A Little Respect Goes A Long Way.

I forgot what that felt like. Respect. Kindness. I get it at work now. I can't remember the last time I got it at work. It's the best. I get to be creative. People are nice to me. And as Julie said, "I get to use my brain the way it's supposed to be used." I worked on stories all day!!!! On the way in, I called Carla and when I told her how much I was making after she asked, she said, "You'll be making much more than that in no time." Truth be told, I'm happy to be making this!!! This is the most I've made since well... hate to say it, but Drew. It's not much sure, but I haven't made much in awhile. And to be where you want to be or at least on the way there and be making a nearly liveable wage... I'm so thankful, I can't tell you. Sure, self-help is great. But when you get help from others, that's even greater.

And yes, I would rather be living closer than an hour and half away. But this job is worth driving to.

The story department on the show is so nice. Beyond. The Executive Producer came in for a meeting with another one of the producers and walked into the story room to say "hi." Eva introduced me and said, "This is Jody, she's part of the story department." That's just it. Kurt (a producer who also hired me) introduced me at the staff meeting the same way. No one on the show puts you in your place. (Read: "This is Jody, she's our story assistant") No one has made a point of putting me in my place. Every place I've been up till now that's non-creative (except for 3 Ball - loved 3 Ball!... oh and DME!-- on the way to creative, but not quite there)- has put me in my place. Samantha especially. And me maybe a little bit. But it's hard not to be put in a place when you're wearing a name tag and working for $12 an hour.

So I have to get things done, prepare for another day. A new month tomorrow... on my way to 39. It's the bday month. I am just so thankful that it's also on the way to something more. I'm ready for something more. Although for now, I'll take respect.

Day 1 at the New Job.

Today I left the house at 7:27am and got to work at 9:04am. It's so surreal to be driving past my old area which is just 10 minutes from the production office. Still, I don't feel like I should be there -- at that apartment-- nor do I want to be there. At all. Clearly if this job and everything that has been happening was supposed to happen when I was living there, it would have . Nonetheless, I will have to live for this job for the next 10 weeks because the commute is about 3 hours every day. Or 2 1/2. Still. I feel lucky. Tired, but lucky. And I'd MUCH rather live for this job than basically any other one I've had in the last 6 years. But it's scary. I was insecure more than once today. Wondering what was okay to ask questions about and what I should fake. Every show is different. But still.

They weren't kidding about the whole "hit the ground running" thing. I wrote a scene today having not seen what was shot and just pulling audio from transcripts. Which is strange. It felt weird. Not to have all the information going in. I like information. Everyone else in the story department started last week. And two of the three people were on the show last year. So I am playing catch up. I like everybody, though. They're nice. And relaxed.

Tonight I'm going to watch a few more shows and then go to bed. Which doesn't make Skunk very happy. She still wants to play.

Another Degree of Stephen Hopkins. And I Can Do String Outs!

Okay, so as of 12:30am I still hadn't heard back from anyone I needed to hear back from re: hooking up my on-the-fly avid tutorial. And then Carla called to congratulate me. She had lots of great suggestions. All of which I tried and the last one which really worked for me -- to call this guy, John Rogan -- a post supervisor who I logged for in January (when she hooked me up). I only logged for him for 2 weeks. But as luck would have it, he was not only incredibly nice to me, but also meeting with his editors in Santa Monica and he said they had to do some string outs. So he told me to go ahead and meet him there. So I threw my jeans on, my hair up and got in the car. As it turned out, I was 8 hours too early because they had some unexpected problems in the edit bay. But it was fine. I read time code scripts-- which are a totally different animal than the kind you write for sitcoms or movies and studied the differences in how they were written. Actually, just studied how they were written. Period. Things like chyrons and close-ups and times codes and interviews versus footage. I just absorbed. Absorbed. Absorbed and absorbed. Then I watched more "Driving Force" episodes which I was able to do with the help of the new post supervisor, Tom, who I just met tonight and who, as it turns out, also worked on "Blown Away" -- and knows Stephen Hopkins. It's a crazy, small world, I say.

So I went to Whole Foods and got a salad for me for dinner and fun snacks for the guys as a thank you. And then at around a quarter to 10pm, Luke, the assistant editor, was ready for me. Luke showed me what I needed to know in 20 minutes. He was very cool. And helpful. I feel SO much better. I get it now. I just might be able to string with the best of them!! Or at least fake it a lot better. And tomorrow when I get there, at least I know I'm going in feeling like I did everything I could to be ready.

Six Degrees of Stephen Hopkins.

So I'm watching all of the episodes of Driving Force. And I'm looking up all the credits of the people I'm working with so I kind of get where they're coming from background-wise. And as it turns out, Stephen Hopkins, the director of "Blown Away" which I worked on about 14 years ago as the Associate to Producer is the Executive Producer. (They added the "to" in my credit on "Blown Away" after I left the company producing the movie when we got back to LA. This was the movie where I was giving script notes one minute and suddenly expected to bring them lunch the next well, back in LA at least... which is when my notes got discounted. I was a slash again. So it was time to go). Anyway, I haven't seen Stephen since then. Which should be interesting. I have no idea how involved he is in the show. Executive Producers all seem to have different roles on each show or movie. There's no hard and fast rule. So there's a good chance I'll see him tomorrow morning at the production meeting. He should remember me. I would think. But then again, in those days, my hair was black. Yes, black. Bad choice. But what can you do? I was in a stage. Still, I have the same face. Just an older one.

I told Julie about the Stephen Hopkins connection and then she told me that her husband lived in Stephen Hopkins' house for three months when he first moved to LA. Bizarre little coincidence. And Laura (Magick Lady) is friends with him, too. She just hasn't seen him in awhile. He's done quite well for himself since "Blown Away." He won an emmy for the Peter Sellars movie he did and he directed a bunch of episodes of "24." I did see him out one night having dinner with his dp (director of photography), Peter Levy, but I didn't say anything. I had just lost the job on Drew and wasn't prepared to say what I was doing then other than being let go. Tomorrow, if he's there, I will definitely say hello to him. In fact, seeing him would be fun. Sometimes history is fun. And Hollywood is pretty much always a small town.

I finished my book "When Smart People Fail" and it's all about how you view your failures and reinventing yourself and asking for help and relabeling yourself. It tells stories of people who were successful at doing just that and why they were successful and also gives examples of those who weren't and why. It-- like almost everything else I'm reading nowadays-- made me cry. Particularly when this one supervisor told a woman who had been fired from her job in banking that she didn't fail, she was just in the wrong environment for her. That struck a chord with me. Drew was the wrong environment for me. Unfortunately, I did see myself as a failure for far too long. Then again, there was no one saying - do this instead the minute I was fired--and anyone who did offer advice was telling me to be or do things I didn't want to do or care about doing. This job, I want to do. I'm really excited. And nervous. I need to learn more of the editing aspect and so I'm preparing myself as best I can. I asked a few people I knew if they could give me a tutorial today on the avid but no one's called me back. So I may just have to believe that I can and buy yet another book on how to do it and hope that teaches me enough to wing it. Me and my books. The Supervising Story Producer told me to be prepared to hit the ground running. I just hope I run in the right direction.

There's a Call Sheet in My In-Box!

And a cast and crew list and a reminder to be at a production meeting on Monday at 9:30am! How great is that? I got the job!!! How crazy is that? One minute, I was hiking up Runyan Canyon, the next I was answering my phone and being told I got the job. I thought Kurt was just being polite and calling to tell me that they went with someone else. Which would have been nice because no one bothers to tell you when you're being rejected nowadays-- you kind of just have to assume when the phone doesn't ring that you're out. And I gotta say, I like it better when the phone does ring. Especially when you get the job! I got the job!! I got the job!!! I got the job!!! Somewhere upstairs Highland is doing her happy dance. And it is a rung up. I'll be a story assistant. For 10 weeks.

I've got to admit, that happiness aside, it was hard to have to call the other two places who I planned to log for next week, because I don't like letting people down. And they were both good to me. But I have a lot less guilt post self-help book number 9. And they both understood. I will miss Isaac. Alot. He is one unique dude. A character. He told me he put a good word in for me at The Biggest Loser... which starts up in April or maybe even May. So you never know. He's a star. And Stacey at DME told me that even though I never said a word she could assume when I was logging that I was probably not in a place I would be for very long. God bless her. We're going to keep in touch, too.

I owe Julie a huge gracias. Which is what I called to say midway up Runyan. Which I'm sure the other hikers loved. Tonight she even went so far as to give me another tutorial before she left for dinner so I'd be prepared for Monday. Because she knows what I know. And how to relate it to what I need to know. On the way home, I bought the whole season of the show on DVD. And tomorrow, I'm buying an Avid Pro book. It's all self help all the time over here. On the way into LA, I was Calling in the One. And then look what happened. Maybe the one for me iis a race car driver...? Did I mention the star of the show is a John? Seriously. It's kind of funny now. John Force. Which he is... a force. Seth who was one of the story assistants on Beauty and the Geek suggested I immerse myself in reality shows this weekend. That I study the form. So while the rest of the world watches the Academy Awards, I will be well, probably switching back and forth between reality and the Academy Awards. After all, if they have a water cooler, I can't be entirely out of touch. Oh, by the way. I'm really happy. I got the job.

When Smart People Fail or Just Suck on an Interview.

Okay, after my interview, I was fine. At first. Because I called Julie and talked it over. It was a hard interview. Hard. Hard. Hard. She thought it was fine. She was surprised by the questions. She said they would be hard questions, even for her, and she's at the same level as the guy who interviewed me. So I tried to go to the zen place and say it was good practice and whatever is meant to happen will happen. But I wanted the job. I still want the job. And not having answers does not get you the job. The thing is I could have done better. I should have done better. I should have sold myself better and made connections between what I did on Drew and how that show was run and how those skills readily apply to reality TV. But I was so thrown by the questions I had no answer for that I didn't see what I did have the answers for. I'm out of practice when it comes to interviews. Much like dating.

So what started out as such a happy day full of possibly went south when I went to the Grove, the happiest mall on earth, because I saw my still unfixed blonde orange hair that washes me out and I felt bad about that and how I look and that I'm broke and need a good job and to make money. And that's when I really started to beat myself up about the interview. And began to think that I blew it. Just like I keep blowing it. And that if I don't get it together, then I'm going to be living with my mother forever and be single forever and my eggs are going to be gone. And basically I was telling myself I'm a loser. I'm clearly not being very nice to me. So much for my self help, huh? Well five books in only gets you recognition-- so I know why I'm not being nice to myself. But it doesn't mean I know how to change it. I haven't gotten to that book yet. They were sold out of it at Border's. And that's where I have a coupon. Yes, since living with mom, I'm embracing the coupon wholeheartedly. It's her favorite thing.

I know I'm killing my own self esteem. I also know that it's not helping matters. That I need to boost myself up. I picked up a book on building self esteem and it talks about loving yourself. And I do. When I'm working at a good job, making money, looking good, working out regularly and behaving like the kind of person I want to be. Yep, I give myself conditional love because that's what I was given. And it's a bitch to fix. But I'm going to try. Tonight's book is "When Smart People Fail." See, I think I'm smart. Doesn't mean I always use my smarts. See, there I go again. Is this as much fun for you as it is for me?

Me and My Mantras or What You Least Want is Sometimes Exactly What You Need

Today I got called for a job interview tomorrow. Yay! On a reality show that's actually pretty cool. I got so excited I almost cried. It's a chick meets adrenaline kind of show. I saw it once on the airplane. I called Julie right away. I have her to thank for it. She called the supervising producer and sold me and sent my resume. And they called!! It's a rung up. Either a story assistant or story editor. So I have to be ready and centered. Thank God for the web. I looked up everything I could on the show and watched all the videos they had. Tomorrow she's giving me a little terminology tutorial before I meet so that I don't get tripped up.

Meeting on production jobs when you're a girl is odd in that you don't quite know what to wear. Production offices are casual environments. Guys can go in for interviews wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But the rules for girls are different. You have to dress somewhere in the middle. When I met on Drew, I was so overdressed. I dressed like I was meeting for a development job. I was practically wearing a suit and let's just say that was wrong. Still, I got the job. Go figure.

So in the mantra of it all (notice the title of today's blog) I decided to go to yoga tonight to decompress. I thought it would help to work out hard but as it turned out, this class wasn't what I thought it was. It was some yin flowy meditative type class. They even had a band. Okay, not a band but a guitar and some other instrument that escapes me at the moment. So the class was nothing like the one that kicked my ass yesterday even though it was being given by the same teacher. We had to hold painful poses. To teach ourselves patience and surrender. And the mantra she gave us in one particularly difficult pose was "I've arrived. I'm home." It hit me. I guess sometimes what you least want is what you need, right? I mean, I am home. And I'm trying to arrive.

I had a mantra when I was growing up - a not particularly original one - "You can do it Jody Paul." I just said it all the time over and over again when I got nervous or worried or felt like giving up. Which was a lot. Now that I think about it, that was pretty smart of me. I mean, I was a kid. Not even a self help book in sight. Now it's self help central over here. When I was young I just read magazines and books to figure out where I fit into the world. Now I pretty much do the same-- but now I'm not figuring out what to do so much as figuring out what not to do and how to change my thinking to get what I want.

Another mantra I just started is "He's just a man." Someone quite wise said that once to me about my father. And reading about codependence, a parent who rejects you and abandons you as a child and expects perfection-- dictating how you should be instead of accepting who you are and loving you for that becomes essentially a higher power aka God in your world. So in short, the more men reject me, the more they become a God. In other words, I give all men too much power. This mantra? I'm thinking I need a tattoo. But I'm not pulling a Britney. I will not shave my head. My face is a bowl. I would not look pretty without hair. Which brings me to:

The hairdresser. Well, lo and behold, he's fixing my hair. And compliments of Boundary Power, I'm realizing, what he did was all about him taking care of himself and not about me at all. He doens't know what I'm thinking. Taking care of me is my job. A job I've had for a long time, just never did right. Asking him to fix my hair was incredibly easy. I just changed how I viewed how I thought he viewed it. Why don't they teach self help instead of Psychology in high school? I guess it wouldn't matter anyway, we'd just forget everything much like I forgot statistics. And my mantra.

Okay, well now I'm off to tell myself what I need to hear and haven't been hearing for quite awhile. I'm hoping to convince myself overnight because, I think half of my problem is I have a pretty smart inner child and I think she can tell the difference when I don't believe it.

The Love They Lost... And Hope to Have. Some Day.

All this working on yourself shit is exhausting. Frinking painful. Body and mind. In yoga today I seriously did cry in pigeon, my hips were so tight (that's where you hold all of your stress and tension, by the way). I left saturated. And tired. Very, very tired. Still, that didn't stop me from being obsessed with reading more. I'm not even ashamed to carry the books around anymore. I feel like I'm on kind of on a roll. The only thing stopping me is UPS and my paycheck.

The strange thing is there's no regret. I instinctively knew some of this stuff. Or a variation thereof. But being validated I think is the clincher. Realizing you're not alone when you feel so alone. It's like when I was close to bankruptcy and was calling my Visa card's hardship department. There was something comforting about a credit card company having a whole department for hardship --- because I knew there were other people in my situation -- it's not like they created a whole department just for me. And any more, I can't even get angry at myself for acting like I did. Because I tried. I worked on myself through the years, I worked hard. I just had a lot of stuff to deal with. And it doesn't all present itself in a neat little package. Some comes out when you date, some comes out when you fail, and some comes out when you least expect it. And for me, when so many things were going wrong, and I didn't have the resources to deal with it, my reactions seemed normal. It was only when things kept getting worse and I started having breakdowns with regularity that I realized there was a bigger problem. And I had basically lost it. And I had to get it back. Somehow. Who would've thought moving home would help me get it back...

So in my quest to get myself back, one of the books I've been reading is "The Love They Lost: Living With the Legacy of our Parents' Divorce." I was four years old when my parents got divorced. This is a picture of my beautiful niece Sheridan who just turned four years old. She's having problems with her s's but not her beauty or charm or her love of cats and dogs and hamsters. She's a supportive sister and goes to all of her brother's basketball and baseball games (even though she kind of has to). She also calls me... usually when I'm not home. And made me a beautiful valentine. That, as much as the book, resonates with me. Because it lets me see just where I was in my life when my parents got divorced. Innocent and vulnerable. And with a passion for wearing tights.

The Love They Lost: Living With the Legacy of our Parents' Divorce is not a fun read. At all. Painful might be more accurate. Although, disturbingly comforting at the same time? Only because some of the stories were just as bad as the ones I have about my parents' divorce. Which I had yet to hear from anyone I knew. Thankfully. I wouldn't wish any of those experiences on anyone. Least of all a kid. Even though my dad said we were smart kids -- he didn't see we were kids at all or his kids, for that matter. And that we required, love and approval and encouragement-- most of all, that our world had been turned upside down. My mom was angry and overwhelmed, panicked about money and at a loss as to how to deal with her new reality-- one she had worked so hard to avoid by working while my dad went to law school-- in the hopes of building a future together. She was devastated. She had no joy. Definitely not in being a mother and couldn't really mother us. She never moved on. Well, at least not until she retired. But she did never marry again. She has a boyfriend now, owns her townhouse and she has us. My dad, alternately, moved on and got everything he wanted... including a bigger house, another family and then of course, he proceeded to lose it all. But it wasn't because of us. Although he did lose us.

The Love They Lost talks about every possible variation of trauma for kids in divorce-- the abandonment and betrayal, the financial insecurity, having to take care of our parents, to put their needs first, when kids become objects to fight over, the stepfamilies, half-sisters and half-brothers; competitions between siblings and the roles of siblings; and anger and fights and inconsistencies in our worlds and how we're ashamed about it and take responsibility for it, and later, how it affects our adult relationships, careers and families. The reader reviews on this book are overwhelmingly positive. Because it discusses the things no one talks about and that every kid from a "broken home" felt they were alone in experiencing. So as hard as it is to read -- I mean, I've owned it since 2001 and am just reading it now-- it's worthwhile. If just for the chance to recognize and process the emotions you still carry, so that you can let them go. However, unless you're made of steel, it will be difficult and exhausting so don't read it when you're expected to be "on" or there for someone else. Hopefully read it when someone else can be there for you or you've read another book on how to heal. Because in that regard, there are no answers here. However there are a lot of codependents sharing their stories. And a huge argument for amicable divorces and loving parents.

Here's a link to the reviews:
http://www.amazon.com/Love-They-Lost-Parents-Divorce/dp/0385334109/sr=8-1/qid=1171830087/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/002-1841624-3762437?ie=UTF8&s=books

He Knew Nothing About Me.

My father knew nothing about me when I was growing up. By that I mean what I liked, what made me laugh, what made me sad, what hurt me, who my friends were, what my day was like, and how I felt about anything really. He didn't know that at sixteen years old I slept a total of maybe 4 hours a night because I worked until after midnight and came home and studied, then went to a 6am AP Biology class. He didn't know I baked to stay awake. That I worried about being able to afford to pay for my cheerleading uniform or that I was a cheerleader for the simple reason that wearing one five days a week was cheaper than buying school clothes because $6.75 an hour doesn't get you much. I was also saving for college. I knew I would have to pay. I was all ready told by my stepmother that we were cut out of my dad's will. I also did not smoke, do drugs or have sex. I was scared that guys would learn who I was and reject me. And winning homecoming when you're anorexic doesn't really help the ol' self esteem much. I stopped eating to get my dad to love me. That didn't work. But boy did other people think it was fabulous.

He is, as one friend said, just a man. Yet, he is the only father I have. Or ever will. And that sadness fills me to this day. He does not know how to love without conditions. He does not know how to be there or care or even give me a compliment. When he came over to my place that one time and Kelly said to him, "Isn't your daughter beautiful?" He just shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. We were standing in my kitchen. He was drinking water. I can still picture the glass. I was uncomfortable, too. And sad.

I don't remember a time my father ever told me I was pretty. Or gave me a compliment. He said he loved me, but then he behaved otherwise. So hurt equaled love. Rejection equaled love. If he didn't like how we were behaving, he could just drop us off at home. If he wanted a babysitter for his new kids, he could lie and say he wanted to see me. Which he did. And I never babysat one other kid other than his other son and daughter during all my teenage years.

After we talked again this last time - 20 years after I graduated from high school, my dad seemed to have no recollection of anything. No empathy. No understanding. Of just how horrible our stepmother was to us. Of how much he hurt us or of the simple fact we were kids and needed him. My sister and I planned a lunch with him one day. She brought her daughter and magically, his son, Jonathan, showed up -- the kid I had to babysit. I told my dad before that time that I wanted to get to know him-- my father-- first. Before the whole reunion. I expected him to respect that. So much for boundaries. Lo and behold Jonathan showed up. Asked me stupid questions like I was on an interview or a date or something. It was awkward. We even ran into a guy I went to high school with -- which was even more awkard. Random "family reunion" being witnessed by another person I haven't seen in 20 years. Excellent. After Jonathan left, I asked my dad why he did that. He said, "Jonathan wanted to see you." Well what about what I wanted? Why hadn't he never cared about what I wanted?

I tried to get past that. Just like I tried to get past the fact he would talk to his other kids during the day when he paid for the minutes on his cell phone. And me? He only wanted to talk after 9pm. When it was free. Clearly, we gave each other different levels of importance. And that difference hurt. One time I picked up the phone by accident. I was having a hard time. I had just lost the job on "Ugly Betty" and was sad. That's when he told me to call him back when I could be positive. I sent him to Laura prior to that- magick lady, thinking perhaps she could heal him -- I'm not lying here - for me as well as for him-- but I wanted it to be between them. His experience. He did have a good experience. But we can only heal ourselves.

My dad probably knows me only from reading this blog. If he still does. I told him to read it if he wanted to know me - but the thing is, he only ever wanted to know me as it served him. So that is where I've failed myself. He is alone now. He wants love and he wants support. And I would be only too happy to give that to him. If I had ever gotten that in return. At my age in his life, he had everything I want now. I"m still trying to get it. I know he has issues, his childhood was not perfect, my mother was not perfect. And life for him is not either. But children are a responsibility. And they are love. But they're also children. And they require love. And they did not ask to be born. They were a choice.

All of this self discovery and self help and the ensuing pain has made me see that it's no wonder that Modern Love wouldn't buy my Ex-Convict piece. There is always an epiphany that occurs somewhere in the course of that column-- usually at the end. I never had one in that relationship. And as thus, the story is merely anecdotal. Me observing him and what he went through and how much I cared about him. And I completely failed to see how much he didn't care about me. Because all I wanted was for him to care about me. He, like my father, never knew me or really wanted to. They both wanted an out. And as soon as he got it, he was gone. And when he needed another one later, I was there. That is a role I can change and must change. Because that part is my fault. For pursuing things that have no hope of ever giving me anything close to what I want. And for fantasizing that they ever will.

A Blonde and Her Boundaries.

And when I say blonde, I'm talkin' blonde. I didn't leave the house that way though. Somehow, I left the house this am with golden blonde hair with my dark blonde/brown hair mixed in-- aka not even a quarter as blonde as all the blonde-haired women at my nephew's OC basketball game. And then I drove up to LA, boundary learning book in hand and came back as Julie said, with a "look". A too blonde look. Which is not at all what I wanted or even had in mind. How perfect is that? I was too busy learning about boundaries to implement them.

Friday, while at 3Ball (that's the production company where they make Beauty & The Geek and The Biggest Loser), I got a call from a placement company who wanted me to meet on a Creative Executive position - SLASH - Assistant position. At the slash, a little red flag went up. And I drew a line. Because I'd been down that road a few too many times. I said thank you and I would be happy to meet about the Creative Executive position, but I'm familiar with combined positions and if you're a CE and you're in a meeting with a director about his movie and discussing notes on the script one minute and fetching him lunch the next... well, your notes get discounted. You'll never get the respect you want as a Creative Executive or have enough time to do your job properly. (Because instead of being at lunch networking or finishing up script notes, you're at the drycleaners or the copy place or post office. Or doing some other bit of minutae. And hey, many other CE's have assistants!). The woman went on to say well, fetching lunch is a part of the position. Well, not any position I want. I'd rather be at 3Ball and work my way up a ball at a time.

So back to Saturday... Here I am, acting blonde, by proceeding to quite happily read my boundary book while waiting for my hairdresser to finish up with another client. Then after listening to him talk about himself, his new boyfriend and his life, my color cooked and cooked and cooked and I intently made my way through another chapter on the beauty of developing boundaries thinking such happy thoughts as: I'm on my way! I can do this! I proceeded to ignore my too blonde hair and the lesson that was happening at that very moment. I arrived thinking I wanted to embrace my innter Natalie Maines (the newly brunette Dixie Chick) and get in touch with my darker roots. Literally. But my natural roots are nowhere to be found now.

I somehow failed to vibe with my hairdresser. We have actually never vibed. But there was the whole trade thing. Which somehow got a bit muddy while I read my boundary book. Somehow my hairdresser found fit to charge me $250 yes - that's right $250. Which is wrong on so many levels. First of all, I don't care if it's usually $500 - because it's usually not for me!!! I do not spend that kind of money on my hair. Ever. I only spend that kind of money on my storage space! Or a cute outfit! So needless to say, my hairdresser clearly believes his skills are more valuable than the pr skills I have and/or the work I've done for him. The hairdresser would be wrong. But since he was gone to drink margaritas, I had to pay at the front desk.

I left the salon quite thrown that my entire paycheck would go to my too blonde hair. Which I do know I bear responsibility for -- I should have clarified where we stood beforehand -- but the last three times were comped. Granted this is the first haircut he's given me. But come on, $250??? So I'm thinking to start, we need to discuss the whole trade situation. Which I want to put an end to actually. I then need to reiterate how much work I've done for him and that I feel he still owes me. He seems to not really realize how many hours of work and how many connections it takes to get press kits and reels done. His things done. I so hate that I have to do the whole practice run with him since he's definitely a man with much, much, much self esteem. Which means instead of the bunny slope, I have to move straight up to -- I don't know --some fancy ski slope (I don't ski. so hopefully you get the picture) and pray for the best. In any event, I'm thinking he has to add some lowlights. I don't care if I paid for blonde. I like my roots.

Seeing the Light & Dysfunctions To Be Happy About.

Today I felt light - my heart felt light - it was like a hundred pounds lighter. It's the craziest thing. It was like a light-bulb went off. Just one book later. Julie said I was ready for the infomation and that's why when it came it was just like suddenly I could speak French in Paris after not understanding it all these years. Or maybe someone told me the language I spoke finally and why I could never understand everyone else and they could never understand me. I don't know. You get the idea.

The point is now I get it. Now I know how everything that happened happened. And why things kept getting worse instead of better. Because that's all I knew. I didn't know how to fix it. I only knew the one story. Now I know that that story isn't true. That I'm less than. Or that something's wrong with me. It's just what I was told - verbally and non-verbally when I was growing up. So when I started to fail, I believed it because that was the only esteem I had - success, achievement, money. And without it, I reinforced the less than with my choices... of people. Of jobs. Of men. I would pursue men who would reject me and let them reject me again and again and so on. And I gave them the power. I let them make the rules. And they usually didn't give one iota about my wants or needs. And then the people I'd ask to help me? They would usually be people who wouldn't or couldn't. So while other people's down periods would last a year or two - mine lasted five years. Brutal. Thank God, I'm seeing this stuff now.

It's not like I wouldn't wonder why I was stuck. I tried a lot of stuff. (A lot of which I wrote about here). And some of it worked but it's one thing to see that you're doing something that's not good for you and is not working. And another thing completely to understand why, where it came from and how to stop it. Or even change your way of thinking. Especially if everyone else seems to be speaking a different language. Your friends who are functional think something's wrong with you and the other people who have something wrong with them just reinforce it. It's a vicious cycle. And then. If you're not given the proper tools you can't build a thing. Least of all a new future. And I wasn't. Given any tools that worked. Mine were all broken. Everything I was taught was dysfunctional. The fact I'm even half as normal as I am is a miracle. So I'm learning to crawl. Unfortunately, my knees are bony. (It's always an issue in yoga). But at least I'm crawling.

Apparently a lot of the traits of codependents are considered admirable-- which is also a problem. Perfectionism, being there for other people, empathy, taking care of other people's needs, doing any job no matter how big or small without complaint. I was laughing when I was driving in to work today because I was thinking, I'm not a good person at all. I'm just codependent. I'm only helping you because I don't know any better! Well, it was funny when I thought of it. But the truth is, I do think I'm a good person and I do care about people so I think that's why I didn't see what it was doing to me. I cared too much. I took it on. And i couldn't separate. And it has hurt a few of my friends - which I am sorry for - they coudn't help that I had no boundaries and that I was a sponge that took on their problems. That I got to the point that I just couldn't take it anymore. I instinctively knew I was overwhelmed but people would say to me you have to learn how to not let it affect you or to set a boundary about x or y or z-- like something was wrong with me and the more they said it, the more I believed there was something wrong with me for not knowing what they meant and so that actually kept me stuck doing the same thing over and over again. Crazy, right?

You want to know crazy? Hey, I even bought a gift for a guy that dumped me off after "surgery" when I was still under anesthesia and who when I called him because I was out of it and in a panic/depression, told me he would file a restraining order if I ever called him again. Nice, right? I never really ever called the guy to begin with. But I did buy him a coffee table book on jazz as a thank you for taking me to the surgery. Yeah. Stimulus - f*cked up response. Never again. At least I can say that. Finally I can say that. Not that it will be easy. But it will be a lot easier now that I know what I'm doing and why.

I do also want to touch upon that little matter of age and that the only people who ever comment on the fact that I mention mine and that it's an issue for me that I should get over are men. They say that I'm not that old, but the rules for men are different. And I find the following also to be true 1. The men saying it are usually successful or 2. younger or 3. don't plan on carrying a child in their womb. and 4. And don't think about the fact that they're dating or married to a woman YOUNGER than themselves. Here's the deal: It's not as easy for a woman to date as you get older. To have a child. And if you can't afford to go out or are working s*it jobs, your prospects are a bit limited.

AND not having ever had the experience of love in 38 years--- well that's a long time. And I've worked for 23 years and I want something to show for it just like everybody else.

ON the subject of Drew Carey -- codependent - other esteem - only accomplishment worth noting in 7 years. I am trying. I am aware it's a dead subject, but it's ingrained into me - and I think sadly, it was my lifeline. Holding onto it was. That I was drowning and I needed to have esteem come from somewhere even from a far away land where I didn't fit in and wasn't very happy and that made me physically sick since being constantly judged is a codependent's nightmare ($30,000 to get well that I could have used on therapy if only I had known what was making sick).

Okay, off the soapbox and crazy box now and on to my dysfunctions to be happy about:

1. I will never be fat.
2. I will never give up.
3. I will never be accused of being conceited.
4. I will never slack off at work.
5. I will help contribute to the success and continued publication of self help books forever
6. I will always understand or try to understand other people's problems because I've probably taken them on or will at some point aka I will always have empathy.

And I'm sure there are more to come... It's time to get on the 405 and admire the mini malls and chain stores that make America great. Or at least, what it is today.

The Hard Questions

Well, I may sound crazy all excited about the things that are wrong or seeing them. But as one of the geeks said on Beauty and the Geek, you don't see your life until you're out of it. I just knew mine was not working for a very very long time. No matter how hard I tried and what I did. And relationships? Forget it. Well, this whole codependent thing makes sense. I kept picking men who would reject me and the more they rejected me, the harder I tried to get their approval. Logically a waste of time, unless that's all you know. And it's familiar and you have no self esteem or other esteem or all of the new and exciting ways I can label myself.

Both my mom and dad did the codependence creating stuff. Which I'm sure their parents did to them. Hence, no blame. I forgive. I do. Not to say I don't wish none of this stuff-- great stories -- bad life -- never happened. It is funny that every time my life hit rock rock bottom, (twice --so the two times) -- I called my dad -- after drinking too many glasses to prepare myself for what I knew would be a painful response. But which I somehow wanted to be different and have it magically fix me and make everything all right. The thing is, he doesn't even recognize himself as my dad - my sister and me as has kids and that he ever did anything wrong. He doesn't show accountability. But being told everything that's wrong with you all the time and being abandoned and seeing your dad living in a huge house with a new family while you're living on food stamps with a depressed mom really does a number on you. And it makes you feel less than. So that's me - responsible for being single - because I pick men who see me as less than. Who don't compliment me or take me to dinner or treat me like I'm special. So this am on the way to work, I cried. A lot. Which was good. It's a long commute. Why not take advantage of it? And I'm crying now. And I'll probably cry later.

Mom is being a good sport about this one. Sometimes the woman confuses me. She has a good heart. She just has a lot of fear and has had a lot of disappointment in her life. I think she thought my dad was her great love and he broke her heart - permanently.

Anyway, I finished the book -- "Facing Codependence" book by Pia Mellody - and it did show why I never had any answers to the hard questions people would ask-- like

-Why don't you think you're pretty? How can you not see that?
-You don't know how to ask. Why don't you just ask?
-You don't have anything to give - why do you keep taking care of other people?
-Why do you let other people's problems get to you?
-Why don't you say no? You can say no you know.

The list goes on. An on. And I feel a bit better knowing why I didn't have the answers and why I felt like Ifelt and did what I did under the circumstances. But I'm tired now. I felt drained today. In a good way. Like I can take the pain now. For awhile there, I didn't think I could take any more pain. I really felt I was done. And if it happened, that would be bad. Very bad. Now I feel like I released a lot. Ignorance may be bliss, but wisdom is power. And I'd rather be the smartest girl in the room than the best looking. No matter what my dad may think.

A Codependent's Valentine's Day

Yes. It's true. Not only do I have no boundaries, I'm also codependent. In fact, I am the definition of a codependent. I have a green-highlighted version of Facing Codependence (which I bought just after work today, yes on Valentine's Day) to prove it. Which makes for not so much fun, a few too many tears and a lot of illumination. I got Boundary Power yesterday and read the whole thing in a night. It was like reading my memoir. Disturbing. Yes. But, true. And it hurt like a mo%#@r(*ker. Truly. That took two glasses of wine to deal with.

So there you have it; I'm not done fixing myself. I'm not even close. I guess the good thing is that I see that none of this stuff is my fault. Not in that it exists within me. Just the part where I have to recognize it and fix it. The thing is, for the longest time, I was too busy surviving to even see this stuff. I was working damage control in my life. And apparently when someone who has "other esteem" which means we don't have self esteem because we weren't taught it, but get our esteem through

-how we look
-how much we make
-who we know
-what kind of car we drive
-what kind of job we have
-how well our children perform
-how powerful and attractive our spouse is
-the degrees we have earned
-how well we perform at activicties in which others value excellence

Well, we're basicaly screwed when any of those things go south. Well, for me? In the last five years, I went bankrupt, my car got totaled, I lost my job (and never got it back or any version of it), I got dumped by my agent and every person in Hollywood who was my "friend", I have no chidlren and want them, no spouse and want one and well, that's pretty much enough.

So basicaly, tonight, I'm just thankful I didn't Anna Nicole on myself. And you know, it's a good thing we weren't friends, because if we were, i would have tried to help her before myself and she'd probably end up find and living somewhere happily with her man and baby. That may sound horrible, but could even be true. Codependents find value in helping others and can't help but taking on their problems. It gives them value. It gives them worth. So truly, at mom's? I'm like a junky. I hear these 23 year-olds needing help and i'm so wanting to help them and give them advice and hook them up and I'm just quiet. I'm just a logger. Who is-- incidentally, only making $10 an hour. Bummer.

The whole boundary thing bit me in the ass with jobs. It's what kept me less than where I should be. it also bit me in the ass with friends who expected too much, had too many problems or disappointed me and men who used me and bosses who used me and hit on me. And instead of being upset at them, I just took everything as something being wrong with me. Fun,fun fun for the whole family. No wonder on the dating show I'm logging for they ask what the relationship the girl has with her family. No certifiables allowed.

On the subject of Valentine's Day? Well, I spent it like I have every Valentine's Day for 38 years. No joke. Alone. However, this time I read a self help book and thought perhaps, if I could get my shit together, maybe my 39th Valentine's Day could be the charm.

My Psychic Panic Attack or Infertility Doesn't Become Us

So I must have had a psychic panic attack or something like that last night because this morning, in my aol in-box was an email from headbutler. A site, which incidentally, I really like. He reviews books and movies and stuff. And he sends emails when he has a new review in the offering. Today's selection is "Waiting for Daisy" by Peggy Orenstein. Which he goes on to describe in the email below. Suffice to say, it's a book about an educated woman who's over 37 years-old and her ordeal of trying to have a child-- the toll it took on her finances, her marriage, and her life. Headbutler then goes on to tell we women over 37 that we owe it to ourselves to read the book. Why? So we can throw ourselves off of a building? Here's the thing. We women over 37 know the worst case scenario and the best case scenario and still, it doesn't change much for us. That's the problem. If you don't have a husband, you can't invent one. Well, you can, but that doesn't really help with the sperm issue or all the issues that follow. If you have to go through the ordeal, you have to go through the ordeal. Not to say it's not a fabulous book. I don't know. I haven't read it. But he recommends it. Because he's been through the same thing.

Yes, there's something comforting about reading accounts of other people's struggles when they're similar to the ones you've been through. I know because I'm reading "The Love They Lost" right now. Which is alternately comforting and depressing. It's about the toll divorce takes on the kids and how they function in relationships-- i.e. what they don't know know because they never had any healthy role models to follow of a healthy relationship or marriage. And the striking thing is how different people can be -- even different sexes-- and how similar their reactions can be from just one seminal event. Of course, that has a lot to do with whether the divorce was an angry one and how the parents handled it-- which before all of those studies about the impact it had on children-- wasn't always the best. More on that later...

Here's the email from headbutler:


Dear Friends,

The subtitle --- "A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Romantic Night and One Woman's Quest to Become a Mother" --- could make you gag from the cuteness.

But Peggy Orenstein is a Contributing Writer to The New York Times Magazine, a position not easy to come by.

She has written eloquently about women's issues.

And, after a series of medically-assisted efforts to have a child, she and her husband have a happy ending (or, rather, beginning) --- they're now going through life as "Daisy's parents."

So I forgave Peggy Orenstein that cutesy-pie subtitle and read her book.

I had another reason: In vitro fertilization is a personal interest. In 2000 and 2001, I paid for three of them. I like to say that there's no book I can't write in a 4,000-word piece of journalism, but my wife, Karen Collins, beat me. She told the story of our experience --- with its unlikely happy ending --- in a 1,500-word column in Harper's Bazaar. I have only to glance at it to be reminded of the early-morning blood tests, daylong hormonal surges, nightly injections and the rollercoaster of hope and despair.

If you have thrown your dreams of parenthood into the chill of the laboratory, this book will bring every memory to the surface.

If you are thinking about supplementing old-fashioned procreation with science, this book is a good field-guide to what lies ahead.

And if you are a woman in your 30s, this book should ring like a warning bell in the night --- at 37, you move into the "elderly gravid" cohort, and the chances that you'll become a mother start to drop dramatically.

So....if you know a woman in her 30s ....or are a woman in your 30s....you owe it to her/yourself to click...

This is when you go to www.headbutler.com and read the whole review on "Waiting For Daisy."

Life in the Uncomfortable Zone.

Yesterday I spent the day writing. And hating what I read of everything I'd written before (of my screenplay). Not all of it. Just the first act. I feel a bit lost. Like I have too many stories, too many movie moments and I don't know what belongs in my tv pilot and what belongs in my screenplay and then there's the fact that I'm still trying to make sense of what the hell is happening to me right now in my life forget sifting through the past six years of material. But whatever. Whatever I have to do so I can move forward. Somehow. It's just that there's a little bit of self-help that needs to go into the process as well. I'm nearly 39, single, living with my mother, working for $15 an hour and I want children and so much more from my life. And sometimes, I don't know how the hell this happened to me. It just hits me. Hard. And other times, I can map out what got me here. The psychology behind it all. And that hits me, too. And sometimes, that's worse.

The only time I see men is at work. All the rest of the time, I'm holed up in suburbia. Suburbia being a place people move after they're married and have children because there's nothing else to do. If they're single, they're usually divorced. And have kids they resent. I have been doing yoga with the married and divorcees. But that's the extent of my contact with the outside world other than at work. I miss a social life. That was part of what kept me hanging onto the bottom rung when I was living in LA. Because I knew it would be like this. And I'm a people person. I know it's not like I had a choice in the end, but still. Working and sitting home all the time can be a huge downer. And that whole pick-me-up that people used to offer me of, "You still have time" doesn't really fly anymore when you're 38 years-old and have no idea how long you can have kids for or if you ever will. After all, ,y eggs aren't any better than anybody else's. It's not like God is doing this to me as some sort of case study or to get people to believe in miracles. There's science for that.

My sister, meanwhile is dealing with the fact that childcare is so expensive that she can't afford to get a job. And she needs to get one. I tried to offer suggestions but she just yelled at me. Whatever. I need to fix my own life anyway. I'd rather yell at myself than have someone do it for me.

I'm tired of being surrounded by boxes and garbage bags full of my things because there's nowhere for my stuff. It's hard to get ready every day, to find my things or even feel good about myself. I know I'm venting. Sorry. But every so often I panic that this is it. Which would seriously blow. And just think, five years ago I went to Flea's birthday party and met a guy I dated for awhile. That was a fun party. I bring up Flea because of the whole Grammy thing. He has a music school in Los Feliz. He's a cool guy. There are no Fleas in Cypress.

On another Grammy tangent, how gorgeous did Natalie whatever-her-name-is from The Dixie Chicks look with brown hair? So gorgeous, I almost feel like blowing off my whole root job and just buying a box of Clairol. But I've been doing pr stuff in trade for a hairdresser to get my 'do done for free. And that's what I did all day today, up in LA. So I honor Mr. Lincoln for giving me the day off. I think being in LA depressed me a bit. Being so close to what used to be home and not having one. Sometimes it just hits me when I'm sitting in traffic up there-- wanting to just turn left and go home-- but then I realize there's the 405 and an hour-and-a-half before that will happen. Taking the pain and suffering the pr work causes into consideration, along with all the pr work itself, my hair better look smokin' on Saturday, that's all I have to say. Then maybe no one will notice if I'm a basketcase.

One of my friends just sent me an email that she got from a producer who was looking into the life rights of the woman who I tried to contact to see if I could use her story as a "fix" for my screenplay "Fixing Macy." I emailed her a very sincere email. I called her and left a very sincere message, but I haven't heard back. It's been two weeks. My friends tell me to let it go and just do my version of the fix. I still need to finish this damn ex-convict screenplay before I get onto that one. And I'm worried her rights will sell. But I already played that game-- of trying to write as fast as I can and then get beaten to the punch. So if it happens with somebody else, I guess that's the way it was supposed to be. It doesn't mean I have to like i.

Okay, off to cry. I'm depressing myself.

What I Want on Top.

I know it sounds like I'm talking about a sexy guy. Which I do want. And, in actuality, one might be more obtainable than this top. Strange, but true. Because the size small sold out on every website that carried it virtually overnight. Even the Charlotte Ronson store in New York is sold out of it. I know because I called there today. Yes, sometimes I have misdirected tenaciousness. But sexy guys don't like to be chased so much. Tops don't care.

See my exciting-slash-depressing Friday night included looking at shopbop.com and seeing what was new out there in the world of fashion. (Which I actually do enjoy doing. Just not on Friday nights). I'm clearly not speaking of fashion in the couture sense but more of the normal-female-who-likes-things-that-are-of-the-unique-yet-hip variety. That's how I found this Charlotte Ronson top. It was the frontrunner once I factored in cost, need, lifestyle and me being me. And then there's the fact that the top would go great with my new jeans and my red flats (which are supposed to be big for Spring, if you care. And yes, I do care about this stuff). I also have a thing for white tops. I think you need one every season. And 3/4 sleeves. Those I just like. There's no hard and fast season rule for that one. I have been known to turn many of my long-sleeved shirts into 3/4 sleeved shirts. But it's much easier when they already come that way. Because there's less chance of screwing the shirt up by failing to factor in button holes, etc. when you have it altered. Which I have been known to do, screw up shirt.. That being said, it doesn't stop me from trying.

So anyway, the top is not cheap. But other than my jeans, I really haven't bought anything in awhile. And now that I'm love magicking and working and all, I would like to have something new to wear to perk me up that isn't black and doesn't look like it can be worn as a uniform at Sephora... which is what must of my clothes feel like right now. Well, apparently a lot of other women felt the same way as me about this top last night, the difference being that they actually purchased it. I just put it in my standardstyle.com cart and decided to wait until morning to see if I really wanted it or was just trying to cheer myself up. It seems, I wanted it. But when I looked in my standardstyle shopping cart, it wasn't there, nor was it on the website at all anymore. And in the world of web boutiques, it was nowhere to be found. Not in a small, not in a medium, not in a large. Just a few xsmalls here and there-- one in black and one in ivory. And this shirt is better in ivory-- in black you miss the detail. You miss the point. The style and the color are about innocence. Anyway - no standardstyle.com, no activeendeavors.com, no revolveclothing.com and no shopbop. And I'm kind of bummed actually. It's the top that got away. Even though Jennifer at Charlotte Ronson said she'll try to find one for me, I know that drill. When it's gone, it's gone. Unique things have a way of being taken. So in the metaphor of it all, the next time I find something unique that I like, I need to act on it, not wait. And perhaps if I do, I won't need to worry about what's on top.

Oh, this Michael Stars top? It's cute, too. I saw it last night as well. And today? I saw it in an ad. I'm guessing it will be sold out by tomorrow. Pre-order and all.

My Day Off.

I had today off, but I still woke up early. I always wake up early. I like it usually, but not so much today. What can you do? I was tired the whole day. Hungy the whole day and didn't feel like eating. I still can't get motivated to eat in Orange County. You have to get in the car and drive to get anything and everything you want. And drive far. Argh. I know I could make something but that would require groceries. I don't have groceries. That would require driving, too. Unfortunately, my mother and I don't have the same eating habits so I can't borrow some of her food. I miss my rice steamer. I miss walking to get food.

I spend most of the day reading, writing and doing things like cleaning and straightening and paying my bills. It makes me miss my things. My books. My living room. And things like my chalkboard. If I had my chalkboard, I think, it might remind me to buy groceries and then I wouldn't be hungry. I finally go to the grocery store, but I just buy Skunk her food and Atkins bars for me for when I'm hungry and don't know what to eat. Then I go to the bank and the post office and stop at a place called The Denim Bar... just because I'm curious. Cypress never had any cute clothing stores when I lived here... some twenty plus years ago and I need jeans. Why this has become a new preoccupation of mine, I have no idea. But it is. And so I went in and found the perfect pair of straight leg jeans. The first pair I tried on. They fit me perfectly. Which was weird. Jeans never fit me perfectly. And I went down a size. Which is also weird. I asked the 18 year-olds who helped me if the sizing had changed for Citizens of Humanity. But they said, "no." Bizarre. And even though it might be slightly pathetic, my new jeans made me happy. The 18 year-olds wanted me to join The Denim Club which sounds like a suburban jean-loving cult because it is-- you have to buy like 15 pairs of jeans to get one free. I think I've bought maybe that many pairs in my entire life. I said thanks but no thanks-- I don't plan to be living here when I reach number 15. But I am here now, which means I need a drycleaner and an alterations place. The 18 year-olds hooked me up. It seems Mom isn't as hip to the Cypress scene as they are.

So that all being said and done, I should have done a lot more today... like get a mani & a pedi, go to yoga, and take my ghetto car in to get the ball rolling on having the missing piece fixed. But I didn't feel like it. It's still hard for me to get excited about doing stuff while I'm here. I'm trying, but it's hard. I am not suburban girl. I hate mini malls. Going to work makes things much easier. I like having a destination. And one outside of Orange County. (That whole hope thing, testosterone a-plenty and a potential career also help). I do need time off to write and get caught up on things in my life so days off are important, too. They just make me feel a bit empty and lost when I stop doing what I need to do and take a break. The nights are even worse... like tonight it would be fun to have a husband, or boyfriend or friend around to say "hey, what are you doing - do you want to hang out and watch a movie and drink wine?" But since I don't have a husband or boyfriend and it would take over an hour for me to get to a friend's place and then I'd have to spend the night and that's a lot to ask of someone over the age of 30 that you're not having sex with, I am going to read some more. If only more of my Boundary books had arrived. I could learn something. Believe it or not, they're working. Which is good. I'm not getting any younger. And tomorrow is another day off.

Maybe It Was the Margarita at Lunch... But My Back is Better.

So the margarita at lunch? I didn't order it first. Obviously. A couple other people on the show ordered them to celebrate their last day (in a party of 8) and then I joined in the drinkage ordering after the fact. That I got invited to join the lunch at all was key. With the editors and writers on the show. (And a lot of thanks goes to Isaac. He's frinkin' adorable. Young. Cool. Hip. And he beats to his drummer. Which I dig. Yes, I just said dig.) It was nice to be asked to join the group so early in the game. No Julie in sight to include me (although I would have loved for her to have been there). It just happened because it's working for me there in that group. The chemistry. And I love that. It's just that kind of production office. The kind you can belong in. Today was tres kick back. Which I forgot happens on shows. It's hurry up and wait. (Every dollar I've made over the last five years has been earned with a lot of blood, sweat and tears... too much so. The thought that I could make money... even not very much by sitting on my ass and doing my own shit? Well, I forgot that happens.)

This group doesn't have a lot of attitude. In fact, none at all. Even the girls that are of the I'm-far-too-clever-to-bother-with-make-up-or-contacts-types. Sure, there was a moment of pause as I came up with a few sarcastic remarks on par with their own. But then they saw I wasn't competing. I was just being me and laying low. And they were fine. It was fun. I did get outed as a Drew Carey writer by two story assistants but I've not said a peep about it other than to them (they were the only ones in the room) by confirming the fact. This is an entirely different deal. A different chapter in my life. What I know does help. Age and experience does help. And as Seth so sweetly said yesterday, "Grace helps." God bless him. That's a great thing to hear.

I go back Wednesday at some ungodly hour of the am -- like 7. Okay, not ungodly but commute-wise, less than fun. But it's worth it. I know it is. And it's Valentine's Day. And although I don't have a Valentine... I've never had a Valentine... (sob sob)... I do get to hang with Isaac and Sean at some crazy bar where they do trivia. And I'm thinking that might just be a good Valentine's Day after all.

Pain, Pain Go Away...

Had so much to write today. But writing requires typing and my back locked up again. Tomorrow is my last day until Wednesday on Beauty and the Geek so I have five days off to recuperate. Which will be good. For yoga and writing and resting and sharing. It's amazing how much better my mood is when I'm not in pain. Although I think I faked it pretty well today post-back-lock-up. Nice people do make it easier.

I got a residual check today. For $283.65. Which will pay my storage fee. Which makes me happy. So I might just be able to take care of my back. Yippee.

I'm Embracing the Beauties and Geeks

Literally. I got a hug today from one of the guys in the story department who told me how much he liked having me around. And he has a girlfriend (who also works on the show) and is like 10 years younger than me, so it's not like that. Because she said she liked having me there, too. (And Julie? She said it was comforting to have me there...) I'm kind of liking being liked. It's fun. Particularly by people who you like as well and actually care if they like you. And if this whole liking thing happens to be in a work environment? All the better. Because I like it. And I also get to laugh.

The footage they have of the beauties and the geeks talking is hysterical. Seriously. It is the very reason reality TV exists. You can't make this shit up. I don't even know girls like that. But sadly, I have dated guys like that who are now or have been with girls like that. (And that's pretty much why they're not with me. I'm not naked Jody so much in the light of day. And even when I am naked Jody? I still think.) Not to say that the geeks and beauties are not changed in some way by the experience. They are. Truly. And they're young enough to have this make a serious impact on who they become. Well, some of them at least. They are feel good TV at its best. They all do feel better about themselves after the show. And two of them even get to be richer. I can't say which ones though.

I do have to say, it's really nice to laugh again at work. I used to laugh all the time at work when I was on Drew-- but I was also stressed and traumatized. Which made the laughing part less of a bonus. It got buried in the other gunk. And laughing? It's important. It's one of my favorite things to do. That being said, I have had my share of laughing in the past few years - even in the times that sucked. But it's been on the low end of the spectrum. Like a place you visit or pass through but not the place where you live. I'd like to change that. It's amazing what an impact laughter has on a person. Even when you're doubled over in pain. Which I was over the weekend.

See, this whole allergy in conjunction with typing for 8 hours straight did do a number on my back. I couldn't move off of Quentin's couch on Saturday (we went out on Friday and I - being the displaced person I am - slept on his couch). After waiting to feel better, which didn't really ever happen, I finally left on Saturday night at like 8pm. It was the hour plus drive... which I somehow maneuvered... that made me prolong the leaving. I thought I'd feel better on Sunday, but when I didn't, I realized I had get a massage - which I never do (not that I don't love to do it, but it's not cheap). It was basically my entire paycheck last week -- but I knew I wanted to go back to the show and I knew I wanted to do it with a smile on my face and not complain about what was hurting me or how I was feeling - (which I only usually do on my blog - but anyway... this was something I could do something about for a change. So I did. And trust me, I do need the money) That massage? Well, it was the smartest thing I've done in a long time. It was like a dose of pain-be-gone. And if somehow that results in a dose of job-be-had? I will be ecstatic. And then some.

I'm Embracing the Beauties and Geeks

Literally. I got a hug today from one of the guys in the story department who told me how much he liked having me around. And he has a girlfriend (who also works on the show) and is like 10 years younger than me, so it's not like that. Because she said she liked having me there, too. (And Julie? She said it was comforting to have me there... which she meant in a good wa.) I'm kind of liking being liked. It's fun. Particularly by people who you like as well and actually care if they like you. And if this whole liking thing happens to be in a work environment? All the better. Because I like it. And I also get to laugh.

The footage they have of the beauties and the geeks talking is hysterical. Seriously. It is the very reason reality TV exists. You can't make this shit up. I don't even know girls like that. But sadly, I have dated guys like that who are now or have been with girls like that. (And that's pretty much why they're not with me. I'm not naked Jody so much in the light of day. And even when I am naked Jody? I still think.) Not to say that the geeks and beauties are not changed in some way by the experience. They are. Truly. And they're young enough to have this make a serious impact on who they become. Well, some of them at least. They are feel good TV at its best. They all do feel better about themselves after the show. And two of them even get to be richer. I can't say which ones though.

I do have to say, it's really nice to laugh again at work. I used to laugh all the time at work when I was on Drew-- but I was also stressed and traumatized. Which made the laughing part less of a bonus. It got buried in the other gunk. And laughing? It's important. It's one of my favorite things to do. That being said, I have had my share of laughing in the past few years - even in the times that sucked. But it's been on the low end of the spectrum. Like a place you visit or pass through but not the place where you live. I'd like to change that. It's amazing what an impact laughter has on a person. Even when you're doubled over in pain. Which I was over the weekend.

See, this whole allergy in conjunction with typing for 8 hours straight did do a number on my back. I couldn't move off of Quentin's couch on Saturday (we went out on Friday and I - being the displaced person I am - slept on his couch). After waiting to feel better, which didn't really ever happen, I finally left on Saturday night at like 8pm. It was the hour plus drive... which I somehow maneuvered... that made me prolong the leaving. I thought I'd feel better on Sunday, but when I didn't, I realized I had get a massage - which I never do (not that I don't love to do it, but it's not cheap). It was basically my entire paycheck last week -- but I knew I wanted to go back to the show and I knew I wanted to do it with a smile on my face and not complain about what was hurting me or how I was feeling - (which I only usually do on my blog - but anyway... this was something I could do something about for a change. So I did. And trust me, I do need the money) That massage? Well, it was the smartest thing I've done in a long time. It was like a dose of pain-be-gone. And if somehow that results in a dose of job-be-had? I will be ecstatic. And then some.

I'm Embracing the Beauties and Geeks

Literally. I got a hug today from one of the guys in the story department who told me how much he liked having me around. And he has a girlfriend (who also works on the show) and is like 10 years younger than me, so it's not like that. Because she said she liked having me there, too. I'm kind of liking being liked. It's fun. Particularly by people who you like as well and actually care if they like you. And if this whole liking thing happens to be in a work environment? All the better. Because I like it. And I also get to laugh.

The footage they have of the beauties and the geeks talking is hysterical. Seriously. It is the very reason reality TV exists. You can't make this shit up. I don't even know girls like that. But sadly, I have dated guys like that who are now or have been with girls like that. (And that's pretty much why they're not with me. I'm not naked Jody so much in the light of day. And even when I am naked Jody? I still think.) Not to say that they're not changed in some way by the experience. They are. They are feel good TV at its best. They all feel better about themselves after the show. And two of them are even richer. I can't say which ones though.

I've got to say, it's really nice to laugh again at work. I used to laugh all the time at work when I was on Drew-- but I was also stressed and traumatized. Which made the laughing less of a bonus. It got buried in the other gunk. And laughing? It's important. It's one of my favorite things to do. That being said, I have had my share of laughing in the past few years - even in the times that sucked. But it's been on the low end of the spectrum. Like a place you visit or pass through but not the place you live. I'd like to change that. It's amazing what an impact it has on a person. Even when you're doubled over in pain. Which I was over the weekend.

See, this whole allergy in conjunction with typing for 8 hours straight did do a number on my back. I couldn't move off of Quentin's couch on Saturday (we went out on Friday and I - being the displaced person I am - slept on his couch). After waiting to feel better, which didn't really ever happen, I finally left on Saturday night at like 8pm. It was the hour plus drive... which I somehow maneuvered. And on Sunday, I realized I had get a massage - which I never do - not that I don't love to do it, but it's not cheap -- and it basically was my entire paycheck last week -- but I knew I wanted to go back to the show and I knew I wanted to do it with a smile on my face and not complain about what was hurting me or how I was feeling - (which I only usually do on my blog - but anyway... this was something I could do something about. So I did.) That massage was the smartest thing I've done in a long time. It was like a dose of pain be gone. Now if that results in a dose of job-be-had, I will be ecstatic. And then some.

Thank God for my Fast Fingers. And for Goldilocks.

I really like all of the people at the company Julie works for. And for some reason, Isaac the post coordinator is being ultra-cool to me. And he's cool! He said he wants to keep me around. On Friday morning, he got me a parking pass and a badge for the lot. Which is in Manhattan Beach. Which is a much easier commute than Santa Monica. They have good nosh in the area. And less traffic as a whole. The OC is filmed on the same lot. I love lots. Of any sorts. Being around cameras and productions is my deal. I like it. So when Isaac said told me that, you can imagine how excited I was. Even more so when he said he wanted to try and work me into the story area. I didn't talk to him or anyone else about my work experience. Julie mentioned it as an aside to him before I started... on the down low. So he'd know I could do the job. That I could do more than type. Which makes it all the better. That it's not coming from me. I'd rather have someone else toot my horn. I'm all tooted out.

So that being said, this is my third job typing on what seems to be my third path. Which might be the charm. I'm hoping it's the charm. I mean, Goldilocks only had to sit in three chairs, right? My first job out of college, on Backdraft, I was in charge of the script and the script changes and the notes. Which meant working for Ron and with each of the actors on their changes-- yes, Robert DeNiro and Kurt Russell and Donald Sutherland. Not Billy Baldwin so much. He didn't have much to say on the subject of character or his character. My typing speed was an asset much as was my willingness to distribute revisions at 3 in the morning. But at 21, who wouldn't, right? That's usually the time most people get in from going out-- well, at that age at least.

Then on Drew, after I'd realized I wanted to be a writer and not the development person helping the writer write, I had to start over by typing again. I did that for two and a half years. While I wrote my scripts on the weekends and read scripts and did coverage for cash at night. For some reason, that was really hard on me. I think because I thought I was done paying my dues. Fool that I am. It was a different industry. It was TV. I had paid my dues in film. Learned about story in film. But I hadn't worked in television. And so I had to start over again just like anybody else. I think alot of it was because it was also when my friends were moving up into VP jobs and starting to get married. And I felt like I was going backwards. I was working all the time and had no social life. I missed the point. I didn't see how lucky I was. That I had chosen it and it was a great opportunity. Then I was young enough that I could lie on my resume and underplay my experience to get the job. Later, my boss told me if he had known that I knew so much he wouldn't have hired me. He liked newbies. A lot of showrunners like to mold their own. He was one of them.

Now, I'm typing again. This time, in reality TV. I pray it's not for two years. But if it will get me where I'm going, so be it. I'll just need a really good masseuse and chiropractor. And maybe to make some headway in a few other areas of my life. The money isn't so great. So I'll have to figure something out on that front. Still. I know now that I'm lucky to be where I'm at. At the beginning of something new in an industry I want to be in. But now, I've also been humbled in ways I never dreamed. Done jobs I never dreamed I'd have to do. And been treated like I would never want to treat anybody else. The whole Drew Carey experience feels like a dream now. A whole other lifetime ago. And it was. This time, I'm going to be much more graceful. And grateful. Or at least do my best to be. I'm not going to think about my age or where I think I should be and where I'm not. I'm going to let go of expectations. At least now I know that I do know funny. That I can write funny. Maybe just a different kind of funny than sitcom. And while I work my way up, I can tell a few stories of my own. On my own. God knows I have enough of them. I just hope that there's some truth in the whole Goldilocks thing. And that this time, the chair is just right.

I Do Love Those Thinking Men.

They're so great to talk to. So worth talking to. So refreshing. Thank God. They may not be the men for me. But they're the men for me to appreciate. And be thankful for. I am.

Today. After my fight with my insurance agency. Which I'm going to purposely pretend is not happening right now - I had a good day. An exhausting one. Between the commute and the typing. But the talking with guys with a point-of-view -- an educated point-of-view -- is a pretty good end to the day. I like men who have something to say.

Now. It's to find one of those for my very own. But you know? So many things to work on. So little time. And now? It's time for bed.