April 2007 Archives

I'M GOING HOME FOR DERBY!!!  It was a sign, I think, because I found a ticket for under $200 roundtrip, which has NEVER happened before - I think the evil psychics at Delta know something I don't.  Like maybe the plane is going to crash, or I'm going to get food poisoning AGAIN on one of their flights.  Bastards... but it doesn't matter, cause I'll be home, and that's just what I need right now

Now who wants to take me to the airport? 

OMG, OMG, OMG... so, the Honeybee understands my taste in movies and books.  She hasn't quite mastered the music and television part.  I know she hasn't mastered the music part because she blasts PIPPEN when I'm in the car with her, telling me over and over that she knows I'll grow to like it.  No.  No, I won't.  In fact, I often debate jumping out of the car and rolling headlong to my death when we get to a major intersection just so I don't have to listen to that godawful tripe.  She also thinks I will grow to love THE 4400.  Again, no, no, I won't.  Even though I can't stay awake for an entire episode, she still thinks there's a chance. 

However, the Honeybee knows which books I will like.  She came over Monday night, toting Stephen King's ON WRITING.  She handed it to me, I opened it, and I barely put it down until last night, when I finished it.  A 24 hour turnaround isn't that impressive, but literally, it's the best book on writing I've ever read, even beating THE ARTIST'S WAY for first place in my heart.  It's part memoir, part notes on the craft, but it is always engaging, humorous, and mindful of the basic tools that make a writer.  Because that is what writing is, it's a craft, and you have tools which you have to master, so it becomes very objective, with a hint of magic thrown in here and there.  I CRIED at the end.  CRIED.  Me.  Over a book on writing.  I didn't want it to be over.  I am such a girl... but seriously, even if you're not a writer, READ THIS BOOK.

I have tried to recall other writing that has evoked such a vivid reaction from me, and the bit that sprung immediately to mind was the first "chapter," aka four paragraphs, of LOLITA.  Do yourself a favor - find a copy, read those first four paragraphs, and see if you don't feel your stomach fly away like you're on a rollercoaster.  Dare ya.

Cliffhanger has recently acquired a Blackberry, as she is apparently indispensable to her company and must be available at all times in case of a crisis.  I compare this to my job, wherein my boss thinks I'm mad at him if he asks me to order a new ink cartridge, and it amuses me.  Now, the Blackberry has changed Cliffhanger's life, whether or not she'll admit it.  At first, she couldn't type on it, so I would get very short correspondence from her normally prolific self, things like "Thx" or "Home ho?"  She was extremely proud of herself when, on a five hour road trip from L.A. to Pebble Beach, she composed a two-paragraph opus on bull semen and sent it (the email, not the bull semen) on its merry way to my email address.  What can I say?  She can't possibly go twenty-four hours without conversing with me, and if we don't have anything pressing to discuss, she'll find something.  Like my career.  Or bull semen.  Of course, this email also happened to come to me the day I found out my job would no longer exist at the end of this month.  In fact, Cliffhanger has an uncanny sense of impending tragedy, so that I was actually on the phone with my boss learning the bad news when the email came.  When I explained my lack of response the next day, Cliffhanger merely replied, "Do you know how long it took me to compose that goddamn thing?"  The Blackberry has rendered her incapable of sympathy, you see.  It has ripped out her soul and replaced it with a microchip and a side of snark.

Now, though, she has reached the low point of her devil-ness, because her new favorite Blackberry trick is to actually respond to  an earlier email from me while I'm SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HER.  And she'll giggle, then look up at  me, and I'll wonder aloud why the fuck she's staring at me and giggling.  Did I forget to wear pants?  Is my nose on fire?  Oh, no.  It's just the new technologically-crazed, maniacal robot that has replaced my friend.

But at least I can now bother her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  I say it's well worth it.            

I have capped off the end of what started as a horrible week with two very encouraging, giggly, happy things.  First, dinner with Successful Writer last night.  He is on pins and needles waiting to see if his film gets distribution, but he took time out of his busy schedule to drag me to Cheebo and prod me about a feature rewrite.  I sometimes forget features, since they're twice as long as drama specs, with a different structure and an Act II that could dampen the enthusiasm of... well, anyone who's enthusiastic.  But Successful Writer insisted my feature career is not, as I told him, dead, so we discussed its future as I devoured everything on the table.  I did let him have two bites of tiramisu, which was oh-so-kind of me.   

Then, today, the Staff Writer from Planet Talented who is now the Story Editor from Planet Talented treated me to lunch!  I wasn't expecting it, but she said she could think of no better way to spend her Friday the 13th.  While she was technically supposed to be teaching me how to script coordinate, we decided that there was too much gossip to catch up on, what with her being great friends with the Abuser, and my constantly guilt tripping New Boss (with whom she has worked on a show), so there was no shutting us up.  We decided to steal the Abuser's script coordinating binder and perhaps have the three of us dive into it over a night of drinking.  After all, there's no better way to learn a job that screws up an entire production if done incorrectly! 

 

And now, without further ado, the photo montage the Honeybee and I made Sunday evening while waiting for potatoes to boil.  Hint:  BOR-ing... but what else were we gonna do?  We were hungry, and you know what they say about watched pots.  That's right.  They don't like to be watched. 

This is what I look like every morning when I wake up.  Cranky.

The world has beaten me down.  I can't even brush my teeth with verve. 

At least I am pleased as punch with my weight.  

 

And my outfit!

 

Until I realize it doesn't match!  Whatever will I wear to work?

Oh, well.  I'll worry about my outfit later... after I steal some cheese.  Damn!  Foiled by a knife. 

Guess I'll just have to be sneakier. 

Max doesn't want me to go.  In case you can't tell, he's climbing up my leg.

In the fluster of the morning, I have forgotten to put on actual clothes!!  Or shoes!!!

But apparently I have a morning talk show to host.  Which is why I have that gigantic fake smile on my face.  It will fade when I realize I'm not wearing makeup either.

By this time, the potatoes were boiling over, and the Honeybee wondered aloud how I could be so unabashedly self-involved as to force her to photograph me in a series of fake morning poses.  I still don't have an answer for her.   

A Conversation with Cube Boy:

Cube Boy:  I read your blog.

Me:  And?

Cube Boy:  I think tragedy, or all the stupid stuff you perceive as tragedy, makes you self-indulgent.

Amen to that, my brother.  Seriously.  I'll stop now. 

Sometimes, the world assrapes you over a period of 72 hours - like, say, theoretically, of course, you find out you're losing your job at the end of the month, so you save as much money as possible, then, say, theoretically, you get a call from your bank saying you've used your debit card at a place where fraudulent activity has been reported, so it's likely your checking and savings accounts will be cleaned out, then, say, and again this is totally hypothetical, your potential roommate backs out at the last minute to live with her boyfriend, and then say your mom is constantly telling you you can always come home, and it's just not what you need to hear right now, and one of your friends cancels plans on you but doesn't seem to realize that you are vulnerable right now and so EVERYTHING is going to rub you the wrong way and make you feel like a loser so now you can't possibly hang out with her ever again and hold your head up at all because she so clearly wants nothing to do with you, and then say also your BEST FRIEND finds out she's moving to Japan for an entire year and you have no one to replace her. 

I did promise the Designated Driver, as I was literally crying on her shoulder yesterday, that, were I to slit my wrists, I would do it in the bathtub so she and the maid would have minimal cleanup.  See?  I'm a thoughtful person. 

I hate feeling used.  If one more thing goes wrong, if one more person hurts my feelings, I'm gonna lose it.  Also, arrogant people can suck it.  Seriously.   

What could have been the worst weekend in a long time actually turned into one of the best.  A special thanks to my mom, who distracted me from reality with a giggly conversation about porn.  It's kind of fun to admit things to your mother, like, say, that your neighbor The Pony actually used to bring porn up to your apartment and watch it with you, merely to see you go goggle-eyed and point and laugh like a five year old at a petting zoo.  Also, props are due the Designated Driver, as per usual, for just being her.  And, last but definitely not least, to the Honeybee, who not only let me sob on her shoulder, but also didn't let me leave her sight for fear of, I don't know, a suicide attempt, or maybe she was just afraid I'd steal her tostada CPK from the fridge while she wasn't looking.  She brought me Pinkberry Friday night without my having to ask, and because she knew I wouldn't ask, then came back Saturday morning and didn't end up leaving till Sunday afternoon.  It's funny, when I look back at many of the landmark tragedies in my life, not that there have been many, but she's been there throughout most of them, tap-dancing in fuzzy slippers to make me smile, or impersonating Carrot Top, if I needed to get out my anger.  She's even gone so far as to fashion voodoo dolls out of socks and Sarah Polley dolls out of clay.  I don't like to wallow, but it's nice to have someone around whom you don't have to pretend to be strong.