Baaaack!

Finally - new laptop! Yeah! Means that I'll be able to blog regularly and do stuff I previously wasn't able to do. Maybe there's a reader still checking up on this blog?

For this one reader, there's this R-rated thingy...




I noticed that I missed the Screenwriter Blog-A-Thon while I was checking out my new toy... Guess I'll blog about my fave scripts in upcoming posts.

Happy Easter!

Waiting

My pc was (is) acting up and b/c I need it for things other than blogging, posting wasn't a priorrity. I'll get a laptop soon and am researching what's out there now. Whooeee, fun stuff! I can't afford a Mac, but at least it will have Vista on it and I'll be able to do what I want to do when I want to do it. I'm soooo excited!

X Marks the Singular Masochist

Rita

I have to get ready... I'll meet with a friend and

try to survive the day.

Oops. Rita, my father's widow. She's one of THEM -- unattached adults who have a problem with Christmas. We say good-bye and for a moment I wonder if I should analyze why I'm not feeling anything. Like, empathy or at least guilt about not feeling bad. I shrug and decide it's okay to feel okay. After all, I told her that I'm totally in love with Karl Lagerfeld. I told her about a recent interview and that I totally get him. She called him a crazy nut.

According to Kathy Reichs, by now my father's corpse should be.... oh, wait - he's part of a wall. His urn is. Rita brings that urn flowers. I can relate to that about as much as I can relate to someone who puts out food for the Gods. If the food doesn't vanish, then....? Maybe try a subway station. The food will disappear, I swear. Even half-smoked cigarettes will find new lungs to destroy. Magic! Beer should work, too. Too many unused brain cells on the planet as is. Let's stop the waste, shall we?

Let's face it: for a single person who feels bad this time of year, Rita could be doing worse. It must be the same mechanism that is at work in ad campaigns: a need is created people didn't know they had, it's being reinforced over and over, word of mouth makes the round, you need to keep up with the neighbors and if you can't, you're the odd person out. The poor poor product-less chick. Better get moving or at least start feeling sorry, Have-not. Watch some Christmas movies and get into the spirit prontissimo.

Like the many others who then try to drown their imaginary sorrows in alcohol. Too bad that alcohol, like fat, can't find a target. You tell the fat to hang onto your chest area, for example, but it has butter fingers. It slips and slides downward. Even though it's lighter than muscle and I'm pretty sure it would swim in milk!

Alcohol is a depressant. Smart choice. For a masochist, that is.

So, the following day they'll feel... we know this .... worse. Yes. And it will be like in 50 First Dates or Groundhog Day until in ACT III it's finally New Year's Eve. After another day of wallowing in their perceived sorrow plus the physical discomfort, they'll drag their feet back to work.

Of course they took the week off. It's imperative for single/widowed/divorced people to have too much time on their hands in week 52. Nothing ought to distract them from feeling miserable.

The ones who have mastered the art even invite people to their I'm-so-lonely pity party. Free booze. I'm pretty sure it's an industry. There's always money to be made from people's misery. Alone on Christmas? No real problems to worry about? No sucky responsibilities to shoulder or boring functions you have to attend?

Fear not, you child-free Scrooge, you DO have a problem and there's a solution. Join us at Single-No-More for $ 100 (buffet w/cheap caviar plus 1 cocktail included) and you, too, will find your soulmate or at least Mr. Right Now with a big, warm...erm... heart. And a pulse. Guaranteed!

Sign up now and we even throw in a $ 10 off coupon for next year's My-boyfriend-took-my-money-and-went-to-buy-booze-now-I'm-still-waiting... event.

Back to Rita's package, my Christmas package. Every year I amazon her some books I know she'll love (gift wrapped by amazon very nicely, she says) . So there's no running around or standing in insanely long lines at the post office for moi. It's a win-win.

In turn, she sends me a sort of CARE package which absolutely must include chocolates and homemade cookies. My faves, no less. My caloric intake reaches dimensions only known to bears or Rosie O'Donnell.

The withdrawal will take a few days. The feeling that I absolutely need to consume chocolate. I need to put my body on that rollercoaster. Sugar rush. Slump. Repeat. Gain three pounds.

Maybe next year I'll do the smarter thing: give the cookies and chocolates to the subway Gods.

Beating the Nasty P

My house is clean, the laundry done, I'm blogging. This raises one question: what exactly is it that I should be doing but don't? Yep, I'm procrastinating. Big time. Before you get all holier than thou on me.... One word: taxes. Plus, I'm positive I've got to pay. My rather obvious way of preventing myself from doing the nasty task is to do all the other tasks I don't like but still prefer over digging out receipts and crunching numbers. As you know from a previous post, though, housework always gets the creative juices flowing. Hey, I'm on a juice-fast, so? Okay, back to serious:

Moviequill asked in his post for tips re: overcoming procrastination. And no, I'm not responsible for that potty-mouthed headline. Seriously. Not responsible. Okay, so he gave some tips and I remembered an article by Dr. Bill Knaus over at Albert Ellis Foundation, aptly titled Beat Procrastination Now! It's rather long, err, comprehensive. First, you might want to scroll to Mental Diversions chapter. So true and hilarious at the same time. If you're in a hurry, you then want to scroll down to Adopt a Philosophy of Self-Acceptance, that's where the lists start, the step-by-step plan. Yepp, not just one list, several lists.

On the other hand, if you're procrastinating screenwriting, you may just have a problem with your sp. Like me. I'm scared of all three of them at the moment. They're in different mega-evil departments of Rewriting-Hell. But they don't let me be, chars showing up at my bedside. Nice. Or you may stuff your pie-hole with actual pie and afterwards need all that precious energy to digest the pie. Just a thought. Oh, and spectator sports? Don't count. You don't actually exercise while you watch other people playing ball. I know, wouldn't that be cool? We could hire professional exercisers and would all be in the best shape ever - all of the time!

CUT TO:

Several hours and far too many computer-crashes later.....

Numbers are crunched for last year and this year --- not too frightening. There are still some deductions around, I'm sure. Got 3 more days to dig them out. Boy, am I feeling relieved!

And I wrote a couple of scenes for my thriller and a new opening for my rom-com. Longhand, how I hate that. Some very funny stuff, though, love that.

Paging Dr. House

Christ. I feel like this whole damned year they've been sticking needles in me, ultrasounded me, x-rayed different body parts and I'm not exactly feeling oh-so-much better. Let me clarifiy: the meds have given me a different set of symptoms. Like, ah, pain. Don't worry, that's just from the water I'm retaining now, says my doc, and I should just cut the dosage of one of the meds in half, no biggie. Nice. At least you didn't kill me, jerk.

Let's look at the bright side:

I'm not anemic anymore, so I won't collapse for lack of iron again. Nice, right? It's something. I'm Iron Woman now, watch out!

Of course I might collapse while being on that juice fast that I'm doing trying to get rid (pronto!) of those useless six pounds I gained on account of the meds, but hey. Plus, they can keep their expensive not-covered-by-any-health-insurance-plan tests, I'm Ms. Heal Thyself Now. Oh, anger is a powerful thing. A source of power.

Where's Dr. House when you need him, anyway? Many of his less fictitious peers got the sucky bedside manner down but none seem to have the knowledge/skills. Or give me Cristina and Meredith Grey. They might be able to come up with something. Urgh, reality sucks so bad sometimes.

Good thing my TV quit. Again. Third time this year. At least its repair is still covered under warranty. Yepp, it's that kind of a TV. The lemon kind a.k.a. JVC. Repairs usually mean I'll be TV-free for at least a week.

As a general rule, TVs only go black-screen on weekends when the manufacturer hotline is not staffed. Trust me, it works like this all the frigging time. The 2-year warranty ends next month. I seriously would like a replacement TV because I don't think this one puppy will ever just work and not break down again in a few weeks.

So I think while I'm trying not to think of solid food, chewing food, the texture of food, et cetera and so forth, you get my driftwood - hey, Dr. Brown would be good, too. What, he's a brain-doc? Shoot.

I think I might as well trade carpal-tunnel pain for the pain in my fingers that is, supposedly, caused by the edemas caused by the meds. (I said edema, you goof, not enema. By the by, enemas are good, according to Prince Charles. I know, Prince of a country where men still proudly display their chest hair, even über-cool (yeah, right) ex-junkie pop-stars, who am I kidding. There's the train, the train of thought, let's jump back on:) Cause and effect, one scene building on the other, I can hardly remember the frigging inciting incident.

Which, I guess, means that I should run out and get some Gingko Biloba or something since my memory clearly isn't working well, either.

And then I'll read the transcript of next weeks House, M.D. episode (they're airing season 2 here). Huh! JVC will not succeed in keeping me from indulging in my fave addictions. Sure, I've read all the posted Grey's Anatomy transcripts I could find. If someone knows where ALL of them are posted, drop me a comment.

Happy Holiday-weekend!