So what is the deal with new guitar strings. Do they seriously have to be tuned halfway thru a song? Are you kidding me? I put them on when? I’ve re-tuned how many times?
And what is with my incredibly well developed avoidance of success thing. Though I can report 9 pages on the Rain Girls pilot and 7 pages on episode 6.
How long did it take to write 10 thank you cards and send 7 follow up emails for PitchMarket 2010? Two Weeks? Are you kidding me?
By the way, anyone looking for a new technology – I have successfully bonded sockeye salmon skin to metal and absolutely no clue how to separate them. I seem to have created an entirely new substance. Perhaps useful for shoring up wormholes.
Wondering if I can get away with Glade plug-ins and blindfolds for book club on Wednesday.
And I’m cranky because now they’ve been on Oprah and everyone is a Canadian Tenor’s fan what do they need me for?
OOOOhhhh. Where’d that little toad come from? Though they did make nice comments about fans flying from afar and bringing treats. I guess that’s me, as long as I send chocolate and don’t show up on anyone’s doorstep I’m going to say that makes me a good fan not a stalker fan. The CTs incandescent success is a good thing, right? To do with them making the world happy. Which I want for them and they want for them. Hah! I have fan jealously. That is just silly. So.
Okay, moving on to the next pothole of the day. Now the reminder to breathe. I did get the acknowledgement that though the three videos I prepared fell short of everyone’s expectations, my hard work and effort was noted. Thanks. At least no-one complained about the font.
Are you kidding me? Last night as I was approaching the realization that there was nothing on TV that I was remotely interested in watching, I caught myself wishing I could catch that next episode of that series about the drug-addicted, wheelchair-bound sorceress. You’ve seen the promo’s surely of “Shadows Gather” with the next episode being after a long dark night of the soul the hot Cop shows up to make her and her almost-but-not-quite-jail-bait-live-in-boy-toy French toast for breakfast. Then the flash of realization that it's not a TV series Carolynne – it is the next chapter of your novel that you haven’t quite written yet. Really? Seriously? I actually had a moment of pining for the next chapter of one of MY stories. Good sign. It’s a good sign, right?
Thinking of the Shy One and our conversation about never feeling good enough. Never being able to receive love or praise or affection of any kind because you have this deep rooted feeling that if someone actually likes you it is because they are mistaken about who you really are and misguided about the quality of what you do. At some point they will come to their senses and walk away.
I was well and truly shocked when the Cossack admitted not having read my scripts yet. I actually looked and him and thought, “Then what are you sitting here for?” Yes. The concept that an attractive successful smart man just liked me for my company and not what I could do for them was kind of cataclysmic. And sad. And maybe misguided. Perhaps he is only interested in whether or not I can advance his career. But I hope it is only because I make him laugh. That’s what I hope.
Showing posts with label cossack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cossack. Show all posts
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Oh, boy.
Really must blog. Must blog now. Trouble is I actually have too much to say. In that I am keeping a close eye on the clock and approaching bedtime. Big weekend. PitchMarket Forum all day tomorrow so must get up early and workout first before I go. Hah! Hands up everyone who thinks that is actually going to happen. But hey, I realize as I type this that the reason I have announced to the world and committed it to pixels is because now I have to be accountable. Pretty much one of the only benefits of a guilt ridden Catholic upbringing. If I say I'm going to do something, my magnificent mother lode of pride laced guilt comes thru.
This, by the way is a rare blog for me. Typed directly into the blog window instead of being crafted in word, saved to the hard drive and proofed. Come to think of it, it feels kinda dangerous, like going commando. Who really knows what might happen?
So tomorrow at PitchMarket 2010 Vancouver is all about the workshops and panels, though I do get to see the Cossack and hey any day that I get to receive a kiss and a hug from a Ten is a good, good day. I'm not actually sure what I'm more excited about - the learning stuff about the biz of writing or getting to flirt my face off with the Cossack. Mind you I'll have to meet his 23 year old lingerie model girlfriend on Sunday in all likelyhood, but hey, the way my love life is going these days a smile and a hug from a hot guy is like getting to third base.
Oh, third base ... Baseball season! It suddenly seems to be upon me which bodes well for the guitar practice. Hmmm, for the writing. Yah. Actually me participating in life instead of watching it does bode well for the writing.
Finally found my Rain Girls one sheets after ripping the apartment to even greater shreds to find them. You know its bad when you order pizza for dinner because instead of cooking you need to spend the time running the dishwasher. Speaking of which, I'm gonna sign off now and do another load.
Weirdest thing about this past year for me, as a writer, most surprising anyway, is how important the people that I've met have become to me. A whole panoply of smart, lovely new friends. Super strange for someone who wasn't looking for them and frankly didn't think she needed them. Hey nobody really needs more than Book Club, and a couple work pals, do they? Apparently so. I am as excited about seeing friends this weekend as about the "career" opportunities. And you know what? Career, shcmear - stories are life, my life. Ain't I lucky?
So that is me, going commando. How'd I do?
This, by the way is a rare blog for me. Typed directly into the blog window instead of being crafted in word, saved to the hard drive and proofed. Come to think of it, it feels kinda dangerous, like going commando. Who really knows what might happen?
So tomorrow at PitchMarket 2010 Vancouver is all about the workshops and panels, though I do get to see the Cossack and hey any day that I get to receive a kiss and a hug from a Ten is a good, good day. I'm not actually sure what I'm more excited about - the learning stuff about the biz of writing or getting to flirt my face off with the Cossack. Mind you I'll have to meet his 23 year old lingerie model girlfriend on Sunday in all likelyhood, but hey, the way my love life is going these days a smile and a hug from a hot guy is like getting to third base.
Oh, third base ... Baseball season! It suddenly seems to be upon me which bodes well for the guitar practice. Hmmm, for the writing. Yah. Actually me participating in life instead of watching it does bode well for the writing.
Finally found my Rain Girls one sheets after ripping the apartment to even greater shreds to find them. You know its bad when you order pizza for dinner because instead of cooking you need to spend the time running the dishwasher. Speaking of which, I'm gonna sign off now and do another load.
Weirdest thing about this past year for me, as a writer, most surprising anyway, is how important the people that I've met have become to me. A whole panoply of smart, lovely new friends. Super strange for someone who wasn't looking for them and frankly didn't think she needed them. Hey nobody really needs more than Book Club, and a couple work pals, do they? Apparently so. I am as excited about seeing friends this weekend as about the "career" opportunities. And you know what? Career, shcmear - stories are life, my life. Ain't I lucky?
So that is me, going commando. How'd I do?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Feeling the Burn
I am eating dinner out of my desk drawer again. That can’t be a good sign. Not quite as bad as it sounds, I make dinner, put it on a plate and open the desk drawer and balance the plate on the open drawer. I have a roll of paper towel and a box of tissues for accidents… Okay fine. It is as bad as it sounds.
On the plus side I have been to the gym 5 times in the last 8 days. And today was the first day I thought I actually might survive severe lactic acid poisoning. A sentence which makes no sense at all if you aren’t an athlete, and even less sense if you are a scientist because the latest is that the pain isn’t from lactic acid build up in the muscles – it’s from micro tears. Nice huh?
Now I need to bang my head against the keyboard for who knows how long tonight as I am the finalist in a big contract job writing a funny game for a big company. So. I must be funny. I must be funny almost right now. I must be funny and not think about whether I can get a leave from my day job or manage both at the same time or, or, or. Haven’t got the job offer yet Schmooopie.
Good day thou despite a rocky start self-esteem wise. Don’t know why entirely but was very crabby needy writer chick from time I hung up with Hoosie last night until further blows to writing ego this AM. Crawled out the abyss eventually. Wrote something good for work. And something funny for me and got an email from the Cossack. Yessiree. For those of you new to my adventures, or those of you who have forgotten this is one of the hottest guys that I’ve made laugh in years. Like smokin’. And if he only loves me for my funny? What the hell, it’s more than nothin’, ain’t it?
On the plus side I have been to the gym 5 times in the last 8 days. And today was the first day I thought I actually might survive severe lactic acid poisoning. A sentence which makes no sense at all if you aren’t an athlete, and even less sense if you are a scientist because the latest is that the pain isn’t from lactic acid build up in the muscles – it’s from micro tears. Nice huh?
Now I need to bang my head against the keyboard for who knows how long tonight as I am the finalist in a big contract job writing a funny game for a big company. So. I must be funny. I must be funny almost right now. I must be funny and not think about whether I can get a leave from my day job or manage both at the same time or, or, or. Haven’t got the job offer yet Schmooopie.
Good day thou despite a rocky start self-esteem wise. Don’t know why entirely but was very crabby needy writer chick from time I hung up with Hoosie last night until further blows to writing ego this AM. Crawled out the abyss eventually. Wrote something good for work. And something funny for me and got an email from the Cossack. Yessiree. For those of you new to my adventures, or those of you who have forgotten this is one of the hottest guys that I’ve made laugh in years. Like smokin’. And if he only loves me for my funny? What the hell, it’s more than nothin’, ain’t it?
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
My Perfect Man Wish List. Part I
So the men referenced here, by in large, are referenced by nickname so as to afford them all a modicum of privacy. In case you are asking. Don’t. If you don’t know who I am referring to, then you don’t’ get to know. Deal with it. They are also not in anyway listed in chronological order, nor in order of IMPORTANCE, though of course since they all appear on my list they are, always and ever, cherished.
Skyhammer.
From my acquaintance with Skyhammer, my Perfect Man needs to have that world-class, take-my-breath-away intelligence. In short, he needs to know lots of stuff I don’t. Good luck with that mere mortal boys.
He also needs Skyhammer’s sense of silly. A man who can giggle without then turning around and leaping on the table in the presence of a mouse? That is valuable indeed ladies.
Someone who would be happy to eat cinnamon toast and tea every morning for a week, simply because you announced that it was “cinnamon toast and tea” week.
The way he makes me feel brilliant. Because he IS brilliant when he gets a very considered look and says to me “You’re brilliant” – I actually believe him. Makes me feel cinnamon toasty.
Gosh, so many great men to get to, but I’m not done with Skyhammer. He can Tango. Never seen him Tango. Never Tangoed with me, but when he describes his love of Tango – I believe him.
Last and not in anyway least – he knows the pointy end of the sword from the edge, and the tang and the hilt and pommel and the cross guard and the fuller and the grip and the scabbard. Not to mention his understanding of the bow and the arrow and the shaft and fletching and nock and draw and nevermind – you get my point. If there is a Dragon around this is one guy I would like to be around to slay him for me.
The Cossacks
There are two. Who have never met each other by the way. One an old friend, one of new acquaintance. Big. Blond. Tall. Light of eye and quick of laugh.
Strangely the thing they have in common was they look surprised to see me and always seem to be surprised at how happy they are to see me. Does that make any sense? I like their sense of confidence in their bodies. Tall, strong and fit and they know it. And they know what to do with it. Comfortable in their own skins in a way few men of my acquaintance are. At the same time, no real sense of arrogance over their beauty or physical prowess. They don’t poster, because they don’t need to, they just are. Their ability to be in the moment.
The Runner
Not that he was technically my first kiss, but he was actually my first French kiss. Side by side on a schoolyard swing set, on a cold fall night. What we need from him is the taste of raspberries. He tasted of raspberries. And I kissed him longer and more diligently than perhaps anyone since – that is one of those glorious things about teenage necking sessions, isn’t it? You kiss for hours and days and months. Be honest, making out has never really been as much fun since, has it? Kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. He always tasted of raspberries. Day after day, regardless of food and drink, he tasted of raspberries. I wonder if he still does?
Skyhammer.
From my acquaintance with Skyhammer, my Perfect Man needs to have that world-class, take-my-breath-away intelligence. In short, he needs to know lots of stuff I don’t. Good luck with that mere mortal boys.
He also needs Skyhammer’s sense of silly. A man who can giggle without then turning around and leaping on the table in the presence of a mouse? That is valuable indeed ladies.
Someone who would be happy to eat cinnamon toast and tea every morning for a week, simply because you announced that it was “cinnamon toast and tea” week.
The way he makes me feel brilliant. Because he IS brilliant when he gets a very considered look and says to me “You’re brilliant” – I actually believe him. Makes me feel cinnamon toasty.
Gosh, so many great men to get to, but I’m not done with Skyhammer. He can Tango. Never seen him Tango. Never Tangoed with me, but when he describes his love of Tango – I believe him.
Last and not in anyway least – he knows the pointy end of the sword from the edge, and the tang and the hilt and pommel and the cross guard and the fuller and the grip and the scabbard. Not to mention his understanding of the bow and the arrow and the shaft and fletching and nock and draw and nevermind – you get my point. If there is a Dragon around this is one guy I would like to be around to slay him for me.
The Cossacks
There are two. Who have never met each other by the way. One an old friend, one of new acquaintance. Big. Blond. Tall. Light of eye and quick of laugh.
Strangely the thing they have in common was they look surprised to see me and always seem to be surprised at how happy they are to see me. Does that make any sense? I like their sense of confidence in their bodies. Tall, strong and fit and they know it. And they know what to do with it. Comfortable in their own skins in a way few men of my acquaintance are. At the same time, no real sense of arrogance over their beauty or physical prowess. They don’t poster, because they don’t need to, they just are. Their ability to be in the moment.
The Runner
Not that he was technically my first kiss, but he was actually my first French kiss. Side by side on a schoolyard swing set, on a cold fall night. What we need from him is the taste of raspberries. He tasted of raspberries. And I kissed him longer and more diligently than perhaps anyone since – that is one of those glorious things about teenage necking sessions, isn’t it? You kiss for hours and days and months. Be honest, making out has never really been as much fun since, has it? Kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. He always tasted of raspberries. Day after day, regardless of food and drink, he tasted of raspberries. I wonder if he still does?
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