No More Milk For Free & Happy Birthday to Me!!!

Okay, so today was a good day. It was the first birthday in a long time where I didn't think about how old I was. I didn't mind when I got outed at work as being 39 and yes was verified to be the oldest person on the show. Working for three story producers (writers) that are 26, 33 and 34. Hey, at their age that's where I was. So it's not like it's all that surprising. Well, not to me. They were a little more shocked. I think Grant's mouth actually fell open in a cartoon-like fashion. But I love Grant or am in deep like. He's a quiet kind of funny and he's beginning to get me.

So my birthday today consisted of phone calls and emails from all the people I care about. And it was nice to be cared about. To watch my phone vibrate on my desk whether I could take the call or not. It really made my day. I was happy with the LA Times piece, happy to be working on "Driving Force" and happy to be able to go to yoga at 9pm. And that's what I did. I didn't feel the need to do a traditional celebration type thing. I've done those. Being closer to where you want is a much bigger celebration just in and of itself. Seeing movement. That's the biggest gift I could get or ever ask for. And it's been a long time coming.

Pre-birthday I didn't want a cake and today it didn't occur to me that they would even do something at work until I saw them hiding the cake. Which I thought was very sweet. As was the song and the fact they kept a tasteful amount of candles on the cake. Truly, they are just really good people. Really. When Eric Medlen died (one of the drivers on John Force's team who passed away Friday of last week after having an accident the week prior in Gainesville), the way that they banded together, genuinely cared about him and the Force family and ralllied to show support by creating a reel in his memory was truly astounding. It makes me feel so very, very lucky to be there.

Because putting in time and giving up their weekend and just doing the work for him wasn't even a question. For anyone. No bitching, no complaining. Which there shouldn't be. But I've been at jobs where there was even when a tragedy was involved. It made me feel proud to be there. My boss, Brian, kept thanking us for staying late and working to pull clips. To me, it wasn't even something worth thanking me for. It was something I should absolutely do and did want to do. And sincerely? I know everyone on the show felt the same way, but still they thank us. It's pretty great... not to be taken for granted.

So, on this day. A very good day, I am saying goodbye to my blog quite happily. My blog was a great way to get out what I needed to when I wanted to-- to keep myself alive as a writer, so to speak-- and it recorded a time that is frankly a blur to me. Almost unbelievable. And sometimes a little bit shocking. And considering the people I work with know little about me yet think my stories are fascinating-- and they've actually only heard but one blip on my story radar-- it's a good reality check for me. (No pun intended). That I do have stories to tell. I have lived a life. And it's not over yet. It hasn't been easy. It's never been easy. But it's been fascinating even to me sometimes, I have to admit. And at times, I have felt like I was watching a movie of my life instead of actually living it. Because as Augusten Burroughs said in his book "Magical Thinking"-- all he wanted to be was normal. But here's the thing, that's what we people of dysfunctional families always wanted and what we'll never get. And perhaps if we fix ourselves just enough and have just enough time and confidence, we can at least entertain normal people and maybe even make a little money in the bargain.

Thanks for reading.

Oh, and here's the LA Times link: http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-wk-tell29mar29,1,5417755.story

A Less Than Premiere Experience.

Tuesday started good. Got my second Augusten Burroughs set and was listening on the way to work and all was well and fine. Even when Julie called during the midget cleaning lady story and said she couldn’t go with me to the premiere party. I. Was. Fine. I’ve done a lot of shit alone over the years. I mean, you’re a 38 year-old woman who’s single, of course you have. But then the day went weird. Around 4:00pm I got this strange feeling that I shouldn’t go to the party. Or maybe I just didn’t want to go. Because the show didn’t start until 10pm which meant I wouldn’t be heading home until way after that. Everyone who lived nearby – like most adults over the age of 18-- left early to get ready for the party. And me? I was still at work. To either kill time or figure it out.

Still not sure of what I should do, I went into the bathroom and fixed my make-up and then I decided I’d go to Whole Foods and get groceries for the rest of the week. Because what I wore was it. I didn’t have anywhere to primp and drink wine and play. That’s the part I love about going out. The best part of being a female. It’s fun to me. But oh, well. Wasn’t going to happen. Because without Julie, I didn’t have a back-up plan. I did know that I couldn’t drink if I went alone because before I was going to crash at Julie’s place. But drinking when you’re doing the schlep? Well, it just wasn’t happening. After missing Quentin’s bday, I really wanted to be able to go out. I wanted to have fun.

I remember back when I was going through sorority rush at UCLA and I couldn’t afford to pay for the housing costs, so I drove up every day. I left early every day. There was one night when I was so tired that I pulled over at the side of the road and fell asleep for awhile. I was just too tired to drive. I missed the bonding that happened in the dorms. Sure, I got in a house, but there was a part of the experience that I missed. And it wasn’t traumatic or anything but those things stick with you. The things you do to get by. The things you can’t do.

Anyway, I was two blocks from work and my car died. Completely. Dead. I pumped the brakes. They’re power brakes. So nothing. I finally just threw the parking brake on and when that didn’t work, I pulled the emergency brake. And steered towards the curb. I finally came to a stop. And then, I just cried. It was like the twilight zone. It was 8:22pm. I looked at my clock. I’d had lots of car mishaps over the years—including get my car totaled and I figured it out. Always. Usually, I would have Triple A tow my car to the mechanic on my corner and then I’d cross the street, go home and call a cab. It was always fine. But what do you do when you’re over an hour away?

So I called Carla. She was working at “The Insider” until 11ish. She was remarkably calm and two blocks away. She told me to call Triple A, have them check out the car and if it wasn’t okay to drive, have them drop me off at Paramount and she’d drive me home. I was so grateful. I called Quentin and left a message while I waited for the the tow truck driver. The driver towed me to work and then tooled around in my car which was suddenly working fine. The check engine light had been on before. That sucker had been dead. It was bizarre. He told me to drive around the parking lot. And I did. It seemed fine but I was scared that it might die on one of the three freeways I take. He told me to take his card and he’d come pick me up if something happened. So home I drove. And I made it. And I cried all night. Not hysterical crying. But rather the kind of tears that just flow while you think you’re talking normal. Like you’re sweating or something. DirecTV didn’t play the premiere episode. Mom and I stayed up talking for awhile. I cried the whole time. It was again, bizarre.

In the morning, I went to a mechanic. He said it was the igniter switch and it could go out again or never again. That it was expensive. $460 not including labor. So he said to just wing it and hope for the best. So I am. My “Driving Force” coworkers didn’t seem to buy the whole car breaking down thing. Because I had my car. But what can you do? They said it was a great party. I was sorry I missed it. But right now, I guess my life Is not supposed to be a party. So tomorrow, on my bday, I’ll just realize it is what it is and believe that some day there will be more. And pray the universe gives it to me.

I Sold Another Essay! Or simply, Yippee!

Or an essayish type thing. It's going to be running on Thursday in the Calendar section of the Los Angeles Times! It's about a few of my dating experiences. All of which happened. A long time ago. Clearly. Because I haven't been on a date since... well, last year. When I went to Florida. Which again, was a very long time ago. I got the email this morning when I got to work. Which was a great surprise. I wrote the piece on spec right before I started this job and I hadn't even followed up yet. That's why the whole it being accepted out of the blue thing is truly just about the coolest thing ever. Well, almost the coolest. The coolest would have to be that the piece is going to be running... on my birthday! What are the odds of that? I'm choosing to think that's a good omen. And if it's not. I'm going to pretend it is. For both dating and writing. A girl can dream, can't she?

I do have to say, that it makes me feel much better about the fact I spent my entire day yesterday working on the rewrite of the Ex-Convict essay... and still didn't finish. ALL DAY. From 9:30am to 9:30pm. I didn't even go to yoga. Or buy Claritin D. I was determined to finish. But apparently, that was not enough to get it done. I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with it. Maybe it was the whole Quentin birthday thing and that there are tons of drafts with different word counts and tones and that I didn't really want to be thinking about it at all. Him at all. Or maybe it was the fact I felt stupid reading it. Because now I can finally see that he never cared about me. That I just wanted him to. And he just needed a place to stay. Which makes me a bit sad. And the piece is supposed to be funny. So the sad thing is a problem. It's also all about him. Which is one of the things that I needed to fix. I spent all of yesterday trying to add me into the story. Where I was at when I met him, how it happened, how I felt and what I learned. Here's the problem: Do I even know what I learned? Maybe just to avoid contact at all costs. That's it, really. But that sure isn't how I felt when the whole thing ended. And ass that I am, I don't I necessarily even want it that way now. It's just the way it has to be. It's the best thing for me. Perhaps that's why rewriting it isn't so much fun anymore. Nor is even writing about it here. So I'm going to stop. Onwards and upwards.

Tomorrow night is the "Driving Force" premiere. It's at 10pm on A&E. Watch, watch, watch!

Learning What's Good For Me.

I just finished my second audio book on CD. And my fourth week working in reality television. I had a friend get engaged this past week. Which made me cry I was so happy for her. And touched that she emailed me a picture of the ring on her finger. I just paid one friend back the money she loaned me. And look forward to repaying the next. I've got my commute down to an hour. I still don't like paying for gas. I learned from the very un-birthday dinner at my sister's place. And so I'm not going to a birthday party tonight for a friend. As much as I'd like to celebrate with him at his party, I'm taking care of myself. And seeing another certain someone there wouldn't be doing that. It would just hurt. And I've had enough of that. Feeling good feels better. As uncomfortable as it might be. I'm trying to get used to it. Luckily, my friend understands and instead, I get to spend a whole day with him next weekend. We're going to spend Sunday celebrating our birthdays together. Which seems like a pretty good trade-off. I'm rewriting my essay this weekend so I can get it to Fresh Yarn. Finally. So perhaps I can finally get the story published online. I'm feeling more creative but not entirely funny . I guess a lot of self-help will do that to a girl. That's why I've been listening to Augusten Burroughs in the car. I'm trying to get my sense of humor back. Besides, I really want to laugh again. I miss laughing. I like joy. I have been getting to know my co-workers better and with that comes laughing. I'm very teasable. And gullible. I also have quirks. Which are slowly creeping their way back. And being a fish-out-of-water and an older fish at that in a whole new world, it's kind of funny at times. To them and to me. I think it will probably be at least another couple of jobs before I can move out of mom's. Which is not ideal, but okay. I'm adjusting to feeling so removed. It's allowing me time to think. To set boundaries. And to get my bearings. I am dying to date. But don't think I'm quite there yet. I think my own place would make it easier. And perhaps a few more self-help books. I think they're working. It's working. Which is a huge relief.

Coming Back To Life.

Today was a more relaxed day at work. Despite the fact there was a crash in Gainesville, Florida and one of the drivers was hurt. Everyone's really worried. And not because it can affect the show. Because they care. And yes, it can affect the show. Reality is like that. It can create a story that you least expect or kill one that you were working on because it ends up going nowhere. Adds a bit of excitement to the process, that's for sure. This was the beginning of week four and I think I'm getting the hang of it. Getting comfortable with it. And less worried about the outcome. Who knew. Me. Comfortable?

I did have to do about three hours of field notes on Sunday but that was okay. I like doing them because that way I know what's going on in the show before everyone else. I had a slight panic attack last night pre-field notes when I didn't get as much done as I'd like. No writing at all. Just yoga and a ridiculous dinner at my sisters house that I'm not going to get into. It falls under the category of things I should have known by now about what she will and won't do for me and 10 self-help books later... well, at least I know why I believe things will be different. And perhaps calling myself on it will change it. Even though getting angry at her won't do a damn thing. They say it takes only 21 times of doing something before it becomes a habit. So I've got a ways to go.

Mom and I went to Fashion Island on Sunday. Which was a bizarre experience. I only went for American Rag. It's one of my favorite stores in LA and I was so happy to know it was in the OC. At Fashion Island no less. In a mall. Which does not fit and that's what's so great about it. All the stuff that's snatched up in LA in like five minutes? Well it just sits there in OC. I know this because the salespeople told me. The people in OC don't get it. American Rag's thing. They wear jeans and t-shirts and carry Chanel and Louis Vuitton bags and drive white Jags and Mercedes and BMWs. The high point of my weekend was when Mom bought me a pre-birthday gift. A Steven Alan shirt. Which made me happy but also I felt a bit guilty. Just 20 more times and it might feel perfectly normal to get gifts!

Still, I woke up in the middle of the night last night. Got some more stuff done. Then went to bed. Then woke up again an hour later. Am very tired tonight. And that's about it. Nothing else to report. Oh, there is a hot guy working on the show in the office building next to us. And I love the valets who park our cars. Because they're very nice to me and my ghetto car.

Why Are You So Happy All The Time?

That's what the girl who serves food at the cafe at the Hollywood Production Center asked me this morning. All I had said was "Good morning, how are you? And told her that I would like a Soy Chai Latte." Sure on other occasions, I've said it's a beautiful day. And things like that. But today, that was it. I just looked at her post question and blinked... at first, then I answered, "I don't know. I just am." And then, I stopped and said truthfully, "Because I've been through things and when you've gotten through that to the other side, you can just be grateful and happy. And I'm a happy person usually. And when I can be happy, I'd rather be happy. And I really like my job." She liked the second answer better. Sometimes brevity is not enough. And I know for me, the simple, pat answers always made me feel like there was something wrong with me. That there was some mystery out there that I couldn't solve. Some answer that I didn't know. And although I do know I no longer need to explain or share everything so people understand where I'm coming from, I also don't want to pretend that reality doesn't exist either.

So in short, I'm practicing boundaries slowly. And the same goes for saying what I mean and want and what I feel. It's not easy. And that's why I'm still on the retreat. Not everyone in my wold respects boundaries. That's how I got here. Well, one of the ways I got here. And I even encountered it a few times this week. The good thing now is that I recognize it. Didn't feel the need to get upset by it, but saw what was happening. I let it go. Someone pushing their shit onto me. Normally, I'd take on anything else. When things were bad in my life, I always did. That's why I'm still in retreat mode. Not quite in social mode yet. It has nothing to do with feeling bad about myself but everything to do with wanting to protect myself. Because there are friends who are used to me behaving in a certain way. A way that I had lapsed into and there are conversations that I need to have. Because I let them think it was all me. The things that were wrong. And it wasn't. Some of the blame and the issues were theirs, too. And I don't know if they see that. And probably not. Because I certainly never told them. I was debating recently whether or not I should And then I realized I have to-- at least if I wanted to continue the friendships. And who knows, they may not want to. But one way or another, I need to know what I want and how to ask for it. So that's what I'm doing or at least trying to.

Oh, Happy Day.

Tired, but happy day. Can barely function. Don't care much. Alot of things are moving around inside my busy head. But am too tired and busy to share because it's late and I should sleep. Did I mention it only took me an hour to get to work today? Anyway, it's all good now. A scene a day... not so bad. (There's a lot more going on in the course of the day. Trust me." The more I learn. The better I feel. I don't even care if someone has to leave and asks me to write a scene on the fly at 7:15. And at 9:58 when I checked out at Whole Foods (I got off work at 9:30) so I could get nosh for tomorrow and Friday since lunch is kind of an imposition when you're busy, I got carded for my bottle of wine. I said to the very sweet guy checking me out, "you're sweet." (Well, I was tired. I gave all my love and originality to "Driving Force"). And his response? "No, you're hot." God bless him-- that's all I have to say. Good night.

The Force is With Me.

Actually all of them. And the people that work on their show. I am ripping off Kate's congrats to me, but I think she'll understand. I am just so happy. To be happy. At work. To be creative again. I wrote more scenes today. We had a field trip for lunch over to Larchmont. And it was just all good. Busy. And good. And productive. Carding out scenes. Creating things. Laughing. It works. And you know? The drive home wasn't that bad at 9:15pm. I missed yoga. Didn't care. Truly. Did not care. Rewrite to come or not.

See, I forgot to mention that on Friday I got an email from Fresh Yarn about my ex-convict essay. Two years and four months after it was accepted, they wanted to know what was the most recent version so they could re-read it for publication. That is part of the process of being a writer. It is being a writer. To her absolute credit, Hillary has been amazing in all communication and she does communicate. During that window of time, she published a book and kept the site running and so that timeline actually seems reasonable. Sure, we writers all want validation now. But I want lots of things. So I forgot that Fresh Yarn was even on the list. Which meant this was a great, fun surprise. Particularly considering I am in absolute LOVE with Ileana Douglas' piece this month, "I Blame Dennis Hopper." It's so inspired. Which sounds pat and cliche. But it's not those things. It's so much more. I probably mentioned it before. I don't even know at this point what I say or don't. I do know freeways though. Yes, I am at one with the following: 605, 5, 101, 405. I don't have a favorite. But trust me, I'll keep you posted. Well, for a few more weeks at least.

I would love a public transportation system here about now or a driver. I could write en route to work. I could revise. But that will just have to wait until the weekend. Or an earlier evening. Somehow I just have to figure out a time to rewrite it. And focus on it. Even though I have a different perspective on it now. And although It may not be what I send, I do want to try it first. Me having figured out what it means. And while I won't quote one of my self-help books, I do get what wasn't working in the story. What didn't work in my life. And why it's sad that I ever thought anything with us ever worked at all. Still. What the hell? That damn ex-convict just keeps popping up. Although. He is a good story. I think it's best to keep him at that.

Love the Job, Love Myself?

Okay, perhaps not that easy. But it sure makes the road a bit easier. Although Saturday was strange. I went to a great yoga class in Newport Beach... (who knew?) and could afford the things I needed to buy at the store. Even if it only was CVS. And came home to read magazines -- something I love to do and don't do often -- and then felt so happy I felt uncomfortable. It was so unfamiliar to me. So I kind of messed it up a bit or at least tried to. And wasted the rest of my day. And probably frustrated a few people. But then I redeemed myself on Sunday. Cut myself some slack, got some work done and realized that this is all part of it. The uncomfortable happy thing. The regressing into old feelings and habits. The needing to be alone to figure things out. The needing to take care of myself. And not being able to take care of other people right now and needing space from them even if sometimes I don't want it. I've been here before. When I went into therapy when I was like 28. You start questioning people, places and things in your life. What works and what doesn't. I guess the point is to be paying attention. To be present.

Today I got to work in a little over an hour. Which meant I got to work on time. Which didn't used to be such the accomplishment. But now? It is. I finished my book on CD. Also a great start to the day. And was busy the whole day. I got to write another scene and do some searches for footage and brainstorm stories. And felt like I couldn't believe that I was finally working somewhere I wanted to be again. Getting paid to be creative again. Getting treated well. And only having one job. Not two or three. And all of them demeaning. I'm not afraid to open emails now thinking I can't take any more bad news. Or wondering what went wrong. Now I'm kind of stuck on trying to make it right. It's still work-- the fixing myself, but it's a better job than most of the ones I've had over the last few years. It's amazing what a good day, good job and good people can do for a girl.

A Learning Curve I Can Live With.

Yesterday it took me nearly two hours to get to work. I was late. I hate being late. Especially when I left the house before most people I work with even got out of bed. I know this because a few of them told me what time they woke up. It's a crummy feeling to walk in late. I know it happens. But traffic seems like a lame excuse. It seems like there shouldn't really be any excuses for not getting to work on time. Legitimate or not.

So I didn't go to lunch. I worked through it, just noshing on snacks I brought from home so I could redeem myself by finding a clip the Supervising Story Producer needed. I spent all day looking for that clip, but never found one he could use. After I admitted defeat, it took the editor just three minutes. The good thing is I became an expert on pilotware and the show. The bad thing is I became frustrated and felt inept. So instead of going out with my friend Megan, I went to yoga. I needed to get zen with myself. The good news? The yoga class was good. And even better, it was just five minutes from work. Yes, at yet another YogaWorks location. This one on Larchmont. I went to a class on Monday night, too, but that one was a weird class. There was no music. And people were gassy. Not to mention the guy next to me was a moaner and did this loud and disturbing Darth Vadar type breathing all through class. That night I did not feel zen. The class last night was much better. There was music. Peace. And a minimum of gas. Or at least the music covered up the telltale signs.

Afterwards, I went to Whole Foods and stocked up on food in case I had to work through lunch again. Today, I didn't. I left earlier. And I got in so early that the office wasn't even open yet. Then once it was, everyone else was late. It does seem to work that way, doesn't it? The drive today felt much easier. Because I got all a book on DVD from Simply Audio Books. It's kind of like Netflix but for books. I used to listen to books in the car all the time when I worked on Drew. Since then, I haven't had enough of a commute. Now? I could become the smartest woman in America. Or at least as smart as a 5th grader.

I was smart about one thing today. Eva, one of the story producers, spilled coffee on her laptop. Which is something I had done maybe 6 or so years ago. I had to replace the logic board. It was easily $500 or $600. That hurt. It also left an impression. So much so that I even remembered the whole logic board thing and just what to do. When Eva got back from taking her computer to MacEnthusiasts she said that my quick thinking probably saved her hard drive. That made me happy.

So did getting to write a scene today. I watched a lot of footage this week. I know it's par for the position, but I was kind of burning out a bit because until someone needs to know what's in the scene, it feels like you're not doing anything. I had feeling like I'm not doing anything. So when our Supervising Story Producer asked me to rite a scene. I was ecstatic. It was my first scene, I overwrote it a bit. There is a bit of a difference between scripted and reality. You write scenes with time codes and have to cut around things. In scripted, you just move lines around. And make it work how you want. I stressed out a bit at first. But had a great time doing it. My brain is happy when it's being used. I didn't even mind that my plans tonight canceled. I barely even noticed. I finished up at 10:30. And afterwards, the Supervising Story Producer told me just what I needed to do differently next time. I felt like I had learned something and I got it. And that this learning curve might not be as long as the whole learning I'm codependent one. Thank God.

The High Cost of a Commute.

Well, my commute costs me roughly $78 a week in gas and 2 1/2 to 3 hours a day of my time. It's unpredictable-- sometimes an hour. Sometimes an hour and a half. Which is a lot of life and a lot of money. Which is so bizarre when work is just 10 minutes away from where I used to live. Which would also be only about $20 a week in gas. But a lot more in rent. So what can you do?

That all being said, the commute and gas doesn't change the fact that I'm very thankful for my job. Very, very thankful. I'm still getting used to the fact I might just be on track. And I'm trying to keep my eye on the prize. Trying not to let the commute get to me or my general lack of money or where I used to be and that I'm turning 39 in a few weeks and not in a place to date or have a social life when I want more than anything to get to a place that seems very far away: husband and kids and a life. And just trying to remember that everything can change in a minute. For the good as well as the bad. And that I can control some of it. But not all of it.

I'm much more comfortable at work now than I was before I started. I was so beaten up before that. Frankly, I was scared. It was hard to believe in my worth-- that anyone could see it-- see my abilities. And I was scared to believe this job could work out for me because I'd been disappointed so many times over the last few years. By people, places and jobs. I half-expected it all to fall apart every day that I walked into the office. But I'm beginning to get me back. Feel creative. Feel confident. And be fine with my position and place. And know that it can lead somewhere. Somewhere better. Where I want to be. Tomorrow night, I'm even going out to dinner with a friend. It's a girl, so no, it's not a date.

My sister recently has been going through a similar work thing that I just went through with her husband. About things stagnating in his industry and him needing to make a change. But they have kids and a house and he is older than me even (are there people older than me?)-- and has a lot of responsibility and my sister doesn't understand his depression about all of those things and how it's hard sometimes to believe or change-- and that sometimes it's even worse when people around you don't understand why you don't just do it easily. My sister and I are very different. I tried to talk to her about it all. But again, we're different. She makes choices she expects others to abide by and if not too bad-- me, I do things to help facilitate other people's choices and attempt to understand where they're coming from. And codependent or not, I hope I'll keep doing that. Just not to my own detriment.

Which brings up the blog of it all. I am going to end this particular blog. It just feels time. There's no monumental reason other than I just feel like I need to move on from the story that was layed out here: giving the milk for free. While it was a jok, it was also real. So I'm going to let go of it. I may launch another blog a week after I stop this one. Who knows. But it will still be a fresh blog. A new blog. That will have a completely different starting point. I decided I'm going to stop this one on my birthday. Entry or no entry, I will be done here on March 29th. If I decide to start another one, I'll put the link here. Perhaps I'll even have a theme next time. Or not. It's really hard to say. I did like this one for oh, so many reasons. It gave me a lot of connection with people when I often felt unconnected to them, a way to release how I'm feeling without having to say everything that was happening in my life to my friends. It was something to look forward to. It witnessed the disasters. It kept track. It let me write. As much or as little as I wanted. About what I wanted. And for me, that was important. So, I'm happy with that.

Just When I Was Going to End It...

The blog, that is, not my finally-moving-forward life--Peggy Orenstein left me a comment! (Well, three actually. But that's only because she was still figuring out the blog commenting process) Which I'm incredibly excited about-- for oh, so many reasons. One being that she is a talented and acclaimed author who has been published everywhere I would ever want to be and two, she is a human author -- meaning that she cares about what people think about her work and how it affects them. So much so that she has taken the time to look on blogs and read what has been written about her work and then comment on it. I don't think it's every author that does that. In fact, I know it isn't.

For those of you who don't necessarily read me or read her, besides writing for Elle and O and the New York Times etc, Peggy Orenstein wrote "Waiting for Daisy" which other than having a cute title, has a cool book jacket design-- and from the comments written about the book on Amazon, the inside matches the outside. It's one of the few books I've seen to get five stars from every reader commenting on it. Of course, me seeing the stars of it all at only came today -- after I read Peggy's comments and much after I wrote my entry about how being reminded that being of a certain age, I owed it to myself to get educated on my potentially infertile future made me want to jump out of a window. After all, I'm still trying to put my life back together and get out of survival mode so the whole reminder that I may find love just to face another debilitating struggle to have a child seemed a little disheartening particularly when arriving in my in-box from the Head Butler guy.

That all being said, this is what Peggy had to say about that particular review and my entry:

(1)
Hi, Can I just say that I really strongly objected to that review? It was clearly written by a man. I even wrote to him about it I was so annoyed. My book is NOT ABOUT TELLING WOMEN NOT TO WAIT SO LONG. I'd throw myself off a building too if someone wrote that book. In fact, I go on a whole rant in the book about the punitive nature of a culture that tells those of us trying (and trying and trying) to get pregnant in our 30s that we "waited too long." I can only think the reviewer had his own agenda on this one. My heart sank when I saw that and imagined it making its way around the web. My book is a FRIEND to women going thorugh this. It's VALIDATING. It's not accusatory. Please don't rely on other people's reviews in a situation like this. Please, please, read the book yourself and decide. I am pretty sure you'll have a different reaction than that guy.... \

(2)
oops. I meant to sign my name to the above post. I'm the author of the book--Peggy Orenstein

(3)
Wait, one MORE thing (sorry I don't post to blogs much this is new to me) Here are some other reviews you can bounce that one off of (and you can see more at my web site which is my name--check out the one from the LA Times ,which I think describes the book best of all).

--Peggy (again and for the last time I promise)

Reviews:

"Intimate, funny/sad and remarkably self-revealing." –Kirkus (starred review)

"The story of author Peggy Orenstein's struggle with infertility is riveting, but what really makes her memoir such a compelling read is her refreshing honesty about the complicated emotions many women face on the path to motherhood." Parenting Magazine

"Orenstein's nakedly honest account of her decision at age 35 to have a baby and her ensuing struggle to do so reads like a detective thriller." Elle Magazine, Winner, Elle Lettres readers prize, February 2007

"A raw, funny and poignant memoir. She writes keenly and with humor about the difficult road her quest takes. By the time I reached the end of the book, I was crying into my latte. Orenstein's memoir is not just hers; it is the story of a generation of women who dared to wait for motherhood, took risks to achieve it and were brave enough to question their decisions every step of the way." Ann Hood,

******

So because Peggy Orenstein does care, I'm guessing that her book is probably just as validating as she said it is and potentially even really good. And since I've pretty much od'ed on self-help books lately in my continued efforts to get me and my life in shape for love, marriage and a child I can raise to live a healthy life without the same issues or fears as me, I think I'm ready to read about her journey. And give her the same regard she gave me in stopping for a moment to let me know she could relate. And that my feelings about that review (and what it said about my life) were indeed valid.

The Learning Never Stops.

In production, I forget that the learning curve usually allows you a lot of time to learn. Or rather expects you to learn gradually. Me? I'm in a hurry to learn. Or just fill in the blanks to link what I do know to what I don't. So I can get somewhere. Before I'm dead. I'm kidding. Kind of. I learned a lot this week. I liked it. All of it. The people. A whole new house of testosterone. And no one yelled at me. How great is that?

Grant, one of the story producers, is hysterical. He's a foodie. Which I am not. And he brings in good food which he has cooked. And for the first time ever in my life, smelling food makes me hungry. So what do I do? Go to the vending machine and buy trail mix. It's a small bag. But it's food. Grant has a blog. A food blog. An amazing food blog: www.wellfed.typepad.com. He not only cares about recipes and presentation but the whole process. He reads cookbooks like I read self-help books (well, lately, at least). He told me I should start a blog. I clearly did not tell him about this blog. That would be a bad idea. However, people should visit his blog. Again, not saying or indicating how you got there. I like this job and prefer that they think I'm sane... for awhile at least.

There were a few tough questions this week like, "Where do you live?" To which I stammered. And then admitted Orange County. To which they blinked, uncomprehending. They hate their 20 minute commute from Silverlake. An hour and a half does not fit into their whole notion of reality or working in reality tv. Can't say I blame them. To "Why?" I just said I'm trying to get where I need to go. I realize now I should have spent a little more time and energy fabricating something a bit more interesting. It's just I wasn't really expecting that question.Then again, I haven't expected pretty much anything in the last six years. It's all quite bizarre.

The fact that reality TV is a kinder gentler place than the scripted world ego-wise is a coup. But, I am still a fish-out-of-water. And an older fish who just lets it go. I'm the only story person who isn't in a relationship. So when asked what I was doing this weekend, I didn't know what to say to their coupley weekend plans other than, "I just thought I'd get some writing done and edit." They said I had great discipline. Although I wanted to, I didn't feel that was an appropriate time to tell them no, I just don't have a life or a husband-slash-boyfriend-slash-option... aka I should kidnap some kids. I've been down this road so many times there's just no point. They don't know what it feels like to be twice their age and still not have had what they have. I can't teach them, don't want to, and it's really beside the point anyways. I'm there to learn about other people's reality, not teach them about my own.