who dat? contest.

(yo stee. i know
who dat?)

last game:

mcdonald's founder ray kroc

first correct answer:

the limey, jackie

time is on my side

So here I am near the end of a year. End of a big big year. End of a shitty year, in many ways. I remember so clearly walking to a party on New Years Eve. I remember the bowls of chips and the champagne and the video camera. I remember the decision to go or not to go. I even remember the waiting before, for her to get off work. I remember the fireworks outside my window and playing a driving game in the dark, which I haven't done since, and drinking a beer. I remember what kind of beer I was drinking. I remember the drive up and where we parked. I remember the things we had to carry. The talk of who would be there and would this be fun. I remember arriving and seeing everyone gathered but it was smaller than I thought and I'd always somehow hoped to be at a big event. I remember accepting and appreciating that I was at a more intimate gathering as the evening went on. I remember smoking outside and the dress someone was wearing and the hope. And then things happened. Big things. Big changes. Break-ups and trips and changes and new people entering my life and old people leaving my life. And while everything moves around me, my literal surroundings have stayed the same. I'm living in the same apartment (yes, with a new couch and a new cat) and working at the same job (for now) and driving the same car (which reminds me that I have to change the oil.) And yet everything is different. And that's a disconcerting feeling.

Much of the year, though, I've been too busy to do much about anything. Especially for the last five months. And suddenly, it's ended. Suddenly, there is time again. I look at my day planner and I can see white. My comedy group ended its run. A run that took so much of my time, from writing three scripts to rehearsing all three shows to producing to learning lines. And now that's over. And other things have ended. Career things are out of my control for the meantime -- which means waiting, which drives me fucking insane, but that's what I have to do right now. I have a show opening in December, but other than writing the three plays and giving feedback at auditions, I have nothing to do with it. I'm swinging by rehearsals this week, but it's really a minor time commitment. We're waiting to see if we get into the Aspen Comedy Festival, but that's just more waiting for now. Yes, I'm going away for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but it's not a work thing I'm scrambling to make it to or a friend I promised I'd see and suddenly realized I'm running out of time. The next big thing I have is January, where we go back to shoot the rest of the movie. We have the money and so baring the star's lack of availability (which is a worry), we're on again. So... what to do in the meantime?

I mean, I could claim that I've been very very busy (which I have) and so I deserve a few weeks off and I could do nothing. I could do my recaps (go read my and pamela's miracle worker recap) and go to work and that's it. Just go home and sleep at 9 every night, make up for the last fucking 14 years of my life. Or I could dedicate myself to being a social butterfly and go out every single night and get myself into all sort of trouble. That could be fun. I could go take a class or something. Really, I could do a lot of things. I could stay up in Berkeley and take time off work. Sure, I'd go broke and I'd need to arrange care of the cat, but other than that, nothing's actually keeping me from doing that. Well, OK fine, the business and all that. But I could wait up there just as fucking well. I could drive across country. Just take off and go visit all those people I miss and love and never get to see. (That reminds me, I had a pretty huge group of friends in high school from all different classes, and I knew I'd lose touch with most of them. So I made a vow of sorts that when I turned 30 I would jump in my car and track them all down, no matter where I was or who I was with.)

I could test myself. I could see how long I could go without talking to anyone. I could try to run six miles a day, just to see what that would do to me. I would probably pass out every time. OK, maybe three miles to start. I could join a ballet class just because that's like the last thing I would ever do. I could try to write a piece for full orchestra, all on my piano. Transcribe all the parts and work them out with my dying musical knowledge -- see how horrible it comes out. I could do what I used to dream of: hop a freight train. See where it took me. See if there's even a smidgen of that romance left in that notion once I actually do the thing. I could see how long it took me to gain 30 pounds, and then to lose it again. I could try to develop a new laugh or a new walk. Somewhere back in February I developed a snort in my laugh that seems to have stuck. I've been walking the same bouncy way for as long as I can remember. I don't know why I do it. This kid used to call me Tigger. It's really a shameful secret, so don't you start... Yup. I just tested it out by walking to get a diet coke (pretty much all the walking I do while at work) and there's big ol' stupid me, boucin' all over the place. Man, why don't people tell me about this? It took my friend imitating me in a class earlier this year to get me to remember I walked like that for the first time in years. Maybe it's the big feet. It wasn't until I was 22 that I realized I go down stairs very stupidly. I was with this girl I was briefly seeing my last summer in New York and we were running to catch a subway and I'm sprinting down the stairs and I hear her fall down laughing behind me. Turns out I do this sideways thing with my feet on stairs like they have in the subways, or else I'll fuck up the shoes and/or fall. I never realized it. Thank you very much, Kat.

Anyway, I have to write this new script I'd started a while ago. To me though, that seems like I'm doing nothing. I think when I'm getting paid for it, it'll feel like a whole lot more. But for now it feels like I'm fucking around. I'm the type of person who could be at the cast party for a show on closing night, fretting that now I'm not doing anything. I don't rest well.

And free time for me somehow magically seems to disappear. It manages to do that. So that even in times I'm not crazy busy with a bunch of projects, things happen. A reading here, and screening there. Drinks with someone. A meeting with someone. A weekend out of town. Things occur. And I like that.

That's a good thing about LA. Things happen. People keep moving out here. People always visit. There's always someone wanting to go out, even when you don't. And then to be a creative person, there is always work to do. And the problem occurs, I think, when you have both, the "go out" gene and the "stay home and create" gene. Both of which I have.

Now if I just had the "win the lottery" gene, things would be a whole lot easier.

Currently at Three Way Action:

Can't get over the ex?

See Requiem For A Dream yet?

No one likes bad sex.

The debate that won't die. Tipping.

Music you should like, but just don't.

Design your own funeral.

Love the movie quotes.

The Anna Nicole Smith Happy Song Corner

If I were a swan I'd be gone. If I were a train I'd be late. And if I were a good man, I'd talk with you more often than I do. If I were asleep I could dream. If I were afraid I could hide. If I go insane, please don't put your wires in my brain. If I were the moon I'd be cool. If I were a rule I would bend. If I were a good man, I'd understand the spaces between friends. If I were alone I would cry. And if I were with you I'd be home and dry. And if I go insane, will you still let me join in with the game? If I were a swan I'd be gone. If I were a train I'd be late again. And if I were a good man, I'd talk with you more often than I do... speaking of which. Someone asked me what I do when I'm alone, cuz, like, I always have people over, y'all. And, man, I don't know. I'm fine alone. I am. I am. I'm just not that much. I got my people. I got my assistants and Percy and the lil' fucker and my bodyguard and my hair guy is always playing pool or swimming with the lil' fucker. But I could be alone. I just ain't much. What would I do? I would take a bath and watch TV and drink a beer or two. And then I'd call my friends and have them take me out or something to celebrate being an alone independent woman. See. Easy.
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