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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.