My Notice is In. Or. 31 Days and Counting...

It's scary. Because now it's real. There's no going back. It's not April so I can't say to my landlord, "April Fool's." And he doesn't have much of a sense of humor anyway. I was going to send an email to all my friends to see if someone wanted to take over this place before I mailed the notice. I mean, it is huge and nice. But I felt like why pass on the curse? Okay, so it's not the place that's cursed. Necessarily. But I don't think anybody I know needs the energy that's here.

I have a lot to do before I move. A lot. I have a lot to do just getting back from my trips. I mean I've been away 17 out of the last 19 days. Sure, I'm not going to do that any longer-- well, after the end of the month, I'm not. But even just unpacking, drycleaning, going to the store, paying bills and reading mail is a huge chore. To say nothing of packing up an entire 5 rooms. Still, I'm excited. I can see the end in sight. I really want to write. And get things done to move my life forward. I haven't gotten anything much done since June when all of this traveling started. It did seem like a good idea at the time. And necessary. I mean, a girl's got to pay her bills. And I did get to see alot. But I'm tired. And out of shape now. Over skincare. Not like I was really ever into it, but I was into the fact it was Caren's company. And I was a part of helping it succeed. And I do like the products and I don't like aging. But all this traveling and airplane air didn't exactly keep me looking young. In body, mind or spirit. Well, maybe in spirit. I did have quite a few adventures. Met a bunch of fun, interesting people. Had some drama, sure. But I did get to dance. And I haven't danced in years.

On the plane home from New York I read the screenplay for "Stranger than Fiction." It made me cry. Seriously. It's a comedy. But it's a good comedy. It's screenplays like that that inspire me to write. They're why I write and want to-- to think that I could write something as good as that some day. It's a unique voice. A unique way of looking at the world. And although the device may seem like it's been done before, if you just heard what it's about-- it's done in such way that it's entirely new, fresh and believable. It's definitely not a studio film. I hope it generates what a studio film does, though-- $$$-wise. That would be amazing. I also read "Rise and Shine" on the plane by Anna Quindlen. She may be an accomplished writer, but that book couldn't be less interesting. I thought it may have something in common with my screenplay - the rise and fall of two people's lives at the same time. But it's not really executed in a unique or particularly interesting way. She avoided drama. She had her character go hide out. What's intersting about that? Running away? Where's the story there? Unless some crazy drama ensues while that happens. But no, that's not the case. Disappointing. But sometimes it's good to see what not to do, too.

Okay, enough on my opinions on things. I have to go hike. Get Will ready for the vet and start collecting boxes. Anyone who's bored and wants to help pack up...

ALL ROADS LEAD TO NEW YORK

I’m sitting in JFK waiting for the next flight. Not because I missed mine, went standby or got bumped, but rather because I gave up my seat. For four hundred Delta dollars. They offered the same thing on the way out—from LAX. But I wanted to get to New York. To hang out with Kate and I didn’t feel like a 1 a.m. arrival into the city would be all that palatable to me or her. But an 8 p.m. arrival into LAX? Not so bad. Maybe because it’s providing me with the ability to come back to New York for free. Or rather, the small price of 4 hours in the Delta terminal. Even if they don’t have good food, a good bookstore or other distractions. Other than a Burger King, Starbuck’s and Samuel Adams. Yeah. This terminal could use a major revamp. Which I’m guessing all the construction is about. But for now? It works. I did meet a nice environmental lawyer who lives in Moscow at the Samuel Adams bar. I figure I’ll just sleep on the plane. I did play an awful lot while I was here—as these photos will attest. (You get to see Kate (doesn't she look gorg?! And Kristine (35... can you believe? She needs to tan or get sun damage or something. And Kate's friend Laura! And hot actor guy, Ed!).

My NYC plan has me excited. I’m aiming for my birthday. My 39th birthday. At the latest. Which is March 29th. It’s oh so close yet oh so far away. Which makes it a good reason for moving home. A reason for moving on. And a reason for sacrifice. I feel like I have focus now. A goal, if you will. A goal I want! Which has me motivated to get the other things moving in my life. Like my writing and the various other things that were stuck. And a lot of things? They were stuck. And let’s be honest, it’s hard to get things moving at home when you’re always somewhere else. Now, I’ll have no excuse.

I wasn’t ready the last time I moved to New York to make it work out. I was 27 years old. I had never had things and I wanted things. Now? Things aren’t all that important to me. At least not the things that LA provides. I have loved some of my things at times. I do appreciate having had them. And what having them means to others. But I don’t need them quite so much anymore. And since I’ve been living without them for five years, there’s no sacrifice involved where those things are concerned. They don’t mean happiness.

The east coast just feels more like me. It always has. It’s just I haven’t seen it in five years so I forgot . I don’t care about celebrities and cars and homes. For that matter, I never really have. I just felt like maybe I should. Where I picked to live in LA is due to my simple desire to be able to walk everywhere. To see things. People. Life. To have access to things I need. I love land. But I don’t need it on a daily basis. I need stimulation. I thrive on it. On seeing things. People. Living. That’s what makes life interesting. As my mother said, my cats may not dig it so much in the city. And I do want them to be happy. Hopefully as NYC cats. And if not, I’ll reluctantly let them be with someone who can give them a little outdoors in the bargain. Like I said before, I want everyone to have what they want. Even my cats.

Oh and Kate? She's the best hostess ever!!! And friend. I am lucky. I am.

I Have a Plan.

I'm moving to New York. Okay. Maybe not tomorrow. Or on December 1. Which is when I have to move out of my apartment by. But as soon as I can. After moving to my mom's. Finishing my script. Saving some money. Writing a few essays. Saving some money. Writing a pilot. And getting in shape. Financially and physically. This traveling thing has taken a toll on the old bod. Things that used to have definition? Not so well defined. Me? Not liking it so much. I nearly got suicidal at Barney's. Well, not really. But the whole trying on a pair of straight leg jeans thing? Maybe not so smart in a not so fit state. That's all I'm saying. The coup of New York is that it's less about all that "what you look like stuff." Which is quite excellent. I know this because last night I got asked for my number by not one, but two guys. Okay, so none of them have called yet. But the actual asking is nice. And it never happens in LA. So there.

Kate and I had a blast last night. She's quite the knowledgable one about the New York scene. First, we had nosh at this place in the picture. And then drinks at this other place which has no picture. That's where we bonded with Ed the actor-- who was pretty hot. He's the one who got my number. Yes, an actor. I seem to gravitate towards creative types. What can you do? He had dimples. And seemed amused by me. I'm a sucker for men who are amused by me. Together we manipulated the song selection. Which was fun. It was an 80s rock flashback. And then some brothers came in and taught me how to do that Beyonce thing. Which was quite the feat. After a few martinis.

Today, I got work done. Came up with my plan. And went to Chelsea. Which is where I stayed last time. Five years ago last time. The area is completely different. Before it was boy's town. Now it's too fabulous for words. There are all these incredible stores and restaurants and things. That's where we were last night. Today I Scooped. I got a dress. I haven't worn a dress in forever. It makes me feel girly. Which I like. Which is probably a by-product of getting male attention. Which I also like. I forget what it's like sometimes. It can liven a girl up. Just feeling like someone finds you attractive. And you're not dead yet.

Kate took a bunch of fun pix of us last night but she has to do this whole download thing and we have a party to go to. It's Kristine's birthday! So we're going to some far too hip place. Which doesn't feel the same here as in LA. It always feels more interesting, less shallow. And less about the size-- of income, jeans, breasts and homes and more about the whole brain and personality thing. That's where I fit in. Well, that's where I feel comfortable. And like to think I fit in. Did I mention that here? There are men. Lots of men. When a posse passed us at the bar last night? They waved. I waved back.

LOVE. New York.

Okay. This city works for me. Works. Just works. First. There's Kate. This is fun. We're having fun. And we haven't even gone out yet. Well, together, that is. And then there's Sam'n. Very cool. She was the New York PR when I worked for the nameless not so nice PR person in LA. Who I probably have mentioned a few times by name...but what can you do? Sam'n and I met for drinks at the Hudson-- which is where I stayed when I had the money to stay at a hotel. Five years ago. They have sex rooms, as I like to call them. You can see the bed from the shower... and the shower from the bed. And really, the rooms are basically just a bed. This time? I just drank in the bar. No room. I had martinis! Sam'n just wine. She's not a drinker. Then again, she's married. We had a waitress who ignored us. So I said something nonchalantly (well, as nonchalant as I can be while still being charming and polite) when I went to the bar and lo and behold-- a martini-- for free! From the manager. And some lovely Swedish man (cute, by the way) and his friend-- martini! It was all so easy yet so confusing. In LA, I'd have to be naked for that to happen. On that note... today? Saw Keanu Reeves. Okay. Beautiful. Smoking, though. Almost took a pic but thought, I don't do that in LA, so why here? So, no. But again... for the record... beautiful. And to be honest, that's reason enough to take a picture, but I kind of think he was suspicious as I stood there and I didn't want to be tackled by some paparazzi tackler.



So the day in NYC was crisp. Not too cold. I walked 50 blocks one way -- about five another. I went to Columbus Circle... and ran into a writer from LA-- doing some radio stuff for Howard Stern... we both went to the largest Whole Foods ever-- and both left. It's kind of a lot of work to shop in a place so huge. That's why I don't go to Target. Instead, I went to Barney's (to look... clearly. Only. Clearly) and to few other stores. And treated myself to an appetizer and a glass of wine in the middle of the day. At Josephina's which is just a few blocks from where I used to live when I lived here. I never went there then. I always thought it was too expensive. And it probably is. Was. I'm just older now and like treats. Then tonight? I went out to the Blue Ribbon Bakery with my friend Kristine. We ate and drank... and I got asked for my number! By Prison Break guy. Well, he didn't go to prison. And he isn't on the show. But he was hot and looked like he could have been-- on TV at least-- and we had this little rapport thing going and Kristine said he was going to ask for my number... and I thought she was insane, but he did. Hot Prison Break guy. Asked me for my number. Friday night is Kristine's little bday soiree. He might come. Or at least call. See... Love. New York!

I'm in Oprah! And the Big Apple! At the Same Time!

Okay, so the Oprah thing? Only a letter to the editor. But I read a good essay and I sent a letter. And they published it. They published it. In case you missed it. My letter. In the November issue. It's on newsstands. Now. "Jody Paul - Los Angeles." It's printed. In Oprah! In the same issue that you can learn to complain at a restaurant and learn how not to feel like a stuffed turkey. I'll leave the reading to you. I'm about to get interviewed by Kate. In New York. On her couch. Just like a real therapist. New York has alot of those. So does LA. Okay, off I go. I'm going to enjoy the moment.

Oh, by the way. I made my flight. The right flight. And I got my bags. Both of them. And a cab. With a fast cab driver. And I got a call from my friend Mary who I haven't seen in 5 years. And from Sam'n. Who I'm finally going to meet. Okay. Off to be interviewed - oh, it's a conversation apparently. I like those, too... Off I go.

Happy Blog Birthday to Me.

So. It's been a year today. Yes, a year. Since I started this blog. For some reason, keeping it going. Having things to say-- whether good, bad, ugly... embarrassing... dramatic... depressing... just keeping it going, feels like an accomplishment. Which is a good thing. I like good things. Then again, so does Martha Stewart. She built a whole empire out of them. Well, I'm no Martha. There's no empire. But there's change. Lots of change. Some of it is hard. Alot of it isn't what I expected. Or necessarily even what I wanted. I've made a lot of mistakes. Shared them. Made people wince, cringe, and probably think I'm completely insane. Which at times, I am. I think too much. Write when I should just meditate or something. But at least I keep moving forward. And backwards. Then forwards again. At least I keep people guessing. And even myself. And I'm honest. So I always have that. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. Or even today. But today is my blog birthday. And I'm going to celebrate. Because the mere fact that anyone reads this makes me happy. Because it gives me a reason for writing. And that's good enough for me.

MOVING ON.

For what started out as a disaster, the Pittsburgh portion ended up being a nice trip. I didn’t explore like I usually do. I was much too tired. I went to bed by 8:30 the first night there. I didn’t even have a glass of wine. Mainly because I was so far away from any normal restaurants. Well, what I consider normal. Non-college bars and non-chain restaurants. I couldn’t even find a place that sells wine. Because it’s sold in these special state run wine stores. I found beer. But I don’t like beer. I actually like wine. And it’s a histamine. It helps with the body aches. Pennsylvania is so green—and orange and yellow—it is fall, after all—that I have lots of body aches. I’m so burnt out, though. That I didn’t even go to buy Mucinex D. And that usually helps. There were also the issues with the funds from my reimbursement check being held. I had to call the bank and beg them to release at least $100 so I wouldn’t be humiliated by showing up to do a training without food. And with no explanation other than, “I don’t have the money.” They released $500 but it was a pain. A huge pain. Begging and pleading for what should have been in my account in the first place. I’m a little over the work. The effort. Of waiting for the check to arrive. Waiting for the check to clear. When it did I bought a new pair of underwear. I thought I deserved it. The pink pair has to go, I’m tired of them. So this is news—there’s no tax on panties in Pennsylvania. Nor on bras. I got two. I really need a purse. But that’s not a necessity and there’s only no tax on necessities. And I didn’t see any good purses anyway in PA. The best shopping is still in LA and NYC. And I’m going to NYC next week. I can’t wait. I only wish I had a few more days in between. I miss home. And it won’t be mine for much longer, so I would like to enjoy it while I can.

Other than the time spent with my cousin and his family, this trip on the whole has been a debacle. Through and through. Although the Sephora-ites at Ross Park and Shadyside, were quite sweet and complimentary and even fun. We exchanged numbers. I have lots of numbers. From people all over the country. It should be interesting to see if any of us actually ever use them. The people I met were a bright spot. But my sense of adventure has left the building. I did eat out one night. I went online and discovered one of the Top 10 hotspots-- Soba. That’s the place in this photo. It seemed cool enough. The kind of place where you can order an appetizer and a glass of wine and talk to interesting people. But not so much. The martini was not dirty no matter how many times I asked the bartender to dirty it up-- it was kind of watery really-- and the tuna tartare came without wonton chips. So I left hungry and bought that smart corn stuff on the way back to the hotel. I did talk to a bunch of women at the bar but there were no men to be had. Well, there were in Danbury. But that’s another story. And after that— I’m thinking women are safer. A lot of wrong men don’t make one that’s right. Rather, they make for some dark times. If only they did make a right... I would be living the life of my dreams. And that’s just it. Right now, they’re all just dreams. The things I want. They’re the same dreams I’ve had pretty much forever. They’ve never changed. Only my distance from them has. So I’ve made some decisions. I know what I need to write. I know what I want to write. And I feel certain that me writing those things is the only way my life is going to get better, move forward and be what I want it to be. So I’ve decided to throw my ego to the wind, can my rescue fantasies and desire for a family (for now), toss my things in storage, and do the one thing I’ve been avoiding for the last five years. The one thing I gave everything I had just so it wouldn’t happen. I’m going to move in with my mom.

It won’t be for long. (I’m thinking until my 39th birthday. Yes. 39th). It’s not going to be easy. My mom’s place is smaller than the place I’m living in now. She doesn’t want me to bring the cats. She only has a carport. No garage. I’ll have no friends close by. And unlike my trips—which are ending next month—there aren’t a lot of places to explore in sunny Cypress, CA. There is no Whole Foods or Trader Joes. No Runyon Canyon to hike. No yoga studio. No cable TV or wireless internet. I won’t be able to do shop walks—because there are no shops. There are none of the things I consider the comforts of home. At least not the home I created for myself. But it’s got to happen. It’s my last ditch effort to save my life. No one else is going to do it for me. And to be honest, I don’t even know if I can do it for myself. But I’m going to try. It’s yet one more thing on the list of things I’m going to try. I only hope it works. Because if it doesn’t? I can’t even go there. Going home is hard enough.

Another Day of Blow Drying My Underwear

It sounds absurd, but it's true. It's because of this. They lost my luggage. Again. Just when it was found. Lost. This time I actually thought ahead-- albeit somewhat jokingly-- and wore something I could work in on the plane since I have to do a training tomorrow at 9:00am . And I brought my power cord for my computer and my cell phone. So I could amuse myself when the training is over by repeatedly calling the airlines to check on my luggage and if I don't get the answer I want, going on their website. So. At least I have learned what to bring on the plane. Even if the airlines didn't. The strange thing is, this was a different airline. This was USAirways. The other time was Delta. To their credit, USAirways gave me a little bag with a toothbrush, shaving cream and razor, deoderant, cotton swabs and a pouch of Woolite. Which will come in handy. Particularly the Woolite since I'll be washing and blowdrying my underwear. Yet again. I can't wait to be home and have my pick of underwear. All of my colors and styles. Well, just colors mainly. I'm kind of a Cosabella girl.

Maybe this is my fault. Or like my cousin said, maybe I have a sticker on my head. Because I was picked for a special search. Which is what they do if you switch flights anywhere, anytime. And I may have tempted fate when I said to the gate agent, "my bags will make it on this flight, right?" And he said, "Of course they will." And I may have jinxed the guy sitting next to me when I told him what happened with my bags on my last flight. Because his luggage was lost, too. And to think I was comforted to be on a bigger plane and to see a passenger I recognized standing there waiting at the luggage carousel-- as if that meant my bags truly were coming. It turns out that the guy sitting next to works for Loreal. And he does trainings like I do. That's why I think what I was thinking before was true-- that the "lost" luggage may not actually be lost at all but being checked out and scanned further because there are so many liquids and gels inside. BUT that doesn't explain why my rental car got screwed up again.

And to think I was in such a good mood from seeing my cousin and his family. So grounded. So back in touch with what's important in life. Important to me. And feeling like things might just work out. Somehow. I could see it working out. I could feel it. But when the rental car went wrong. When they said my card was declined and I knew my paycheck was in my account, I started to tear up. Because given the way things had been going on the earlier part of the trip, I had actually taken the time to call my bank before I got on the plane and made sure that my entire balance was available. Because they hold $250.00 in your account oftentimes in addition to the rental charge every time you rent a car if you use a debit card. No matter how long the rental is for. So. Before flight. Plenty of funds. After flight? Hold on funds. Why, you may ask? Well, let me just say this-- I have no idea. I called my bank and told them the situation. There was a very nice woman who helped me and she had no idea either. But she did get the bank to release $500 of my paycheck/expenses. Which it turns out was being held since it was such a large amount. As if I didn't know! I'm the one who has been waiting for it!!! Living without it. Argh. So even though it was released? Dollar Rent A Car wouldn't rent me a car since their policy is to run a debit card only once in 24 hours. I have no idea why. Either did the manager. So I started to cry. Yep. And not on purpose. And not because I'm hormoonal. Luckily, the manager took pity on me and walked around to the different rental car desks and got them to match the Dollar rate. Finally, Enterprise took me.

Not only did they take me, they gave me an upgrade. But then. They gave me the wrong directions. I went through one tunnel. Then another tunnel. And finally, I drove in the wrong tunnel. In the wrong direction. I asked a cop for directions. A man on the street. Called the reservations desk at the Quality Inn. Finally, I saw another Enterprise Rent a Car and pulled into the lot. By that time, I was somehow serendipitously a block away from the hotel. That's all.

Pittsburgh is confusing. Cool view and all. So is my life. I still have no bags. No brain power. But at least this time I have something to wear, something to wash my teeth, self and underwear with, a remote that works, and a bakery/coffee shop connected to the hotel. So when I go to buy coffee and stuff for the Sephora-ites in the morning, I won't have to drive or search or get lost. And on Thursday, if all goes well or at least a little bit better, I'll be home.

It's Friday the 13th.

It. is. My luggage arrived at nearly midnight. After getting in at 11am. After I asked the luggage guy to hold it so I could pick it up if it came in. And he didn't. He gave it to the delivery company. In the twelve hour window, they say they have until 12:30am to deliver it. Refreshing to know that they actually deliver it in the window, isn't it? Argh. So today. Was a wash. The power went out at the hotel. Their computer was down and well, I basically gave up. I did nothing. Accomplished nothing. If I looked like a half-way normal person, I might have gone to the mall, but I didn't think I'd be the best representative. So here I sit. Perhaps I could have gone to a movie. Read. Well, I did read. But I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to miss my luggage. So. Lesson learned. Kind of.

A comedy writer I worked with passed away this week from prostate cancer. Jerry Belson. I adored him. Adored his wife. We all went on a cruise together --the Drew cruise. His wife is amazing. He is... was. He was in a whole different league than me. Clearly. So when I say working together, I mean sitting in the same room. He was the real deal. When I was working for the publicist, he and Garry Marshall and a few other comedy writers came by randomly to get their picture taken together in front of the building. It was their old office and it was a thing. Them getting their picture taken together there. What are the odds of that? He told me I would write again. That I should call him and Jo Ann. That it was a rough business. The strange thing? He passed away on Tuesday. I was thinking of him this week. I was thinking of calling him and his wife. Of trying to get together. I don't remember if it was Tuesday or not. But still. It was an out of the blue thought. Those kind of things make you think. Here's the story I found on the internet...


Jerry Belson, Emmy-winning comedy writer, dies of cancer at 68

By Andrew Glazer
ASSOCIATED PRESS
2:50 a.m. October 13, 2006
LOS ANGELES – Jerry Belson, an Emmy-winning comedy writer for “The Tracey Ullman Show” whose wit graced numerous other films and TV shows, including “The Odd Couple” and “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” has died. He was 68.
Belson died of cancer at his Los Angeles home on Tuesday, said friend and writing partner Garry Marshall.

A “writer's writer,” Belson inserted into his scripts what was funny to him, even if he thought only four others in his television audience would join him in laughter, said Marshall, who directed “Pretty Women” and “The Princess Diaries.”

“He added dark, wild thoughts and lines,” Marshall said.

Belson and Marshall worked together on some of the most celebrated sitcoms of the 1960s and 70s, including “Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.,” “The Dick Van Dyke Show” and “The Odd Couple.”

A signature scene that Belson wrote into “The Odd Couple” involved the character Felix Unger describing the funeral of a dog named “Spot Moskowitz,” attended by dogs wearing yarmulkes.

After teaming with comedic actor Tracey Ullman, Belson won three Emmy awards – in 1989 and 1990, for his work on her Fox comedy, and in 1997, for writing on the HBO show “Tracey Takes On...”. He was nominated for 17 Emmys in his career, which primarily focused on targeting the cocky and pretentious.

“He was so bright and so witty with not a very erudite background,” Marshall said. “In one of our first meetings, I said to him, 'Write it like you would a play.' He said, 'I never saw a play.' He wasn't from Harvard. He was from El Centro.”

Belson left his home in southeastern California for Hollywood after graduating high school and, following a struggle as a magician, comic book writer and drummer, finally sold a script he wrote to “The Danny Thomas Show” at the age of 22.

One of his most famous stories, among friends, was how he finally married his wife, actress and artist Jo Ann Belson, 30 years ago. She had given him an ultimatum: Marry me or I'm flying to Europe. As he waited with her at the airport, she repeated the demand, Marshall said.

“What do you want? Should I take off or stay?” she said.

Belson quickly responded: “Can you take off and circle?”

The couple raised three children: Kristine, Julie and Willi.

He is survived by his wife; his children; a sister, screenwriter-novelist Monica Johnson; a brother, radio personality Gordon Belson; and two grandchildren.





Find this article at:
http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/world/20061013-0250-obit-belson.html

I'm in Westchester County, New York. But My Luggage Isn't.

Some trips just don't work. This is one of them. Although the people at Delta were quite kind and helpful and cut me huge amounts of slack. For things that were entirely my fault. See, I missed the plane last night. I can’t even explain why. Well, other than the whole breakdown over my financial situation. And being over it. The worry. And the stress. And not being able to get it together. Which is not really like me. I can normally suck it up. The worst of situations. This time. I didn't. I just didn't. I know that’s not a very good excuse. I had a job to do. A plane to make. Which I paid $25 to be on. And me? Every decimal point makes a difference in my reality. I know this, but my subconscious did not care. My subconscious was incapable of making the flight. My fingers dialed the phone. And called a cab to schlep me to the airport. Which should have technically gotten me there on time… if it was right outside. But it wasn’t. It was supposedly 5 to 10 minutes away. Well, that turned into 20 minutes. And when it arrived, at 10:38, there was no chance in hell I was going to make it on an 11:40pm flight. The last flight of the night. I couldn’t really afford to gamble $37 of my own money on no chance in hell. So I left my suitcases at the door and went to bed.

Then panic set in. I screwed up. And I can't afford to screw up. I woke up at around 5:30 in the morning and called customer service. The customer service lady was actually nice and of service. After telling me that I should have made an attempt to get to the airport. That I would have then been on the first flight out in the morning. That the effort would have worked in my favor. She then said she couldn’t do anything for me on the phone and gave me the number of the Delta desk at the airport. I called the number for twenty minutes straight. But no one picked up. I set my alarm for 7am and went back to bed. At 7am, I spoke to a man named Messai who listened to my story then said he was the wrong person to talk to—but he said this other lady would help me. So I should call her back. I did. She said she couldn’t help me. But put me on the noon flight without reissuing the ticket. She said she couldn’t promise a thing. That it was up to the supervisors and my story telling skills. Me. And my story telling skills.

So what to do? Get it together, drive to the airport and try? It didn't seem likely. And a part of me just wanted to stay home. And wait for my check to arrive. To know if and when it did arrive. But the other part knew that if I didn't get on the plane than my next check will be insignificant. And I need money. I talked to Kelly. Talked to Caren. I couldn't make a decision. I honestly wanted someone else to make the decision. And they both said the same thing. You need the money. Go to the airport. I cannot wait for the day when I don't have to hear that phrase, "You need the money." That's right up there with, "You don't have the money." I know. I know I don't. I wish I didn't know. And sometimes I pretend like I don't. Hence the disasters. Which I oftentimes bring upon myself. I don't want to go and I make it happen. I think I need to make other things happen at home. Or in my career. Instead, I'm missing planes. Although I am trying. Really. And that's part of why I do want to miss planes... subconsciously. So I have time to do them. At home.

By missing my flight, I did manage to get my paycheck. And expense check. I didn't deposit it yet. Kelly's friend Jo Ann is doing it for me. But at least I saw it. That it arrived. And I signed it. Which was a major relief. And I got dropped off at the airport. Which was better than having to pay out of pocket for a cab. Especially when I already paid to change my flight. But I was lucky. They could have told me too bad. Told me to go home. They could have said I had to pay the fare difference. They could have said lots of things. Things other than, "No problem" and then putting me on a flight. But they didn't. I didn't even have to do a whole song and dance. The supervisor just did it. I love Delta right now.

Even if they didn't put my luggage on the flight. And that's where my coat is. And it's 40 degrees outside aka freezing. The flight from LAX to Atlanta was running late. Apparently the Atlanta to White Plains flight didn't know it was late and were paging me. I ran from the plane for the plane, but Atlanta is a big ass airport. There are shuttles and things. I had to go four stops. I got to the plane in time and asked about my luggage. They said it would be there, no problem. Well, there was a problem. Me and three other people didn't have our stuff. The bummer is I packed everything. I mean everything. You can't exactly promote a skincare line looking like a haggard make-up-less mess. Well, not if you actually want to sell anything. The suitcase contains everything I own for winter and (all of my makeup and skincare) and prescriptions and some of my writing and some of other people's writing-- oh and my computer power cord and my phone charger. And bills. I brought those, too. I just want it to arrive. They said it should arrive around 11am. The only problem? I have to do a training at noon. So I'll have to push it until after I get my luggage.



Luckily, when there was a problem with the rental car, Mike was helpful. This a picture of Mike. He works for National and Alamo. He's trying to save me money on the rental car. He's been working on it for over an hour. He says it's no big deal. That he has nothing better to do than to help a good looking woman from California. And he did! He did! I'm taking him out for a drink. After all, I don't have any luggage. I can't get ready for bed. And I'd rather spend money on a cocktail for someone who helped me than on a rental car. Although, I'm also going to have to spend money on a travel size shampoo and conditioner and a toothbrush and toothpaste and contact lens solution. But that's not bad. This is America, after all. I can get it all in the middle of the night. After a drink and with a random kind stranger. And I guess that's lucky. And so is the fact I just got paid.

Suddenly I See.

I didn't leave this morning. I'm still home. Typing on my blog. Waiting for the Delta representative to put me on a same day confirmed ticket which will cost me $25. I've talked to three Delta people today. Half of them sound like they're in India. Or the same country where all the Dell people are. I know because when I worked for Samantha (publicist) I had to call every day for two months trying to get her reimbursed for some computer she returned before I started working for her. Well, I finally got the refund and she promised me a bonus if I did... but she promised me a lot of things I never got. Which is probably the perfect segue for why I'm still home. It's because of my paycheck. I was waiting for it. And my expense reimbursement. Which together totals approximately $3,000. Which was promised to me today. I have a little over $100 to my name in my bank account. Which does not fly with Alamo Car Rentals. They want the whole $270+ plus $250 in case I drive the car off a cliff -- which given the way I'm feeling, just might happen. Have I mentioned lately that bankruptcy blows? And so does poverty. Well, I'm still poor. At 8:01 at night. The check never came. And Ken, the man who lied about sending my paycheck before -- I know he lied because it never showed up and people who know him say he's done this before. Charming, right? -- well, he never called me back when I called him asking where it was and if I could pick it up again. No, instead he called the corporate office and said that I asked for an advance and they don't do advances. And kill me now. Long and short of it. I got in trouble. Enough with getting in trouble. I figure what could they possibly do to me that hasn't already been done?

I'm only going on this trip because I have to. I need the money. The job ends November 18th. The trips end November 18th. I was offered a position today in the Orange County territory-- which is an hour away from here-- which we all know is where I grew up and am not so fond of-- for $45,000 a year. Which I can't live on. I've tried. And what with gas prices-- driving an hour away... up and back... I don't think so. And there would be no benefits. Just quarterly bonuses. And Orange County. My mother even got it when I told her I couldn't do it. She said it was a sign. That so many people tell her how beautiful I am-- which is so unlike my mother-- but quite sweet. Her version of, "so if the rest of your life is shit, at least you're pretty." Sigh. That and a rental car has gotten me... not so far. No, it has gotten me places. Lots of places. Not the pretty thing. Well, I don't know. Maybe it has. I'm not going there. Pretty is relative. Relative to where you live, who you are and what you place value on. How you value yourself and others. I'm completely off on a tangent here. Anyway...

Given my panic attack and panic driven alkie tendencies, I had a glass of wine at 1:30 in the afternoon, called Kelly and asked if she'd cover the rental car (while sobbing out of shame which is messed up given I should have $1300 of my own money in the bank) and then walked to her store and got a check and walked to the bank. And then drove to Beverly Hills where I tried on a pair of boots at my favorite shoe store. Where the woman remembered me and said she hadn't seen me in a long time... a few years... four to be precies. I told her it's because I used to shop before my shrink appointment. Now I don't have a shrink (although I could probably use one). Because you can't work in Hollywood without a shrink and good shoes... which is partially true. Just the shrink part. She thought it was hysterical. And is holding a pair of boots for me that I can't afford and can't buy. But having her hold them for me for the hour until she closed made me feel a little closer to something. Did I mention my father forgot my sister's birthday and he was over at her house? Yes. Bigger fish.

This all being said, I keep hearing my friend Michael in my head-- saying to me this week-- that I just need time-- a little time to write-- and how he wants that for me-- room to breathe-- and write and be all that I can be-- and I want that for me, too. Just like the man. A man. To love and be loved by. Okay, just typing that made me cry. I need to be a better liar.

I know I can write. Although this blog alternately reflects that and not. I don't know if I can get a man or not. Only the writing thing has been proven. The writing thing. Yeah. So long ago. Proven. So what has been proven may not really count any more... still. After this trip, after New York, I will come home and give my notice on this apartment. And be okay about it. Scared but okay. Because Detroit is one of the poorest major cities in the United States. I've lived on Detroit for over 14 years. Maybe I should pick another street. Maybe one associated with love and prosperity... like Park Place or New York Street. Or even just a good storage space. I worry about the kitties. I love them. I am not giving them up. But I may have to have them watched by someone else for awhile. Live with someone else. Which will probably hurt me more than it hurts them. But. When I come home, they are all over me. Sleep with me. Talk to me. And now, they're both at my feet, Skunk with her spay scar. And you know-- love. Kitty love even...? It can turn a day around.

And Suddenly I See? Well, that's just a KT Tunstall song that seemed appropriate for tonight. Not that I've actually seen a darn thing I didn't see before. Made you think so, though, didn't it...? Although, I do hate red-eyes... time to call. Wish me luck.

Something's Happening. Although I'm Not Sure What.

I should be packing. But I'm not. I do alot of packing. The packing is not my favorite part. And I wait until the absolute last minute as often as possible. Usually that's on the trips I'm not ready for. The ones I want to put off until the last possible moment. I tried to do the red eye on this particular trip. To prolong the time in between having to do the things I don't want to do and allowing me to spend more time doing the things I do want to. But there's the whole situation about Danbury, Connecticut being in the middle of nowhere and no flights really going there. And me needing to. I hate that. I'm feeling like things are happening here. Just today alone. There's a shift. I feel the shift. And it's good. Something that makes me feel it's all about to happen. Sure, there's also the panic. The one that lets me know that I have no money in my bank account. Am waiting to be reimbursed from Boscia. That there's no job after this one ends-- which today I learned, would be November 18th-- and there's no place to live after I move out of here. And I'm bankrupt. Which will not be helpful. If only there was a bankruptcy club like the one the ex-convict had that he could depend on for back up and that has catapulted him way past my stratosphere and into legitimacy and money and the life of which dreams are made of. Not to say he didn't work hard for it. The thing about the ex-convict is that he always works hard. Still. Who said life was fair?

I don't know where I will live. I don't. Or if I will end up with someone. I would like for that to happen. It's very important to me that that happens. Even more so than success. Which makes me a different kind of woman than most "career women" and perhaps it's not relateable. But. People say marriage is hard. Relationships. But guess what? So is not having one. Never having one. Not having the hope or the conversation. The love or the sex. Just having yourself. Only yourself. And if you're not getting anywhere in your career, what then? I don't want the love because the career is not working. I want the love because I've always wanted the love. That's it. I don't believe it will rescue me. But I do believe there's more to that than there is to alot of what's happened in my life. And things with something to them? That can complete a person.

Last week, Laura offered me Money Magick or Love Magick. I would like Money. I need Money. But not as much as love. So I said Love Magick. I had money for a brief moment in time. I was not happy. Because I didn't have love. I've never had love-- either with money or without. I'm ready for love. I'm ready for magic. Wherever and however it happens. I still want the stories. I love the stories. I've always had the stories. But love. That's different. Completely different. From what I hear.

I Did Like Portland. I Just Liked Being Sick Better.

Sad, right? I mean, I loved seeing Janice. Loved seeing her life. Her kids. Trying an Oregon Pinot Noir. Trying to find my way to the Pearl District. Having dinner alone at Jake's Restaurant. During which some poor waiter lost a customer's credit card so I got to view the entire wait staff and all of the restaurant's management attempt to find it in every trash bin and crevice near the wait station. Finally, success. And about the same time, show over,I was ready to go back to the hotel and rest up, but then I got invited to join three other people who were sitting at a nearby table for a glass of wine. One of whom it turned out I would be training the next day at a BBW... and what are the odds of that...? Well, Priscilla and I bonded. She was quite cool. And just as cagey about her occupation and where her life was at as I was. Which was actually quite refreshing. To not have someone look at you confused but rather completely understand.

After the glass of wine and some conversation, the African American lawyer who was with Priscilla and her boyfriend invited me to go with him to an R&B club featuring Danity Kane (who...? I wondered. Yes, I'm old). The old part or even not knowing wasn't bad. Just weird. And it got weirder when the very hip and successful African American lawyer kept reminding me of just how hip and successful he was. Then started to act angry which kind of detracted from that whole bragging about his success thing. Which wasn't half as bad as him starting in on how I hid my body under my clothes. Which isn't really true. I just wear clothes. I'm not naked girl. I'm a 38 year-old woman who thinks proper attire is well, proper. But the AAL (as I'll refer to him from here on out) wouldn't let it go. Even though he was wearing a suit. So I flashed him my stomach. Flashed, mind you. Just to show that no, I'm not fat. And no, I'm not hiding anything. And yes, he should shut up. Well, then he suddenly wanted to dance. And wanted me to show off other body parts. Like my ass. He wanted me to do that whole black shake your ass into your partner's crotch thing. Which is after my time. So much so that I don't even know what it's called and got confused when he asked me if I could do it. And then even more confused when he got mad that I couldn't or rather wouldn't. But to be honest, I think it's kind of tacky. And not really something I should be doing at 38 years-old. Well. Me not doing it? It made him angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. Which was not so pleasant. So I said that I was going to go and thought it would be for the best. So he asked for my Danity Kane pass and $20-- for my glass of wine at the restaurant. Which was not $20. And which I didn't really want or need. But that was not the point. Getting away from him was-- so I handed over the pass and the $20 and skedaddled to the exit. Where another African American man was watching the door. He was hot and kind and I started to talking to him until the AAL walked up, upset to see me talking to someone else... You still following? Drama. That's all I'm saying. And me. Out past my bedtime. And for what? Argh.

The next day, Priscilla told me that he did that alot, this AAL. Started fights with people when he started drinking. Got angry at them. So that's why she and her boyfriend stuck to just having dinner with him. And also why she didn't want to set AAL up with any of her friends. Because he had issues. Lots and lots of issues. Which might have been helpful information to have pre-club. But live and learn. There are angry people in every city. I get it. I just would rather not experience it if possible. La Quintas and Ramada Inns are bad enough. A girl can only take so much.



That all being said, Portland came and went in a blur. I did like the Pearl District-- when I finally found it. The lofts were cool. And the stores. And restaurants. And the fact it's not that expensive and kind of artsy is a bonus. But then the whole out-of-pocket thing for Boscia entered into it which started to skew the experience. And then there's the fact I feel a little over the traveling. Even though it's been fun at times... a lot of times. Even this last time. It's just the getting home part. When I realize I'm out of pocket more than I'm in pocket. That I have to cancel appointments and can't pay my bills when technically I should be able to, I'm just paying someone else's with my money. And then I think about how I'm alone when I want to be together. With someone. And just how much I want to make my life happen and can't believe that it's not. And how being upbeat and positive can be easier some times than others. how sometimes it just seems so hard to see that it all works out.

It's All Good. In Portland.

And still is. A day later. I started this last night. When I was home. In Los Angeles. Then I started watching Flight 93... yes, the night before I left on a flight bound for Portland. So not what I expected. But important nonetheless. Just because. How could it not be? I just wish it was more personal. That I really felt a connection to the people. They deserved a connection. That being said, I'm listening to Mat Kearney. Who I am in love with... musically. Brought his CD with me to play in my Ford Taurus rental car. Then checked into my Fairfield Inn... got back from dinner... and started to explore Portland via the web. And... it turns out he was playing here. TONIGHT. And. JUST 15 MINUTES AWAY!!! Janice dropped me off at 8:15. He went on at 8:00. I could die. He's playing in Eugene, Oregeon tomorrow (2 hours away) and the Roxy (in LA) on Tuesday. I'm thinking The Roxy is a bit more likely. So I'm gunning for that. Still. How cool would that have been to have seen him here? He's from here! it's less expensive here. I kind of like it here. And I'm coming back. Doing Portland again and Seattle in November. A 3 hour drive between the two. Did I mention Hottie McHot from Las Vegas lives here... Only problem...? I'd have to light a fire to find out just where. Yeah. That'll work. Well, more on my good day. Good yesterday. And all tomorrow. Now here's a flash back to pre-Flight 93. I'm off to bed... Enjoy.


I had no idea what to call today's entry. I'm in a good mood. Despite PMS. Despite waking up at 11pm and being up until 3:30am. Because I was writing in my head so I had to get up and write for real. And email. And do notes. And then have breakfast with a friend. Who things are going well for. And who really likes my script idea. And has offered to read whatever draft I'd like to give her. Which I'm going to try to do soon. I printed it out. 157 pages. And it's not all written. Or cut. Or formatted, etc. I also input all the notes that I wrote on the road. There were alot of them. It made me like the story again. And get excited about it. Which probably helps to make other people excited. At least I hope so.

Yesterday, I had an idea for a TV show which is SHOCK in the world of ex-convicts. Might as well put all that obsession to use, I figure? My friend at ABC said a producer had emailed her about the same article I read. She's reading it now and is going to get back to me. It's a rich area. I totally see the show. And I know I can write it. It'd be a dramedy. And it would be real. I talked to another friend of mine who also liked the idea. And wants to try and get involved somehow and help somehow and another friend had all this background info on the place I want to write about. I would be the happiest woman in America if could make this work somehow. I can almost taste the health benefits. Well, not really. I guess no one tastes those. But I'm a bit punchy from lack of sleep, so what can you do?

You know, reality would work, too. I would do it as reality. j

Tomorrow I go to Portland. I see my friend Janice and her two kids. And her husband. We went to UCLA together. Same sorority. She's the coolest. I can't wait to see her. She moved to Portland a few years ago for her husband's job. Which is a pretty big deal. To move away from your family right after you have a baby. With another one on the way. When you know no one who lives in the place you're moving. I mean, I did it when I was younger. But I was single. And I'm me. Janice has a close family. If not geographically, then at least in every other way. I never really see my family. So I'm not sure they would even know if I moved to Portland. Her family has noticed. So has she. I've never been to Portland. I'm curious. People seem to like it. Usually a positive sign. I see Janice, do two trainings and then I'm back. This is a short trip. Afterwards, I'm home for two days, then off on another crazy adventure. I've got to say, other than the whole work aspect, they're kind of growing on me. Even the catastrophes. I think I get sucked in by the stories. And by seeing things I've never seen before. At least when I'm out of town, I don't feel like my life is standing still. And now when it does, I have the motivation to get it moving again.

So where am I off to after Portland? I know you're wondering. First, it's Danbury, Connecticut. Then Philadelphia, for Cousins Part III and work, too. Of course. And finally, to Pittsburgh. So I have to put that skincare hat back on. Which I'm okay with. Although I was enjoying writing. Even if I was sick and PMSing for part of this little hiatus. There were uplifting things. Hope. And progress. Nothing beats progress. Except maybe sleep. Time to sleep.

PMS is Worse Than a Bad Date.

It is. I promise. Although there are many similarities. Like wanting it to be over. The thing is. PMS lasts longer than a bad date. Although at least there isn't that worry about how to get home. Which on a date, there is. If the guy is actually enough of a gentleman to pick you up. (Which I've been kind of insisting on lately). I did leave a date sitting at a restaurant once. I think I mentioned it here. If not, then I am now. He was rude. And I didn't feel like dealing with rude. So with dinner on the table and food in his mouth, I got up, walked out and hailed a taxi. I didn't regret it for a minute. Even if I don't date that much. In his mind, I'm sure I was the asshole.

Okay, Skunk just walked out into the living room right up to where Will was sleeping and spooned him. He shifted to accomodate her. Just seeing it makes me want to cry. Clearly, hormonal. And clearly, pathetic. I miss spooning.

Yesterday, I emailed an author congratulating him after hearing he sold his collection of short stories. I found his site. Liked his style. Read a few of his nonfiction pieces. Liked those. Related to those. Bought the collection. And congratulated him. The cool thing is, today he wrote me back. Check out his site:

http://www.matthewklam.com/

I'm not used to being home. And now that I'm feeling better, I'm getting anxious. I sat here all day trying to write. I researched things. Made notes. Sent emails. And tried not to panic. I printed out my novel/screenplay. But I didn't read it yet. I'm petrified I'll hate it. And then where will I be? I wanted to watch a movie, but Netflix sent the wrong one. I canceled my eye appointment since I don't have the cash. And walked to the grocery store. But it's too windy to hike since I just got over a sinus infection. I should have gone to yoga. But I was too cranky. And it is $16 a class. I should apply to jobs, but for some reason, I just can't make myself apply for another job I don't care about and don't want to do. I need my roots done but don't feel like making an appointment. I looked up people I used to know on IMDB. And even googled a few. I'm not sure why. I guess I'll just blame it on PMS. And go with it.

Grace on a Date

You know that feeling when someone wants to be somewhere... but not necessarily with you? When you are in fact, the least interesting part of the scenery? A disposable dinner companion in that the only reason you are sitting where you are sitting is because someone needed to eat and needed to have someone sitting there so it may as well be you? Well, I hope you don't know that feeling. Because I do. And it's not so fun. Particulary when you're on a date. Not that I had huge expectations for romance. But I did curl my hair. I never curl my hair. Okay, so it was only a wave by the time we got to the restaurant, but I had fun being a female for all of a minute. Getting ready. Dressing in a pretty top. And feeling like something slightly special was happening when I was getting picked up. Even if I was just being taken out to dinner.

I could never afford to go to Grace by myself. Or with anyone else for that matter-- if my finances entered into it. So for all intents and purposes, I should feel if not special, than at least lucky to have been taken to such a fine establishment. Unfortunately, food is only one aspect of a date. Conversation, humor, interest, and attraction are all other aspects... that were sadly lacking from my particular date last night. So I didn't feel so lucky. I felt disappointed. And kind of let down. Like I would have rather laughed, felt attracted and attractive to someone else in a dive. Anywhere, really. I would have just liked to feel like the person who I was with wanted to be with me and hear what I had to say. My date could have cared less. He took my being there for granted. Actually, he took alot of things for granted. Like the ability to drive a Boxster he had grown bored with, eat at a restaurant that cost $100 per person, buy ex-girlfriends Jimmy Choos and jewelry, and get paid ridiculous amounts of money to write. We used to know each other very well. We used to have things in common. But either he has become self-involved or I have. Being a have not has made me acutely aware of what it is to have. What it means to have. And what a luxury it is. And anything I do have, I feel grateful for. Yes, even a date. Maybe that's where I went wrong.

Maybe things are just less important to me than they used to be. Status type things and what my status appears to be to other people. And maybe I can't help but look at a dinner that's $100 per person now and think what I could do with $100. But I would think my date knowing where my finances are at and my career is at, he would be a little more aware and try if not to actually come down to my level, than at least be sensitive to it. But, no. He was firmly in his own world. Could care less about mine. My stories. And travels. And what I've done outside of Hollywood. It was kind of confusing. And not particularly Grace-ful. Maybe that was the point. And precisely why I was there. I guess the good part is, if I ever do make that kind of money again, what I do with it and how I treat others is up to me.