But this past month has been busy.  I finally moved, and living alone is the greatest thing ever!!!  How did I go so long with roommates?  How???  Also, Cliffhanger and I are working on another pilot, which is exciting and frustrating and scary and endlessly rewarding.  I am always amazed at her ability to give of her time to these crazy side projects of mine.  I'm not sure why she does it, unless it's due to my superior manipulation skills.  Yeah, that could be it.  I love to push people and see how much of a shit I can get away with being before they crack.  But I do it out of love.

Oh, but the big news is that The Honeybee is back from Japan!!!  It's been tough not having her here.  She has known me for much longer than any of my L.A. friends, so not having her here for this year, which has arguably been the most exciting year of my life, has been difficult. 

And now I'm off to nap.  Ah, office couches... How's everyone else doing?  I fully expect comments, even though I've behaved inexcusably badly by not updating.  Commence.

I will see if I can sneak down there for more pictures during the day.  Thanks everyone, for checking in!

Truthfully, the past month has been a blur.  As some of you know, I am getting my own place, for the very first time in my ramen-noodle-plagued life.  I cannot tell you how excited I am.  No more fighting for the couch, the remote, or the shower.  No more having to clean up other people's shit or try to dust around their clutter.  I am SUCH an only child, and this promotion has only caused my space issues to break through my thick skull and clamor for my attention. 

Apples to Apples has expressed her concern that living on my own will turn me into a shut-in.  To which I replied, Who cares?  Is there ever anything happening in the world that beats a good episode of Law & Order?  Okay, yes, maybe, but only, like, once every three months, and when that thing happens, whatever it is, I will be there to witness it.  But I will spend the remaining twelve weeks sleeping on the sofa to the gentle lilt of syndicated USA.

In other news, I went home for my mom's birthday two weekends ago.  I have a love/hate relationship with home.  I love my parents, love spending time with them, but there's something stifling about my hometown.  If I'm there more than ten days, I start to go batshit crazy.  I have no idea what that's about - maybe the fear that I will have to move back there one day.  Then I remember I don't have to do anything, because I am a spoiled, entitled child who has had a relatively easy time of it.

One annoying thing did happen.  I sent out an email two weeks before my visit to all my friends from home, telling them I would be in for the weekend and would love to see them, and letting them know I was promoted, because I thought they'd be happy for me.  How many emails did I get in return?  Zero.  Fine.  I don't expect a party or a ticker tape parade.  What I don't like, though, is the accusation that I think I'm too good for them, which I occasionally get when I go back there.  How can I be the snob, when they are the ones who won't respond to an email?  I talked to another one of our writers about this.  She's from a small town in Texas, and she said her friends were happy to talk to her and hear all her LA stories when she was struggling, but as soon as she got her break, they wanted nothing to do with her.  I think that's sad, but I guess I understand it.  I don't think for one second that any of my friends are that insecure.  They are probably just busy with their own lives, which, good for them.  But if I said my feelings weren't hurt, I'd be lying.  And snobs don't lie.

Anyway, I have nothing else to complain about, and that in itself is worth celebrating.  PLUS, I got to meet the lovely and talented author of Dating Is Hell (www.dating-is-hell.blogspot.com), the novelist herself (www.katiemorton.com).  She has long been one of my very favorite bloggers, and we are both working on novels, so when she emailed me to say she was coming to LA, I was thrilled!  I find her ambition and energy very motivating, so we are going to start "answering to" each other for our prose.  I mean, I haven't talked to Cliffhanger about this, and I should, because she's the only person I've let read any of that crappy monstrosity of run-on sentences.  She will most certainly object, because she objects to most ideas I have.  And I haven't told my agents I'm even writing a novel, because they will run screaming in the general direction of the poorhouse.  I would get the same response from them if I told them I were writing a play, a short story, or crafting a diorama.  As I like to say, you don't move to Hollywood for artistic integrity.  Oh, wait.  I don't like to say that.  In fact, no one I know says that.  In fact, when someone asks us what we do for a living, we say, "We make the stories that come between the tampon ads." 

To make a long story short, our production staff is back today.  There are many benefits to this - the phones are actually answered, packages received, coffee delivered every afternoon... but mainly, our kitchen is now fully stocked.  Before it was all soy milk and fat free yogurt (what is it with writers having eating disorders now?  I thought I would bypass that when I gave up the acting aspirations I never had).  Now it's chocolate covered pretzels, pita chips, fresh fruit, cereal, sandwich stuff, rice frickin' pilaf... and assortments of candybars!!!  And today I remembered something I'd filed away years and years ago - I LOVE Mr. Goodbars!!!  It's one of those things I knew I either loved or hated.  And now, after trying one, I remembered - LOVE!!!  At first bite!!!  Pardon me while I go gain five pounds... it's good to be back in production.    

This is all a way of reprimanding myself for not updating the blog, so there you have it:  I am a lazy, non-free spirit who apparently fears sharing her life with others.  But I knew that even before I started the blog, so there you go.

The past couple of weeks have been interesting.  It's kind of the calm after the storm.  I think, as a result, I've been in a bit of a snit.  What do you do when you have worked so long for something and you get it?  You are thankful, right?  And boy, oh boy, am I ever thankful.  The people who gave me my break fought for me.  They saw something in me I knew was there.  But unlike others, they didn't ignore it.  So yes, I am grateful.  But now... now things are settling in again, and life is becoming... life. 

One thing that is going to help is getting my own place.  I am SO EXCITED for this.  My own space.  Not having to worry about NEVER having the apartment to myself.  I am an only child.  I have been my entire life up until now, and I will continue to be so.  I am a tantrum-having, feet-stomping, passionate person who has MAJOR space issues.  I used to think I needed to change.  Now, I just really don't give a shit.  I am sick of planning my life around when I will have the apartment to myself.  I very much feel the need to be alone right now, and I'm not sure why exactly that is.  Why now?  I feel like I've been pushing my friends away a little, being difficult for no reason, but sometimes that's just the way I am.  I like it when people fight for me.  Childish of me, totally, but my friends are smarter than I am about who I am and what I need. . They are mind readers.  They have been there for me every step of the past few months.  They have fought for me.  They have made sure I never felt alone or scared or like an unemployed loser.  And then I got promoted, and they celebrated with me, and they continue not to let me feel alone or scared. 

Some people love to knock Los Angeles and the people who flock here, but I have really lucked out.  Even in my darkest hours out here, I've always had faith that this town would take care of me.  Just like I've had faith that my discipline would pay off.  And I'm right... for now.

And then something weird happened.  Something incredible.  Due to my lovely bosses, I got an agent.  Two agents, actually, who call me every week to check in and call each other names and both despise bowling, just as I do.  And then my lovely bosses took a chance on me, fought for me, and gave me my break.  So I'm a real live, paid writer now, working on a show I love, with people I respect, and I'm still pinching myself, nearly a month later.  I'm still wondering what I did to deserve this, even though I am a bit of a workaholic and I would rather be writing than talking, and I wanted to prove all those people who laughed when I told them what I wanted to do with my life wrong.  There's nothing I despise more than people who dream but don't act on those dreams.  That's just lazy.  When I told my high school English teacher I wanted to write and would appreciate some advice, she laughed and said, "Marry rich."  Imagine my surprise that I don't have to.... for now..... 

Then there was my Uncle Sarge's funeral... Uncle Sarge was my great uncle, the brother of both my grandmother and the infamous Mammy Jane.  So of course he attended Mammy's eightieth birthday party.  My parents, who were out of town camping with the annoying dog, did not.  I was asked to go in their place, and, since the Honeybee happened to be visiting that weekend, she came along.  There was cake, there were flasks, there was the proverbial group photo, which my family insisted the Honeybee join.  Fast forward several months, when Sarge has kicked the bucket.  Someone decided it would be a good idea to make Sarge a funeral collage, which they did, with posterboard and streamers and the photo of Mammy's party, among others.  I found my father staring at the collage, so much so that no one else could really get a good look.  "What are you doing?"  Says I, "There are other people here who want to see pictures of Sarge jitterbugging and herding cattle (or whatever the hell else Sarge was doing in those photos - the man liked to dance.  And drink.  Often at the same time.)."  And my dad says, "I'm not in this collage."  I respond, "So what?  He was an uncle-in-law.  You're not fair game for a funeral collage."  "But..." Dad sputters, "But...The (Honeybee) is in this collage!  I've been a member of this family for twenty-five years, and she trumped me!"  "Well," says I, "Guess you should have gone to Mammy's party." 

Dad is now upset with me.  Very upset.  And granted, that comment was a bit snarky.  But it was NO REASON for him to stand beside the funeral collage for the rest of visitation and point to the Honeybee, telling everyone who looked upon her that she was "Melissa's special friend."  It confused my grandmother in particular, since I'd just been through a bad break-up.  With a BOY.  But it made my dad feel better to tell everyone I was a lesbian, so whatever.

I was discussing the funeral the 'rents are attending today with my mom, and I have gained additional insight into the dead woman.  Apparently, when I was three, said woman asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I responded, "Hamburger buns."  So she sent me a card with a dollar in it so I could buy myself some hamburger buns.  I'm wondering why I would have asked for them - they don't seem to be any sort of forbidden fruit item.  Can anyone think of any reason why hamburger buns would have been a holiday-worthy treat in 1983 Kentucky?  Cause I got nothin'. 

Carry on.

The pilot is (relatively) finished.  I was going to try to get away with not really looking at it anymore and sending it off to the powers that be, but Cliffhanger texted me as soon as she got off the plane last night demanding (not asking if it was done, mind you) that I email her the script immediately.  I pity people who don't have soul-crushing drill sergeant friends to keep them in line. 

I also pity Jodie Sweetin, whose meth addiction got a poor excuse for screen time in the E! True Hollywood Story - Full House I watched this morning.  All I'm saying is it should have taken top billing over the Olsen twins' successful clothing line/exercise video/pre-porn empire.  Meth is much more interesting than success. 

Which brings me to Heath Ledger.  I'm sorry he's dead.  He was hot, he was talented, and he named his daughter Matilda.  And I like that name because of the Roald Dahl book.  Anything else I say won't be profound or snarky, so I'll shut up now. 

Despite all the stress of, you know, producing something that will trick people into believing they can make money off me, I have had a lovely weekend.  Dinner at Tender Greens (if you're ever in Culver City and strapped for cash, stop by - nothing costs more than ten dollars) Friday, hiking Saturday morning, Mexican food with Prancers Saturday night, then writing all day yesterday. 

Let me just stop myself right here - I am a diva when I'm writing.  I lose all sense of decorum, I will eat an entire pound of chocolate MERELY TO PROCRASTINATE and not because it tastes good, and I get upset if I can't find an episode of "Little House on the Prairie" to keep on in the background.  Did you hear me when I mentioned the word procrastinate?  Okay, good.  Because yesterday, I discovered Facebook.  So you'll be glad to know I was able to put the chocolate down in lieu of stalking everyone I have ever met and whose name I can remember.  I now have almost forty friends.  I think I can break a hundred before I get this &*&#$ pilot done.  If it weren't a frickin' national holiday, with people not checking email and spending their days at the beach and whatnot, I would SO TOTALLY have already broken a hundred. 

Yesterday, I spent a sum total of three hours on Facebook.  Between scenes.  During lunch.  And I may or may not have sidled on over to see if anyone had confirmed/validated/whatever the proper Facebookian term may be our friendship while I was in the midst of writing the crucial Act III break.  They hadn't.  Assholes.  Anyway, as a result of this newfangled way to make every adult on the planet feel like they will eternally be in middle school, I got behind on my writing.  I was supposed to grab dinner from Bay Cities with the Designated Driver, and they close at 6.  She knocked on my door promptly at 5:30, when I had just installed the Good Karma function on my Facebook page. 

"Oh, no," says I.  "I am right in the middle of this VERY.  IMPORTANT.  SCENE.  And I cannot possibly think about food until I can understand the central conflict.  Not only of this character, but of the world.  Because these issues I'm dealing with in the script, they are small, but they can be applied on a larger scale, see, and how can I stop now?  I cannot.  And I cannot leave to get something so trivial as food, when art is feeding my soul--"

"--So you want me to bring you something back?"  Says the Designated Driver.

"I couldn't ask you to do that." 

"So you want maple turkey with havarti cheese, the works, and hot peppers, right?"

"Oh, fine.  If it makes you feel better, go ahead.  But I can't even think of eating--"

And she was already out the door with a roll of her eyes.  Half an hour later, I ate that entire sandwich in five minutes.  Then I washed my hands and went back to Facebook.  

Art's cool and everything, but given the choice, I'd pick a turkey sandwich every time.   

Don't worry, though.  I have spent my day productively - applying to tutoring jobs, food shopping (did you know Coffeemate makes a Blueberry Cobbler flavor?  That alone made my day), and that favorite pastime of the unemployed, emailing ex-boyfriends about my current fascination with "The Real Housewives of Orange County."  Seriously, boredom works wonders at melting past tensions.

I was GOING to post a photo montage of my adventures in Japan.  Alas, the Honeybee has failed to email me said photos, and I wouldn't be caught dead uploading my own pictures.  What, did you think I actually had any marketable skills?  So when that idea fell through, I was GOING to post a photo montage of my adventures with Guitar Hero.  Alas, my Crazy Cousin, aka the 40 year old version of me, has failed to email me said photos, probably because she's off promoting economic development in my home state with a trip to Detroit.  Or something.  Yeah, I don't know what she does.  Except that she's every bit as cool and manipulative and cooly manipulative as I am. 

So I 'spose the photo posts will have to wait.  And weren't you just holding your breath to see me with the two pound holiday weight surplus?  Tomorrow, my dears.  Tomorrow.  Or the next day, if my friends and family revel in procrastination as much as I do. 

Now that I am back from my world travels (if Japan and Kentucky can be counted as "traveling the world"), I am settling back to unemployed life in Los Angeles.  Unemployment is difficult for me.  I despise sitting around the house, no matter how many "Real Housewives of Orange County" marathons Bravo broadcasts to tempt me.  So this unemployment term, I have developed a set of daily rules:

1.)  Must get out of bed by 8:30 AM.

2.)  Work out.

3.)  Apply for at least five jobs, anything from juggler to Japanese tutor.  Note:  I possess neither of these skills, but I feel the need to paper the town.

4.)  Get dressed.  Sweatpants do not count.  Neither do belly shirts, Melissa, no matter how much you whine.  Yes, your abs look fabulous, but no!  Belly shirts do not count!

5.)  Take a walk around my neighborhood every afternoon.  Watch the happy families play on their lawns and converse with neighbors, or argue at the dinner table.  Still in their work clothes.

6.)  Let my friends and family know how much I appreciate their support and be careful not to take my frustration out on them.  Cliffhanger told me the other day that she couldn't tell if I thought she was a horrible person, and my eyeballs nearly popped out of my head just as my heart was in the process of breaking into a million pieces.  For me, it's always Opposite Day.  Maybe it shouldn't be.

In other news, I walked the picket lines at Fox (yes, I hate NBC more, but Fox is closer to my house - how's that for having principles?) yesterday and ran into H-Berts, G-Money, the Staff Writer, Entourage, and, well, I guess I didn't run into Prancers, since she picked my lazy ass up and drove me the two blocks to the studio.  But I discussed my single New Year's Resolution with H-Berts as we marched all militant-like:

H-Berts:  So how was the flight to Tokyo?

Me:  Fine, except for the landing, cause I saw this cockroach right as we were about to hit the ground.  And it was right above me.  And I couldn't scream, cause it's not good to scream when your plane is landing, so I kinda... flicked it on the sleeping Chinese girl next to me.

H-Berts:  (horrified, stunned)

Me:  But my New Year's Resolution is not to flick bugs on people anymore.

H-Berts:  Glad to see you've set the bar high for yourself this year. 

Happy New Year! 

But I'm not here to give you strike talk.  I would rather talk about... drumroll, please... Timothy Olyphant's morning sports report on Indie 103.1.  But Melissa, you might say, don't you think sports are, in general, a waste of time?  Why, yes, yes I do.  I cannot for the life of me sit through one quarter of a football game without shedding tears of boredom.  How is it compelling unless someone gets bone-crushingly hurt, which seems to upset people but is the only thing that can keep me awake?  So how is Timothy Olyphant's sports report compelling?  Because he finds sports as tear-sheddingly boring as I do!!!!  Here's how it goes down:  Every morning around 9:45, the DJ calls up Tim, who sounds like he's just woken up and can't for the life of him remember why he's getting a call so early in the morning.  He will ask, "Now why'd you call me again?" repeatedly.  He will delay talking about sports - he'd rather talk movies, which makes sense, him being an actor and all (and one of the illustrious stars of GO, that gem), he'd rather discuss his kids, his marriage, what breakfast cereal he plans on consuming.  Finally, the DJ will get him back on track, and Timothy Olyphant will not have an opinion on sports despite being a commentator.  Instead, he will READ THE SPORTS DIRECTLY FROM THE PAPER in a tone that is simultaneously pissed off and apathetic.  He will wrap up with one or two tidbits that the paper failed to publish, such as, "There was a horse race this weekend.  Know who won?  A HORSE!"  Brilliant.  Seriously brilliant. 

Happy weekends to y'all!!!