December 2006 Archives
Thursday, My Replacement and I boarded our flight, which was only stopping in Atlanta briefly before journeying on to Tel Aviv. "Don't fall asleep," I cautioned her, "This flight is an ABC Family Christmas Special waiting to happen." The flight from Atlanta to Lexington was uneventful, and the rents were waiting, tired, but waiting. Friday night, Mom and I headed to Louisville for dinner and ballet. We used to go see The Nutcracker every Christmas, but that has changed in the past few years, since I've mostly flown home on Christmas Eve. So this was a treat indeed. Except for the trip home, which I can't talk about, but, well.... anyway. Moving on.
Saturday afternoon, my phone rang. I checked the Caller ID. Oscar Nom. He's in Florida with his wife, but wanted to make sure I'd had a safe trip. "And when are you sending me the first script you ever wrote?" I asked him if he should be concerned about that right now, and he said probably not, but he was thinking about me, and about the script. So later I went home, dug through all my boxes from grad school, and found a lone disk that had the script on it. I am terrified to read it.
I'm going to skip all the Christmas stuff, or, better yet, just give you random words to describe it: lasagna, fat preacher, cash, money, hos, country ham, designated driver, stars you can see, cheap wrapping paper, my cousin thinks I'm fatter than I actually am, bipolar disorder, peanut butter fudge (eight pieces in two hours), Roseanne, pecan pie in the Dauditor's kitchen (she said I was only trying to prove I wasn't anorexic), Angus the docile collie, three degrees of sexual separation among Frankfort Friends, and finally, home, sleep, Law & Order.
In fact, I was so caught up in all the festivities that I looked up on Tuesday and realized I owed Cliffhanger a draft of the pilot, but the third act was missing! So to work I went, Roseanne on in the background, while Mom and Dad went off to their respective offices. Wednesday, we had everyone over for soup, and I got to see Farrah, Farrah's Fiance, and Chlydia, among others. Farrah cornered me toward the end of the evening, wanting to talk about some of my blog "characters." She had several questions, one of which was, "What's Cliffhanger's real name?" When I told her, she sounded it out, then said, "Huh. I didn't think that would be her name, but I like it." I imagine it's like reading a (poorly written) work of fiction and getting a picture of someone in your head, then when the movie comes out, the one you pictured as Sarah Polley is being played by Neve Campbell.
Thursday, I had to finish the pilot by 3:15, so Farrah's Fiance met me down at the coffee shop that morning for a spare set of eyes and some much-needed moral support. It doesn't matter how secure someone is as a writer, whenever you're the first person to read something, you have to, and I mean have to, butter that writer up a little. If you don't, you may be honest, but you're a horrible person. And Farrah's Fiance was very helpful in the buttering-up regard. We got the draft done and off to Cliffhanger, then headed up the hill to say hello to Farrah herself. She had just chopped off her hair and was getting ready to dye it when we walked in the door, but, as always, she stopped to dole out greetings and hugs.
Today, I had lunch with my grandmother. This is always a controversial outing, but today, she didn't say anything to insult me. Instead, she caught me off guard by asking me what of hers I wanted when she died. I always have problems with these questions; my grandmother has made a lot of things possible for me, financially, and I'm grateful to her, and I know she has money, and I'm her only grandchild, but still. Something about this question made me feel dirty. So I replied, "I don't know, I haven't thought about it, and I'm not ready, emotionally, to have this conversation." She opened her mouth to ask a follow-up, but I was quick. "Who do you think really shot President Kennedy?" It was the first thing I could think of, but it got her going. Whoever says I can't keep a conversation going is mad wack.
Now that that's cleared up, the weekend gets an A +. Friday night, I did absolutely nothing. Saturday morning, I went hiking, and I even ran two of the 7.3 miles. Of course, then I almost fainted in the shower because I'd forgotten to eat breakfast beforehand, but I managed to drag my in-shape, toweled self to the kitchen for a bite of cheese, which tided me over until I had the strength to make an entire turkey sandwich. Saturday was spent prepping for the skivvies party - the less clothes you're wearing, the more prep you have to do. Around 10, I headed over to Cliffhanger's to meet up with her and her roommate. She had to perform emergency bra strap surgery (I still haven't figured out how to tighten any of my bra straps), but then we were good to go. And the party was fun, except for the psycho Bond Broker McNerdpants who followed me around for the first half. Cliffhanger made several attempts to keep him away (re-tying the bow on the back of the bra hickadowhatsit I was wearing, shoving a pineapple pillow between me and said McNerdpants when he scooched onto the couch). Luckily, he was soon preoccupied with the roommate, which was a good thing, because Kenny G was on, and God knows Cliffhanger can't pay attention to anything else when that saxophone clown is blowing. Afterwards, we went to Swinger's for pie (Roommate's treat - thanks to him), then I arrived home to find rock star parking. I only wish we'd gotten pictures. Sigh...
Honeybee: What are you doing tomorrow night?
Me: Going to that underwear party with Cliffhanger (aka the wear as little clothing as possible party).
Honeybee: Oh, good. Your anorexia will finally come in handy.
Maybe I've got this whole thing wrong, though. Feel free to disagree. And also to let me know what the hell I'm supposed to do/say in this meeting.
I am watching syndicated That 70s Show on FX while eating my dinner of crackers and... crackers. And I'm getting a lot of crumbs on my pants, as per usual. The phone RINGS. I check the Caller ID. Cliffhanger. I pick up.
Cliffhanger: I'm calling for a page count.*
*Note: I started writing the actual pilot script yesterday. Finally...
Me: Three.
Cliffhanger: Really? Cause I was hoping for five.
Me: (spilling more crackers) I'm working on it right now. (I'm not).
Cliffhanger: Uh-huh... so... nine pages by Friday?
Me: Twelve. But you're not reading any of them.
Cliffhanger: Fine. I'm just pretending to be interested anyway.
Faux interest and the inferiority complex she gave me aside, I do appreciate her checking in. One of the worst feelings, when you're writing, is that no one cares (they don't), no one gives a shit if what you're doing turns out well. I work best under pressure, so I enjoy the heckling. And even if she doesn't care, she does a stellar job pretending she does. So if you see Cliffhanger, give her a pat on the back for a job well done.
I find it amusing how the KY guest bloggers are intriguing to the future CA guest bloggers. For example, the Designated Driver said to me on Saturday, "Farrah sounds like a really sweet person." So for all of you who were wondering, yes, Farrah is an extremely sweet person, but that doesn't even begin to chip away at the surface. Farrah was the first person to ask me to sit with her on the cross country bus (I went to private school through middle school, then switched to public for high school, so I knew NO ONE), the first person to invite me to a high school party, the first person to visit me in both NYC and L.A. Farrah perfected the long sleeve over t-shirt combo, but always gets on my case when I wear high heels with socks. She was the fastest runner on the cross country team, but would slow down to gossip with me at practice (read: I was slow. I still am slow). So yes, she rocks, and I can't imagine life without her, and I'll be so happy to see her and all my other cronies when I go home. Yay for December 21st!
Speaking of which, I was making my To Do List for this week, and I realized I have no time. Now I'm not the most popular bee in the bonnet, but dammit if I don't have plans every single night. Tomorrow, I have double drinks, since Oscar Nom is in town (so I guess it's dinner, then drinks), but who knows if I'll feel up to going to drinks, or get out of dinner in time, if I'm with him? My guess is I won't. Sigh... Tree trimming party Wednesday, drinks with a Vandy alum Thursday, then dinner and a movie with the Tennis Pro on Friday. I'm betting he won't flake, since he doesn't usually flake when it's just me. But maybe I should make backup plans, just in case.
To top it all off, I have just started my shopping. I went Saturday with the Designated Driver and found one stocking stuffer, then yesterday with Cliffhanger (who shops for her whomever she's with as vigorously as she shops for jobs for her clients - How about this? Do you like suede? Polka dots? Ugh. You are not wearing that skirt correctly. Let me fix it like I have to fix everything else in your life. And don't even think about trying that sweater. You'll look like baby poo.). I ended up with a kick ass pair of shoes that I'm wearing today (and which luckily did not fall victim to the unfortunate Coffee Spilling Crisis of '06 that occurred on or around my cubicle this morning), and nothing for anyone else. Thank goodness for the Internet.
*** Just a disclaimer, this guest blogger isn't very funny and tries too hard to compensate for that.***
Ah...so many things I can say about M.A.
Nerd camp with M.A. -- I've tried to block most of that shitty summer out, but I remember that M.A. actually made friends at nerd camp, something I thought that I was entirely too cool for. Her roommate was this extremely hot sporty chick that was smart and funny, too. I couldn't help but hate/like her. M.A. was in rare form all summer, even when her stinky-breathed boyfriend dumped her because he was a jackass. She was definitely the coolest person there.
Academic Team with M.A. - Was she really that smart? Once again, being the self-absorbed uber bitch that I am, I have absolutely no idea. I do remember thinking that she got all the "smart" questions right and I got all the easy pop-culture questions right. For example, the bitch new all sorts of random trivial shit about Russian literature, regular literature, French phrases and stuff like that. I knew things on the same level as bar trivia, like "Which rock 'n' roller's name is an anagram of a common term for fellatio?" Not that they asked questions like that, but if they did, I would have been the first to buzz buzz buzz.
M.A.'s Appearance and Degree of Coolness - Has either changed over the past twelve years? If so, how? Melissa wouldn't have been caught dead wearing skank shorts and three inch heels on the corner of Steele and Fourth Street twelve years ago. Are you kidding me? She was a Day School kid. They thought us Catholic girls were too slutty way before we actually were. To answer the second part of that question, her degree of coolness has been improved only infinitesimally by the off chance that she might introduce me to my favorite actor one day...or take me as her date to some enormous red carpet awards show...we get excited about that shtick in these here hollers.)
What was it like beating M.A. every year for the Best Prose category of your high school's literary magazine? Today, I feel extreme validation (I crave it like pizza) that I was the shit writer in high school. Sadly, it seems to have been my peak while M.A. has gone on to much bigger and better things. I also beat her out in Most Likely To Succeed, however, she is proving that this was not honest foreshadowing.
Was M.A. popular in high school? Was she as mean then as she is now? Of course she was popular. Teachers loved her, we all loved her, what more did she need? And, yes, of course she was this mean in high school. Do you all think this just happens overnight? I lived in fear of saying something that would arouse her scathing wit and hilarious condescension. And, I seem to remember she used to call the sweetest girl in school a fat cow or something all the time (granted, she did get made fun of for walking like she just got back to the ranch from a trail ride).
Who did M.A. have crushes on in high school? I really have absolutely no idea. I'd say Stinky Breath Boy and maybe the 7th Grade Crush Boy (if that's who I think it is). Oh, there was that one dipshit that doesn't even deserve a funny nickname. Think of the former politician who later whored himself out for Viagra...they share a first name.
Do you like Current M.A. or high school M.A. better? Why? I definitely like current M.A. better because I know how to deal with her now. She was an adult long before I was, and she used to intimidate the hell out of me. Now, she's a hilarious, self-confident, snarky, McHottie who likes to eat sushi and see a movie about redneck Nascarians in the same night. What's not to love?
70s W/P: I don't have a computer yet. Do you know of one where I could check my email?
Me: Sure. Use mine.
I get up (I have to pee anyway), and he sits down while I lug myself the two miles to the bathroom. I return two minutes later, as he's getting up.
70s W/P: Thanks. That was really helpful.
He goes into his office and shuts the door. I sit down at my computer only to find a Word Document open. It reads:
70s W/P To Do List
Feed Dog
Buy anniversary present
Download pornography on Melissa's computer and blame it on her
Sign up for Pilates
Ah, comedy writers...
Oscar Nom (O.S., filter): Hey, Melissa, I just finished reading (THE PILOT), and I gotta tell you, I think it's wonderful. You've done a great job, you should be very proud, and I'm blown away. Call me, though, because I want to know who you've shown it to and what's going on with it. If those agents don't sign you off this, they're idiots, and we'll find you someone else.
I mean, granted, he's a little biased (okay, a lot - my ego's not so big that I don't realize this), cause it's me, but anyone likes to hear the stroke, stroke without the slap.
Another reason I had only two friends (albeit several acquaintances) in grad school? I spent most of my time over at Oscar Nom's Chelsea office/studio, sitting on his couch, watching Judge Judy, and working on my very first script, while he sat in the armchair working on his not very first script. It was a comfortable arrangement, especially since I only got the WB in my apartment (I was hooked on Everwood that year - wonder why?). He kind of blew up at me the other day when I told him I didn't think I had a copy of that first screenplay (which I was somehow convinced to let him read). Suffice it to say, it's one of his favorite scripts ever (I'm still not sure if I believe that - yeah, no, I don't believe it), and now I don't have it, because my computer crashed three years ago, and I lost it. Dumbass me.
Which brings me to another point... The Wise Man took me to task for the blog the other night, saying I talked about Oscar Nom at least 75% of the time. Of course that's not true, but it got me thinking, and I have a question for you readers. Who's your favorite blog character? Who would you like to know more about? Hint: The correct answer to both these questions is me.
Needless to say, I am now in a food coma, and I think a lot of my woes yesterday came from a sharp dip in blood sugar. I kind of forgot to eat until about 7 PM. Granted, there was some other shit going on, and, while I try not to let things that are not my problem get to me, they do. I am a surprisingly sensitive soul. When one of my friends is going through some shit, I am, too, and I get all the physical symptoms - upset stomach, forgetting to eat, incessant worrying - and said symptoms do nothing to solve the problem. So, really, why is anyone friends with me? I also didn't get any writing done yesterday, and it sounds really stupid and pretentious, but when I don't write, my brain devotes its energy to other, less productive things. It doesn't have to be good writing. Just an attempt to get something on the page, and I feel better. It's like vomiting - you kind of dread it, cause you know it's not going to be easy, but doing it is actually a bit euphoric and blurry, then when you're done, there's relief. Calm.
Does anyone have Season One of The Shield on DVD?
Off to vomit...
Me: Hello.
DD: Yes?
Me: Guess who's retarded?
DD: Um, you?
Me: Now, see, this game isn't any fun when you guess correctly right off the bat.
***Said conversation took place circa 9 PM last night, when I realized, in a panic, that my rent check, which I'd written earlier in the day, torn out, but kept stashed in my checkbook, was gone. So I ditched my laundry, Chinese food, and JUST FRIENDS with the DD to dash back to the office. Where I did not find said check. I was just about to phone up my bank when I thought, I'll look in my checkbook one more time. And there it was. Hiding behind the first blank check. This event supports my mother's theory (only recently disclosed to me, so I guess it worked) that, when I was growing up, she didn't need to hide my birthday presents. She would instead keep most of them in plain sight. This confession begged the question why she used to do this, and she replied, "Because you tended not to notice what was right in front of you. You had other, more pressing matters on your mind." Guess I've always had the world on my shoulders, instead of common sense. Sigh...
