I Want What We All Want

I don't understand this whole blog thing at all. And the sad thing is that neither do any of my friends. None of us. Have. The. Faintest. Clue. I mean, we've heard about them. We know that they've been all the rage for awhile now and that things have happened because of people who blog. But who finds the blogs to make these things happen? And is your own website/blog better than a blogger account? And who are these people who read the blogs? I don't have time to read my Sunday paper, stacks of books on my bookshelf or even my email for $^*#'s sake. And what about human contact?!

That said, here I am on a Saturday night... tired and contemplating whether or not it's worth it to try to make myself look cute, to try to valet park or meter park or cab it to where my friends are having dinner and drinks. I really want to-- but at the same time, I don't. I've been going out for A LOT of years. Not lately, sure.... poverty, depression, not wanting to answer the question "What do you do for a living?", poverty, depression... you get the picture. Maybe that's why I loved "Sex and the City" so much. Those women persevered. Most of my friends, we're over it. It's not the same going out in your 30s + as it is in your 20s. We don't party so much as hang out and drink. Converse. And drink. And we can do that at home for half the price and with half the effort. Sure, the real world has men and things to look at. But they're usually younger than we are and the men are fawning over them while we watch from the corner of our eye-- being too involved in our conversations to care and too busy wondering why we weren't sitting on one of our couches while we drank and conversed.

My friend today who found her way to my blog with MUCH effort-- trust me, I created it with just as much-- said I made myself sound old and unattractive and I'm not. God bless her. But the truth is, we're not. None of us. But sometimes I wonder if it really matters. It's the whole tree falling and no one hearing it thing... or whatever that whole kabob is... if you're cute/attractive and no one gives you the time of day, does it really matter? Oh sure, for our own self-confidence blah blah blah. Well, phooey. Sometimes I have thought, "Okay-- I'm not gorgeous or ugly, I'm fine." And have been validated as such by random people over time. (Even called "hot" if you can believe it). But what does that mean, really? I'm alone, right? I'm lonely oftentimes. There is no insurance policy that comes with popularity or good looks or money. I've had those things at different times and hello... here I am with bad jobs, alone on a Saturday night at 37 years old. And what do I want? What America has told me I should want since I was wee high. Even if I didn't grow up that way, in that kind of a family. I want a husband, a house, a white picket fence or green or orange-- not picky on that front, kids and a dog and a job where I'm given respect and paid what I'm worth. Well guess what? I can't even see the view from here.

And it's strange. Because alot of my friends have it. My sister has it. When I have 2 dirty martinis I believe I can have it. Of course, I also believe I can be President of the United States because I've never smoked pot (more on that later). But what if I don't get it? That's not entirely impossible. I did alot of things to insure that I would get it. Or so I thought. I paid my way through college. I graduated in 3 years from UCLA while working full time, was in a sorority and had internships. My first job out of college was working on a movie with Ron Howard ("Backdraft"- if you can believe it). I got to go on location, was put in charge of the script changes, got notes one-on-one from Robert DeNiro and Donald Sutherland and it seemed like the world was my oyster. From there, I worked in development, was paid well and got promotions. Then, another movie. Then, CRISIS. I wanted more. I wanted expression. I wanted to create. Of course, somewhere in there were some men I dated, poor souls. But no love. Never love. So I focused on work some more-- became a writer's assistant and then a writer. But while writing on a sitcom, there's no dating. There's no life. You're there 24-7... or at least it feels like it. You never know when your night will end so you have to cancel dates. Men get mad. So you stop making dates. And when hiatus comes, you wonder what the hell happened that you're going to 6 weddings in 8 weeks solo. Still, your family is proud of you. Your friends are proud of you. But you want more. So the universe challenges you.

Welcome to my challenge. Can a former cheerleader who won homecoming, graduated high school with a 4.3 while working full time and UCLA in 3 years while working full time get what she wants from life? Even at 37, with dwindling eggs and an even more dwindling bank account? Well, maybe just putting it out there lets the universe know I'm on the case... whether anyone finds this blog, or not.