monday blues

for those of you who were reading a year ago (june 3rd to be exact), you'll recall that through divine intervention, i somehow got a hold of a certain showrunner's home address. TWICE. and this was like someone on the level of jerry bruckheimer, except not jerry bruckheimer. the first time i accidentally got some of this person's mail, it was just really cool. the second time, it was a sign from God. being the good christian, godfearing girl that i am, i decided to not only send the showrunner their mail back but also to send a script along with it and a warm and fuzzy letter of introduction/pleading. i figured this would either 1) get me arrested for harassment or 2) make a great opening segment on my E! true hollywood story.

actually, it did neither.

today, i received a package in the mail. as soon as i saw the return address (a law office) and the "Personal" mark on it, i knew what it was. my first thought was "shit! they're suing me a whole fucking year later. goddamnit." (after learning this morning that my car repair would cost a cool $680, being sued for the (imaginary?) federal offense of obtaining a personal address and using it for my own professional gain was the last thing i could afford to deal with.) however, when i opened the package, it simply contained my script and a form letter, stating how said showrunner does not accept unsolicited material. and nary a thank you for the mail that was conveniently missing from the envelope. you're welcome, bastards!
fortunately, i hadn't been holding my breath waiting on a response nor had i reserved any space on my vision board for them, so no harm done.

on a separate note, per the survey, i'm glad to see that a partner who can't read is a big deal to people. it is the one i voted for. and if you think about it, illiterate people generally have a more difficult time in the world, but some of the greatest minds in history went days without bathing. and i figured that if my partner could read, then he can read about how important it is to shower, how to control his unruly children and crack open Intercourse for Dummies. it's not a guarantee, but it's a start.

i've added a new survey.

i am a tad disgruntled today, L.A.

get on the poll

i was bored (as usual) and realized that i can post polls on my blog. so please see the poll at the bottom of the page and VOTE!! be heard damnit.

i also made it so you can subscribe to manlessdogless. i don't know what that means, but i hope somebody does it and then tells me what happens.

and i'm still waiting for some daring soul to send me a bad relationship story that i can post and share with the world. or a good story so we can all secretly despise you.
just kidding. it won't be a secret.

back in the saddle (on a dead horse)

someone asked me this morning if i was glad to be back at work after 12 days away. is that a real question? much like a catholic hooker on a Sunday night, i'm pretty sure work is the last place i want to be. do you understand the life of leisuuuure i was leading while on vacation? i woke up each day around 11 a.m. (that's CDT which is actually 9 a.m. PDT and really rather early). i laid in bed and watched judge mathis, people's court, got up to eat, got back in bed in time for another round of judge mathis and then judge judy. then i showered and was fortunate enough to have people take me to dine at places like chick-fil-a (awesome!!), fuddrucker's and the cottonpatch. now you might think that a brown girl in the south would shy away from any establishment having to do with cotton. and i must admit that having gone to the cottonpatch with my very white godfather, the whole event did whisper of plantation days. but they have the best catfish and buttered rolls around, so a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

but i don't want you to think the whole trip was a country affair. aside from all the fried food, the gold tooth, the pistol and whatnot, it was quite classy. i ate salads and drank tea. i read "the book thief" (an amazing novel), went for a walk (just one, as it was hotter than devil snatch) and watched true blood. and anyone who criticized my diet or my sleeping habits, i had three words for them: i'm on vacation.

and now, i'm back. earlier, my engaged co-worker was talking about her wedding, which i truly am delighted to hear about and will joyfully attend in a couple of months. as she concluded her story, she said to all the married women (and me), "i just love talking about my wedding with other--" (insert a look at me and a realization that she cannot end the sentence with "married women" and divert to option B) "women who like weddings." i appreciate her consideration on this matter. and i'm glad it only took 2.5 hours for me to get back to work and be reminded that "yeah, bitch. youz alone." what else? oh, yeah. the temp...the one that wanted to dagger me for my job. well, turns out she got a full time gig (one she actually likes) and started on Monday. so, she has a new good job, and i'm still here. guess the joke's on me, eh?

and no, i haven't talked to elvis. but i have no complaints about that. he texted me while i was in texas with the typical "are you asleep" (at 1 a.m. PDT, which is actually 3 a.m. CDT and much too fuckin' late for you to be trying to do whatever it is you're trying to do). i told him i was far away, hoping he would think that meant far away with a gent who could afford to travel in a car that did not double as his residence, when really i was at home, in my adolescent bed, curled up with a teddy bear and a blanket.

i saw this page bookmarked on my mother's computer, and if she is reading this right now, i would politely ask her to click on the x on the top right corner and never return, as i cannot speak my mind if my mother is reading, LA. love you, mom.

texas wedding

tonight, i was in my cousin's wedding in dallas. i would like to share some of the highlights.

yesterday, at the rehearsal, a damn near 40 year old woman came up to me and introduced herself as my sister (by marriage). and then proceeded to nestle me in her gynormous bosom. this posed its own set of problems for me, as did her calling my dad "dad" and my brother "brother", but the biggest problem is that she's also my third cousin. that's a little too much intermingling if you ask me. but nobody did...so i guess i'll just move on.

carl was the goomsman i was paired up with. carl had the sweatiest palms i've ever felt. carl also had a gold front tooth with a "C" carved in it. we had to take a picture together as we walked down the aisle. so NOW there's a picture in this world of me walking down the aisle with an alphabet gold-toothed man. thank you, universe.

the dinner served included brisket, baked beans, potato salad, chicken, sausage, a slab of pickle, sliced onion, jalapenos and a roll. oh, and a little tub of barbeque sauce.

one of the groomsmen standing on my side decided the song the bride was walking down the aisle to was his "jam", and he proceeded to sing it as she walked. he thought he was singing softly. he was not.

towards the end of the evening, i was on the balcony outside with my brother, male cousin and female cousin (not the bride). well, one of the groomsmen had been trying to "talk" to my girl cousin all night, despite the fact that she's married with children. my male cousin (her brother) finally told him to chill out. well, the groomsman didn't like that and neither did his boys. they had some words for my cousin. well, my brother, of course, had to step in to put these mississippi boys in their place. next thing i know, it's my bother and cousin against the groomsmen, and everybody's in each other's face. then the situation moved out into the parking lot, where one of my relatives decided to get his pistol out of his truck and slip it in his waistband...just in case. yes, everybody had been drinking more than they should have, but damn, do we really have to go to the trunk with it? and why are y'alls shirts off? is this for real???

i'm about to eat come cake and go to bed because this was too much for me.

i just wanted you to know how we do it in texas, L.A.

and on the 6th day, he bathed

so on top of all the stuff i was bitching about yesterday (and pardon my ranting, really. it's a bit much i know, especially for the guys who had to read about my whole woman thing. i guess i forgot that guys might actually read this) elvis called around ten something last night. i hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks and hadn't communicated with him since he sent me a text message at 1:30 a.m. (on a school night!) asking if i wanted some company. i POLITELY replied at a decent hour the following morning and suggested that if he wanted to hang out with me, he should make plans in advance. none of this let me call you after work and swing by so we can make out business. though he responded with a "sounds good", i figured he wouldn't actually do that. and that was fine with me. so in the six days since, i hadn't given it much thought. anyway, he called, and i decided to answer because i do like him as a person even if he isn't exceptional dating material. small talk ensued. he told me about how busy he'd been, etc. told me he'd been spending nights in his ride to which i responded by asking "so how do you brush your teeth and wash your face and all that?" he said he does it at work and then showers at a friend's in between jobs. which brought him to the point of this here phone call. "i didn't get by my friend's today, so i was wondering if i could come by and use your shower." ain't this a bitch, i thought, and laughed out loud. unbelievable! however, it never really crossed my mind to say no. i mean, i believe that all people--men, women, black, white, jew and gentile--have the right to shower. how could i deprive him of that? i do want him to be clean. i DO. and no, it's not my fault that his living situation is such that he doesn't have a shower to call his own, and no i shouldn't feel the need to offer my bathroom to every shower-needy person in LA, but...i said yes. he did mention that he had his own towel to dry off with, so i guess that was incentive for me.

five minutes later, he was there. with a face towel in hand. yes, one of the itty bitty square ones. i asked him if he truly intended on drying off with that. he did. maybe he knew all along that i would see that and hand him a "big boy" towel. maybe not. in either case, i did just that, and off he went. while he enjoyed my hot water, i laid on my couch and thought, "is this really my life? is ANYBODY upstairs running this show, ensuring that this life makes sense and that there's a happy ending or is this shit just on autopilot?" he eventually emerged and sat his ass on MY couch in MY wet towel, leaving the cushion nice and damp when he stood up. apparently, he's not into sportscenter or the news, so i turned on the colbert report, which entertained him until he decided he'd rather make out. i was not really feeling that idea...initially, but i have to say, the boy makes one of the most persuasive arguments i've witnessed in a long time. and he smelled so fresh. and his hair was so...curly! (yes, i discovered that elvis has a lovely head of curls that he hides under all that whatchamacallit that he puts in it to straighten it out. i told him he should really consider going with the natural look). so he got to shower, AND he got to kiss me repeatedly. lucky bastard. a couple of hours later, he redressed himself, packed himself into his "mobile home" and headed off to who knows where. and that was my night.

i wonder if he left that little towel at my house on purpose. like is this going to a regular thing, LA?

$!*#@

by far, i am in one of the worst moods i've been in in a while. it's lasted for a few days, seemingly growing more intense as the week goes on. i feel...combustible. and my mouth just showers profanity every time it's open. last night i was yelling at the tv during halftime of the basketball game because some random joe (or random michael) was hosting the halftime show in the place of stuart scott. "who the fuck are you?" i yelled at the screen. "and where the fuck is stuart scott?!" this, of course, was after i'd spent the first two quarters of the game profanely transforming the last names of lakers players. gasol became g-asshole, farmar became farmwhore, vujacic became vujabitch and so one. granted, i'm not a lakers fan even on good day, but this was a new low for me.

as i was driving home last night from my weekly volunteering, i was trying to figure out why i was in such a foul state. could it be because after two years of being salaried, my position will soon become an hourly one? one where i will have to deal with time cards, set lunch breaks and rest breaks, and a general end to the freedom i've come to know (freedom which has kept me sane over the past 24 months)? possibly. i feel my doctor's appointments, dental appointments and manager meetings, all my saving graces, slipping through my fingers, and i don't like it.

or could it be because during my volunteer session, i had to read the hite report, a book about women's sexuality. the chapters i was assigned were on orgasms. orgasms in masturbation. orgasms in intercourse. are the legs together, apart, slightly apart then open, slightly open then apart, or scissoring rapidly when achieving orgasm? are fingers, hands, objects, cloth, pillows used in masturbation? and then there was the section on women who don't have orgasms at all.... could reading this have attributed to my hostility? well, it certainly didn't help. i felt my body temperature start to rise and my heart start to pound, and it had nothing to do with contracting vaginal muscles or varied clitoral pressure. i was just mad. but why? is it because i wouldn't know an orgasm right now if there was one vibrating on my welcome mat when i got home? perhaps. is it because tampax owns more stock in my vag than any penis ever has? maybe. but this is nothing new, so what's the big deal?

maybe it has nothing to do with the book. it could be because after a fantastic, whirlwind of a manager meeting last week, i haven't heard from him yet, and the lines between my personal life and professional life are blurring. i sit by the phone, hoping he'll call, checking my missed calls, refreshing my email. nothing. the following internal dialogue ensues: "will he call? when? did he like my other material? of course, he didn't. why would he? he's not going to call. he would have called by now if he was going to. should i email him? absolutely not. if he wants you, he'll call you. what if he forgot? or just got busy? or lost my number? should i email his assistant? no! i should relax. it has only been a week (minus one business day for the holiday). he'll call. maybe. if you're writing isn't complete shit." i feel primed to star in a movie titled, "he's just not that into representing you" (written by some talented, represented writer, of course).

nevermind that, my anger could very well stem from the fact that i take the "periods only four times a year" birth control for the sole purpose of avoiding bloodshed every effin month, yet i still manage to only make it 7 weeks (and i do mean this is the ONLY reason i take it. proof? see paragraph 3). 8 weeks if the gods are on my side. motherfucker! so it could just be my hormones unleashing their fury after being cooped up in the juice for a few weeks longer than mother nature would like. i would like to have a few words with big mama naturale. but i suppose i'll wait until i cool off a bit, lest i start having hair growing in places it shouldn't.

could be all of these things. could be something else entirely. all i know is,

i am in a shitty mood this week, L.A.

pause for the addendum

i would just like to briefly expound upon my 04.29 entry. the last thing i want to do is sound like a self-hating oreo. i'm all about brown people. really. and i'm quite content with my color (literally and socially). i would have things no other way, and i'm the first one to tell an ignorant asshole exactly what i think. HOWEVER, as down with the brown as i am, i would urge people to use discretion when trying to hook me up with other brown people. for example, just this past weekend, i went to get a bridesmaid dress altered by a lady whom i'd never met before in my life. as she was shoving fake boobs into the halter of my dress, she was talking about some client of hers whom i'd be perfect for, being that we're both brown and all...and i guess, happen to need things altered. what is that? seriously. and what i want to say is that i'm not down on black men or anything. that would mean that i'd have to be equally down on my relatives, and the men in my family are pretty cool. furthermore, the only long-term (we're talking years) relationship i've had was with a black guy, and one of the guys who broke my heart back in '06 was black, so i have a history of equal opportunity employment. but i do think it's a little ridiculous for people to simply look at skin color as a determining factor as to whether or not two people should date.
that's all i'm going to say about that for now. i have to get back to work.

i just needed to clarify that, L.A.