My Perfect Man Part III The Hoosie List Part I

He must laugh at my jokes.
More than that he must motivate me to tell even greater jokes.

Hoosie laughs at all my jokes and I do mean alllllll my jokes. He can deal with me all me for 7.5 hours and still be laughing at my jokes. I amuse him. And he is so continually surprised and delighted by my hyperbole that watching his reaction to my most outrageous of comments is a singular pleasure that I suspect will never be repeated. I relish it, I crave it. It is a new addiction with no calories and only side effects of sore cheek muscles from smiling and sore abs from laughing.

There will be more from Hoosie, but right now I must attend to things like eating and showering and playing guitar. Not however all at the same time.

Am I really going to sleep late EVERY day?

Apparently the answer to that is “yes”. Eleven hours of mostly unconsciousness. With, I think three bathroom trips and a glass of milk, but can’t be sure. Shocking, I guess I needed it. Been thinking soooo many thoughts. Funny though you would think I would have written more of them down. Problem now is that I can’t decide what to write this blog about since I have too many potential hilarious topics lined up in the queue. Not really a queue exactly, more a mossy down spout clogged with leaves.

In a pretty good mood today after my Rip Van Winkling and so I should be, gonna be another perfect one with writing and reading and guitar and a friend and even some heavy housework with loud music (only time I ever crank it).

Hmmm, maybe the topic should be sleep and its importance to a writer’s process. But then that will get me thinking about naps and I haven’t even had one cup of coffee yet, let along breakfast and it is almost noon.

I am also relaxed and happy cause I got a nice email from Hoosie giving me absolution for not getting the feature treatment of the rom com to him yet. I am working on it and it is going well, just never ever goes as fast as you think it will. Unlike blog writing which, while it may offer up reportage of real events, is usually just a scene or two stitched together with the prose of the writer’s internal monologue. Screenwriting demands a different approach since you are both making stuff up and building a structure an listening to the characters and trying to ensure that where you are going is properly built on where you’ve been so you don’t lose anyone especially yourself. So that is my excuse for why fifteen minutes of blog writing produces, well this, and fifteen minutes of screen writing can some time produce no more than, “Elliot: Good morning. Ernesto: It’s not morning. Elliot: Well it is still a beautiful day. Ernesto: That is a matter of opinion.”

Now this is me realizing that I’ve broken the cardinal rule of character naming by having two guys with names that start with E, a rule that should only be broken for a comic reason for which currently I have none. So Ernesto needs a new name. Jorge? Orlando? Giancarlo? Nestor? Luigi? Luigi? Really you think? Hmmm.

I think I'm wearing Hoosie's Socks

It's not really as much of a creepy stalker thing as it sounds, but I'll get to that in a minute. First we have to get through the speaking of the dream.

If you've been following the current events in my head, you'll know that I spent some time last evening ruminating on the qualities of my Perfect Man. Cause it's research don't you know. The co-protagonist of the rom-com that I'm writing is on the hunt for her perfect guy. I've decided though, that a straight up check list of qualities is too dull. If I am concocting my own virtual Frankenstein's Love Monster, I need to be much more engaged in the process than just getting down 1) sense of humour 2) kind eyes, etc. Thus a bunch of guys from my past and present will form the big amorphous lump of qualities from which I will select specific items that appeal and apply. For the record, these are not just past boyfriends, these are just guys I know that have something about them that I like. And if you don't spot yourself on the list, you are quite welcome to remind me why you should be included. I like white roses, Veve Cliquot and diamonds of pretty much any kind. And hand massages - did I mention that before? Between the writing and guitar playing, I need a good hand massage from time to time.

After posting my first batch of qualities I was about to move on to Hoosie's list, but since his listing will be a long one, for many reasons, not the least of which is that I'm writing this bloody script for him so he is in my head a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean almost a creepy a lot so maybe I'm entitled to the damn socks people. Anyhoo, I digress. I decide to wait until tonight to launch into the Hoosie list as it will be a key part of the character development of Elliot, who is meant to be portrayed on screen by the aforementioned Hoosie. Thus I decide to play a bit of guitar and go to bed. Which I did. As I was drifting off, still sorting thru the boys in my head - realizing that most, though not all would be from the My Boys list, who are a select and secret group of guys for whom I would do a Favour - but that is for another post. And so while thinking these thoughts the great ocean that is sleep rises up and gently carries me away.

The dream starts as one of those weird office dreams that is every office you've every been in and yet none of them at the same time it was meant to be my current office at the university I think and I was supposed to be making a short ten minute film about our operations problem was everyone started running around and talking all at the same time about all the things that I absolutely must capture on film and a bunch of folks start roaring around with hand held video cameras and now the whole thing is a big giant Busby Berkley musical number with a big group of graduate students in robes doing an elaborate step dance number I'm chasing around shouting instructions to the very few co-workers I recognize take a left turn down the hall to the accounting offices only to discover that I've walked into an Office version of a Fellini orgy scene and when I tut and shake my head because these people are supposed to be helping me make a movie not getting each other off behind the assistant accountants filing cabinet one of them shocked and embarrassed by my scrutiny asks what I'm doing and i say what am i doing what are you guys doing if you are going to do that one of you should at least have a video camera so we can recoup some money out of this fiasco i shove a video camera into his hand and take off for the main bull pen area shouting instructions to the clueless production assistants trailing in my wake the dancing students have now broken into little gangs of break dancers and I shout for them all to get over by the big giant purple curtain which i pause to note is a very particular pascal purple used by the catholic church to cover statues and crucifixes during lent i can't remember why so the dancers scurry to form a kick line and i move into the kitchen which is much smaller and quieter but messy and we need to shoot in here so I put some hot water and soap in the sink to wash the stack of dirty mugs and my boyfriend is standing right beside me...

... calmly and happily asks what he can do to help and i say you could wash and then i put my hand in the water and it is hot and nice and eases the ache in my hand a bit definitely too much guitar and typing going on and then i say or dry and he says no he'll wash and i say you don't have to and he says no i want to and i say you do and he says yes and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into him a bit and kisses my forehead softly just above my left eyebrow and says sure it will give us a chance to spend some time together just breathing each other in then he does breathe in and hold me a moment steps back just enough for me to see his face his hands holding me loosely by the elbows he is about 6 foot one inch tall and his face is young and sweet and his long thick straight blond hair is a bit too long and hangs in his eyes and his body is lean and cut it recalls a cross between a skateboarder named rabbit i dated in my mid-twenties and Brad Pitt circa Thelma an Louise he smiles at me and deep dimples wink and his eyes twinkle but his eyes are not blue they are dark dark green like forest pools almost black around the edges and the color of new growth and sunlight near the pupils he smells of ocean and fresh sweat and grass hot in the sun and he smiles at me and i say good answer and he kisses me and tastes of berries and the kiss deepens and the alarm goes off.

So I get up and write this. Now I have to go to work. Sigh.

Why is finishing so hard?

Okay.
So I am in fact in bad, bad, bad mood.
For absolutely no reason I might add.
I had a great day. Work worked, laundry done, nap, guitar, waxing poetic about the perfect man.
But I do have to finish something. Why oh why oh why does this have to be like walking over glass every time? I don’t even want to try and finish. What I want is to have another drink and play Vampire Wars until Glee is on TV.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Because it isn’t what I really want. What I really want is to have this movie outline finished. But no, not the least of it. I want it to be finished in grand and pleasing fashion. However ya big schmoop, it can’t even be a bad outline if it ISN’T FINISHED!
Resistance. The knot of phlegm in my head that must be expelled each and every day in order to get writing done.
If you pray, please pray for me.
Cripes, now my glasses are dirty and I must arise and clean them. And get a glass of ice water. Heavy on the ice. And wash my face since I’ve been crying and it feels all sticky.
Then I have to resume the position, tell my self again that writing is joyful, god damn it. And finish.