Monday, November 17, 2008

manless dogless fireless

there are fires raging across this great state, and that is a true tragedy. on a smaller scale, it's a tragedy that i am "dating" five to six men, and i don't really want any of them. yes, all the free meals, free rides, free movies, and making out have led me to the conclusion that i am not smitten with any of these cats. tra-ge-dy. how is that possible? well, let me break it down. first, there's the oldest one, the one from my personal 80s movie. the one who would be in my best personal interest to like. we've only had two dates, the second being a hockey game, which was an excellent choice on his part. AND he bought me a present, two presents actually. he had two books sent to me on topics that showed he listens when i talk. how romantic. listening AND buying me something i would like for no reason. however, i still have no desire to kiss him again. on our last date, i got out of it because he recently got over a cold, so i used that as my excuse. i mean, it would be great to like him more. he's mature, stable, sweet, fun, lets me drive his car, which CLEARLY means he likes me, but i just don't feel it. still. and i'm sure i would know by now, right?

then there's the 31 year old, who i've been out on the most dates with. he's also very nice and sweet and smart, blah blah blah. HOWEVER, his conversational skills are still severely lacking. i am so tired of having to perform CPR on our fucking conversations and watching that shit flatline. it's so annoying! there are some people who are just not phone people, but who do quite well in person. he is neither a phone person or an in-person person. on top of that, the last time we made out, his hands we shaking as they were making their way up my shirt. i felt like some skanky 9th grade math teacher about to do the little virgin boy who sits in the back of her class. and i am certainly in no position to be the sexually experienced one in a relationship. although...maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea because a lot of guys out there think they know what they're doing, and they don't. just because they watched some porno and saw some dude slapping the shit out of some chick's clitoris, then they want to bring that shit into the bedroom, and that's not hot. that shit hurts! fyi. but i digress. so between the lack of conversation and the absence of desire to take my clothes off in front of him or have him take his off, i think that one is a no-go.

number 3. the 24 year old. the young, hot actor. well, that one...that one is certainly not going anywhere except the bedroom. yeah, yeah, i did it again. i said i wasn't going to sleep with him again, and i did. ah c'est la vie. it's only the second time i've gotten laid this year. i think it's okay. anyway, unlike the others, he's never bought me a meal, a movie, a soda. nothing. true, he's a struggling actor, but i'm not even sure he would if he wasn't struggling. of course, we are just "friends," so he's not really "supposed" to buy me anything, i guess. anyway, the sex was fine. he sweats a lot though. it was getting into my eyes, and they started to burn. then i think some dripped into my mouth. but aside from that, and the bruises on my ass, it was fine. but...i did...um...i was kinda thinking about my ex while we were doing it, which i think is a bad sign. it wasn't the whole time; it was more like a couple of quick fleeting thoughts, and then a quick smack of my ass would bring me back into the present. so what does that tell me? i'm not sure. i think maybe i should stop doing him if i'm going to be thinking about somebody else because that means i'm not that into him, i believe. and hell, he just gets to come over and have sex with me, and i don't even get a fucking jamba juice out of it? lame.

numbers 4 and 5 i will group together because they are friends/acquaintances of numbers 2 and 3, so i guess that kinda throws a wrench in things right from jump. furthermore, though i'm attracted to their personalities, i'm not attracted to their bodies (short and soft versus tall and soft), also a problem. oh and one is balding and one is a smoker, and those qualities will make me clamp on the chastity belt real quick. despite all these lil' hiccups, i did give them both a shot or two. but again, i'm just not feeling them.

then there's 6, the one i met on the street. he's really not even worth talking about, as his "family emergencies" have prevented us from having an official date. i mean, maybe your grandpa did get hit by a truck and maybe your mom did get her hair caught in an escalator. i don't really know, and i'm not one to second-guess anyone's reasons. shit does in fact happen. but it sounds a little suspect if you ask me.

so what's the point? i don't really like any of them, so i should get rid of them, right? or no? do i just enjoy their company and continue to go out and only tell them how i feel if and when it comes up? or do i tell them now and go back to my nights on the couch? i don't know. i don't know when or how to end things like this. and the worst part is that they're not bad people; they're great. they're gentlemen (for the most part), and i'm sure that some woman would be so happy with each of them. but it's not me. in fact, if they all disappeared, i wouldn't be at all devastated. so maybe this means it's time for me to get off the ride...
unbelieveable. out of 5 or 6 guys, not a one. not one gives me that feeling. that feeling that says, "screw everybody else. it's me and you." i have no desire to be the girlfriend of any of these men. and the one guy who i would like to be with is an emotionally unavailable gemini ex, who i think about when i'm messing around with someone else. twisted. i was hoping that one of these guys would rid me of all feelings for him, but that hasn't happened. so in an effort to purge myself of him completely, i told him i shouldn't hang out with him anymore. it didn't go over as well as i'd hoped. but it was necessary...i guess. i don't know. i don't know anything. this is all ridiculously un-simple.
i want to feel fire in L.A.

Friday, October 31, 2008

i'm so hot right now i'm scaring myself (halloween reference)

sheer boredom is forcing me to write this. it's become increasingly difficult to pretend to work. and i'm tired of writing "bored" over and over on this piece of paper. in french. if perhaps i didn't share an office with the bosslady, it might be a bit easier. but i can only stare at the same document for so long. pretend to read or write the same thing for only so many hours before things start to look fishy. i can only hope she mistakes this blog, which i ingeniously type in a blank email from my work account, for a lengthy analysis of fundraising efforts.
on with the show.

i've had a fistful of dates lately. which for me is like a monsoon. to follow up the two from the week before, i had three last weekend. Friday's date was like an homage to days of thunder or some other 80s movie that involved speeding down the road next to the beach, top down on the convertible, hair blowing to the tune of Prince. and then there was driving through the mountains at 80 mph and then there was dancing to prince and smooching standing on top of the mountain overlooking the city. so fabulously cliche it all was.
however, when we did kiss, i felt...i felt nothing. well, i felt, "wow. let's not do that again." tragic because he did everything else so well. opening doors, asking questions, making reservations, paying attention, showing initiative. then there's the guy from Saturday, who took me out for a delicious meal. but i felt like if i didn't ask him questions, that we would sit there in silence. i literally felt like i was carrying the conversation on my back, across the sahara, in the blazing sun. i guess he enjoyed himself though because he asked me out again for this weekend, right after we did that "oh, are you going to kiss me?" dance, which ended with his lips on my hairline. Sunday, it was the one who is too young and too cute and too unavailable. we just laid on the couch watching Hook, so i'm not sure that really counts as a "date." and also, we're just "friends." who had "sex." "once."

so here's how the week progressed. Monday, i met a guy on the street. let me rephrase that. i met a guy outside a cafe (much more sophisticated). actually he was outside the blockbuster next door to a cafe, but that's not important. we talked, but no information was exchanged. no sooner do i get back to work than my phone rings. it was him. yet again, another guy with some of that good ol' initiative tracked me down on the internet through my job's website. i'm not sure if we'll go out, that remains to be seen, but damn i love a man who will take matters into his own hands (even if it does involve the internet). then mid-week i had a "business" dinner, but i think the guy kinda liked me. my suspicion was furthered when he invited me to a halloween party. the same halloween party that another guy (the one who doesn't ask questions) invited me to. AWKWARD. i think that's going to be a no-go on both ends. man, this being wanted business is sort of stressful. i think my eczema is flaring up.

i'm not complaining. don't get me wrong. i plan to ride this boat 'til it don't float no mo. however, it just reemphasizes how rare chemistry is. that one little thing that can make everything else, good or bad, obsolete. i haven't found that yet in my fistful of dates...well, not really. but i'll keep enjoying the ride until it hits me.
i am wishin' for a happy halloween in L.A.

Monday, October 20, 2008

part II

how is it that one can go from no dates for muuuunths to three dates with three different gents on the same weekend? i don't know, but see that's what i'm saying, if that can happen then surely i can get paid to entertain people (see part I). so i'm sure that having someone's tongue in my mouth and having boys call me has indirectly made me more optimistic in terms of my career. let me knock on my faux wood desk right now before my social life goes right back down the crapper and takes my optimistic toe nail with it (again, see part I). i met one guy at a work thing a few weeks back. my co-worker got his number for me and told me that he's from georgia (the country near russia). he was quite cute and about 28, i guessed. well, turns out he is not 28, he's 24. and he's not from georgia the country, but georgia the state, and of course, he just broke up with his girlfriend and is not looking for anything serious (i swear i could find these suckers in a tornado with a blindfold on). at least he was upfront from day 1, which is appreciated. and he is quite an exceptional maker-outer and pretty damn cute, so what are you going to do? it's so unlike me to just get it on with someone like that, but hey f*ck it...and f*ck me, i guess.

then there's this guy who i met when i was out watching last week's presidential debate. we talked for quite a long time, and he hung out with me and the people i was with the entire evening, but when he left, we didn't exchange info, which i thought was odd, but whatever. well, little did i know that mr. smarty pants felt that he had acquired enough information to be able to find me, if he wanted to, which he did. equipped with only my common first name and place of employment, he found me and emailed me. he's very nice, and older. my guess is mid 30s. stable (at least it appears that way), with a good job (something to do with software) and no kids. just a strong chicago accent and an affinity for beer and whiskey. we were supposed to go out yesterday, but he got called into work, so he had to cancel. but as an older, mature gentleman should do, he 1) apologized, 2) gave a legitimate reason as to why we could not have dinner and 3) rescheduled during the same phone call with BONUS) a plan as to where we will go and a promise to 4) make it up to me. well done.

then there's my co-worker's friend, the one who i mentioned when i went to the cemetery to see Alien. well, he was also at the debate watch with me, my co-worker and her husband, and per my co-worker, she sensed that this he got a little jealous when this other chicago guy was being so attentive. keep in mind, he'd never asked me out or asked me for my number, so it was sort of surprising when he called me on saturday, and i ended up seeing him for dinner and following that up with a night out at a bar with excellent music with the young guy (see paragraph 1) for a mutual friend's birthday. between the saki and beer i had with dinner and the amaretto sours i had at the bar, i was feelin' alllright. and for a "non-drinker" such as myself, that alllrightness came on pretty quickly. and i was looking rather fly that night (as both of them pointed out), and other gentleman at the bar took notice, which i think prompted young guy to want to mark his "we're just friends" territory by touching, smacking, grinding my ass whenever possible. oh, what fun.

i have to actually do some work now in L.A.

part I

yawn. it's another Monday. at my job. i'm still here, slumbering through meetings and agendas, mindlessly taking rsvps and ordering table cloths. blah blah blah. this was all supposed to be over. i could have sworn by now that i was on my way out. see, i was finalist for the WB writing program, and i was pretty sure they would take me, and i was pretty sure i'd be on my way to bigger and better things in a matter of months. but life, with her ever-fickle, always unpredictable self would have no such thing. after having several weeks balancing the fine line between self-confidence and self-doubt, optimism and preparation for the worst and after having finally convinced myself that this is what i deserved, this respectable workshop was god's way of finally opening the door for me and having mercy on my soul, i got the call that it was not to be. they went with more experienced individuals, they said. and i cried. cried a little bit in front of this very computer at my desk, cried a whole lot more on my couch into a piece of chocolate cake (cheesecake factory's linda's fudge cake). i blubbered because i realized i'd been banking on this for quite a while, and suddenly it was gone and along with it, any immediate prospect of occupational bliss. i snotted at the thought of having to do this job for the foreseeable future without one ounce of hope. it was the promise of something better that had allowed me to endure, and that was gone. and so i was just left with the reality of what IS sans the shimmery life raft of what could be and should be.
but i didn't immediately plot my return to texas. nor did i decide that clearly, i'm on the wrong path. as much as it pained me to see that opportunity float away, somewhere, deep inside my right fourth toe's nail (or perhaps the left...i dunno), that little part of me knew that i would be okay. knew/knows. i don't know when, and i don't know how, but everything will be okay. and i can't believe i'm actually saying that, let alone believing it, considering things haven't ever looked this bleak. but '08 is all about change and new shit and realizing the impossible, is it not? in '08, experience is all relative and often times inconsequential. so i just need to wait for the right sucker to take a chance on me. i'm not asking to like lead the free world or anything, just let me write. that's all.
i am a changed woman. i am. although, my optimism could simply be resulting from the mere fact that i've been making out a lot and finally got laid (go 2008!). but that's part 2.
i believe nothing says "hope" like a lil' bump n grind in L.A.

Monday, September 22, 2008

overdue

this weekend, i went to the hollywood land cemetery to watch Alien. for those who don't know, hollywood cemetery is huge cemetery in LA where famous and regular folks are buried, and during the summer, they show movies there. outside. on a wall. it's like a drive-in with gravestones and no cars. i thought it'd be a little freaky, but in actuality i felt bad for the dead people (and their families). i mean, who wants 1000+ people picnicking, getting drunk and watching a movie at the cemetery where their aunt ethel is buried? and who comes up with such an idea? anyway, i'd always wanted to go. i'm glad i did, but it was much better in theory than in reality. i think i was uncomfortable because i was so cold and damp, and the couple in front of me kept fondling one another, so i had to keep moving to see around them.

before the movie, we all sat on blankets and chairs and ate. my co-worker's friend was there...this guy she has been trying to match me up with since February. the first time i saw him, i wasn't paying much attention because i thought his friend was cute. the second time, i thought "absolutely not." this time, i thought "maybe." what got me was the fact that he REMEMBERED shit that i'd said the last time we saw each other. like he actually was listening. when we were in line at the cemetery, he asked me how my fantasy football teams were doing, how my writing was going, who the cowboys were playing the next day. when we sat down, he even poured me a glass of wine because as he said, "i remember that you don't like beer." it was incredible. listening and retaining information is SUCH a turn on. i was so dumbstruck that i couldn't even think of smart things to ask back, or say for that matter. like when i said i was probably going to close my eyes during Alien because i thought it would be scary (it wasn't), and he said something like, "well that kinda defeats the purpose." and i said something like, "well, i'll just pretend i'm blind and experience the movie as a blind person would." omg. dumb! it felt dumb coming out. a train wreck of words. i can't believe i finished that sentence. he just nodded and smiled. he was such a....what's the word...jen-- gyn-- gentleman! that's it. he was such a gentleman. he gave me some of his cheese and bread and offered me some salami, which in my book, equates to "romance."

when the movie was over, he came over and asked, "how'd you like it?" his friend answered, so i assumed he was talking to him, but when i looked, he was staring at me, and again i found myself completely thrown. like, you just got up off your blanket and took three steps over here JUST to ask me what i thought about the movie? my response was, "i'm alive." what? of course, you're alive. as if the alien was going to jump out and eat you. dumb. then i managed to say something like "it wasn't that scary." to try to make my previous statement make sense. to top it off, when we were trying to figure out what to do next, he turned to me and said, "what are YOU up for?" me? are you talking to me?

clearly, my standards for simple men-women exchanges are below low. that's sad. anyway, he's in his early 30s (a good thing) and has a job and an education and all that, so he's a good guy. but i'm still not sure we would ever date.

anyway, i got home a little before 2 a.m. and proceeded to put on my pajamas and a pair of platform heels then clomped around on my hard wood floors. i decided that if i have to listen to my neighbor stomp her chunky feet around and be annoyed then i would do my part to annoy her at the most inopportune time. i'm not sure if it worked, but it made me feel good.

switching topics...let's say you're single and your friend or co-worker tells you about her boyfriend or the guy she's dating and how wonderful he is and how many trips they take and how much money and orgasms he gives her. now let's say at some point, you don't want to hear it. does that make you a bad friend? i'm inclined to say yes. now...don't get me wrong. i think that being subjected involuntarily to those tales is slightly cruel and unusual. it's like telling a carnivore whose jaw is wired shut how juicy your t-bone steak was or telling an amputee how great you think your legs are. yet in spite of the fact that it can be difficult...IS difficult at times, i still say it's rude to not want to listen. obviously, i'm speaking as the listener here, not the story teller. and it isn't always bad...in fact, sometimes, i want to know, as a someone who wants to share in her friend's clitoral and financial joy. sometimes i want to live vicariously. but there are times...many times...when stories involving love and multiple orgasms in a maserati are the last things i want to hear.

this leads me to my final (and totally unrelated) point of the day. today, my mom said to me for the millionth time, "that just means god has something better for you" in reference to something i didn't get. what prompted her to say that is irrelevant. i wasn't really all that burnt up about not getting it anyway, but that time-worn statement got me thinking. is that really true? does god always have something better for us? or is that simply something we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better (those of us who have told ourselves that)? can you honestly say that every person who's had their heartbroken has ended up with someone better than the last person? has every person who's been fired ended up with a better job? it doesn't even have to be in the immediate future. but long term? i don't think that's the case. maybe it's the fault of that individual (i.e. if they'd stop falling for the same assholes or stop limiting their potential they WOULD get something better). then again...maybe not. i don't know. i'd like to believe it. i do...most of the time. however, one might consider rephrasing it to read, "god will eventually give you something better. maybe not this year or next. maybe not even for several years. but eventually, you'll get yours. if you don't go crazy first."

i am on some philosophical shit today in L.A.

Monday, September 8, 2008

rehab

i did my part to help end global warming this weekend and went absolutely nowhere. well, i didn't drive anywhere. saturday, i left my house when i ran down the sidewalk barefoot in my pajamas, chasing after the pizza man because i forgot to give him part of his tip, and i didn't want him to think i was a cheap-ass. sunday, i left my house between the cowboys and the colts games for some chin chin and pinkberry, but that was on foot, and all my items were to-go, so my human contact was limited. i'd had enough human contact on friday when, after i work, i met a friend at fatburger (delicious food, yet it always seems to have oddest, grimiest crowd), and then i spent the remainder of the night at the laundrymat. i planned, yes planned, to go on friday night because i thought no one else would be there. i was mistaken. it was like the breakfast club times 20 except without the rich girl or the jock, just all the other delinquents (don't think i'm excluding myself. afterall, i was there on friday night with them). i even saw a homeless man who appeared to casually "shop" through the clothes left in an unattended dryer. i also saw a baby roach. laudrymats gross me out. lord only knows who stuck their clothes in the washer/dryer before you. yeesh. a shirt of mine fell on the floor while i was transporting it from the washing machine to the dryer. i thought about throwing it away. i certainly couldn't put it in the dryer with the clean clothes. i still haven't decided what to do with it. right now it's lying on the back of a chair at my house, awaiting its sentence. i could keep it until i go back to that godforsaken place, but who knows when that will be. i was kinda over that shirt anyway...

while willingly confined to my house i read new moon, the second book in the twilight series. yes, i'm one of thooooose people. watched countless hours of football, the wire, cheaters...and whatever else wasn't going to end with someone caressing someone else's face.

saturday night, i got a text from someone talking shit about the cowboys. i didn't recognize the number, so my inner nancy drew kicked in. i dialed a fake number using the same area code of the text. ohio. deductive reasoning ensued. "the cowboys are playing the browns. who do i know that likes the browns?" i deduced that it had to be this guy who i hadn't talked to since...january maybe. we met at a lounge. went out once. he was a "texter," and one day, i blocked text messages on my phone, so that was the end of that. i figured he thought i just decided to ignore him since i don't think he knew about my texting situation, so i was surprised that he would contact me after all these months and pick up where we left off...talking shit. we sent a few messages back and forth, made a bet which he lost the next day, yadah yadah. amidst all of this, i start to think, "hmmm...maybe i could...he was funny and nice...why didn't i....oh, yeah..." funny, nice, motivated, yes. attractive he was not. not to me. not the second time i saw him. not from the front anyway. his profile was cool, but head on... i don't know. it's weird because at the lounge, he was cute from the front. but at the restaurant, not so much. and by the time we got back to his house, i was over it. claiming that i was freezing, i put my coat over my head and balled up on the couch like a rollie pollie in hopes that he would not try to put his lips on me. i was still pining over the old boy at that point too (home depot boy), so i'm sure that didn't help.

speaking of which...i sort of broke that promise about having nothing to do with him anymore. of course, i did. between wednesday and friday, we exchanged 20+ emails in a conversation which started by me asking if he thought we would ever date again (which was sparked by someone asking me). his response, in typical boy fashion, was "i can't answer that. i'm not clairvoyant. however if you're asking if i think we COULD ever date again, then yea. why not? why? what do you think?" i responded by saying, "i'm not clairvoyant, but yea. why not?" more emails followed (including him asking me what i REALLY thought) and at the end, i was more confused though he'd said nothing negative. so for real now. i'm gettin' clean. no more. i can't deal. i need simple, straightforward love and lust.
my name is manlessdogless, and i have been clean for three days now in L.A.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

there are no words...

think about your most annoying co-worker. now imagine having sex with that person.

that's what i did last night in one of the many weird dreams i had. interestingly enough, my most annoying co-worker is a chick. not like a hot chick. but a frumpy, nose-blowing, only eats lentils and wheat germ type chick. a chick who laughs after everything she says even when it's not funny. "my computer's not working. ha ha ha." "hold the elevator! ha ha ha." a took her cousin to the prom chick. an every time she speaks i cringe chick.

not only was i having sex with her, but it was non-reciprocal sex. i was doing all the work! my face was fully in her stash (omg! i can't believe that a) this happened and b) i'm repeating it). it was a full on cunnilingus tutorial, and i was the expert.
i need a moment...
okay, so as i try to forget that i imagined what her hairless vag looks like, i wonder what the f made me even go there in the first place. you probably think that deep down, i want her, well let me just clear that up with a "hell no." obviously, the first order of business is to recall what i was thinking about when i feel asleep. i was lying on my couch, listening to alicia keys and, per yesterday's post, thinking "i'm through with men." now, i just meant through dealing with them and thinking about them not like switching teams. but perhaps my subconscious didn't know the difference. and in an effort to convince me that that was a bad idea, it concocted this dream as if to say "are you sure? you sure that's really what you want? you want to be through with men? oooookay, well this is what you're going to get." okay. okay! i'm sorry. sweet lord. i'm sorry. i apologize for accidentally telling my subconscious that i was about to pull a lohan. i'm sorry! now please erase these images from my mind. and if you'd REALLY like to convince me, you could send me a nice penis attached to a funny, monogamous, ambitious, childless, clean, intelligent male. thanks.
i am afraid to go to sleep tonight in L.A.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

same ol' song and dance

football practice was superb. not because of the fabulous bodies but because I actually worship the sport. the players were quite nice to look at, don’t get me wrong. but college boys are too young for even me (i’ve decided to cap myself at 25. 24 if he’s tall and looks like he could be 25). besides, if i was going to date any man on that field, it would be pete carroll. he is my older gentleman crush.

i attended/participated in my third wedding of the summer this past weekend. it was a creole-vietnamese union, so there was a mix of both cultures in the ceremony, food, etc. in honor of new orleans, there was a drink called the hurricane. in honor of being single, i drank several of them. i’m not a drinker at all, but this was quite the beverage. and after three ceremonies of people pledging undying love and “i don’t know how i lived before you,” a drink named after a natural disaster was fitting. now i am officially on wedding hiatus.

monday, the ex came over to “hang some more stuff.” this was the final chapter in our home depot-style rendezvous. after he’d hung everything imaginable and i’d performed the devinyls’ “i touch myself” (complete with vocals and dancing) and berlin’s “take my breath away” (by request), i was prepared to send him out the door with a carnitas burrito and a smile. i was! but he stuck around and started poking my sides, which led to a round of fisticuffs, which led to him throwing me over his shoulder and tossing me onto the bed, which should have led to us making out but did not. instead, it led to yet another round of fisticuffs, which led to him picking me up and putting me in the bathtub and threatening to turn the water on, which seeing as how there were no lights on in the bathroom, should have led to us making out but did not. then i tried to sock him in his manly bits, which led to him dragging me into the kitchen and putting my head in the sink and again threatening with the water, and again since there were no lights on in the kitchen…you know where i’m going (re-reading this, i realize you might feel compelled to call an abuse hotline. worry not. it’s all in good fun). finally, he hugged me and left. seconds later, there was a knock on the door. i opened it to find him standing there. “wait,” he said. already i’m thinking, “is he going to kiss me? how romantic!” he raced up the stairs toward me, put his head in the doorway and asked, “where’s my hat?” i told him i didn’t know where his stupid hat was, which was a lie; i’d hid it. yes, we’re 5 year olds. i know!

and now i think i need to put an end to this. no more seeing him. really, what will it get me? i will just continue to get sugar highs when i’m with him, then crash and burn afterward, smoldering for days. who knew it would be so unhealthy to have so much fun with someone? so in an effort to temper my masochistic ways, i’ll have to say “so long, sweetness.” but now that everything has been hung, that shouldn’t be a problem…

i desperately need some pinkberry RIGHT NOW in L.A.

Friday, August 22, 2008

the week from shitsville

it was probably best that i stay away from this thing because anything i had to say was going to be dripping with negativity. i know, i know. that's so not healthy, and i will attract what i put out, yadah yadah. however, i can't help but be a sourpuss right now, and sometimes i think it's necessary for all of us to indulge out inner-sourpusses (or would that be sourpussies?) in order to experience the natural spectrum of human emotion. this week alone has been quite wretched.

first, my fantasy football draft did not go as planned. though i have some strong WRs (reggie wayne, randy moss), a good QB (carson palmer) and an excellent TE (witten), my RBs are questionable. and you always need good RBs! my competitive nature, the fact that i would like to continue to be reigning champion and the $40 i stand to lose all have me concerned about this.

then i learned that some of my personal emails were opened and read by a third party (i believe what happened is i didn't log out of my account, they saw a subject title or two that interested them, and they decided to read the emails). i subsequently spent sunday evening apologizing for what was said in them. then i spent all monday and tuesday growing more upset over the fact that my privacy was breached by people i trusted. dude! how do you just read somebody's email?? privacy, much like chivalry, is dead.

then i was on that terrible celebrity website that i said i was going to stay away from. of course, the one day i go on, surprise! i saw the name of this guy i went out with once or twice...a year and a half ago. i wasn't all that gaga over him at the time because i liked somebody else. so i put all my eggs in that faulty basket. a month later, that basket forgot how to use a phone and my eggs and my heart were left broken, splattered and fried on hot concrete. so i imdb this guy who was mentioned on that celeb site. so he's doing quite well for himself in terms of his career, but i didn't care so much about that as how gotdamn fine he was. like, was he that hot before? he got some facial hair and shit, and now he's all like...woah! so of course, i felt like an ass. my mom didn't make me feel any better when she called me, screaming into my voicemail about how cute he is and how cute her grandchildren could be. so...i emailed him. my email started with "you might not remember me but..." his email started with "you're right. i don't remember you..." awesome. i replied, telling him it was no big deal. it was a while ago. then i went home, stuffed myself with pinkberry and cursed myself for being such a former and current idiot. the next day, i received an enthusiastic email that said he did remember me and asked me how i was doing (so i guess the story has a somewhat pleasant ending). that same night, my mom told me she had a dream about our engagement party and reminded me that she's part psychic. seriously, does she say this stuff to inspire me?

then there's my ex-ex-boyfriend (not the threesome one, another one...but they have the same name. in fact, so does Hottie McHot pants from the website. all the guys i've mentioned in this entry have the same name. i should stay away from them.) who called and told me how much he misses me and wants to see me like he always does then casually informed me that he lives with his girlfriend (in a tone that suggested i should already know that tidbit). are you kidding me, you selfish bastard? granted, i don't want him, and i'd rather eat this computer screen than see him naked again, but he has some nerve. some nerve!

amidst all of this, i had to go to the gyno and get my cervix swabbed; listen to my neighbor, who i've christened Rotunda, continue to make her rounds upstairs; come to work everyday; come to work AND listen to husband tales and baby stories; come to work AND perform a SKIT about COMMUNITY; come to work AND actually do work, all the while pretending to give a shit.

i'm bitching. i should be more grateful. after all, i got free ribs today at work. i'll do better next week. promise. and the weekend looks promising. my boss is taking me to USC's football practice tomorrow morning, so i "can meet someone." you know you must be pretty pitiful if your BOSS is using her weekend time to find you a man.

i am really glad no one actually reads my blog in L.A. (or beyond)

Monday, July 28, 2008

one, two, three, ACTION!

so last night, my ex and i were talking about what movie we are going to see for his birthday, yadah yadah, long story short he said he would sleep with me, but only in a threesome situation.
wtf?
i had to explain why i was offended by that comment.
i came up with what i now realize was a lame analogy.
"so basically, it's like if i make an apple pie, and you're like hell no. i'm not eating your pie. f*ck that. but then you see this naked girl eating my pie, and you're like, okay, i'll have some of your pie, but only because this naked girl is having some." his response was something to the effect of...he couldn't sleep with me one-on-one because there would be emotions involved. whereas in a threesome situation it's purely physical. so it's not that he hasn't wanted to "eat my pie" it's just that he thought it would make things too hard and we wouldn't be as close as we are today.
"fine....but that's still f*cked up, you know that, right?"
yes, he said.
when are trios a good idea? if it involves people that you have no emotional baggage for, then i guess they're a fine pasttime (if you're the adventurous, non-jealous type). however, i can't even remotely imagine doing that with someone i care about. seriously?? and who is the third party supposed to be? certainly not someone he knows because he's probably already messed around with her or has been wanting to, and i refuse to be a party to that. and it can't be one of my friends because i don't want to know the terrain, texture, hills and valleys of my friends' snatches (or any girl's for that matter). and i don't want him to either. and it can't be a stranger because that's kinda gross. and what do you do? put an ad on craigslist?

wanted: female to be third leg in FMF love triangle. must be clean. hot enough to get the guy excited but not so hot that she makes the girl feel insecure. must be good in bed but not so good that she outshines the other girl. must be willing to leave immediately afterward and never try to make contact again.

plus, i'd have to use a fake name because i wouldn't want her going to the enquirer when i'm all trying to win my emmy. and what on earth am i supposed to do while they are having their "time?" do the soundtrack? applaud? stretch?
i know this is a common occurrence, so i'm not knocking it or dissing it. i'm just curious.
i hate to break his heart. he was so excited by the mere prospect, like a pup who smells sausage on your breath.
but i can't.
i'm not going down like that.
i'm not going down at all actually.
i didn't know it took three people to get one person laid in L.A.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

meeting the masturbator

i finally met her.
well, first i met her ass.
she was bent over in a pair of spandex tights. the fabric had thinned (or escaped to freedom), so i could clearly see her moon-pale ass rising and rolling out of that fabric like dough that had cracked-out on yeast.
the rest of her followed suit. if the michelin man had a sister--michelina, no doubt--she would pretty much look like this. pale, marshmellowey, with rolls and muffin tops and loaves coming at you from so many angles you'd swear you were at a pillsbury convention.
her voice was thick too and had the bitter, hardened edge of a woman whose pussy has seen more batteries and plastic than a mattel factory. she was standing on the steps leading up to her apartment when i asked her if she was my upstairs neighbor. yes, she said. i introduced myself, and then we stared at each other. her probably thinking, "i wonder if she's going to have thugs over here and play rap music." me thinking, "i can totally hear you fucking yourself." the moment ended with me simply walking away, feeling oddly satisfied. the chronic masturbation suddenly made sense, AND my theory that it was in fact a one person act i had repeatedly been awakened by seemed completely plausible. i mean, no one's tapping that. and NOT because she's a big girl. big girls need and receive plenty of love (more power to them), but when you tack on 5-6 decades, a stank attitude, anti-social tendencies and spandex, it's a recipe for not getting laid. now her exuberant self-gratification is justifiable, and i am somewhat comforted. that doesn't mean i excuse it, enjoy it or am not freaked out by it, but i feel better than i did when i thought she was merely some sex-addicted, big time exec who just didn't have time for a man. selfish and ridiculous, yes. but so is humping a fake dick so hard you wake up your neighbor.
i have since invested in ear plug balls and a radio on which i sometimes play rap music in L.A.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

coldplay poem

i went to see coldplay last night. by the looks of things, you would have thought it was an al green "for lovers only" concert in the park. it was still pretty great though.
while i was waiting forever for them to go on, i had to make up some nonsense to keep myself occupied. below is my coldplay poem

couples couples everywhere
why does that boy keep sniffing her hair?
watch him lick her lobe so sweet
want to kick him in the back of his head with my feet

only because i wish to stretch!
not 'cause i'm a jealous bitch
who wants her own licker and sniffer
a man to take her to see coldplay and then stick her
between the legs

and why does he keep scratching her back like that?
simple affection giving me heart attacks
oh shit, ken and barbie just walked in sucking face
please don't sit next to me, find another place

'cause this is the singles row
well maybe the other end is lesbian
but i can't deal with you tonguing her down
while i'm trying to watch chris mar-tin

22 bucks to park
and all i've gotten is this hermosa beach style porn
dear god, please bring coldplay on. bring them on!

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

swedish store love

this dude named luis came up to me at ikea.

ACT I
studying the vases, i am startled by a voice near my ear.
luis (O.S.): you are amazing.
i turn. nothing at eye level. i look down a couple of inches. there he is. aaaannnndddd no.
me: thank you.
luis: i just had to tell you that.
me: thank you.
luis: i hope i didn't scare you.
me: i was in my own world.
(more shit i don't remember)
luis: what do you do?
me: i write, and i work at a school.
luis: i KNEW you were a teacher.
me: i'm not a teacher.
luis: oh, well you should be. you have a nice voice.
me: thank you.
luis: what is your name?
me: poppy.
luis: luis.
me: lewis?
luis: luis.
me: lewis.
(shake)
me: nice to meet you.
luis: okay, well take care.
me: thank you. you too.

ACT II
i am trying to get the hell out of that damn maze of a place. a voice calls out from behind...
luis (O.S.): poppy.
i remember that i told someone that was my name so i figure i should turn around.
luis: i just don't want to have any regrets.
luis holds out a piece of paper with his name and number on it.
me: okay.
luis: i hope you call me.
me: okay.
luis: so can i have yours?
me: if i call you, you WILL have mine.
luis: well, i guess that's all i can hope for. i will just pray about it.
me: that's all you can do.
luis: (laughs) yeah.
silence as he continues to walk with me.
me: but prayer is a very powerful thing. i'm all for prayer.
luis: good. well, i guess i better go get my bed now.
me: yes, get your bed.
luis: bye.

ACT III
i am putting my stuff in the trunk of my car. luis rolls by, smiling. privately, i roll my eyes.
me: get me the hell out of here.

the end.

Monday, July 7, 2008

the neighborhood self-gratifier

i've been remiss. i know. but i've been trying to finish a spec script, and honestly i haven't had much to report. but i will report on my horny ass neighbor. yes, i can still hear her bump and grind herself in the morning. no, it's not every morning. but more often than not. and it's not that i hear her voice, but i hear what she's doing. i hear her old rickety ass bed. well, how do you know she's not doing it with someone, you're wondering. i know because i only hear one set of footsteps afterward, and NO ONE is ever there BUT her. if she was talking to someone or if someone else was there, i could hear him/her. and if she had company, i would see/hear them walk up the stairs, which are right next to me. but that's never the case. and unless he's a wheelchair bound invalid or she's got him tied up in there like that dude in Misery, then she's humping herself blind in the morning. either with a pillow or one of those life-like penises. hello? aren't you raw? chaffed? just plain tired? is all that masturbation really necessary? am i the only person who is freaked out by this?? i mean, i'm all for people doin' what they have to do, but i don't want to hear the shit. it nauseates me. ugh. horny bitch. i'm just going to play music at a level just shy of too loud and dare her to say something.
i need to buy a house.
other than that, life is grand.
i am not interested in listening to anyone do herself or anyone else in L.A.

Friday, June 27, 2008

networking not working

last night my friend and i went to a screening hosted by our undergraduate institution (east coast yuppie). it was a screening of a film, produced and directed by a graduate of the school who has produced several notable films and is currently President of a powerhouse entertainment company. it took place at one of the big agencies, the same one i can see from my bathroom window when i'm perched on the commode (so morning pee-pee time is also "let's visualize ourselves repped at...." time). before the screening my friend and i made the acquaintance of a woman who educated us on the perils of sin, the return to the garden of eden and the power of "laying hands." she also gave us information on and directions to a kenneth copeland event. that's when my friend held up her empty plastic wine glass, and we dashed back to the bar.

the actual screening was followed by a Q&A. the director seemed so nice and easy-going, the kind of guy who would read a fellow alum's script. so while he discussed inspiration or motivation or something of the sort, i plotted my approach. i had a good feeling about this one. thoughts of meetings and contracts and development deals started to dance over my head like sugar plums.

after the Q&A, we all herded back out into the reception area. i grabbed a chicken skewer and some sliced kiwi, perched myself on the closest piece of contemporary furniture and waited for my moment with the man who, in a future interview with larry king, i would credit with giving me my big break. i watched him, leaning up against the wall in his jeans, jean shirt and hiking shoes as he chatted with any and all who approached him. i even saw him hand out a business card (twice!) after scribbling something on the back. jackpot!! he's obviously open to people contacting him and whatnot, i thought. when my friend returned from the ladies room, we threw ourselves into the small crowd awkwardly waiting to speak with him. it was a weird energy mix of trying not to look desperate, trying not to stare at him and also being ready to slice the first bitch who cut in front of you. some lady in a forever 21 hat and ruby-colored dorothy slippers managed to get in front of me and my friend because she was friends with the organizer. of course, she had enough film theories and observations to last a lifetime, so i watched the back of her XXI hat bob up and down for 25 minutes wishing i could click her heels for her and make her disappear.

finally, it was our turn. i walked up to him, gave him a firm handshake and introduced myself and my friend. she actually asked him something about the movie (good girl, at least we both won't seem like self-promoters). when it was my turn, i very passionately told him about how i'm a writer who feels as though she's hit a road block in terms of getting over the non-working writer/working writer hump. i managed to work in my screenwriting degree, the script contests i won last year, my work as an agency assistant, yadah yadah. i concluded by asking him for his advice, which i didn't really want (those of you in this business know that after a few years, the last thing you need or want is advice. you just want a f*cking break! no more stories on how so-and-so made it. you just want someone to open a damn door, but you can't say that, so you ask for "advice.") and advice is exactly what i got. instead of him whipping out another card and telling me to send him a script tomorrow and remind him of our conversation in my email, he said "keep writing." noooo shit. really, that's it? no, i didn't say that to him, but as larry king faded into the background along with the resignation letter i was crafting for my job, i thought, is that all he's got for me? everyone knows that, and essentially, i know THAT'S it. that's all you can do. if nothing's happening, you just keep writing because that's what you want to do. because that's the only thing you can see yourself doing. it's not exactly what i wanted to hear, but i can't be mad at him either. i guess i should have/could have been more direct and flat out asked him if he would read something of mine, but hindsight's 20/20. so i shook his hand, smiled and looked him dead in the eye, so he could get a good look at my face, so that when he's on my jock trying to direct my movie, i can say, "you remember me..."

that was my evening. and then this morning, i awoke to the sex-induced squeak-squeak-squeak of my neighbor's bed. at 5 a.m. come now, people (no pun intended). this early? and am i going to hear this on a regular basis because it kinda freaks me out? i turned on flight of the conchords to drown it out.

i have to end this because i have to pee in L.A.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

8:30 a.m. to 11:44 a.m.

things i've done at work today:

checked my email. hoped for some positive response from one of the people i sent spec scripts out to a month ago. i emailed them yesterday just to "check-in." i subsequently got two "haven't read it yet, but thanks for checking in. stay on me!" responses.

ate some almonds.

read celebrity gossip.

gagged.

watched in horror as "someone" stuck her hand into my PERSONAL box of cereal. the same hand i just watched her blow her nose with.

talked to my mom, who suggested i go on The Bachelorette and that she would assist me with my application. i told her that was the most ridiculous idea. "not only do i not watch that madness," i said. "most of those guys aren't really interested in winning the girl's heart; they just want to be on TV." "okay," she said (in that mother-ish, mark my words way). "it was just a suggestion."

perused the official site of The Bachelorette.

watched my phone ring, checking the caller id to make sure it wasn't someone of authority, then allowed it to go to voicemail.

talked to my friend about her upcoming wedding for 45 mins.

went to the kitchen for some Cheez-Its (since i won't be eating any cereal), only to find that all the damn Cheez-Its were gone.

cursed the fact that i signed a new lease and therefore can't quit my job and run off into the wild.

and here i am...
and it's not even lunchtime yet.

i am bored senseless in L.A.

Monday, June 23, 2008

speaking of vaginas

the following is an email conversation that took place today. this serves as an example of how i keep myself sane at work. names have been changed to protect identities and pay hommage to the muppet babies.


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 10:41 AM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

i just got off the phone with fozzie. i emailed her to say thank you for helping me move, and she emailed me and said, "i saw skeeter [guy i used to work with and messed around with once, who got this look on his face like he just peed himself every time he saw me after that] with his new girl at the party. besides that i didn't really recognize anyone beyond [two other random boys]. the dj was pretty lame. you really saved yourself a trip." and i was like "SKEETER skeeter?" then i couldn't wait for a response so i called her. apparently, he was there with some mousey girl, who fozzie couldn't remember a thing about b/c she was so plain. i was still surprised by the idea that he might have a girlfriend.


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 10:51 AM >>>
Lol.. Why are you so surprised?


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 10:48 AM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

because he was so freaked out by anything with a vagina when i knew him. was runnin' into walls and shit, and even at the funeral (when i last saw him) he still seemed freaked out. and now he has a mousey girlfriend maybe...


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 11:02 AM >>>
Hm... Well, we all have to grow out of our fears some how. He seemed to acknowledge the vagina and love it for what it's worth.


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 11:01 AM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

do mice have vaginas?


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 11:11 AM >>>
Hm... I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that anything female, that's a mammal, has a vagina...


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 11:10 AM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

well, according to wikipedia, the do have vaginas. and i also discovered that "while resting a mouse will sniff between 2-4 times a second, a frequency which increases to levels between 6-15 times a second when the animal is aroused or actively exploring odors." i wonder if she starts sniffing a lot when they're doing it...


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 11:21 AM >>>
What the hell is she sniffing? Like, she got the sniffles or she just has an overactive olfactory sense?


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 11:44 AM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

mice just sniff when they're aroused...i dunno what they're sniffing. it didn't say. maybe it's like humans who breathe harder and faster when aroused, i guess mice do the sniff thing.


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 12:02 PM >>>
And why are we talking about aroused mice?


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 11:57 AM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

because fozzie said the girl he was with was mousey. so i was wondering if she sniffed like mice do when aroused...(per wikipedia).


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 12:10 PM >>>
You're horrible


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 12:13 PM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

no way. it was a purely scientific question. i didn't call her mousey; i was just exploring the idea. i'm sure she's a lovely young woman and much more compatible with him anatomically.


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 12:22 PM >>>
You still compared the poor woman to an arouse mouse....lol... Oh lord!


Beaker


From: Gonzo
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 12:19 PM
To: Beaker
Subject: RE: meetings

ha. no i did not! it's like if you didn't know me and someone tells you i'm from texas, and you ask, "does she have an accent?" you're just asking a question based off the information given...


>>> Beaker <beaker@work.com> 6/23/2008 12:29 PM >>>
Lolol.. You know that shit ain't even logical! You can't compare accents to biological aspects of a mouse and THEIR reference to a former flame..lolol


Like, if fozzie had said "homegirl was as big as a cow" would you google the reproductive patterns of cows and reference them to the chick?!
Lol... I think you would!

But I must say, this is all hilarious to me. I think you should blog about it.

Beaker

sexin' the ex

with the help of some fabulous women, i moved this weekend. there was a guy or two there sporadically, and i am grateful to them as well, but the heavy shit, that was all women. as one profound friend said, "men can do it faster, but women do it better." so cheers to you furniture haulin' chicks.

so i moved from a place where helicopters chop through the air every ten days or so to beverly "don't even think of parking your ass on this street unless you have a permit" hills. when i arrived with my packed uhaul (the one i declined insurance on and then almost hit my friend's car with) there was of course, no where to park. especially not a 17' truck. so, i double parked it obviously and waited for BH patrol to come around, which he did and promptly informed me that i could not do that. so turns out that the SEVENTY-FIVE dollar piece of paper i had to get from the city to put in the window of the truck did me no good because i was supposed to BUY and post no parking signs 72 hours in advance so i would have a space for my uhaul. who the hell knew?
the complications of tryin' to live like a rich bitch...
and even "rich bitches" can't escape the woes of LA parking.

as exhausted as i was, the first night in the new place, i couldn't sleep. i always have trouble the first few nights after moving into a new spot. it's the unfamiliarity of it, i suppose. the heat didn't help. and the fact that i couldn't stop thinking about sexin' the ex only made matters worse. he was one of the guys i mentioned previously, however he showed up at the end after everything was already off the truck, so i put him to work in the ikea department of my belongings (reassembling the bed, putting together the bookcase...). i thought that after seven months, i would be past the stage where i would see him and want to straddle him, but i discovered that that was not the case. in fact, seeing him work that allen wrench made me sweatier than i already was. i wanted the nails to not be the only thing that he screwed in the bed that night, but alas, he respects me.

he told me months ago that he can't re-do me because we've already been together, and it's too complicated, and he doesn't see how people can do that. ACK! i don't need you to respect me; i need you to do me. okay, wait...what i mean is...i already know you respect me that's why i WANT you to do me. plus, i don't have to up my number that way. apparently, as my sweaty friends and i discussed on the way to retrieve more of my belongings, the idea that all guys want is sex is a myth because there have been many an instance when women i know have tried to hand guys some good hoo-ha, guys they've ALREADY had sex with, with no strings attached (theoretically speaking), only to have their text message not returned or the guy never shows up or his mom won't let him borrow the car or in the best case...he just respects you too damn much. i shouldn't complain. i'm not complaining. i'm glad that he respects me. i would have it no other way. but can't we respect each other in between my new 400 thread count sheets?
i am pondering these vaginally immune men in L.A.

Monday, June 16, 2008

DM to the mother freakin' V

on July 10, i made a left turn from one of those lanes you can only make left turns from during certain hours. on April 08, i made a u-turn prior to the intersection. on June 13, i got this bullsh*t letter from the state. today, i can sort of laugh at it.

State of California - Business, Transportation, and Housing Agency
Department of Motor Vehicles
Licensing Operations Division

June 04, 2008

Warning Letter

Dear California Driver,

Drivers with crashes and traffic convictions on their records are at a greater risk of causing future crashes. Your recent record of bad driving (see below) places you at increased risk of causing crashes, injury and death. We do not want you to suffer those consequences and want to help you avoid them.

We understand that you believe you are a good driver, and yet your driving record is much worse that the average California driver. While you may be a good and safe driver most of the time, your record reflects at least momentary lapses in driving judgment. At highway speeds, a moment of carelessness can become a tragedy. Good, caring people who make careless decisions while driving can cause injury and death.

In our effort to urge you to drive safer, we are offering you a choice. You can choose to prevent further action from DMV by avoiding additional traffic convictions and by not causing any crashes. However, if you choose to continue your unsafe driving, the penalties will increase and eventually lead to probation, suspension or revocation of your driving privilege.

We believe you are capable of making a change to become a safer driver, but it is up to you to do so. If you do not want to change, your driving will continue to present a risk to yourself and other road users. If you want to change and become a safe, more responsible driver, you can. We hope that you will decide to change, but the choice is yours.

If there is a discrepancy in your driving record, you may contact the Sacramento Department of Motor Vehicles, at (916) 657-9074.

please! don't patronize me. this has to be one of the most ridiculous and condescending letters i think i've ever read. and don't get me started on this: "We understand that you believe you are a good driver, and yet your driving record is much worse that the average California driver." are you kidding me? most california drivers don't even have insurance, let alone good driving records. if you want to ensure my safety as you claim in paragraph one, perhaps you should patrol those lushes driving from the club or the bar on Saturday nights. or maybe you should find that dude in the jeep who rolled through that stop sign yesterday. luckily, i had sense enough to stop despite being such a bad driver.

i think the DMV can kiss it, L.A.

Friday, June 13, 2008

yes, sade. it is a crime!!

as if my fuel needed any fire. my boss' boss' boss just walked in here. my boss said to her, "you know that letter you wrote about shmunah-shmunah, we've gotten so much money because of that letter. i think it was the paragraph you wrote about bladee blah that really did it." and boss' boss' boss said, "oh yeah, i really liked that paragraph about bladee blah. that was my favorite one." okay, heifer, you know good and hell well that you did not write that!! and so do you jr. boss lady. you're the one who told ME to write it! wtf? and for you, boss' boss' boss, to stand here in front of me, after not acknowledging my presence as usual, and take credit for some sh*t i had to break out my thesaurus for is utterly whack. that's okay. watch. my next letter's going to go something like this:

send me your money
or i'll boil your bunny
like that chick glenn close
mmm...okay that's doin' the most.
just mail me a check first class
and i won't have to whoop up on dat ass.
signed,
boss' boss' boss
ya heard?

let's see how those ol' blue hairs like that one.
i am so not thinking that little 4% raise is going to right this wrong in L.A.

yawn

this week has been sooooo boring at work. i feel like all that potential i had in school is oozing out of my ears into mass puddles by the heater that i have under my desk. in school, i never ever imagined i would be doing what i do now: updating people's information in a database, asking old ladies for money, ignoring my phone when it rings (unless it's my boss or her boss or the like...thank you called ID), writing spiffy letters then scanning someone else's signature on them and listening to them take the credit for the letters' eloquence. as a side note, why did they spend so much time teaching us plagiarism was bad in school when in the real world that's all people do? low man does work, high man puts signature on it. the end.

but back to the main issue: boredom. there is only so much cracked.com, perezhilton and yahoo! personals one can entertain oneself with in the course of a day, PARTICULARLY when your computer screen faces the door and every freakin' person that walks by knows exactly what you're doing. and i get tired of clicking away so that it looks like i'm reading work-related stuff. "looking busy" is exhausting. it requires more effort than actually being busy in my opinion. so you say, "but your bored. so why are you trying to look busy?" well, i'm bored, yes. but i also don't want any work because i'm more than likely going to get something i don't want to do anyway. quite a pickle... i know. bored and annoyed or busy and annoyed. neither one is desirable. if only some exec producer would ride up in his maserati with a contract in hand, and tell me how much he loves my work and that i have the most beautiful writing he's ever seen and he can't bear another season without me and ask me to be his staff writer. yes! yes! yes!

but my package still hasn't come back, and all of my other writing leads are sort of stagnant right now. i find my pursuit of writing to be too much like dating. everything's great, and the producer or manager or whomever seems really interested, and you think you've found the one. you get all excited when they call, and you can't wait to see them again, and you daydream about all the magic you will make together. then they stop returning your calls and your emails, and you don't know what went wrong, and you gripe to your friends, who insist there will be others and that he just wasn't the one for you. bah humbug. if i could find a hot, non-neurotic, non-narcissistic agent (above 5'9") who could wine me, dine me, do me AND staff me, oh mercy...y'all would never hear from me again.

but i don't have one of those right now. and that's why i'm under these fluorescent lights, staring at a white wall that makes my eyes hurt, shivering next to a heater in the middle of June.
i am glad it's almost the weekend in L.A.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

pimps have it easy

you know the song, "it's hard out here for a pimp"? well that's a lie. pimps have it easy. they have multiple women (i will refrain from using derogatory terms) or men (as i'm sure there is at least one female pimp out there...actually i think i'm friends with one), the pimps can "love them up" when they feel like it, and then send them out to make the pimps some money. that, my dear mr. howard, is not a hard life. the lyrics should instead be, "it's hard out here for a heterosexual female." the hook would of course be "with morals and self respect. m-m-morals and self-respeeeect." because i loathe generalizations and some heterosexual females are easy...i mean, have it easy.

so what of the rest of us who can't move to the midwest or the bluegrass state and guarantee ourselves a fine young gent? or those of us who didn't listen to our mothers who encouraged us to date that nice young boy in middle/high school who really liked us, but we gaged at the thought of him, and now he's a dentist and with someone who sort of looks like us but is not quite as cute? what of us? i can't speak for other young women in other places, but i know that in L.A., it's hard out here for a heterosexual female with morals and self-respect.

i've been to many a bar, a club, a grocery store, a gas station, a farmer's market, a bookstore, a concert, a wine tasting, a cheese class, a cooking class, a museum, a sports bar, a jiffy lube, a restaurant, a website, a basketball game, a football game, a walgreens, a canyon trail, a golf course...many, many a thing. i've dated black and white, young and old, tall and short, employed and not, car driver and bus rider. alas, the well is dry, my friends. the drought is alive and well out here. perhaps it's the type of people that L.A. attracts. many of them want fame and fortune or just the opportunity to live "the life." you don't come out to L.A. for monogamy; you come out to pop models and bottles. most of the couples i know intimately were imported, having been made across state lines then smuggled in. word of advice to those seeking to settle into a california zip code: bring your sh*t with you. don't ditch your jersey boy who's loved you since 1986 simply because you think you're going to come out here and meet a cute lil' shia lebeouf look-a-like. bring jersey boy with you. trust me.

my ovaries got a little excited recently because the guy whose apartment i'm taking sounded delicious on the phone, and when i saw him in person, he was nice looking (as a side note, my ovaries were not excited because they want to procreate, they were excited because they sensed testosterone, which is a rare energy in their neighborhood, and it causes them to vibrate with glee). of course, i'd already imagined us falling in love when he came back to pick up something he forgot and having dinner on top of an unpacked home depot box. just to know what i was working with, i looked him up on facebook this morning, as any normal gal would do, and i'm prrrrrrrrreeeeeetttttyyyy sure he's not into women. like 99% sure. profile doesn't say it, but mama didn't pay for 20 some odd years of schooling for nothing. "simmer down little ovaries. this one plays for the other team," i told them. i can still hear them crying.
oh well. i can take joy in the fact that my apartment was meticulously cared for, beautifully painted, and it will be a nice place to live in.

i am thirsty, L.A.

the package

STILL has not come back. unbelievable. i hope it wasn't delievered to the showrunner C.O.D., and not only is he/she pissed that i took the liberty of mailing an unsolicited script to his/her house, but i had the nerve to mail it Cash on Delivery. that would be whack.
i am really baffled by this, L.A.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

signed, sealed, undeliverable

i woke up at 3 a.m. this morning and realized i had not put postage on my showrunner package. in all my anxiety and overthinking, i just threw it in the mail bin. naked. so it's floating around somewhere in mail hell. all that hemmin' and hawin', and i forgot the most basic necessity. now i have to wait for it to come back. blech.
i feel somewhat like an ass today in L.A.

Monday, June 9, 2008

the joys of misdirection

so this weekend i got my act together, and i'm feeling a little better about things. i found a new apartment. my landlord begged me to stay, promising not to raise the rent. when i politely declined the offer, he got a little punchy and asked me could i leave early (i.e. before the end of the month) so he could rent the place out. i reminded him that he already has three vacant apartments he could be working on. he told me "not to worry about that. they'll be rented by then." yeah...right. hell no, i can't leave early. are you going to give me some of my money back?? speaking of money, i just checked my account online, and bank of america seems to have deducted an extra thousand dollars for some ungodly reason which has thrown EVERYTHING off, and now my account looks like the parting of the red sea. BUT, i'm not going to let that ruin me just yet...

so back to why i'm feeling better. i also forced myself to write this weekend, which was necessary. once i get into something, i never want to stop. it's just forcing myself to actually pick up a pen (i write by hand) that is the toughest part. then i came into work this morning and checked my mailbox, where i found a small gift in the form of misdirected mail.

let me back up for a second. back in march, the receptionist at my place of employment, who i'm friends with and who knows what it is i truly want to be doing with my life, received the mail of a very successful showrunner/creator. how we received this person's mail is beyond me. he/she lives in the neighborhood, but doesn't live on this street, so it's not like accidentally getting your neighbor's mail. it's more like getting the mail of someone two streets over and three blocks down. the receptionist put the mail in my box. having the address of a showrunner/creator is one of those blessing/curse things. it's great and all, and how many people would give their right arm for it? but those limb-cutters are crazy, and other people, like myself look at it and think, "really...what are you going to do with that besides make an ass of yourself in someway and get slapped with a restraining order?" so i put it aside, and didn't really think about it again...that is until today when once again, i found in my box more of this person's mail. once in a lifetime is sorta crazy, something you tell your friends about over a drink at st. nick's. TWICE is god snatching you up by the collar and screaming, "heifer! i'm trying to help your ass out!" i mean, come on...twice? so after checking with my friends who were in law school while i was studying three act structure and making sure that this isn't illegal and i won't go to jail for "wrongful acquisition of federal property for use for personal gain" or some jazz, i decided to send the showrunner his/her mail and throw in just a brief letter about myself, what i want to do and what i've accomplished thus far. oh, and a 72 page pilot for him/her to read. i guess i'm feeling a little limb-cutterish myself, and hey, entertainment people usually have some weird leap to success, right?
i am a bit more hopeful today in L.A.

Friday, June 6, 2008

the first thing

i hate to start a blog with a complaint. i don't really want that to be the first thing i put out in the internet world, as i don't want to be perceived as a negative individual, but lately i feel...unsettled and generally frustrated with my inability to meet my own "express" life time line (that had me writing for a show, winning an oscar/emmy and living in the hills before the age of 30. the fact that i still have three years to go, and i've reached "oh my god what am i doing with my life? i should just move back to texas and teach" panic mode says plenty about me). and there are other things: the guys i meet out here (who can't be serious with anything other than their right hand), the fact that my apartment smells like weed (and i don't smoke), my landlord (who tells me i remind him of his daughter. then tells me to "come give daddy a kiss"), the fact that i'm doing a job that i don't really care about (but that ain't nothing new. i'd be more of an anomaly if i did care)...all the usual things. oh, and there's my augmenting disdain for los angeles, the city in which i currently reside, with its unwillingness to let you park for free anywhere. all of these things have been sogging my brain and have led me to do idiotic things that further compound my frustration. like today, when i parked at a meter, got out of the car and did not put one damn dime in that mofo. just walked away. then by the time i realized what i'd done, i threw down my over-priced pizza and ran back to my car to find the sweaty meter man putting that wretched red and white envelope on my windshield. the city hasn't even cashed the check yet from the last damn 200 dollar ticket i got (from the douche-y cop who said "i don't know how they make turns in texas, but let me tell you how we do it in los angeles"). asses. but it's my own fault...but a little of LA's fault too. i need a vacation from myself and this place. i need some perspective. i need some normalcy. i need to figure out what the hell i'm doing out here. i need some chick-fil-a and a parking lot filled with lots of empty free spaces.
i am so over you right now L.A.