Taking notes from A.J.

I love AJ’s point of view on things because he always makes me think. He recently commented on my last blog about men, making me think about what I wrote and why.

The thing about AJ is that he is a very together man, has a gorgeous wife that attests to his togetherness. And his point is well-taken – not all men are walking wounded, not all men harbor deep, dark secrets that must be uncovered. It just seems that way, from the woman’s point of view.

I guess what women like Monica and I are seeking and why we spend so much time analyzing and figuring and projecting is because we are single. Simple as that. We are trying to figure out why we are single and why the men we are attracted to – and who seem very attracted to us – don’t seem to want to be a consistent part of our lives. I will give you, from their point of view, they probably think they are being very clear and upfront and honest and that they are giving us all that they are capable of.

The frustration comes from wanting and needing and desiring to be with someone but not knowing how to. If we move too fast or make the wrong move or say the wrong thing, we will drive away the one that we want in our lives.

See, we don’t know what we’re supposed to be either. Women like me were raised through the ‘70s and ‘80s, with Women’s Lib and the ERA and women truly coming into their own. It’s all Helen Reddy’s fault. I grew up a strong, self-sufficient woman, raised by an incredibly strong mother who brooked no shit from anyone. When bullies tried to break me down at school, my mother and my equally strong sister taught me the value of standing up for myself, facing down the bullies, and embracing my own self.

My own self, however, is indefinable. It is something that attracts men and alternately freaks them out. My own recent ex even said during our therapy once that he wondered what happened to that strong, secure woman he met 16 years ago. Yet, it seemed to me that he spent a good part of our relationship trying to bend that strong, secure woman into someone that needed him, that couldn’t stand on her own, that had to have his approval to do anything. And every time my self-assurance and confidence would come out, he’d find a way to beat it back inside.

And now I guess I’m afraid that that part of me, that strong, assured woman, may be a part of what is keeping me alone. I am woman and you have heard me roar. But in trying to keep myself together and keep myself strong, have I put out vibes and signals saying, stay away, keep back 20 feet, don’t even try to reach me because I’m not reachable? Strong is sometimes mistaken for arrogant. Strong sometimes covers up vulnerable too well. Strong sometimes can be intimidating.

With the OOMA, I wonder if there haven’t been times when he’s been ready to reach out to me but I have strong-armed him away. And maybe after so many of those strong-arm encounters, he stopped reaching out, content with just being nearby. Or maybe I am just imaging things because he seems to be what I want and yet he is what I am afraid of.

This whole thing is so complex. I don’t remember it being this complex 17 years ago when I met my ex. We liked each other immediately and as soon as I got rid of the asshole I was dating then, my ex and I went out on a date or two and then we were never apart after that. We didn’t really date, we jumped right in. Because it felt right. Because we both were ready.

Even my first husband was that way. I was dating a long term high school boyfriend when S and I met. I immediately was drawn to him and he to me but it was so close to the end of high school and I didn’t want to break my high school boyfriend’s heart. So I tried to stay with him until after graduation but only managed to make it to the week before. S and I just couldn’t wait to be with each other. Although apparently he had the same feeling for the woman he has now been married to for almost 20 years (unhappily from all accounts, I gloat).

I guess my point is I’m not sure how to do this. And I don’t think many women know how to do this. We’re also stuck between what is expected by society and what we see on “Sex and the City.” We’re told alternately to be aggressive then to be pouty. We’re told to embrace our own selves then are given advice in magazines to see how other women behave and do that. We see stupid girls roll around on beds, putting on live sex shows and see men respond to that and not respond to us and we’re confused even further. Yes, sure, AJ, tell me they’re watching a trainwreck. So that sends the message that, in order to get the attention of a single man, we have to be a trainwreck. And emotional trainwrecks don’t count.

I don’t want anything terribly complicated. I want to be held by someone who cares for me. I want to be kissed softly on the back of the neck. I want someone I care about to want to spend time with me. I want to be able to phone someone and say, hey, I missed you, I hope you had a good day, without them running for the hills. I want to make someone dinner and sit on the floor (or on their couch) and watch mindless TV and say nothing. I want to talk about everything and nothing and have it all mean something.

What I don’t want is a see you every day, text you 100 million times, leave stupid messages and comments on your Myspace (other than those I already leave for my friends), stupid nicknames, I would die without you kind of relationship. I’m too busy for that.

I just don’t want to be sitting home alone all weekend, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I don’t want to hang on to you and spend the entire weekend with you but dinner one night or a movie or a walk or an ice cream concoction would be lovely.

I’m a grown up and I guess I want a grown up relationship, although I am befuddled as to what that means. Maybe that’s where to start. I’m not 20 years old, I don’t have the same expectations as a 20-year-old and maybe that’s where the problem lies. We’re never taught how to change our expectations of a relationship past 20. In ancient times – like when my parents were young – life expectancy was not as long so and couples tended to stay in marriages so no one has given us an idea of what to do when we’re suddenly single and staring 45 in the face. No one has given us the tools to figure out how to be in a relationship that isn’t driven by rampant hormones and juvenile expectations of white picket fences and a house and children. We’re not taught how to start over at a time in our lives when most people are not supposed to be starting over.

Maybe that’s why it’s so hard. We’re new generations of people coming of age over 40. And there’s no one to mentor us and guide us. We are the generations that will set the tone for those coming after us. God help them.

Men

Monica and I have spent a lot of time in the last few days (weeks, months) talking about the men in our lives – those we covet, those who are friends and those who are care about. We’ve been discussing what makes them so afraid, so tentative, so unable to make a step forward when it comes to women.

And we think we’ve hit on an answer – they don’t know what to be and, therefore, they are left trying to figure out what they are. They’ve been given mixed messages by the media, by their mothers, by their female friends and by those other women in their lives. They’re left standing there, shy, uncertain, afraid to make any kind of move to be any kind of man because they no longer know what being a man means.

And they are exposed – particularly here in LaLaLand – to girls like the Pantiless Wonder and Bitch-face, confusing them even further. These are simple girls who haven’t become women yet, who seem to be very easy to figure out. Pantiless Wonder wants sexual attention and men respond to this because it’s a basic primal response. Bitch-face is easy because she emasculates them to their faces, making it easy to understand their role in her life.

It’s when they meet intelligent, complex, complicated women like Monica and I that they don’t know what to do. We’re not one note, we’re not simple but, really, we’re not that complicated either. We want the same things as Pantiless Wonder and Bitch-face, but we also want more.

So, you men out there who dare to read this blog, take note of what two smart, funny, complex women want their men to be. (Don’t run, it’s not that bad.)

1. Be strong enough to let us be strong and also strong enough to let us be weak.

2. We don’t want your testicles, thank you, you may keep them. We even enjoy it when you use them. We like strong men. Men with testicles.

3. We know you don’t understand us so don’t try to pretend you do. Just accept us in all of our weirdness and eccentricities.

4. Go ahead, fix things – around the house. Don’t fix us. We aren’t broken. And we promise not to try to fix you.

5. You can relax, we like you, we really, really do. Even your faults, even your bad habits. So relax. Be yourself.

6. Talk to us. Just talk. Tell us you don’t understand, you don’t know, you’re not sure. It’s okay to be that way.

7. Believe it or not, you can talk to us about feelings without figuring that means we’re getting married. We just want to know if we’re doing the right thing, too. We’re unsure sometimes. So be open, tell us when we’re crossing boundaries or when you’re not sure what you feel.

8. Quit fooling around with the concept of “hanging out” and “light dating.” Sorry, doesn’t work. Sucks. It confuses us even more because then we don’t know where we stand constantly. Be up front, be clear. We appreciate that. If you want to have us in your life and you want to cuddle and snuggle, sorry, we’re more than hanging out. Deal with it.

9. Trust yourself. Trust your feelings. Who knows, maybe they’re right.

10. Give us a try. A real try. Take a risk with your heart. We’re willing to, we just want you to as well.

11. We’re the walking wounded, too. We understand and promise to treat you gently.

That’s about it. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t. I just thought I’d put it out there for all to read.

Seeing the shore...

The pleasure of last night (Thursday) was being allowed to wallow. I was still in a very dark place but knew it was time to get out amongst the living and try to break up the dark blues, otherwise, I wasn’t sure things were going to end well. I forced myself to go as far as this lovely little café, Solar de Cahuenga, which has the best garlic fries, and thought I’d go that far, then maybe make it the other six blocks to Koji’s and karaoke. But I wasn’t sure I could go those last six blocks.

Well, I forced myself to cover those six blocks, figuring I’d leave early if I needed to. It was a quiet night and started out with me and Monica and this table of “newbies” who are adorable and sing like the dickens. Erin and Ric inquired about my mood and when I informed them that I was struggling, I got hugs and good wishes and was not told to cheer up. I slid into the corner of the table and kind of hid as I had no game face left and wasn’t sure I was fit for human consumption. Monica held her post at the end of the table and I was allowed to be moody. Chairman joined us eventually and he and Monica handled me with exquisite care all night, not interfering with my mood but also subtly trying to make sure I was okay, allowing me to wallow but making sure they were there in case the wallow got too deep. Mark was a doll and plied me with whiskey, to the point I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it home. Monica threatened to drive me herself if I had one more sip. I gave Mark the Reader’s Digest version of the last year and he was very sweet and supportive.

By the end of the night, I was finding I could almost smile again. I still wasn’t up for singing but was enjoying those who were. As Monica, Chairman and I went to our cars, I felt the wallow begin to become shallower and was glad I had made myself get out of the house.

There were several things I thought about when I got home last night.

First, I was very touched that my friends allowed me to wallow. They knew I was hurting, they knew I was wounded, but they didn’t try to make me put on the happy face and cover it up. They understood the importance of allowing me to feel wounded and hurt and sad without making me feel guilty about it. They still had a good time, I didn’t destroy anybody’s evening, and they made me feel safe and secure and that it was okay for me not to be the most chipper person in the world, for a change. I never felt obligated last night to apologize for my mood or to try to make them feel better about how I felt. And I never felt more safe and more allowed to feel than I did last night.

I also realized that this blue-ness was different than many of the others I have encountered this year. It feels like I dove off of an island a year ago, swimming towards some unidentified shore, diving in deep, reaching for the elusive sand so far away that all I could see was the horizon. Along the way, I’ve almost drowned a few times. The waters got very, very deep and I couldn’t touch bottom. Those were the scary dark blues as I couldn’t see my way to the sky. But there always seemed to be something that got under my feet just enough to get me to the surface and I could swim on again. I knew the direction I was going in but I didn’t have a map or a compass or anything other than maybe the Northern Star to guide my progress.

Now, this time, I feel like my tiptoes have touched bottom. It’s a sandy bottom and it keeps sliding away as I find and lose my grip on it. But I can now see the shore and see what shape it is. I can’t quite make out the exact lay of the land but at least I can see the palm trees. I’m not drowning but now the real work starts, the work that will carry me to the shore and put my feet firmly down on the earth, leading me into the woods, a whole new place to explore.

But digging in my toes and getting myself to shore is the current challenge. And it’s a different challenge than swimming blindly along. I can now see where I’m going and I can almost figure out how to get there. And in many ways, that’s almost more frustrating because I’m not there. My feet are slipping and sliding around, trying to find where to grip to push me forward and out of the water. It’s frightening to be that close, to look behind me and see all the water I’ve swum through to get here. It’s overwhelming to think about how many times I’ve almost drowned and how there have been many lifeboats out there that wouldn’t let me drown. I’m tired and I’m not sure I’ve got the strength to push that last few miles to get my feet on the shore and rest for a while. But I want to rest for a while and that’s what keeps me going, even while my muscles scream in pain and my lungs cannot hold a breath anymore.

But I will dig in and keep going because there is no other choice. I will not let the sea swallow me and the sharks eat me. I’ve fought too hard to dig in my toes in the sand and I won’t let it go now. And I can see those standing on the shore, holding out their arms to me, trying to guide me to them. I hear them calling on the wind and keep trying to follow their voices when the waves get in between us. Occasionally, they throw out a life preserver and sometimes, I can almost reach it. I get enough of it to keep me afloat a while longer before I lose my grip on it. But they always throw it back again.

They are the ones who sent the mysterious things to get under my feet and keep me from hitting bottom. They are the ones who quietly sent out the lifeboats when I was in serious trouble and kept me from swallowing too much water. They are the ones whose voices have guided me over the crash of the waves and who have swum before and alongside me in the dark. They are my friends and my family and I can’t wait to join them.

Okay, so this got a little more warm and fuzzy and kind of icky than I had planned. But you get the picture. I am glad for my friends and family and I’m glad I’ve made the journey. And I can’t wait to see where the next journey will take us all.

Recovering slowly...

Thanks for the thoughts and good wishes. The events of this past year just seem to sneak up on me once in a while and knock the wind out of me. I know I’ll get past it but sometimes, I just need to wallow. I appreciate the understanding and support of the wallowing.

This time, it’s been a bit harder to recover as there are many things piling up on me that I need to make some decisions on and I don’t really want to. Also, it’s frigging hot out and I don’t feel like doing anything at all. I had hoped to get a good bunch of editing done and get some work done on my latest script but the heat and the events of the past week or so have taken all my motivation away. No air conditioning so my apartment is an oven, with myself and Twyla spending most of our time flat on our backs on the tile floor, hoping to grab some breeze from the fans throughout the apartment.

I need to figure out something else for work. The new-ish job with the actress/director is easy but it’s mind-numbing and I’m already dreading the days I have to work with her. She’s darling and easy but it just makes me crazy to drive all the way to Brentwood just to answer her emails and open her mail. I need more stimulation than that. I have a couple of leads on some people who are interested in my jewelry and my journals so I’ll try to find some time/motivation this weekend to get off my ass and redesign my jewelry site and maybe make some more journals so I can have them on the site as well. I’ll probably keep my medical transcription client as that I can d that at home and he’s pretty easy and a good steady source of income. Maybe I’m just bored. I don’t know.

I want to try to figure out how to get paid work as a director by the end of the year. I have these two very good short films, which I’ll try to figure out how to put up on YouTube, since the entire world is there. And I’ll hopefully finish the rough edit on Cinderella soon, which will give me more footage for a reel. I just think that’s where my energy needs to go, instead of trying to find a new job. Find some way to get paid for what I love. That’s what we all strive for, isn’t it?

Still struggling with leftover emotions about my ex. Some days, I curse his name. Some days, at least recently, I miss him terribly. Or maybe I miss US terribly. I don’t know. It’s all very confusing. Sometimes, I want to call him and just say, should we try this again, now that we have some distance? That’s what I intended when we split up. I had never intended for it to be permanent, he made that decision without me. Maybe it would be better now that we both have had some time to think, some time to reflect. Although I don’t think so. We’ve hurt each other too much, we’ve both moved on to other lives. I don’t know that I could go back to him now, carrying the anger and the hurt with me that I have over him. I guess I’m just spending some time in “what if”, just to see what I think.

As for OOMA, nothing is easy or clear on that front. Although he told me where he stands, I struggle with whether or not he really believes we’re just friends. He still sends out things to me that say otherwise but there is really nothing I can do unless he’s willing to step forward with that. So now the tough decision is how much do I want him in my life. I cannot imagine my life without him now, although we don’t see each other as often as we used to. But I cannot imagine spending all this time with him now as it’s hard for me to just be a friend. Silly, high school feelings, it seems like, but that’s what it is. And there are other things that compound my mixed feelings about him that I need to sort out. My female friends are very vocal about how important our friendship is and how much they are happy we’re friends. I am very vocal about how I feel about my friends, and this particular man. However, I still feel like I could walk away from him today and he wouldn’t blink an eye, outwardly. He would go on and find someone else to fill the space I once occupied. Yet, I can’t help but think I mean something to him. It’s just frustrating that he can’t say anything at all, even as a friend. It makes me very unsteady.

Compounding all of this confusion is just the simple fact that I’m lonely. I am ready to take the baby steps forward of sharing my life with someone, even if it’s just on a casual basis, just to have someone who wants to be with me, who wants to spend time with me and who maybe wants to snuggle now and again. Not much to ask, or maybe too much to ask.

So the goal for today is to scrape myself off the floor – it’s a tiny bit cooler today so that may be easier – maybe go to the beach after I check in at the actress’ house and go through her stuff (she’s in Maine but still have to do some things at her house). If it stays cool, maybe I can get some editing done tonight. At least feel like I’m doing something constructive. I have gotten a few pages written on “Live at Five” and I need to get a couple of packages together over the weekend to send “Weight of the Word” out to a couple of festivals. And I’ve started rehearsals for the “Importance of Being Earnest” lab at the end of August. Hopefully, once I get moving again, perpetual motion will take over and keep me going.

For right now, I need to let my brain work these things out and then Myspace me as to what we’re doing. Difficult decisions will be decided and then I’ll just keep putting one foot in front of the other and see where this next year leads me.

and...

and I want to call you
and tell you that I miss you
and I want to come home
and we could start again
and I would be better
and you would be better
and we would be better
and we could forget everything
and it would be good again
and I would be happy again
and it would be like it was

and it would be like it was

and he doesn’t care
and he isn’t able to say he cares
and it’s you all over again
and if it’s going to be you
and if it’s going to be hard
and I’m not going to have him
and I’m going to have to be in hell
and at least the hell with you I know
and then we’d start again
and I’d say I’m sorry
and you’d say you’re sorry
and he’d miss me
and he’d never be able to say he did
and I wouldn’t be alone
and we would spoon like we did
and it would be like it was

and it would be like it was

and I could call him
and say that I miss him
and that I need him
and that I won’t be around anymore
and that he’d have to do something
and I’d be there, waiting
and it could be so good
and I would be happy again
and I would be better
and he would be better
and we would be better
and we could have a future
and we could have a great life
and it would be like it was

and it would be like it was

and I could sit here
and I could be alone
and I could be empty
and I could be sorry
and I could miss you
and I could miss him
and I could be hurt
and I could be angry
and I could be haunted
and I could be afraid
and I could be in the blackness again
and I could be in the darkness again
and I could count the pills again
and it would be like it was

and it would be like it was

and I could get through tonight
and I could maybe get through tomorrow
and then maybe the day after
and then I’d not miss you
and I’d still miss him
and I’d still hurt
and I’d still be angry
and I’d still want to come home
and I’d still be haunted
and I could be better
and I could be stronger
and I could face what’s out there
and I could stand on my own
and I could find my way myself
and it would never be like it was

and it would never be like it was…

My new addiction

Dear Chairman and Ellen:

Thanks. Thanks for adding yet another addiction to my life. Is there a 12-step program for drummers?

For those of you unfamiliar, a while ago, I happened to mention to my dearest Chairman that I always wanted to play the drums. His response? His usual – so do it. Damn him. Then I met the fabulous Anna B., who also was learning to play drums. She had just sold hers but loved learning it. Then my neighbor, Steph, also said she was learning to drum as well.

The next time I saw Chairman, he said, “When we go see Piper Downs next, tell Ellen (fucking incredible Drummer Chick) that you want to play drums. See what she says.”

Ellen lost her mind. Chairman had told me that Ellen taught herself drums in six months so that she could play for her favorite band – the Piper Downs. And now she does. And she rocks. Rocks seriously hard. She is my hero.

So, the next time I saw Ellen, I told her I was thinking of learning how to drum. She said the same thing as Chairman – so do it. She offered me drumsticks and I turned her down, almost embarrassed to accept such a gift.

But then that stuck with me. If I had Ellen sticks, maybe I could do this. Silly, I know, but there it is. Chairman kept encouraging me, as did all of my close friends.

So, as you all know, when we saw Ellen and the Piper Downs at Citywalk, I asked Ellen for drumsticks. She excitedly complied, giving me a pair that had one bloody one from her enthusiastic playing that night.

I came home and drove my cat, Twyla, crazy by banging exuberantly on the oversized pillows around my house.

I have now spent the past couple of weeks banging on said pillows and anything else in the vicinity. I even took the drumsticks to San Diego this weekend, god knows why, but I did.

Today, I dove in. I stopped at Chad Sexton’s Drum City on Lankershim (drummer from 311, which would mean something if I knew more about music). I couldn’t help myself. I’m broke, don’t know how I’m going to pay my rent, yet here I was. I talked to a lovely clerk named Marty, who sold me a beginner book on drumming. Then a man named Richard (my life is fraught with irony) spent a great deal of time explaining different practice pads to me and what to look for in them, etc. Not a clerk at the store but a long time drummer. He then told me about a drum circle tonight at Remo Drums. If you don’t know Remo, they are premiere hand-drum makers. In fact, another irony, I designed and produced their first website waaaaay back in the early days of the web. He invited me to check out the drum circle. It’s free. How could I resist?

I parked at Remo at 6:10, a bit early but wasn’t sure how long it was going to take me to get there. Another lovely man, David, was getting out of his car and I asked about the drum circle. His enthusiasm got me very excited as he talked about how he loved coming here and it had been a while but he was glad to be back. Then he said, “I’ve been drumming about 15 years, been in a bunch of bands.” I almost bolted back to my car. He asked me how long I’d been drumming. I laughed and asked if it was possible to use a negative number. He assured me that there would be various levels at the circle and that it was not about how much experience you have, just how much fun you can have.

David was nice enough to show me around and told me to just pick a drum. I picked up a small hand-drum that you prop between your knees – a Doumbek. I took a seat as David grabbed a couple of big kettle drums and mallets. “I want to be heard,” he said. I was happy with my little drum.

The room quickly filled up, probably 50 or more, men, women, children, every race, every age. The beat began as soon as the first drum was set up and never stopped, even as I left. I was so intimidated by the first batch of people there because they obviously knew what they were doing. It’s a hand-drumming circle so there are few drums like I’m familiar with. But then Chris, the leader for the night, walked around and dropped various rhythm instruments around – tambourines, shakers, and, yes, the infamous cowbell. Soon, everyone had a rhythm going and I tentatively joined in, just doing something simple like finding the beat.

Soon enough, though, I found myself lost in the rhythm. Chris got us all going and kept changing up the rhythm and keeping everyone on track. He conducted the drum circle, moving the sound around and making it flow. I eventually forgot that I had to be perfect and just got caught up in the powerful sound of all of these drums and instruments combining to rattle my very soul. I closed my eyes and gave in to the primitive sense of sound that enveloped me.

The circle was over way too soon. The more professional of the group continued about a half hour after the circle was officially over and I hung around just to hear them. They were amazing. Eventually, though, the traditional flashing of the lights forced them to put their drums away and pack up. David came over and checked in on me to see if I had enjoyed myself. Richard also came up and checked in on me. They had huge compliments for each other and praised the fact that I didn’t give up and just jumped in. Then Chris, the leader, came over and introduced himself. He laughed and said he enjoyed the fact that I gave in and enjoyed myself. That’s what it’s about, he said. They all hoped I would come back next week.

I will. I also found a sheet that listed other drum circles, like the weekly one in Griffith Park Sundays from noon to sundown (gee, that’s right over there), one on Venice Beach Saturdays and Sundays from 2 till sundown, as well as various others. Oh, and there’s one on Saturday morning downtown at the Music Center. Free. Hmmmm, wonder where I’m going to be spending my time.

The greatest thing about this is that it’s something I have wanted to do ever since I was a kid. But drums are loud and clunky and hard to keep in an apartment. Even though I learned a bit about playing guitar (another addiction-to-be that Chairman is encouraging) and I played piano barely, drums have always fascinated me. I love the way they feel in my chest and my body. The echo of taiko drums especially amaze me. It’s primitive and it’s organic and it’s as base as you can get.

I drank it in tonight and cannot wait to go again. I think either Saturday or Sunday at Griffith Park may be in order this weekend or the Music Center. And I must, must, must drum on Venice Beach at sunset at some point. I was free tonight, I was loose and, I dare say, approaching unfettered. Okay, maybe not unfettered, but towards the end, I forgot that I had to be perfect, that I didn’t know what I was doing. I caught the rhythm, I caught the beat – albeit simplistically – and I came home and spent another hour banging away on my Remo practice pad from Chad’s Drum City.

I’m hooked. I’m addicted. I can’t get enough of it. I thought Ellen was nuts when she said she learned how to drum in six months. Until tonight, I didn’t think that was possible for me. I have since changed my mind. So, thank you, Ellen and Chairman, for giving me something else to tackle and accomplish and devote my life to.

After all, I can be a writer/director/producer/drummer, can’t I?

Restless, bitchy and out of sorts.

Probably because my power has been out – AGAIN – since 11 AM and probably won’t be back up until some time tomorrow. It’s freaking hot out. I have to keep coming down to Kaldi, the local coffee place, that has free wifi to check email and Myspace. Myspace is being a pain in the ass and taking forever to load. It’s freaking hot out. I’m hiding in my car when I’m not at Kaldi because at least there’s air conditioning but that’s costing a fortune in gas. Nobody wants to play with me today, or so it seems. And it’s freaking hot out. Sense a theme? Oh, and had to deal with my ex today, which always makes me warm and fuzzy.

That got me thinking, of course. We met at the bank to deposit the income tax check we’ve both been waiting on. We chit-chatted a bit, him more than me, because I just don’t want to talk to him about what’s going on in my life. Every time I do, he looks at me like I’ve grown another head. Could it be because I’m doing all the things I wanted to do and he always told me I shouldn’t or that they were frivolous and useless? He’d probably scoff at hearing that I am learning to play the drums. Sidebar – the one thing I am looking forward to is a drum circle at Remo Drums at 6:30. In a good mood to bang on shit today.

Anyway, we did the business that had to be done and he hovered in the parking lot, telling me that his play isn’t going up at the Ark until probably next year because he hasn’t been able to do the rewrite the way it needs to be. I probably should have said I was sorry to hear that or something but I couldn’t muster even that. All I could think about was that I wanted to get away from him as soon as possible.

It struck me as I got into the car – 16 years together and this is what we’re left with. Cold, empty silences, awkward meetings at neutral places, complete disconnect of what was once there. How did we get here? What led us to this? There are no easy answers and, even if one could point to one particular incident, it wouldn’t change the outcome, I don’t think.

I’ve had a lot of him on my mind this week. I can’t wait to get to the point where I don’t color every experience with the thought of how it would have been with him. The Comicon was the perfect example of this. We went once. He convinced me that it was going to be torture with all the people and the crowds and the chaos. We went and it was moderate torture. He doesn’t wander or stroll or take time to look at anything except the things he is there to see and that’s it. It was three days of being dragged through the Convention Center when I was with him, listening to him try to prove how smart he is to the people he talked to instead of listening to them and letting them share their work. He swore he’d never go again. This from a self-proclaimed comic geek.

This weekend couldn’t have been further from that experience. And I resented that he had taken so many things and times that should have been fun and light and easy and turned them difficult and challenging and drained all the fun out of them. Vegas was another example of that. Chairman and I had such fun and did so much that I had never done there before. He actually asked me what we did when we were in Vegas previously because it didn’t sound like we had ever done anything.

The only place we seemed to work well at was Monterey. I loved going to Monterey more than anywhere we had ever been together. For some reason, my ex seemed to be able to just be there, not push as hard, not obsess as much. Maybe it’s the ocean air. I don’t know. I do know my first trip to Monterey without him is going to be heart-breaking. It was always our very special place.

But thinking about him got me thinking about the continued OOMA and all the baggage that goes with that. Looking back at 16 years with someone who wasn’t emotionally available but that loved me has left me wounded and bitter and angry. And OOMA is cut from that same cloth. He doesn’t have that core of anger and harshness that grew in my ex but he is still the same kind of man – giving and generous in some ways, yet so protected emotionally it’s hard to get a read on what’s going on in his head. Yet what’s going on in his head is what I find so fascinating. But here I am again, fighting to get through to someone who’s got his heart sealed up in a steel-lined sack (to quote Nellie Bly) and is watching the world through his window, not participating in it. If something should happen and he should finally realize that he has feelings for me (yeah, that’s gonna happen), it’s not going to change who he is at heart. If he’s closed up tight now, he’s not going to suddenly go, oh, yeah, here’s my heart, take it out for a test drive and get it back to me when you’re done. He may allow visitation now and then to it, take it out late at night and let me have a glimpse of it, but he’s not going to put it under glass and leave it out there for me to see and to tinker with.

And I guess I should have learned my lesson by now. I want someone willing to hold their heart out to me – or at least be willing to let me take a gander at it once in a while. I want someone with his warmth and his generous spirit and his darling nature but I do want to have someone willing to meet me halfway emotionally. I feel like I’m the one who has to do the mining and the exploration and the reaching out and guiding. I think I want someone now who’s willing to be the one to drive the relationship, to call me and say, hey, what’re you doing tonight, wanna come over, or I’ll bring Chinese. Or just, hey, let’s get coffee. Someone who can show me that they are glad I am in their life and that I add something to it. That what I have to offer is special and perfect and exactly what they are looking for. Someone who doesn’t run in fear from the prospect of spending time with me and who came give me what I need when I need it. I jokingly said something of a lighter to sort to Chairman this weekend while he and Monica and I were walking to our car and he laughed and nudged me, saying, “Dreamer.”

I guess I am. I want someone who doesn’t exist.

How did circus clowns get in my suitcase?

So, of course, while I’m having the most wonderful time with Chairman and Monica this weekend, somehow there seemed to be some stowaways in my suitcase. How did I know they were there? Well, they’re an insidious bunch and they’re sneaky, too. At the most inappropriate times, there were little whispers in my ear, things nobody else could hear, with that damned calliope music in the background. I won’t even dignify what they were saying but it was silly, four-year-old-stamp-my-feet-on-the-ground-and-pout kind of crap. Taking the tiniest of innocuous things and trying to build the Tower of Babel with them.

I fought them off heartily all the way through the weekend until the last night. Then I made the mistake of looking in the mirror in the bathroom on my way back to the Masquerade parade. Monica had given me this sexy lace-up vest that, earlier in the evening, I thought made me look fairly sexy and kind of hot. Suddenly, reflected back in the mirror was this 44-year-old, overweight, over-made-up woman trying to pretend that she’s a size 10 and 30 years old. The circus clowns saw the opening and launched a full frontal attack. There was much mocking, much sniggering and a whole of lot “what the hell were thinking” questions being bandied about in my head as I rejoined Chairman and Monica. By the time we left for a tasteless but cheap dinner at Subway, I could not wait to get back to Becky’s and take off these clothes and put on something that covered me from neck to ankle.

From there, the clowns went after everything I had been fighting off all weekend. Totally sucked the wind out of me. I sat down at Subway, feeling like I had made such a fool of myself in so many ways this weekend, that I had done everything wrong, and so many more things that I can’t and won’t get into here. Suffice to say, there was very little of me sitting at that table. Chairman came to sit down and I saw him look at me then frown with concern. Monica joined us and the two of them, almost simultaneously, asked if I was okay. I hadn’t realized that the noise from the clowns had manifested itself on my face. It suddenly made me feel better to see the concern coming from my two friends. The clowns didn’t know what to do with that. After all, for so many years, the most important person in my life didn’t see the moments when the clowns took over and they prefer it that way. They don’t know what to do when someone expresses concern and wants to make things better.

I heard the sound of their floppy feet beating a retreat as both Chairman and Monica sat and conversed around me, but kept an eye on me and tried to get me to cheer up without making a big deal out of it. By the time we left, the calliope music had faded and, although I was still kind of sheepish about my outfit, I at least felt the beginnings of myself come back.

I want to know where all of these silly insecurities come from, the ones that say I am not worthy of the company I keep, that no one would miss me if I were not here. That particular people would not miss me if I were not in their lives. That I am making a fool of myself when I put myself out there and that I should just keep things to me. I want to find the origins of those clowns and see who set them free in my head. I know I bear a lot of responsibility for their existence but there has to be something that started it. I guess that’s the next evolution – locate the birth of the circus clowns and then kill it. Or at least acknowledge and recognize it.

For now, the clowns seem to be in Cleveland and are quietly tormenting someone else. I hope they stay on tour until I can figure out how to keep the big top out of my backyard.

Gettin' my geek on...

I think Chairman summed this weekend up best when he said he had never seen so many overweight, pale, pasty-face, living-in-my-parents’-basement geeks in his life. Of course, at the San Diego Comicon, what does one expect? Tans and buff bods? Okay, so there were quite a few of those but they were mostly on the slave Princess Leias and the Laura Crofts running around. Where, oh, where were the scantily-clad male superheroes? Oh, yeah, there aren’t too many of those. No Conans or Tarzans wandering around. Great if you’re a guy – and Chairman got his fill of eye candy – but Monica and I had to make do with gawking at the women wearing outfits that they shouldn’t have. If your dress size is more than a single digit, pick your superheroines better cuz not everybody is cut out for slave Princess Leia.



I am exhausted after spending four days trapped in a convention center with 100,000 geeks. But it was a great, fun, relaxing weekend nonetheless. Chairman and I drove down and arrived at the Con at about 3:30. We strolled through the exhibit hall, which is just staggering to see. Row after row after row of movie studios, videogame company and comic companies hawking the newest, latest and hottest thing in their arsenal. If you want to know what the hot game, the hot movie, hot comic or the hot toy is going to be this year, this is the place to be. We just wandered through the aisles, taking it all in. We ended up at a screening for “Zombie Prom,” a USC student film that was in the film festival at the Con that Chairman had heard about. What a scream – literally. An old-fashioned, 1950’s zombie boy wants to go the prom kind of film. It was a riot! Great way to start the weekend. Monica eventually got here and found us at Dick’s Last Resort, this raunchy, funny eatery just up from the Convention Center. Then the three of us headed over to a networking event with a group called Friends of Lulu which is all about women who make comic books. Great resource for potentially turning The Wraith into a graphic novel or comic book. We all headed off to bed around 12:30.

Friday, Monica and I got the Con early to hit a couple of seminars – hers on gaming, mine on comics as post-modern narrative. Sounds fun, yes? Wow. I’m so not smart. These were scholars on comic books and the lecture was just barely within my comprehension. Very interesting topic about how comics represent post-modern thinking and expression. I think I learned a lot. I’m not sure. I’ll have to go over my notes and see if any of it makes sense. Chairman caught up with us around 1:00 and the three of us wandered the hall for a bit.

Then came the highlight of the weekend and the reason for our road trip – a screening of Chairman in “A Fairy Tale”, where he plays a tooth fairy on probation who has his last chance to make good.




It was worth it just to see Chairman in a tutu. But I was delighted at how good the piece really was. He is always good, which is why I like to work with him, but the short on the whole was well-made, well-shot and just charming as all get out. I’m really glad we could be there for him to cheer him on and support him with this short. And I think he appreciated our presence as well.

Then, as Monica headed over to another seminar, Chairman and I headed over to the big lecture hall around 3:30 to wait for… you got it… “Snakes On A Plane” at 5:45. I know, we spent two hours sitting in a lecture hall waiting for SOAP but it was truly interesting. We walked in on a preview for a new film called “Children of Men” with Clive Owen and Michael Caine, directed by Alfonso Cuaron. It looks amazing. Very dark, very disturbing. Not exactly sure what it’s about but can’t wait to see it. Then came along presentation from Lucasfilm on all things “Star Wars” and other things in the Lucasfilm realm. Interesting new AI technology called Euphoria that allows characters in a video game to react to their environment. Very cool and kind of creepy, all at the same time.



Then a short presentation on “Final Destination 3” and, then, finally… “Snakes On A Plane” with no less than Samuel L. Jackson his bad self on the panel. Bonnie G. is right to be hyped about this film. They showed 10 minutes of snakes on a plane and it’s cheesy, and it’s B-movie and it’s silly but it’s snakes on a mo-fo plane with Samuel L. Jackson. Can’t wait. He was so incredibly cool and funny during the panel, putting up with all the stupid questions one would expect from this crowd. This is going to be the biggest film of the summer. After that, nothing else could measure up so we headed over to a keg party for a film called “Accepted” about a fake college. We started and ended the evening with ice cream sandwiches and ate nothing else healthier in between. Monica started her own dance party there so we joined in. From there, we headed over to an Irish pub to be entertained by Steve, the one man band, drank some pear cider, laughed our asses off while we sweat our asses off (did I mention it’s freaking hot this weekend!) and then headed to our respective places of rest.

Saturday was just as full, starting off with Monica and I holding seats for an anticipated long day in Hall H of filmmakers. Chairman joined us with fast food breakfast and a sneak peak at Frank Miller’s new film, “300”, about the battle of Thermopayle. Wow. Jaw-dropping. Cannot wait to see it.



Then we were treated to almost two hours of Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino talking about “Grindhouse,” their new double feature exploitation film collaboration. Funnier than hell, cheesy as all get-out. Cannot, cannot wait to see it. They were funny, irreverent and just inspiring. I love to listen to these guys talk because they love what they do. And I’m sure Chairman didn’t mind that they were joined by Rosario Dawson, Rose McGowan and other lovely ladies in the RR/QT repertory company. The big disappointment was that, following these guys, Kevin Smith was supposed to speak but he got stuck in traffic. They stretched QT/RR as long as they could then finally announced that Kevin would appear around 6 instead of 2:30. So we gathered our stuff and headed out again.

We met with Becky, Monica’s friend who let Monica and I crash at her place, and she walked us over to a great wood-fire pizza place. She left us to our food consumption then we headed back for more wandering. Monica and I eventually abandoned Chairman to go get our sass on and change for the Masquerade parade that night. Monica lent me this sexy leather vest and I lent her my sandals and we figured between the two of us, we had one killer wardrobe. Monica’s friends stopped by and chatted with us in the parking lot while we changed and primped. Then we went through many adventures trying to find Chairman at the ballroom for the Masquerade. Our hard work in primping seemed to pay off as he seemed to appreciate our efforts.



Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about the Masquerade. I could do an entire blog on that but let’s sum it by saying who, in their right mind, would think that ending a little skit with Harry Potter costumes with a Chipmunk song was a good idea? We left before the awards as none of us could bear another minute. We grabbed some cheap grub and headed off for sleep once more. The highlight of the evening was talking to a woman at her booth and mentioning Chairman’s film and she said that her friends had seen it and thought it was great, had talked about it at dinner the night before. Yay, Chairman! She couldn’t wait to tell her friends that she met the Tooth Fairy.







This morning, Monica had a meeting and I’m sitting on the floor in the lobby of the convention center writing this. I’m pooped. Too many people, too much walking, too much expensive sugary convention food, although Monica’s friend treated us to a lovely breakfast this morning that was actually healthy and delicious.

Although I’m exhausted, it was such a pleasurable weekend. How I can argue with spending almost four days with my dearest Chairman and with Monica? I miss Chairman this morning as I’ve gotten used to the three of us being attached at the hip this weekend. But he’s probably already back home by now, having plans for this afternoon. But the three of us made a great trio, very easy-going, no fighting about not wanting to do something. Just easy. Just friends. Just a great time. It was fun sharing all the noise and splendor and disasters we saw this weekend. Chairman wondered last night how someone could do this event by themselves because it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun. I think he’s right. I’ve done this event once before and under different circumstances. I prefer this weekend much more. Probably because it was so easy, so simple, so unencumbered. And in a few hours, I’ll be back to regular life and deadlines and bills and $16.70 in my bank. Oh, well, I wouldn’t have traded this weekend for anything.

“These are the days that we’ll remember…”

Happy geeking to you all!

Hell - defined.

Hell is having what you want at the end of your fingertips and not being able to reach out and grasp it. Or being terrified to reach out and grab it. Or reaching out and it moving just enough to continue to be just out of your reach.

I seem to be stealing vibes from others today but there must be something in the air.

Monica wrote today about desiring and reaching out but being afraid of being foolish or being slapped away. Essentially, that is what holds us all back from our desires in our lives. What if we reach and we exceed our grasp? What if what we reach for pulls away and disappears? What if reaching out hurts so much because our muscles are atrophied?

Monica said, “I cannot say my wish out loud or in my mind for fear that it is not for me to wish...” I constantly feel that, especially now. I thought I made peace with what I want and what I desire and what I wish for but apparently can’t have, but I haven’t. Especially that what I want, desire and wish for is very often at the end of my fingertips – literally. And I have to almost sit on my hands to stop from reaching out and grasping what I want, desire and wish for.

I shouldn’t complain. Much of what I have wanted and reached for in the last year has come somewhat easily into my grasp. Maybe that’s made me cocky and feel that anything I reach for, I should get just because I’ve decided to put my fingertips out there and ask for it.

Reaching makes us vulnerable and exposes our tender underbelly, leaving it open to be cut open and our intestines strewn on the floor. Okay, kinda graphic but that’s what it feels like. Once you’ve had your intestines strewn, you’re not so ready to reach out again.

Yet, if we don’t reach, how do we attain? How do we get what we desire without extending our hands? My hand has been slapped away recently and it stung – it still stings. Yet I can’t seem to help myself from wanting to reach out again, to the same person, for the same thing, because it’s what I want. And I think, deep down inside, he’s afraid to reach out and that’s why he slapped me away. And I foolishly think that if I keep my hand out there, maybe, some day, he’ll be able to see it and reach for it instead of slap it away.

And yet, I’m torn. Part of me is tempted to pull that hand away and use it to push him away completely, because I’m tired of holding that hand out. It would be so much easier to just put my hand to his back and let the door hit him in the ass on the way out. Yet, my other hand wants to grab him and hang on to him and pull him close in any way that I can have him there, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how many times he slaps it away. I want, I wish, I need and it is fulfilled in a very tiny, tiny way because he’s at the end of my fingertips… but I can’t grasp him so… push, pull, want, need, reach, push, pull…

Monica also said, “Maybe I like my suffering.” I think maybe we get used to suffering because we’re told we can’t have what we want by society, by parents, by others around us. Religion tells us it’s a sin to want, to need, to ask for what you want or need. Yet God says we should ask so that He can give it to us. Although there’s always the caveat – if it’s His will. So I keep optimistically lighting my candle in my Buddha, chanting om mani padme ohm, saying a prayer of thanks followed by my list of what I want, and hoping that, if I badger God and Buddha enough, they’ll give me what I want, just to shut me up.

The catch-22 is we suffer so much because we want so deeply. If we only could want just a little bit, would the suffering be easier? Or would we still ache and hurt and weep and suffer? Would it be worth lessening the suffering if we could lessen the want? I don’t know. When the want is filled, it is amazing. And if we wanted less, then the reward would be less, I think. So, I guess that means putting up with the suffering so we can get as much joy when the want is filled.

So is there an answer? I don’t think so. We want because we do. That’s it – simple yet complex. We want illogically, irrationally, but passionately and endlessly. We can no more control what we want than we can control the beating of our heart. And wanting means that we feel – both good and bad. We want, we suffer, we are elated when we get it, we are devastate when we don’t. What’s the alternative? To not want, to not need, to live our lives like the majority of this country – following blindly, moving thoughtlessly, living mindlessly, never knowing, never seeing, never reaching out for something that is what we want, that is just beyond our grasp, that is the most frightening thing in the world.

I guess I agree with Monica. I guess maybe I like my suffering. Because when it’s over, I know that I have experienced something, I have lived, I have felt. And I’ll do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Meandering thoughts on faith

I started a blog earlier about faith and found it boring and rambling so here’s the revised version.

It started with Amy’s blog about her search for God and her own faith. She’s been struggling lately and, as you all can I’m sure, I can really relate to her struggle, especially now when she’s going through huge upheavals in her life. I wanted to give her comforting words and advice but realized that my own strength of faith is hit and miss at best.

My friend, Kim, who just came down for a visit from Canada, had the most unshakeable faith of anyone I know. Through hard times, through the sudden, tragic loss of her brother a few years ago, I have never seen her faith waiver. We’ve never talked about it but her constant reassurance to me to trust, to believe and to keep going is visible evidence to me of her faith.

Like Amy, I think sometimes my faith comes from having no other choice but to have faith. Particularly in the past year, as I’ve struggled with anger, resentment, loneliness, heart-breaking choices and life-changing events, I’ve tried to hold on to the thought that there is a reason behind all of this. Occasionally, I get a glimpse of it. Sometimes, it’s as simple as the lovely night the other night with Chairman, Zadra and Monica. Sometimes, it’s seeing the work I’m doing, like “Weight of the Word” and the new script.

But the every day, moment-to-moment, letting go kind of faith is hard. It’s particularly hard when there isn’t evidence that the faith will result in something in the long run. Of course, I want that something to be what I want, not necessarily what God wants. Of course, if it’s contrary to what I want, then it can’t be right. It’s hard to let go and believe when the results are not what you were praying for.

Through those times, I say I have faith that this is where I’m supposed to be and that things will be what they’re meant to be and that I accept the things that are put in front of me. But a huge part of me is going, are you nuts? THIS is it? What about… and then there’s… and how come… My faith goes right out the window then, leaving me with nothing. And nothing sucks. So I put on my game face for God and say, okay, I trust you… because you’re all I’ve got. I have to trust you because you’ve proven in the past that things I can’t see yet are coming and things work out in the strangest way on God’s plan, if I can just get out of the way. But sometimes I don’t want to get out of the way. I want to scream at the heavens, “but you put this here and you did this and you gave me this and now I don’t get to have it and you take it away but just out of arm’s reach, not completely away, so I can see it but I can’t have it, what the hell is that?” Faith goes out the window. And there is no big, booming voice saying, “Trust me and have faith and all will be well.” I just basically run out of energy for fighting and realize that faith is just that – just letting go and hoping against hope that God knows what he’s doing in my life. I sure don’t so somebody must.

Sometimes having faith is painful and difficult and pisses me off. Sometimes, faith means accepting the things that you don’t want, only to hang on to the thought that something greater is coming. Sometimes, faith just bites.

But I don’t know what my life would be like without my tiny, little, shaky faith. I can’t imagine getting through the dark days without some tiny, little thought that something better must be coming around the corner.

Right now, even as I write, I am struggling with having faith about a seemingly silly situation, compared to what Amy’s going through. But to me, it’s enormous and I just can’t quite see what’s on the other side of it. But I’m hanging on to my faith by my fingernails that there is something better there. It’s hard and I hate it and I wish it would be easy and that an envelope would appear on my doorstep, telling me what to do. But if I hang on and I listen carefully to that tiny, little voice buried way deep down inside of me, the answer will come, whatever it is. And I do have faith that God will get me through that answer and help me on to the next one.

Because what else is there?

Of potstickers, bloody drumsticks and ice cream…

I have Ellen sticks! More about that later…

After weeks of blue and unanswered questions and struggles and battles and challenges, God and Buddha finally gave me a respite. I have been praying and chanting for understanding of these struggles and just wanting to know that they were worth it and that I’d come out the other side with something… more.

And tonight was it.

Once again, come out of the dark blues into the gold and the realization – this is what I want my life to be. And thank you, both divine deities, for showing this to me.

Actually, I guess today started last night and the four hour conversation with Monica that ended up the parking lot at Best Buy/Starbucks while the stores had closed and even the cleaning crews had gone. I love Monica for the fact that our conversations veer from her discussion and analysis of Atlas Shrugged to, gee, I like your shoes. Who could ask for more?

Spent the middle part of the day with the folks. My father’s looking well and golfed nine holes this week, Herculean when considering what his health is. The heat’s hard on him but he’s doing well. Mom and I went shopping, always a good day spent.

Then I met Monica for Chinese food and picking up where we left off about 18 hours previous. Chairman joined us shortly thereafter for potstickers and other delicacies. Then Zadra caught up with us and the circle was complete. The food was delicious, the company exquisite and, as I sat there listening to the other three talk, I realized how much these simple moments mean to me. My previous life had become very unsimple and each moment seemed to have been weighted with values and judgments and ridiculous expectations and such easy, real, simple moments had become impossible. To sit and eat and just talk about Chairman’s patio demolition and our color coordination was pure joy.

We all headed up to Universal to catch two sets by the incredible Piper Downs performing out front of the Hard Rock. If you haven’t yet met/seen/heard this band, run your fingers over to Piperdowns.com and become a convert. Bobby Bognar’s shirt declares him “Big Sexy” and I couldn’t agree more. But more than that, this band rocks the universe. Highly gifted musicians full of piss and vinegar, nobody does it better than this band. And since my introduction to them about a year ago through the charming Chairman, they have all welcomed me with open arms, whether I’m there as his guest or by myself. It means so much to me that these people treat me like a friend. Ellen, the killer drummer chick, is my hero. She loved the Piper Downs so much, she decided she needed to learn how to play drums because they needed a drummer and, six months later, she joined them. And now, I can’t imagine them without her. She inspires me with her joy and passion for drumming. I told her the last time I saw her that I was thinking of attacking drumming and she was so enthusiastic about that. So tonight I asked her for a pair of her sticks and she gave me the choice – the ones with or without the blood. Then she opted for one of each. So incredibly cool. I have Ellen sticks! Nothing more beautiful and amazing in the world. Now, however, I must put them to work. Let’s see where I am next time I see her.

Then Chairman, Monica and I wandered around CityWalk, stopping briefly at Howl At The Moon to listen to the funny but extremely raunchy dueling pianists up there. The three of us talked about nothing and everything, which was just fine. From there, a walk through Chocolate Loco and drooling at the “holy crap” everything-but-the-kitchen-sink-on-them dipped apples.

Topped the night off at Ben & Jerry’s – they had the New York something or other with walnuts and pecans, I had the triple caramel thingy. Ice cream never tasted better.

I drove them back to Toluca Gardens to go our separate ways and Monica and I chatted for yet another 45 minutes till we both had trouble keeping our eyes open.

Nothing earth-shattering, no big revelations – maybe a few little ones – nothing life changing. Although completely life-changing. As Monica and I talked, I couldn’t help but think about how this is how I envisioned my life when I left my marriage. Filled with joy and friends and love and pleasure. Stress will always be there, problems will always be there. But having the ability to just exist in joy for a couple of hours at a time makes that stuff tolerable – most of the time anyway.

I remembered last year, after the Slamdance reading, a couple of the guys wanted to go for drinks and I almost didn’t because of a number of reasons. But we ended up going and I had to leave just as I was enjoying myself because my ex had to get up in the morning. And all I could think of at that time was, “but this is what I want my life to be – go for drinks, enjoy life, enjoy ourselves – the rest will figure itself out.” And as we walked out of the Formosa Café that night, it really became clear to me that my old life was not working anymore, it just didn’t fit where I wanted to be. Not just out with friends, but having the freedom to choose it.

My holiday dinner with Chairman and Peter and Peter’s mother was one of those moments where I went, this is what I want my life to be. Good food, good friends, no worries, no pressure, nothing but the pleasure of each other and the joy of sharing ourselves with each other. Why is that so hard to attain?

Tonight, again, listening to Chairman tell Monica the history of Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens and the background of that show, talking about San Diego next weekend, melting chocolate covered caramel bites in my mouth, I couldn’t help but say, thank you, God, Buddha, whoever has provided this night. Its pleasure, its simplicity, its comfort, its joy is what I needed after these tough weeks. I felt loved. Very, very loved. Just as I am, just as I will be, flawed, imperfect, striving, struggling, reaching. I am loved simply because I love back. And I love these people more than I can say, more than I have said over and over again. Because without nights like this, I would have finished that bottle of pills counted out so long ago. I would probably have found another bottle and given up. But in that dark moment, I knew there had to be more. I knew there had to be more for me. And it was up to me to find that more. And I have found some of it. My heart is full tonight, full of simple love. It’s as simple as that and as complex as that.

And I want more. And I have Ellen sticks!

Once again, Mr. Urban’s voice goes through my head – “these are the days that we’ll remember.”

12 of 12

Bonnie G. has inspired me with her association with the "12 of 12" by Chad. Basically, take 12 pics on the 12th day of the month. So here are mine. Enjoy!



Me and my favorite furry bed companion at 6 AM. Yuck!





This tree greets me every couple of days when I go to work with my client in Brentwood. I love this tree!





This is Charlie, my client's lovable, goofy dog!





A little joy has re-entered my life - my Ipod has returned from the land of repair. Yippee!!





Twyla enjoying the bit of a breeze through my bedroom window.





Waiting as Zadra orders her coffee in Pasadena.





Zadra's coffee came with a secret message. My kanji is very rough. I think one of the images means moon?





My favorite weird sign at the end of my street - literally. In case you didn't notice that the street ends, I guess.





These were a promotional idea for the 48 Hour Film Project I just did - "Weight of the Word." Unfortunately, hard to turn out hundreds of these when you're a promotional team of 1. So I turned out about a dozen which are scattered on my kitchen counter.





My directing hat.





My Buddha - from Target but I love it. I meditate about two minutes a day. Not much, but significantly more than I used to. It's a weird combination of chanting and Christian prayer. Whatever works, I guess.





Twyla's beautiful paw and whiskers.





This was fun! Next month, I hope I'm doing something much more exciting than I did today. But try it, see what you find.

Poetry seems to be the theme this week...

For this moment,
for this night,
for this time,
I am grateful
you are in my life.

Whatever shape it takes,
wherever it goes,
if this is all it is
and will be
then so be it.

And I can find some peace within that thought.

My wondrous emotional life

As always, I am overwhelmed by the response to my blue days. Luckily, they get further and further between but they are still hard when I run into them. I am especially touched by the strangers who feel compelled to reach out and try to offer any kind of support and encouragement that they can. You don’t know what that means to me, that my incredibly simple problems seem to touch those who don’t know me so much. That helps clear away the blue and bring back the gold.

The recent comment about being a “Great Dane type of woman” made me laugh out loud, which felt good. It also flattered me and gave me such a great image of what a “Great Dane type of woman” is. Thank you, Anonymous, for that gift. I’m still smiling.

Her comment also tied in perfectly to what I’ve been thinking about over the past few days as I’ve struggled with a glut of emotional feelings. I’ve been told over and over again in my life that I’m too emotional and that I take things too personally and let them get to me. And I’ve spent my whole life trying to push those emotions away and put them in drawers in my head and suppress them. My ex constantly told me that my emotions had no “truth” and that they were something I could simply choose not to have. “Then just don’t feel that way” was his constant refrain. And I tried. And I ended up counting pills out one dark night to see if there were enough.

Recently, again, I’ve been called to task for my emotions by someone who I used to be close to. And again, I thought, maybe he’s right, maybe I am too emotional and I let things get to me.

But over the past few days, as I’ve examined this pit of darkness to see what’s at the bottom of it, I realized that one of the reasons the dark used to be so dark was because that’s where all the emotions hid. I would spend weeks and months packing emotions into the dark corners of my mind and then, when those corners finally filled up, they burst at the seams and the outward appearance was this huge ball of emotion with no form and no shape. Anger, hurt, frustration, fear, disappointment all piled up together and became something unidentifiable. I began to not trust my own emotions because they were so huge, so out of control, so enormous that I couldn’t understand what they were. Then my ex informing me that they were not valid left me unable to even look at what I was feeling and sort it out.

These past few days have given me some insight into this part of my life. And here it is…

Fuck you all, I’m emotional. Deal with it. The more you allow me to express those emotions as I experience them, the more you allow me the time to let the wave of emotion settle down, the more I can focus on the emotion and deal with it rather than pack it away. Then, instead of deep, dark, overwhelming feelings, I can look at single feelings at a time. And it’s so much more effective to be able to do that. And it makes me understand what I feel instead of trying to get to the real emotion on the bottom.

Yes, I hurt easily. Oh, well. Tough shit. Then maybe it’s your responsibility to handle me with a bit more care and be aware of how easily I wound. Come on, if it’s a relationship – and I don’t care if it’s as a lover or as a good friend – you have a responsibility to be aware to me. It’s not a one-way street.

Yes, I am a bit much to take sometimes because when I care about someone, I CARE about them. That translates into a bit of an obsessive thing and I realize that. I’m trying to be better about that, especially for the men in my life who I adore. But then be honest and gentle with me if I’m crossing a line. I need to know because not knowing means I’ll keep crossing that line. Tell me before I do it so we can just move on.

All these emotions also make me the artist that I am. How can I expect to reach your heart if mine is not open? How can I make you cry if I can’t find that in myself? As bad as the dark days are, they make me so appreciate of the golden days. Giving up the dark also means giving up the light. And I won’t do that.

The past couple of weeks have been a glut of emotional crap for me. Dealing with my sister and our complicated, sometimes challenging situation always breaks my heart when we get to these places. Going through the year anniversary of my separation and finally divorce from my ex has overwhelmed me with feelings – choices, decisions, sacrifices, pain – was it all worth it? Being sucker-punched right before the shoot two weeks ago by you – and, yes, I know you read this so don’t pretend you don’t – forced me to deal with lingering insecurities and the validity of my feelings. And the recent dealings with the OOMA and encounters with Pantiless Girl have all just given me more than I can handle.

However, it’s made me realize one thing – I don’t care if my emotions don’t make sense to anyone else. They make sense to me. And since they’re mine, they matter and they are valid. And I will no longer allow anyone to make me feel that my feelings and emotions are not valid. So I’ve been depressed for a few days. Deal with it. And, you, OOMA, you hurt me. I probably will never be able to tell you that to your face, but you did. And I’m sorry you can’t open yourself up to what I have to offer. And I’ll live, you didn’t break my heart that badly. But I may need some time to get back to you, if I ever do.

I’m glad I have the friends around me who understand my emotional life and accept that as a part of me. I’ve never had that in my life. It’s allowing me to really understand myself and my emotions, which can only help me to get to a place where my emotions don’t rule my life but make my life richer and fuller, help me get to a place where, when they come, my emotions can be dealt with and accepted, instead of hidden away and festering. And thanks to the strangers and the lurkers and the other mid-lifers out there who constantly remind me that we, as a human race, all share the same experiences and that we, indeed, are not alone, even in the darkness of the night.

Poem for a blue day

Gave away my heart too easily
almost unaware that I had
until it was too late.
The one who had it
didn’t even know he did
or doesn’t want to even know
that he did.
And when it slipped through his fingers,
he pretended not to hear it shatter,
not to see it fall,
because then
he would have to feel something
too.

Why do I do this to myself? Stupid dogs.

So I’m blue, I’m feeling very lonely and I come home, lay on the floor to nap and turn the TV on since my internet is being funky. And there it is. “Must Love Dogs.” Why do I torture myself with this film? Okay, John Cusack is not enough of an excuse to keep watching this film. It’s not a great rom-com but I simply can’t help myself. Is it because I keep hoping John isn’t going to be won over by her perfect hair and unwrinkled face? Is it because the dogs are so fricking cute? Is it because I’m sick and twisted and just like to torture myself? Maybe all of the above.

Watching this fluff in between dozings, I realize that part of the draw is what draws all of us to rom-com’s. The happy ending. I want someone to pine over me and call me “a unique constellation of attributes.” I want someone to be sitting pensive, thinking about me and missing me. Because I’ve certainly spent enough time pining and pensive-ing over someone. That situation, obviously, was much more about my wanting someone than that person actually wanting me. He’s just such a lovely man and so kind and terrific to me that I couldn’t help but lose a significant part of my heart to him. Underneath it all, I think I knew it couldn’t/wouldn’t/wasn’t meant to be anything other than the very treasured friendship that it is (or was?) but I just wanted to feel that way again about someone. That warm, fuzzy, breathless, can’t-wait-to-see-him way. And I wanted someone who was happy to see me, whether it was breathless or not. So I let my rom-com ideals carry me away when it probably wasn’t there. And rather than ask him months ago when I really first felt these feelings, I didn’t because I didn’t want to lose the possibility that he’d be crazy about me. Because that’s how it works in rom-com world. Damn those stupid films.

Even as I sit at Kaldi, using their free internet, I am caught up in the idea that some cute guy is going to be taken by how charming and unique I am, sitting here, cowboy hat and vintage shirt, typing furiously away at something which must be quite clever and interesting because that’s what a woman like me would be doing. I certainly don’t look like the skinny, Hollywood, boho wannabes that hang out here. Maybe that’s the problem.

And that’s probably why drunken stupid chick got to me so much this week. I’m not 22. I can’t get away with “oops, forgot to put on underwear” because that reads like Alzheimer’s when you’re not 22, not cute, sexy, funny. Flashing my breasts only makes men laugh, politely, of course, but laugh nonetheless, other than pervert guy who took uninvited advances on the aforementioned mammaries. My attempts at feminization and flirtiness have only resulted in twisted ankles from my high heels and frustration at trying to get my hair to do something cute. And I don’t even want to get into the big mistake that buying thigh-highs is 100 degree temperature is when you don’t have size 4 thighs.

I guess I’m also still struggling to find out who I am as a single person. So much of my identity was tied into him that, even after a year, I am uncertain about the person staring back at me from my mirror. I keep trying on personas, hoping one will stick, one will make me go, oh, wow, that’s who I am.

The thing that gets me through the day is that directing makes me feel that way. I am confident, fearless and creative when I’m wearing those shoes. I guess I have to find a way to translate that into every day life and embrace that person.

I don’t know if that will result in John Cusack’s clone coming into my life and sweeping me off my feet. I don’t know if that means I’ll just deal with being alone in a better way. I don’t know what it means at all other than maybe I’ll be more comfortable with the soul of me instead of trying to figure out how to be the soul for someone else. I guess that’s the lesson in all of this. But I’m a little tired of lessons right now and would just like a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around me while we watch something other than “Must Love Dogs.” “Kill Bill” works for me.

Indigo day

Having a hard time keeping the blues at bay today. Feeling very indigo and ragged. Can’t seem to stop the tears from flowing, no matter how hard I try.

Events of the past week or so have left me battered and feeling old. Too old for such bullshit. Too old for such feelings. Just too old.

Too old to be living moment to moment, not knowing how I’m going to pay my cable bill and whether I can afford to go to a movie this afternoon. Too old to be having my parents help me out. Too old to be this alone and starting from scratch. Too old to hurt this much over something that wasn’t mine to begin with.

I wasn’t asking for the world. Just some time with someone special that I thought was already there. I guess I’ve asked for too much this past year, and gotten a great deal of it, so it would be ungrateful to demand that this want be filled, too. I guess I can have one or the other – my dreams and hopes for my professional life or the dreams and hopes for my persona life. The two never seem to be able to co-exist. So how do you choose? Someone wise recently said just making a choice is the right choice. But sometimes, I feel that choice is not given to me, that it’s decided without consulting me, and I’m stuck with the results.

I’ll try to peek around the blue today to see the golden on the other side. He’s still in my life, he’s still very dear to me. There are things coming up which excite me, projects I can’t wait to get to. My newest theater project will allow me the company and the pleasure of working with two of my favorite actors and men – AJ and Peter. I just have to get through today and hope that the gold will begin to show tomorrow.

The wonders of drunken chicks

I’ve been witness to this phenomenon twice this week and it has left me with nothing but disdain, tonight especially.

Tonight, I witnessed two of my favorite men – intelligent, articulate, talented, smart, funny men – watch with gaping, mouth-breathing fascination as this…. chick…. for lack of a useable “c” word other than the one that rhymes with hunt… anyway… as this chick writhed around on a bed like a parody of a bad Madonna video from the 80s. And I realized that even if I set my hair on fire and ran screaming around the room, I would not exist.

What pissed me off even more was that, suddenly, my friend, Patty, and I felt like we had to compete for attention with this…. chick. Hard to do considering she was falling out of her tube top and saying wondrous things like “I’m not really that drunk” and “I wish I was your lesbian lover.” She has the whole giggle and hair toss thing down to a fine art, which I could almost admire were she not using it for evil instead of good.

This is the second time in a week I’ve watched this same chick practice this same technique, with pretty much the same results. The shame is that she is a smart, funny, talented girl and she’s adorable so she’d get a lot of attention anyway, without flashing her delicates and openly declaring “gosh, I didn’t wear underwear tonight.” I feel embarrassed for her that she has to put on such a spectacle every single time she’s around men of any ilk. And the thing is, she’s not interested in these guys. She’d hook up with them if they gave her the slightest indication but that’s all it would be – hooking up. Hmmmm, hooking up… there’s that other description of women with the word “hook” in it that is not all that flattering. This is just behind that.

And I am further disappointed in the penis-driven fascination that these amazing men in my life show to this chick, which encourages her to try to get their dicks even harder because, well, she simply can.

And I’m standing there, thinking, I’m smart, funny, talented, not bad to look at. I can hold a conversation on just about anything and I’m a good listener. I just finished these two incredible projects and have such an exciting year in front of me. And all I can think while I’m watching this is, I should take off my shirt and show off my cute black and pink bra because that’s the only way I’m going to get the attention of these two men who I adore and love spending time with. But I cannot compete with pantiless, spread-eagled drunken girl, even if I were completely naked. I guess with me, there isn’t the expectation that I’m going to perform sexual acts at will because I’m drunk. Well, one of them might have a chance, at least until last night, but still, not a promise I dangle out there as freely as she dangles, well, just about everything.

And this just makes me angry. I have fought so hard to be taken seriously, both personally and professionally. I see what women in this industry go through, how we are belittled and thought of as nothing more than “girls” who are incapable of handling the job of filmmaker or given less pay than a man simply because we have a vagina. Then I watch this chick flash her vagina and I think, there goes all that work I put in. I cannot compete with a potentially exposed vagina. And that diminishes all of us. Not her vagina in particular but just the wantonness with which so many women flash theirs.

I finally had to leave the party, as much as I didn’t want to, because the three glasses of wine I had (two over my usual limit) freed my tongue instead of my tush and I was becoming incapable of censoring myself. I knew I hit the limit when my friend who hosted the party made some comment about how to have a better wine party and I shouted out, “Invite better women.” Ooops. Time to go before I say what I really want to. And I don’t want to do that because I actually like this girl and we work at the theater together. But I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and scream, “Stop it! You’re making a fool of yourself. They’re watching you only because they can’t wait to see what stupid, ignorant, offensive thing you’re going to do next. Not because they think you’re that fascinating. It’s because you’re willing to do anything and they can’t wait to see what you’ll do.” Not a good thing. My dearest man, who broke my heart recently, asked me if I was okay to drive home, due to my lack of sleep (drove a friend very early to the airport and never really got more than 2 hours sleep today) and wine consumption. I wanted to say, do you really care? You’re so caught up in the half-time entertainment, would you notice if I drove the car into the front of the house? What are you going to do if I’m not okay to drive home? I’m sure if drunken slutty chick were too drunk to drive home, there’d be an offer of bed, driving home and a myriad of other offers (I bet she can’t spell myriad without relying on the spell check). I, however, respectable, older woman that I am, just shrugged and grabbed my keys, knowing that he’d never give me another thought after I left as he returned his attention to the writhing pile of flesh in front of him. Maybe next time, they should charge admission and install a stripper pole.

Bitter? You bet your ass. Every time a girl does this, it brings us all down. And it feeds men’s images that girls like her are some kind of ideal. They’re fascinated because it speaks to the most primitive part of them. Don’t think, just fuck. And it makes them look at all the women around them and go, why don’t they do that? And it just makes those of us who are not comfortable with exposing body parts and who do, in fact, own underwear (very pretty, lovely ones, thank you very much) feel like we are somehow not meeting the requirements to be a girl because we can’t writhe like that – or choose not to. It makes us feel every single one of our insecurities and it feeds our demons, who look at her and see the men’s reactions and go “they don’t look at you like that.” There’s a reason they don’t – I won’t degrade myself to get a little attention.

Wow, this is a lot harsher than I had expected. Maybe I’m jealous or envious of the freedom with which she flaunts her body and I know I’m jealous of the attention she gets. But do I really want that attention? The talking-behind-the-hand thing that goes on – “do you know what she did at the pool party –hehehehehe” – and the snarkiness that is spewed by those around her.

I just know that the next time I’m at a party where she is and when she starts sucking back the alcohol, it’s time for me to go. Because I don’t know how much longer I am going to be able to hold my tongue. And if I let that cat out of the bag, she’s never going to be the same.

Told you so...

Gonna need some crazy glue.

Broken pieces all over the floor.

What did I expect?

Jumping in...

Heading straight on into heartbreak.

Don’t know any other way to do it.

Pretty much know what the outcome is going to be but have to go anyway.

After all, the heart is a muscle and must be used. It might get torn and stretched and misshapen but it’ll come back, no matter what.

Right now, it’s been dormant and passive too long.

Wish me luck.

An amazing week...

I’ve had the most interesting, introspective and incredible week.

First, the screening of “Weight of the Word” and the horror and wonder of it all. Beth helped me go back and fine-tune the end product and I am thrilled with how it turned out. I cannot wait to show it off to people and can’t wait to get it out to festivals.

I finally sent “Dark Guitar” off to a film festival. Why let it fester in a drawer? Might as well see if I can make something of it.

A perfect pool party with Monica and Chairman, as always described in previous blog.

Actually had some time off these past couple of days, which I have not had for a long time. Did laundry. Wow, I’ll have clean underwear.

Cast most of “Importance of Being Ernest” lab. Am delighted that one of my fav guys is going to do it for me – the fabulous and mysterious AJ Bowen. Can’t wait to get started.

Finished the script, “Live at Five,” which I’ll be doing a reading of next week. Hmmm, guess I should cast that one, huh?

Revisited my previous life a bit too much this week, which has made me appreciate the life I am living so much more. Nothing bad, really, just a glimpse at what I left behind and why. Am so glad I’ve made the choices I have, as hard as they’ve been.

Had an outrageous time today at another pool party, this one thrown by Vieve at a house she is house-sitting. Played with Trisden, the world’s cutest kitten (sorry, Zadra). Took waaaay too many photos. Although this one is one of my favorites of me.




Thanks, Monica, for helping me take over 200 pictures today. We all walked up towards the Rose Bowl at dark and watched some awesome fireworks. I was delighted to enjoy the festivities with one of my fav guys, Chairman, as the others sang drunkenly behind us. Just such a fun, lazy, silly, over-indulgent day. Ate a lot, drank a bit, and just really enjoyed myself.

Should be going to bed but don’t feel like it. Posted a ton of photos from the party at:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9afd3ld.p3gbnul&x=1&y=qk4au0

Feel free to check them out.

All in all, a wondrous, amazing week that has me again grateful to those around me and those who I adore. Feeling sleepy and happy and warm inside (that might just be the whiskey)!

Hope you all had a 4th to remember.

I went to a memorial service tonight for a man I did not know well. Alan Ross and his life partner, Steven Small, attended an improv soap opera religiously at the same time my ex and I did. We met in line and a friendship grew. Steve, I think, never really cared for me but tolerated my presence because he adored Richard. Alan, however, always treated me with love, affection and respect. Alan passed away just over a month ago and, although we only saw each other maybe once a year, he affection and his joyful soul will always be something I’ll carry with me.

The tribute to Alan tonight was overwhelming. He touched so many lives, both here and overseas. I learned about Alan’s outreach to gay men all over the world, helping them find ways to live in countries where gay men are tormented and kept deeply in the closet for fear of their safety.

Steve and Alan’s love for each other is what each of us hope to find. You could feel that love from across the room. I had the pleasure of being at their 25th anniversary party.

Alan’s presence will be greatly missed by many.

This, of course, got me thinking about a great many things.

First, I had thought that this would be my ex and I. Many, many years into the future, when one of us passed on, there would be this tribute for the one who passed and the one left, saying that our love was amazing, it was the stuff of storybooks. That others envied and admired our passion for each other. Now, obviously, not gonna happen. Breaks my heart a little bit.

The other thing it made me think about is what do I want people to say about me at my memorial service (when I’m 183)? A year ago, I wasn’t sure I would even want to entertain the thought of what people would say about me. Now, I hope I have begun a life that will translate into the kind of things that people were saying about Alan tonight – about finding and pursuing his life’s work, about how happy he was and how filled with joy. I hope to maybe also find the person who will be the one with whom I will have the love that others will envy.

And, as always, it made me realize that we never, ever say how we feel about those in our lives, no matter how often we think we do it. We should say it loud and often. I try but I don’t think I convey enough to those I love how much they mean to me. So, once again, here’s who I love and why. Do you own list. Make sure they know.

1. The 3 pieces of my heart. I don’t know you guys came to be that but you are. Together, when the three of you are around me, I know that no harm will come to me and that I am the most special woman on the face of the earth to have such incredible men want to be a part of my life. When one of you is not there, I am not complete.

Individually:

1 a) Peter – you give me hope that my faith is going in the right direction. I admire your convictions and your strong, quiet belief in God in your life. You inspire me to be a better person and to explore my own journey with the spirit within me.

1 b) AJ – I adore your passion and your talent. Your understanding of this twisted life we live yet your utter belief in this twisted life touches me. You reach my intelligence and make me think, god help me.

1 c) Chairman – you have the biggest piece of my heart for all you have done, been and meant to me. There aren’t words enough.

2. Zadra – what can I say? Best friend, best listener, best philosopher. You keep me sane, you keep my feet on the ground – except when it’s better to have my head in the clouds. I’m not crazy with you, I am just myself. Thanks for helping me off the ledge – over and over again.

3. Monica – another ledge-dweller, my new friend. Your research into the fine art of living has given me insight and hope. I want you to find that hope as well.

4. Patty Jean – Best sidekick a girl could have. You are adorable, funny, smart and sexy. I aspire to your outlook and your belief in all things good.

5. Erik – we’ve been through a lot. Your constant calls to check in on me and your friendship has meant a great deal to me. Your love for your children is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.

6. Kim – you have been my friend, my partner in crime, my support and my lifeline for too many years to mention. I feel your love and your presence every day and I miss you more and more all the time. I’m so glad you’ve been in my life.

7. My newest found friends – Anna, Bonnie, Misha, et al. – I’m so pleased to find myself in the company of funny, smart, talented, passionate, daring broads. You help me see that vulnerable and open is amazing and that we broads need to stick together.

8. Career Success Group (in all its various forms) – It’s hard sometimes to realize that I have lost a huge piece of my former life but I guess that’s what happens when things come to an end. However, the friends that formed this incredible group will always be dear and special to me because, without all of you and this group, I would not be where I am today and I would never have discovered my passion.

9. Cindy – this is a hard one right now. I love you when you piss me off, I love you when I say I hate you, I love you when you’re in pain or when I’m in pain. We’re together and we’re apart, we’re close and we’re not. I wish I knew how to reach you because you mean the world to me. Such is the wonder of sisters.

10. RMJ – you had my heart, you gave me so many gifts, you gave me the best that you could. I hope you find joy, as I have found, and that you find our place in this world and that that discovery will bring you peace.

11. The other mid-lifers – I am blessed that you all came into my life via blogspot. It’s comforting to know you are out there, sharing the fight, sharing the struggle, sharing the ledge with me. Know that you inspire me to keep going and I hope to inspire you as well. No one understands us as well as we do each other.

I know I’ve missed many of you. If I have, know that I am overwhelmed constantly by the love and support I feel every single day from any combination of the friends in my life. As this first year of my mid-life journey comes to an end, I am still amazed by the life I have fought for and I am always grateful for those who have battled along with me.

But I do encourage you to find the ones you love and tell them – TELL THEM – what you would say at their memorial. Embrace them, love them and tell them why.

And I just found this quote on storypeople.com which seemed appropriate -

"Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, What have you done with your life? & though there are many moments I think I will remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us." Thank you, Brian Andreas.

Just about perfect...

It was just about the perfect day. Woke up early, although my body didn’t want to. It’s taken quite a beating in the last week and is very, very tired. But I had promised to help Monica move and since she helped me foist my armoire (wow, does that sound dirty?) I couldn’t say no.

So it’s 90 degrees at 8:30 AM but we valiantly got most of her stuff out of her temporary home at Casa de Barnes. Made a quick trip to my place to pick up her air mattress, which she lent me while PRS was temporarily mis-located and slept on my floor for a couple of nights. Then I said the magic words – “hey, Chairman’s got a pool. We need to go for a dip when we’re done.”

I stopped to pick what will pass for a bathing suit – a cute pair of boy board shorts that are pacific blue with a sea-type pattern on them and a sexy little blue bikini top. Met up with Monica at C de B. We got in the pool around 1 PM and, boy, was it hard to get out. The sun, the breeze, the water, the conversation. Such pleasure, such decadence. Such fun. I dragged my ass out around 2:30 as I had auditions at the Ark at 4:00 and still had stuff to copy and had to change, etc.

As I was getting ready, Chairman got up (the boy works nights so 3:00 is his 7AM?) and came down, interestingly enough, in his swim trunks, heading for the pool. Monica persuaded me to show him the cleaned up edit of “Weight of the Word” before I left. Didn’t take much persuasion as I am really happy with the cleaned up edit. It only took about an hour to get it where I wanted it. And Beth is coming over tomorrow to finish the sound work. But we watched the cut, chatted about it and other things. Next thing I knew, it was 3:15 and I still hadn’t put on make-up, gone to Kinkos, etc. So I threw on my straw cowboy hat, which is quickly becoming a very important part of my fashion ensemble, and ran out the door.

Made it to the auditions just in time. Disappointed more people didn’t show up but, oh, well. Showed the new cut of the film to those in attendance and got great response. I’m so excited about this short. I think it’s going to do quite well for me and for my cast.

Monica had suggested earlier that I come back after the auditions so we could continue our pool party and I did, after stopping off to pick up ready-to-serve margaritas. To my absolute delight, Chairman decided to join us in the frivolity and the three of us hung out in the pool in the moonlight, sipping our drinks and laughing our butts off. We finally climbed out of the pool around 9 so Chairman could get ready for work, although we basically crashed on couch/chair until he had to leave. I figured I should leave then, too, as I was falling asleep in the chair, full of sun, tequila and pool water.

And I couldn’t help but think how just about perfect this day was. Comfortable, slow, easy, fun. It’s been a while since I’ve had a relaxing, nothing to do kind of day. Although, as Monica pointed out, I didn’t exactly do nothing today. But it sure felt like it. And I’m glad I did. My soul needed rest, my body needed rest and my mind needed rest. And that’s what we got. And the company was certainly delightful.

I am very tired. I can’t seem to stop smiling. I want more of this. If this is what the battle of the last year was all about, then it was all worth it. My heart is full tonight.

“These are the days that we’ll remember….”