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.