16-Jan-2007

WTF, weekend?  WTF?  Where'd you go?  I am disappointed in my increased ability to plow through 72 hours like they're 10.  Or, at least, it seemed like 10 to me, maybe more like a thousand to those with whom I spent it.  Friday night, after a catnap in front of the television, I woke up and realized I was late to meet my Ex Film Professor, the New York Filmmaker, and his fiancee for dinner.  I was 15 minutes late to almost every engagement I had this weekend, unless I was being picked up.  I don't know if I do this to get others to offer to pick me up, or what, but it's annoying to all involved, even me, because I don't want to be unaware when trying to manipulate people.  Anyway, back to dinner - we went to Shamshiri Grill in Westwood, and, although it's no Sunin, I will attest to its delectability and reasonable prices.  The Ex Film Professor and I split an entree and still had food left over.  As we ate, we brainstormed titles for his new Russian script.  I came up with "Ural Gonna Die" and "Stalin for Time," neither of which was acceptable and merely served to illicit groans from the entire table, the waiter, and the hobo outside.  But I thought they were funny, and that's all that matters.

Saturday, Cliffhanger and I headed to Runyon for a quick hike before she had to head off to brunch, and I had to head off to... staring at my living room wall.  But I did manage to clean and get some work done on the pilot before she picked me up at 2.  We spent the entire day in the Valley and didn't stumble upon a single porn set.  Disappointing, I know, although we did snag a stellar Oreo brownie from Big Sugar Bakeshop, a movie, and dinner at Mr. Cecil's before returning to my pad for a viewing of SOUL FOOD.  One of our chief topics of conversation throughout the night was dating.  I have no clue why, but I'm being set up by several people right now, and I'm not sure how I feel about it, mainly because I have zero interest in dating.  Cliffhanger is all for it - she thinks it would get me out of her hair, but she is sadly mistaken.  The Designated Driver thinks I should be hooking up with an ex, because it's comfortable.  Um, no.  No, it's not.  Although, remember how all I want to do is wear sweatpants?  That's impossible to do while dating someone new, at least in Phase One, aka the Dress Like a Skank but Act Like a Cocktease phase. 

The entire charade started Friday, when a boy who sits nearby at work asked if he could set me up with a friend of his, and I said maybe, and said friend IM'ed me and asked me out, but my schedule is jam-packed, jam-packed I tell you, plus I'm not up for meeting one on one the first time, necessarily.  Cliffhanger suggested a double date, perhaps at a fondue restaurant, where we could throw hot oil in said dates' faces.  I suggested hanging up our Spinster Shingles immediately.  THEN, this morning I got an email from The Abuser, aka my Favorite PD Writer, with whom I had a lovely dinner last week.  She wants to set me up with another writer who works on her show.  Should writers be allowed to date other writers?  I'm not sure.  Should writers be allowed to date?  Also not sure.  Should writers who haven't gotten their first break be allowed to date?  Most definitely not.  Although I do have a good feeling about this year.  Don't know why, but I do.  Which will guarantee my future employment at Starbucks.  Thoughts, anyone?

Sunday I devoted the entire day to finishing Draft B of the pilot.  I know it still needs a lot of work, but I did what I could and now am getting others' opinions (major props to the Wise Man, who has a notes turnaround time of less than 24 hours).

Which reminds me, I should be working on those notes, not blabbering on like some stupid chick in a rom com.