.  I started handing them out as people came in, until New Boss came up to me, took the cards from my hand, and said, "I don't want you working.  You're here to have fun.  Here's a drink.  Drink it."  So I did, but only after he'd introduced me to a couple celebs.  Did I mention I Heart New Boss?

I was mid-conversation with G-Money by the time the Tennis Pro arrived, and we had a laugh at his expense (I had forgotten to put him on the list - serves him right for not picking me up).  She had just been trying to tell me that I should start dating again, since I would be a homeowner at thirty and need a man to drag the big garbage cans out once a week.  I figure I'll be able to pay someone to do that.  After two gin and tonics, the Tennis Pro also wanted to talk dating.  "Girls out here - there's something wrong with them.  They're all seeking some sort of validation."  Me - "Well, you only date actresses.  Duh!"  Tennis Pro - "No more.  You know you're the only real girl I know out here?"  ***From Melissa's Self-Published Hollywood Dictionary - Real = Ugly***  Me - (with a disgusted roll of my eyes) Thanks a lot. 

Yesterday, Cliffhanger and I had our first conference call regarding the pilot.  She was giving me notes on the beat sheet/half-assed outline.  Now, one of the many odd things about this town is that the people you end up working with often become your friends, or, as is the case with Cliffhanger, you start working with your friends, because you can (sometimes) stand them and (sometimes) trust their talent/intelligence.  So there's no separation in work and personal life.  Half of my not dating is because I want to wait around to see who makes it, and who moves back to their corn farm in Iowa.  Here's a brief excerpt from our conversation yesterday:

Me:  I think one of the main problems we have right now is too much story.

Cliffhanger:  I agree.  Here's what we could do.  (she pitches me a semi-brilliant idea)

Me:  That's great. 

Cliffhanger:  (she is now reading me an excerpt from an email sent to her by one of her admirers)  What do you think that last sentence means?

Me:  Anal sex. 

Cliffhanger.  Oh.  Moving on, there's a typo on page 2--

Me:  Fixed. 

Cliffhanger:  And I think the joke at the end of the teaser doesn't make sense--

Me:  Okay.

Cliffhanger:  And you really think he meant anal sex? 

We do a bang-up job of balancing work and the overly personal, if I do say so myself.