the crimson car coat

I have come to a travesty of a realization.

I am boring.

This is a terrible thing to realize. My cat was interesting. My dogs were interesting. Me?

I am dull.

And all those fancy clothes in the closet? Crimson velvet car coats? Gold Dolce & Gabbanas? That are supposed to suggest I am not?

I never wear them.

My life is work. Every day. Every minute. Every hour. Every week. Every month. Every year. Every moment. Work.

I call a girlfriend and she tells me about a person climbing the house to sit in the hot tub on the bedroom deck. It is a good story. Then she says, What are you doing? What are you up to?

Work.

That is what I do.

I work on a pitch.

I work on a spec.

I post a lecture for my class.

I pick snails off a plant. [I worry about the hard water at the new place and wonder if there is a way to soften it for the plants. Oh that is exciting. Jeez.]

I review a student's work.

I read a book someone is looking for an adaptation on.

I put together a story outline.

I confirm a meeting.

I watch a dvd of a director's work.

I fire off an email to my agent about the director's work.

I put together a list of dream directors for a project.

[Dream is right. Damn. It.]

I watch another dvd. Not for me. To see someone's work.

I confirm a meeting.

I.

Just.

Work.

Cripes.

I need to wear this crimsom car coat.

dog year dog rules

The party was fun. Dog wore Mardis Gras beads and a shirt that on the back said "My Year My Rules"

and had this giant chicken piñata [sp?] he wrestled, and I am going to pretend there are absolutely no connotations to a man wrestling an enormous papier maché chicken outside of send the Year of the Rooster out and usher the Year of the Dog in

Most people were betting on the chicken but Dog had a fancy wrestler's mask --

and the chicken did not --

which I guess made all the difference because Dog won -- well sort of won Dog AND the chicken ended up on the floor but the chicken was missing its head and Dog still had his attached so we will say Dog won

and here we are in Year of the Dog. Yay!

p.s. there were more men than women at the party so it was not the all girl smooch bash i thought it might be, dog did not introduce me to the cute guy at the party, i heard a great love story that is true -- the kind of true you cannot put in a movie no one will believe it -- from another writer

year of the dog

I am getting worried about this blog. It seems to be all about snails. And, natch, I found ANOTHER SNAIL. I swear there is a snail bunker in this planter. This snail went to live by Mail & More. Mail & More's greenery is nicer than the Rite Aid greenery so maybe holding out was a good thing for this snail.

A friend of mine is having a Chinese New Year's Eve party tonight. We are entering Year of the Dog. My friend's name is Dog. I suspect this is a secret plan to get a bunch of good looking women in one place and sneak smooches. I mean, Year of the Dog? A guy named Dog? New Year's Eve? It has got to be about good looking women and smooches. I wonder what the feng shui aspects are of that? I wonder what it is going to be like being at a party comprised entirely of good looking women and Dog.

That is okay. I owe Dog. I talked him into having a Tupperware soup party with the lure of cute Tupperware girls and every girl who showed was not single I can do an all girl Chinese New Year's Eve party to make up for that.

I do not remember what Chinese year I was born in. This is for sure because whatever it is, I did not like it and promptly mind wiped it. Probably something unfortunate like an ox or a rat or something. I would rather be a Dog. Dog was probably not born in the Year of the Dog either though. I will have to unravel that tonight -- what year was Dog born in really?

I am taking bubbles. Bubbles are festive if soapy and I have this whole bottle of bubbles that looks like a champagne bottle that actually Dog got me one birthday that I have never used. This seems like an appropriate occasion.

See you in the Year of the Dog.

snail update news

In snail update news [never in my life did I imagine I would be writing "snail update news" ever] the snail and the snail's relative or friend or something discovered shortly after the madcap snail escape and recapture spent a little under 24 hours here in a big glass vase with lettuce and spritzing [do snails get thirsty?] until I found a nice leafy greenbelt outside a Save On Drugs in central Hollywood and released the snails into the wild.

Well. Sort of wild. It is Hollywood. That should be wild enough right?

I was way worried about those snails. I do not know how territorial snails are. I was afraid in the same vase they might fight. But. No fights. They were not chatty. They did not even want to visit. But no snails were injured during snail events of these posts.

Whew.

Go in peace, snails.

no quero taco bell snail

I have this rogue snail. It happened innocent like and all. I sent some plants to live at a friend's while I was in domicile turmoil. Then, when I was not in domicile turmoil, my friend brought the plants back. Only -- the plants had sort of been munched by snails. I get that. Snails happen. Outside.

My plants do not live outside. My plants live inside with me. And when I got them back I groomed them and comforted them and promised them, No more snail attacks, ever.

A promise I could not keep.

See, this morning, I go into the bathroom and my big beautiful plant has a snail on it. I am horrified. The snails came with? I grab the snail and apologize to the plant.

Only now, I do not know what to do with the snail.

Drop it off the balcony? That does not seem right. It is a long story down to an all pavement street and sidewalk. I mean, okay, Mollusca is not the smartest phylum around, but it will die when it hits the pavement, or, if it survives, well, there is not a damn thing snail worthy to eat.

Drop it in the toilet?

Okay that is just murder.

I decide when I go out I will take the snail with and look for good snail drop off spots. Sure it is a city but there must be snail friendly places. Snails have survived hundreds of thousands of years.

In the meantime I put the snail in this Taco Bell plastic cup that is very deep figuring, How fast can a snail move?

Really fucking fast.

That is like the Taco Bell Grande Lemonaid Cup but two minutes later I look in that cup and the snail is gone. Gone from the inside. Gone from the outside. Gone.

Know where I put that dumb cup?

On the kitchen counter.

Now I am imagining all the turmoil a snail can get into in the kitchen.

There is no trail. What if the snail gets into the microwave? What if the snail gets into the oven?

It cannot get into the food. The food is in sealed Tupperware and a sealed refrigerator. Take that, Snail. [See I am more barbaric than I appear I am having belligerant thoughts about a snail.] But. I think. What does the snail really want?

Plants.

Damn. I hope I did not lie to my plant twice. I hope that damn snail does not make it back to the bathroom.

More likely it will go for the orchid.

The orchid is on my desk.

Damn snail.



Your No Quero Taco Bell Snail Adams Girl

ten things i learned in hollywood

About Restaurants: Beware the salad it is an art form in Hollywood and does not arrive in nice manageable bite size chunks.

About Cell Phones: If a cell phone is going to cut off mid-conversation it will cut off during the most important part of the conversation.

About Parking Lots: The day you are running late for a meeting will be the day the studio decides to do parking lot construction.

About Addresses: Confirm addresses before you leave for a meeting it is no fun arriving at an abandoned office because the person you are meeting just thought you knew he moved across town.

About Canceling: You will not get points for showing up the day the plumbing explodes you will lose points for showing up soaked and frazzled cancel.

About Printers: Never say "the script is printing send the messenger" within a printer's hearing the printer will immediately stress and break.

About Dating: Never trust your guy writer pal's judgement about whom he should give your phone number to.

About Humor: Studio executives do not think it is funny when you say you have to get off the phone now Super Man is at the window.

About Clothes: Do not wash meeting clothes the day of a meeting things just do not go well when you discover your whites have all turned pink a half hour before.

About Hair: Do not walk past let alone enter a hair salon the day before a formal event unless you truly believe baseball caps are a nice accessory to black velvet.

meme what?

Okay Pooks has been explaining memes to me. [Yipes.] So, um, here I am playing well with others doing a freaking "meme." [I do not really have to send this to anyone do I? To me this looks like an advanced version of email chain mail and those are annoying as hell but oh well.]

1 early film-related memory:

two words: flying monkeys -- yay!

2 favorite movie lines:

"there are worse things than chastity"

"yes, lunacy and death"

3 jobs you'd do if you couldn't work in the business:

i am already blackballed at one studio you want me to tempt fate here?

4 jobs you have actually held outside the industry:

jewel thief
cia operative
swim suit model
brain surgeon

*for extra credit guess which of those i really did -- no fair if you actually know either let the new kids play

3 (current) book authors I like:

oh forget book authors those book authors over write like ninjas

2 movies you'd like to remake or properties you'd like to adapt:

excess baggage, and, um, excess baggage

1 Screenwriter you think is underrated:

all screenwriters are underrated you whacky kidders

my glass heart

So. It is 2006. A bright new shiny year. Full of potential. In a bright new shiny apartment. No more crazy landlords. No more crazy roommates. Just me. The bed. The desk. I sold off most of the furniture in the enormous storage unit I just about called home. No more storage. Not ever. It is a rule. I alternate between so much relief and just being happy I am here -- And black moods. Sad sad black. Partly because I have a cold. Have had a cold for weeks now. This damn cold will not go away. That is not because I smoke either no fresh email lectures I know non-smokers who have had this cold longer. Partly because I am living without animals for the first time in 16 years and that is a strange void that echoes all the time around me. "No life. No life. No life." It will not go away. And I dream Jones. When I buried him, he made a noise. And I dream he is still alive. I know he was not. I was there when he died. I know that was just air in a body. But I dream he is. Buried in the ground alive. Those are bad dreams. And partly because I gave my heart to a guy. And he promptly shipped it back to me in a slightly used cardboard box. That box is in better shape than my heart. That box is cardboard. Cardboard can take a lot of abuse. Postal workers. Fed ex guys. Stray squirrel attacks. Cardboard will hold up. Not my heart. My heart does not ship so well. I need a better box.



Your Send Better Boxes Adams Girl