Looking forward to tonight...

I’m looking forward to tonight because I get to spend it with my dearest Chairman on his birthday. We’re heading up to the Magic Castle to meet our friend, Kurt, who will play host for the night. And I’ll get a chance to meet Chairman’s mother, who’s in town for his birthday. After that, we’re going to try to catch a band that he introduced me to who I am crazy about - The Piper Downs. The cool thing is that you have to get all dolled up to go to the Magic Castle – evening dress kind of thing. It’s so much fun to get all dressed up, go have a good dinner then watch some of the finest magicians in the world perform. It’s a private club so it’s hard to get into unless you have connections. I haven’t been to the Castle in a while and I’m really looking forward to it.

It makes me think of where I was a year ago, when I ventured into the Great Blonde Experiment and we were looking forward to Las Vegas, which turned out to be more fun than I ever imagined it could be. Hard to believe that a year has passed. Time is just flying by.

And I feel like things are maybe heading into motion again. Nothing’s really changed since my frustrated blog but I feel that there is change in the air – after all, Mercury is in retrograde (whatever that means) and that usually makes thing move. It’s not always for the better but at least motion is motion.

So I’m off to get in the shower so I’ll smell pretty then take some time to get myself presentable. Zadra was my wardrobe advisor last night and I’m glad she helped me pick something that will actually be warm tonight. It’s cool here, for LA, and the black dress I’m wearing won’t require a coat or jacket.

Hopefully, I’ll grab a couple of pictures tonight and get them posted quickly.

Somebody stop me...

I’m on a romantic comedy binge. Okay, so it’s only two RomCom’s I’ve watched tonight but, considering the fact that I lack the “chick flick” gene, two is a binge. Also considering the fact that my DVD collection contains more action and violence than the average woman’s – my favs being “Fight Club”, “Snatch,” and “Kill Bill” (prefer Volume 2) – my RomCom choices are usually odd and eccentric – “Benny and Joon”, “High Fidelity” and “Gross Pointe Blank.” I only have a couple of “traditional” RomCom’s so I’ve had to rely on Time Warner Cable to fill in the blanks.

I guess what I’m looking for is answers to my current, chronic, stupid situation. I know nothing about dating. I know nothing about starting a relationship. I know nothing about dealing with the opposite sex. And somehow I figure I’ll glean something from “Notting Hill” and “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” Maybe buried deep in the light, fluffy scripts are the secrets to how to successfully navigate the waters that I am currently dog-paddling in.

Or maybe I just want to lose myself in the fantasy that one can fall in love with their best friend and actually have it turn into something (okay, I know that doesn’t happen in Best Friend’s Wedding but…) or that you can meet someone that is a total stranger and just feel that connection and have him show up somewhere unexpected and say something so wonderfully charming and darling that you totally lose your heart.

Maybe if I study how these women behave in these things, it’ll give me a clue as to how to proceed with the stupid men in my life. Should I toss out the “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy” speech, or chase down my best friend in a stolen bread truck?

Maybe RomCom’s are the reason I am unsuccessful. The women in these always fall immediately in love and intensely in love. Very few of them are casual, approach the relationship as anything but something special and marvelous and amazing. And I’ve come to the conclusion lately that I approach most relationships that way, whether it’s a friendship or something more. I am not capable of casual and I think maybe that scares the shit out of men. Someone who I cared about deeply who left my life unexpectedly once said something about my being “too much” sometimes and I never really understood what he meant. I think I do now. I think that I love intensely and deeply, whether it’s my friends or more. I expect that kind of devotion in return, in many of my relationships, and I think most people are willing to give that back, to a point.

But it’s that “point” that I think I don’t get. If I care about you, I CARE about you. I don’t know how to do that in small letters, only capital ones. I am not the type of just take things casually and let them breeze by. I am passionate and intense and fierce and I began to think lately that maybe I need to change that.

Then I came to the conclusion that that’s bullshit. This is me. If I’m “too much,” it’s because you can’t handle all of the affection and devotion that I am capable of – and that’s your loss. Sometimes, it is my loss because I do lose myself by giving too much occasionally. I’m trying ot reign that in a bit.

But I am the RomCom heroine who is going to steal the bread truck and chase you down, I am the heroine who will say stupid things, if you give me enough time, I am the heroine who will bond with your roller skating dog and fall in love with someone in a coma and confess my soul to them. That is the beauty of me.

Maybe we women should be more than casual, give men a chance to experience us at full volume, instead of cheating ourselves out of that passion, out of that commitment, out of that depth of feeling. Sure, it hurts like hell when it’s not returned or when it finally ends, as it usually must. But I’d rather hurt like hell and know that I gave someone everything I had than only whimper and know that I protected myself so much that they didn’t get the full force of me. Even in friendships, even in the friendship I lost, I don’t regret giving him what I did because I know I did it because he was that important to me, important enough for me to unleash the whole force of me upon him. And I guess that was too much for him to handle. But I wouldn’t have done it any other way.

So for tonight, I’ll observe Julia Roberts and adore the intensity that is her character and see if I can channel some of that into this current situation. And, maybe in the end, I’ll get the cute guy or the best friend or whoever I am supposed to end up with, and he will appreciate and accept the intensity that is me.

Promises and frustration

These past few weeks have been full of things being dangled in front of me and then… well… I don’t know. Not even pulled away but just not materializing. Not that they’re not there, there is just no forward movement. Just limbo.

One thing did end up coming to a halt and I am disappointed but, in the long run, it’s probably for the best. I can now concentrate on the things that are very important to me and not spend time trying to coddle someone through something that they are not ready for.

But the lab at the Ark was basically put on the back burner and I was completely indecisive about whether to go forward or not on it due to frustrating circumstances of lack of commitment on the part of one particular person and then just not being able to finalize a cast. Not completely done but not moving forward.

Then… well… men. Just don’t get them. Cute Guy appeared again last night, never leaving my side, sending enormous signals, very warm and fuzzy feelings. Then left at the end of the night with “see ya next week.” And OOMA suddenly hovering around the edges whenever Cute Guy is around but withdrawing a bit when Cute Guy is not around. Not completely done but not moving forward.

Then an opportunity with my side business came up over the weekend. I’ve contacted the person about this possibility, which would solve a number of my financial problems, but have not heard back from her. Not completely done but not moving forward.

Been dealing a great deal with my feelings about my ex. That seems to be the only place I can move forward, is really acknowledging how damaged I felt in the last few years of our relationship. I find it easier to talk about rather than give a polite answer to protect him. From what I’ve heard, he’s still the same, still doing the same thing, still being the same person he was that I left. So I don’t necessarily need to be polite as he continues to demonstrate why I needed to leave him. Yet, occasionally, at times like this particularly when I am stuck in limbo, I have fleeting thoughts of wondering if I should have stayed, should have tried harder to work it out, should have given it another month or two or six because, after 16 years of being together, didn’t we deserve more than a year? That thought doesn’t last very long, particularly when I do look at all that I have gained in the past year, but it still does surface.

I just feel a bit like I’m being tossed around on the ocean, seeking some land to sink my feet into, even a sand bar at this point. I can see a faint horizon line in the distance and something that looks like land but I can’t quite get there.

I guess I’ll cling on to the small life raft I have fashioned and paddle like hell and hope that I can reach shore before I capsize.

Potentiality...

Not sure where this is gonna go, so hang on.

First, did the Melrose Trading Post today. It’s a swap meet/flea market in Hollywood. Didn’t do so well monetarily but a huge potential order is hanging out there in the wind. Cross your fingers. It could set me up for the rest of the year.

Second, the potential that wasn’t. Cute Boy never called. Don’t need a book to tell me “he’s just not that into me.” Not surprised, a bit disappointed but, oh, well, I’ll live.

Third, I sat at the coffee shop the other day and thought about my life five years into the future. Where do I want to be? What could I see? What could I feel? The first thought was peace. I felt peaceful, content, settled in the best way possible. I saw a beautiful room I was sitting in, looking out a large window into nature. Not sure if it was the beach or just a beautiful sight. But peaceful came to me again. Quiet. Tranquil. Sanctuary was another word that kept coming to me. I saw a porch/patio that was a haven where I could retreat and meditate, write, think, be. No distractions, no disturbances.

At first, I saw myself alone, but that was okay. It was just me and my thoughts and my life and my space. No threats, no drama, no judgments. Just me. That made me sad for a moment but then I thought, well, if that’s what it takes to have peace and tranquility, then alone it will be. I saw my friends and a wondrous life of fun and frivolity as well as depth and compassion with those close to me, and that gave me enormous comfort. Being alone by choice is one thing, being alone against your choice is another. So if it was my choice to be alone, then so be it.

Then, there was music. Beautiful, organic music. Not recorded, but somebody playing music in the home. I can’t even tell you what type of music it was – piano, guitar. Not sure. But I could hear it and I was warmed and touched by it. Again, tranquil, peace, contentment. Beautiful, lovely, peaceful music that surrounded me with love and joy and comfort. Soon, two arms found their way around my shoulders and the whole picture was complete. Someone who could give me peace, who could allow me contentment without being threatened by it, someone who could share the sanctuary without trying to wrest it from me. Someone who was the other half of my whole.

That was scary as I didn’t think I would find another half ever. And it felt good and fine and just about the way I want the next go-round to be. Comfortable, sharing, warm, simple. I realize no relationship is really easy but sometimes we make it more difficult than it has to be.

I know what I want out of the men in my future – someone real, someone honest, someone vulnerable, someone with respect, someone with an emotional soul. I don’t want to have to drag feelings and thoughts out of someone anymore. You MUST want to share with me, otherwise, what’s the point? On that same point, you MUST want me to share with you. Two-way street.

I want someone who can hold my hand as I grow and let me take their hand and let them grow. I want minimum drama. I want honesty – but honesty doesn’t have to be harsh. Honesty can be that - honesty. I want to find someone I can talk to, can tell anything to, without judgment, without value being placed on it. And I want to return the same to him.

I want someone who I want to include in my life, not someone who just happens to be there, which is what I think happened with my ex. He was there, he wasn’t what my first husband was so, therefore, he must be better. And, for a while, he was. But I never thought about 16 years into the future, what that would mean.

I want those warm arms and that wondrous music to fill my life. I want that contentment and that comfort and that sanctuary. It’s a ways into the future but at least now, I can see it, I can feel it, I can grasp it. And maybe by naming it and sensing it, I can find it.

yuck.

Head cold finally caught up to me, which I'm sure is coloring everything today.

Left Koji’s last night feeling particularly alone and lonely, despite having a wonderful time and singing the hell out of “All That Jazz.”

Woke up to my cable being turned off and spending every last penny I have to get it turned back on.

My gas tank is empty.

The only "food" in the house is leftover take-out spaghetti from last night and mini-sized Peanut M&M's.

Hey, on the bright side, there’s nowhere else to go but up.

My birthday destination...

So, in April, I turn 45 years old. And I'm proud of that. Zadra suggested this year that I do something amazing for my birthday and I did - I started fliming "Cinderella Drives A Pick-up." She actually suggested Mexico but the film was more important.

So 2007, some of the gals and I are planning on tripping down to Mexico in June probably (my and Patty's birthday is actually April 8 but I will probably have a show up then). My key plan is to see some spectacular ruins. I have a fascination with abandoned bulidings and things - some day I'll post my deserted trailer park pics - and Teotihuacán is one of the most amazing sites I have seen. Check out Wikipedia info on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teotihuacan#City_Layout if you're curious (thanks, Chairman, for turning me on to Wikipedia).

Here's Teotihuacan:



Anyway, I would love to have a whole batch o'buddies with me on this trip, besides my birthday twin and my couple of usual cohorts. It's not gonna be terribly cheap but I'm already looking for deals. To be honest, I'd sleep on the beach or camp out under the stars if it meant I could go. 2005/2006 has been difficult and amazing and fulfilling and empty and promising and disappointing all at the same time. I want something incredible for 2007. And this seems like a good place to start.

Maybe some handsome guy (who will hold my hand in public ;), right, Monica?) will decide to join me and make this the most memorable birthday of my life. Now taking applications...

Finally found what I wanted to say…

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. I kept trying to blog about it but couldn’t find the words. I kept finding myself writing then rewriting what I wanted to say so I would finally just stop.

I think maybe I have finally figured out what I wanted to say.

I am an exceptional woman. Now, wait. Hear me out. I am just really discovering the value of myself, something I have struggled with for years. I talk a good game and I have become very certain about my value as a director and as a writer but until recently, I haven’t been able to place that value on Susan, the woman. Susan, the woman, didn’t have an identity three years ago. Susan, the woman, almost died one night because she didn’t know who she was supposed to be to make everybody happy. She didn’t know that the one person she had to make happy was herself in order to make everybody else happy.

Even with making my own life this past year and a half, I still have struggled with finding out who Susan, the woman, is. Sometimes, I can see her very clearly and very distinctly. I like what she looks like. She wears very cool clothes and incredible boots. Jeans, usually, but something about the outfit is confident and sexy and feminine. That’s the person I want to see looking back at me. An exceptional woman.

Usually, I see the 30 lbs. at least that I need to lose. I see the frizzy ends of my hair. I see the deep lines around my eyes that give away my age. I see the calloused and cracked and unattractive feet. I see the wounds around the edges that have been inflicted by years of neglect and denial. I see the sadness and the doubt and the confusion. I rarely see the exceptional woman in the cool clothes with the incredible boots.

And I try to superimpose an idea of the exceptional woman that is not true over the insecure, fearful and timid woman that I feel I am most of the time. I realize this the most when I’m dealing with a man who I have strong feelings for. I try to figure out which type of exceptional woman he would be drawn to – young, thin, blond, perky, young, thin, redhead, flirty – and I find myself seriously lacking in that kind of exceptional. Then begins the process of devaluation. I am not worth anything because I am not 25 years old. No wonder he’s not able to see me as date-able. I’m not 25, 110 lbs. and flirty. I’m past my prime, I should just give up and go sit in the corner and wear baggy shirts and comfy jeans and realize that I am not exceptional in the way that I think he thinks I should be.

Yet, as I’ve begun to discover and accept recently, I am never more attractive and never more exceptional than when I am just me, whatever that means. I struggle with accepting that because I accepted previously that being just me wasn’t enough. My relationship with this man is never better than it is when I am just me. Doesn’t matter which me I am. His eyes reflect his affection for me when I just get out of my own way, quit trying to figure out who I’m supposed to be and just be me. Wow. So simple. And it’s when our friendship and our relationship is at its best. I should know this by now, you’d think. But, again, I never accepted that just me is enough.

Because just me is complicated. I never thought complicated could mean exceptional. I always thought exceptional was singularly perfect, without complications, without variety. Exceptional was one single type of perfect. A standard that I could never live up to because I accepted the fact that I was imperfect and valueless and complicated.

But I am beginning to understand that my complications, my complexities, my seeking and struggling and fighting and crying and wounds and sorrow and joy and laughter and all that depth of feelings and emotions is exactly what makes me exceptional. I FEEL. Without those feelings, without those complexities, exceptional doesn’t exist. It exists because of them. Anger drives the exceptional. Fear drives the exceptional. Emotion drives the exceptional. Passion drives the exceptional.

That cold, surface, plastic, presentable face that I see all around me, that I thought was my “competition,” what I had to live up to, is nothing but emptiness and the ordinary and the unexceptional. So she’s 25. When you’re ready to deal with a real woman, a real person, a real exceptional human being who can be so much more than just a face and a body and eye candy, then you come talk to me. When you’re ready to deal with your own feelings, your own foibles, your own demons, you come talk to me. When you’re ready to be exceptional, you come talk to me.

Even as I take very tiny little cautious baby steps towards someone new, I can feel the questioning begin – who do I have to be for him to love me? And I heard the answer loud and clear the other day as this thought was lingering around the edges.

I have to be Susan, the woman. Flawed, fallible, complicated, complex, exceptional me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.

Hmmm...

Words for tonight…

Slut (not me)
Frustration
“Chicago”
"LA Woman"
Yum-my
Snuggly
Promising

I can’t seem to stop smiling…

Hmmmm….

So...

I will miss your smile, your dimples, your laugh. All the things that…

But I will miss your stormy eyes most of all. And the way you made my heart leap every time you walked into the room.

But I’m just completing the distance you have placed there.

And...

I know how I would write the end to tonight.

But you’re not John Cusack.

And I’m not Sandra Bullock.

And there are no funny, funky sidekicks to tell you the truth.

And life is not romantic nor a comedy. It’s Survivor. It’s the Surreal Life. It’s where bonds are made and then broken, leaving even friendships in tatters behind as the one voted off packs their bags and quietly leaves the island/hotel room/whatever.

And there are no end credits and no songs sung by Peabo Bryson. Just silence.

One look...

He has the ability to level me with just one look. He has this way – across the room, his stormy eyes catching my gaze, no smile, no frown, just a look. His eyes lock with mine and there is nothing in the room but the two of us. God, it sounds like a romance novel but it’s true. There’s nothing but the air and the breath and the look. His haunted eyes. Wanting, needing, begging for something that I don’t think he can even define. Lost. I can’t look away and neither can he. We’re both lost in a moment that neither of us can define.

And I want to reach out to him, cradle his face in my hands, kiss his forehead and tell him it will all be all right, him and me, the world, the hurt, the pain, the life – it will all be okay if he will just let it be.

The breath stretches to an eternity and, occasionally, we each take a step, as we did last night, towards one and the other. The world shifts, accommodating that step, taking the breath with us as we move that one single step. His mouth opens just a bit, just enough to almost allow a sound out, one more breath out, then he chooses to close it, unable to let the word slip out with the breath. I’ve lost mine, waiting to hear the word, waiting to hear something, holding my breath, as he does as well.

Then he breathes out and the moment is lost. The world crowds in, the noise drowns out what he might have said, what he would have said, if he could have just held his breath with me for one single moment longer. But he breathes and he blinks and he tears his gaze away, looking back into reality, choosing to not get lost with me in that one indefinable moment.

And I don’t breathe out yet, hoping that he’ll catch his breath again and return to my eyes and maybe give me a syllable of what he holds in his eyes. But he turns and he is gone, not physically but emotionally, taking whatever words might have lingered, if he would have just let them escape. I watch his back move away, being swallowed up by those around, and I catch my breath, afraid to move, hoping he’ll turn around. But he doesn’t. And I breathe again, wishing to be breathless with his look again.

And, eventually, he does it again… and again… and again…

“I saw them standing there pretending to be just friends, when all the time in the world could not pry them apart.” - Brian Andreas, storypeople.com

Sanctuary comes to an end…

The woman I have been subletting from returns from her adventures today. So, for at least a short time, until I move or she goes out on another adventure, I will have a roommate again. A roommate I know really nothing about. She seems like a very nice, private, quiet woman and I hope that impression is correct.

It’s been a particularly hard couple of weeks, dealing with my father and knowing that there are huge transitions coming up. I think I’m at my limit with transitions but there is really nothing I can do about these ones.

I’m struggling to see the positives right now. My roomie may be temporary. The move with my parents is the best thing for all involved, taking pressure off my parents, will probably help me financially as I won’t have to pay for everything myself. And the time with my father will be invaluable.

But this whole year and a bit has been so transitory. Just when I start to feel like I’m settled, things shift drastically. Even moving in with my parents may be temporary, depending on my father’s health. When he is no longer here, my mother plans on moving back to upstate New York to be with her sisters. I think that’s a great idea. She has been away from them for most of her adult life and I know she would love to be able to spend the rest of her life with them, in her hometown. I will miss her terribly but I’m glad that’s her plan.

I can never be grateful enough for these past four months in this apartment. It has been such a pleasure to be able to entertain the way I’ve always wanted to. I loved being able to invite the girls over at the last minute to just hang out. The short film festival (also known as Chairman B. appreciation night) was a delight. Being able to rehearse in my living room made a huge difference for “Earnest.” And just the peace and quiet, which at times was hard to deal with, gave me time to listen to myself, acknowledge and begin to deal with the clowns in my head, and allowed me the time to just be.

So, although I am sad to see this quiet end, I’m hoping that the time with the “new” roomie will prove valuable, as my time with Tiffany did, and that the changes and transitions over the next few months will prove to be fulfilling and amazing and leave me in the place where I’m supposed to be.