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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.