Lost Angeles

Also...

2012-01-30T11:50:00.000-08:00

Someone's interested in adapting one of my stories into a movie.

But it's top-secret.

More details as they come...

"Quiet City" in Copper Nickel

2012-01-30T11:46:00.000-08:00

My short story "Quiet City" is in the new issue of Copper Nickel.

It's a beautiful journal!

2012-01-19T14:48:00.000-08:00

Here we go.

u and v. They are very similar.

Okay.

We are eye candy, aren't we?
You don't have to be.

The auto shop guys always say hi to me. I don't like it. I can't help but walk past the auto shop. There's no other way to get to my office. No other way. I can't tell if they are just being cheerful and happy and nice or if they want something from me. Isn't that sad? That when someone is nice I wonder what they want? Plus, I'm not a morning person. Knowing someone is going to say hi to me at a certain moment of time early in the morning weirdly stresses me out. I haven't had my coffee yet. I haven't really eaten.

Today at Starbucks I reached for the cup sleeve at the same time another woman did, and she retracted her hand, all bashful like. "I haven't had my coffee yet," she said. As if that explained everything, and it did. I understood. We stared at the cup sleeves for a bit and then I let her grab one and then I grabbed one and we both wished each other a glorious, wonderful, fan-fucking-tastic day, except no one said any of those worlds, more like a slight smile, "have a good one," and then we were off.

Okay. So, I guess what it comes down to is I can't be happy. No matter if someone says hello or doesn't say hello I wonder about the why/what/when/where's of it all.

I don't write the truth in this thing, not anymore. There are too many people who I know that read it, so it makes me write just the sort of truth, or not my deep dark secrets, because they can put a face to the name. Because they know. Me.

I will try harder next time. In the future.

Fuck.

I've said this before, but I don't understand flirting. What is it? How is it made? What does it consist of? I am nice to everyone just because I like human beings I guess, but then when I'm nice to guys, some guys, they think it's because I like them back. Like 'like, like' them. And the truth is I'm quite happy with Mr. Matt, so no - although I do, I do like everyone. I'm pretty easy peasy. But see, it always comes out - awkwardly, because I am awkward - that I have a boyfriend, and I hate how these random guys that I don't even know that well (so why does it even matter?) I hate how they will then look at me as if I have tricked them. As if I've seduced them or done it on purpose, when really, what's the alternative? To not talk to anyone ever on the off chance they'll like what they see? And what if you are just naturally kind and talkative and friendly towards others? What then?

Anyway, the whole thing. Life. Very confusing. I have a lot of guilt. I blame my Catholic upbringing. Which is another pitfall of being raised Catholic. Blaming others.

Kidding.

Though I think it all comes down to the fact that everyone likes to place the blame on someone else, and no one wants to accept responsibility.

Really.

I'm such a middle-class defeatist.

Okay. So.

I'm turning older this Saturday. Not that we're not always turning older. Since I'm not really in the festive spirit, I've decided to invite just a few people. Also. Also. We can just do what we can do. It will be low key. We will go somewhere. Then we will eat. Then we will drink. There will be music, or maybe there won't.

I'm actually taking off from work next Friday. It will be a relaxing day of relaxingness. Maybe I'll get my hair cut. Right now it sort of resembles a rat's nest. Last year I went to a curly hair specialist and she said combs are bad for curly hair, only finger combing is recommended. So, naturally, I went whooo hoooo! And threw my comb in the toilet. (Where it clogged up the drain.) Kidding. I would never throw things intentionally in the toilet bowl. They just end up there somehow. Lord knows.

On our way back from Which Wich there was another condom on the ground. Really? This time by the doggie daycare. You people are crazy. Silly kids. Who do you think you are?

Okay. So. I kind of don't get The United States of Tara. Is that a real thing? DID. I guess it is. Whoa.

Thank God for Wikipedia. I knew it was before that though.

I don't want the internet to go away. I'd be so sad.

So very, very sad.

Oh!

2012-01-18T14:01:00.000-08:00

I almost forgot the most important thing though, which is that today we moved one step closer towards working on a project that I am truly and absolutely passionate about at work. If all of these projects hit then I will be one happy girl - one is about an LA phone psychic's tale of life and love, the other is about a holiday home invasion, and the last is a classic low-budget horror tale which I know could be made really inexpensively and come out amazingly creepy.

Also, my good friend Jackie is reading my Snowman Killer book (mwa ha ha), and even if she hates it, the feedback should help me with revisions, which is bringing me one step closer to completing the project.

So, you know, I will just deal with having the plague for today.

Because this weekend is my birthday, and I'm planning trips to Hawaii and Mexico, and there's just a lot out there to see, you know?

So this is me. Signing off. So I can see it.

2012-01-18T13:55:00.000-08:00

So, my company doesn't have sick days (well, they give us some personal days and say that they are sick days, too - yippee for sharing?). What this basically means then is that even if I have the plague I come to work and cough plague juice on my computer and pens and post-its, because there is no way in heck I'm giving up my precious vacation time to spend it curled up in bed watching bad instant netflix TV and feeling miserable.

I don't know if it's a LA office thing, or if it's a wide-world company thing. The other health insurance and what not seems pretty decent. It's just the sick time.

Anyway, so I'm getting sick. I can feel it in my bones. And though my commute on a healthy day is just 'meh,' on a sick day it is pretty unbearable. Still, I am braving the commute so I can spread my sickness to others.

You're welcome.

2012-01-13T14:36:00.001-08:00

Neat Bar was a success. Quite fun and laid back and there was a Patty Wagon truck outside. Patty Wagon rosemary and garlic fries may be the best fries I've ever had. Well, they were unique anyway.

This weekend I'm going to the beach to hang out with a friend that I really should see more of but I am also in my cocoon of no driving long distances so usually I stay in the neighborhood. Which I know is totally lame.

A new brewery is opening its patio this weekend. Officially. Golden Road. We may go there on Sunday night, though who knows, it may be packed. Probably. Why wouldn't it be?

I'm still eating deli meats.

Today is Friday the 13th, but I remain foolishly optimistic that good things are on the horizon. My horoscope says so too. Though who knows what to believe. Whether it's true or not, I like hearing about the alignment of the planets and how close or far away we are to different gravitational fields, forces, and foolery. The universe, man. Have you ever just thought about it? We're just this little speck - a little speck of nothing. I mean, who knows what's out there? No one. No one knows.

WHAT THE HELL WE ARE SO INSIGNIFICANT OH MY LORD.

Okay, deep breathe.

Reel it in, Eva. Reel it in.

Still...

Crazy.

What I'm Excited About This Morning.

2012-01-11T14:05:00.000-08:00

I've got it down now. I hope. Waking up at 5:30, going to pilates or the gym or yoga and then getting ready for work, going to work, writing on my break, writing at night. Wake up. Repeat. Wake up. Repeat.

Karen said, she said, well, they didn't take any care to get rid of the widows, and then I looked at the book in a new light. She was right, of course. Always. But they don't tell you that. Don't tell you how to fix widows, no one had a widow release party. Or gives you a second chance with font or spacing. It was just wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. It's just, here, here, finish, finish it will you?

This is all my fault.

I'm okay with it though. It's not over yet. None of this is.

Today, secretly, no, I asked. I had a piece of pizza left in the fridge. It was from Dan. It was from my co-worker, he stayed late and then had pizza and there were some leftover slices and I ate one cold, the pepperoni fat congealing on the slice. It wasn't even ten in the morning.

My mom said not to eat nitrates, so deli meats are out. I thought about it, sometimes, always, I was making sandwiches for lunch. Tofurkey and provolone, then genoa salami.

I think the salami gives me heart burn, not sure.

I've signed up for a class at UCLA, it starts the last week in January. We get a reimbursement through work, so I figure I should take advantage of it, don't you? Don't you now? Yes.

Rewriting. Getting better. Need to put things away for awhile. Always have a desire to work on new stuff, new uncomplicated stuff. But I guess that doesn't make it exciting, does it?

Today when I was walking to work there was a used condom on the ground, swirling on the sidewalk, stuck. Sticky. Well, I didn't pick it up, don't worry about it. Okay?

I need more tea. I've been eating poorly. I just had some stupid caramel chocolate from a stupid chocolate box.

My friend ditched me last night, but I made a bet that she would and got fifty bucks for it. I actually don't mind actually, because last night was really fun, and money, that's always fun too. Good to see old friends.

Always.

Old and new.

I've been obsessed with boots lately. I feel like if I buy one more pair I'll be happy, but then I do and I say, you know what would make this even better? Another pair of boots.

When did I turn into such a girl? A different shoe for a different mood. But no, not shoes, just boots.

Glorious, glorious buggaboots.

2012-01-10T18:27:00.000-08:00

As you can see one of my New Year's resolutions is to write in this damn thing, as well as capture a little detail of the day and put it down on paper.

Today's detail, or instance, or whatever: When walking back to the office after a routine Pinkberry stop a girl was giving a guy a handjob in a car.

Lovely.

Though I guess they were being discrete about it, I mean, there were no signs that said: "Get your handjobs here!" or anything.

Ew.

That is all.

No, wait.

Is hand job one word or two words (handjob). The job of a hand? Your hand has a job!

You know what I hate? That little red line underlining everything. The little red line likes hand jobs as two words but despises handjobs as one word. Also, Pinkberry. Apparently berries that are pink are made up and not real and need to be singled out as flights of fancy.

I'm sure when I hit 'post' none of this will make any sense because those little red lines disappear. No, it's only when composing. Damn you, little red lines. Damn...you.

Oh...never mind.

I'm super excited because two (or three?) projects that I am crushing on hard may actually go into development at my company and some other places. Fingers crossed. Positive vibes through the universe.

Anyway, it's after six. I'm out of here.

2012-01-09T14:52:00.001-08:00

I'm a little addicted to coffee this monday morning. It can not be helped. By the end of the day I should have two strong cups of Joe and then a small latte. Let's hope I actually fall asleep tonight.

Decided to have a house party (maybe, no, let's do it!) at the end of the month. This is what I think about on Monday mornings. Also thinking of going away to Catalina for a night. Oh, we'll see.

I signed up to be friends with this Greek dude who kept posting in perfect Greek. I thought, a ha! I shall learn Greek now! Then I discovered it's like a Jesus friend. You know, like, the profile pic is of God and all.

Whatever. That's okay. I think the bible's a beautiful work of fiction so I'd love to learn more about reading and understanding Greek from it.

Huzzah! Happy day!

But you know what would make this day even better?

If it was over.

etchings

2012-01-08T22:33:00.000-08:00

Perfect life in LA, which I manage to do on Saturdays and Sundays. Hiking. Pilates. Writing. Going to the movies. Reading a good book. Beach. Occasionally. But I'll take the mountains too. Sitting out on a patio somewhere and drinking something nice and cool. Refreshing.

Spring Street Bar, you are quite nice. I like your Holiday Ale. I like your little outdoor seating area. Spring Street Bar, hipsters like you too. Also, people with dogs. They tie up the dogs outside and as the little ones whimper, their owners run in and grab some beer, a sandwich. Sometimes Greek is ridiculous. Do you know how to say sandwich in Greek? It's really hard. Using the English alphabet, it's santouits. So, basically, just sandwich, only with a sexy Greek accent.

Well, if you think Greek accents are sexy.

I'm really getting into being Greek these last few weeks. We went to the Getty Villa, which is basically my perfect place because it's filled with art from both of my family trees. We've got the Romans in some rooms, the Greeks in the others. Lots of fountains and statues with crazy white eyes (why do they look like they're watching me). Oh, and it overlooks the fabulous Pacific Ocean. Yup, me and my ancestors, we're pretty tight. Classy civilizations all around. Sure, they may be taking down the EU, but it ain't their faults. They're just into love and lovemaking and being loved and loving others and who needs to work when you've got love, you know?

Or not.

My mom just found a record of my grandmother arriving at Ellis Island on February 1, 1909. Carmela Persiani, pleased to meet you. You were only 16 when you sailed the ocean blue from Varci, Lombardia. Genoa was your port of departure. I never knew you. Did I? No. Impossible. You'd be pretty old now, I guess. And people didn't live long when you came into the world. Not long at all. I want to go to the old boarding house that is now West 4th street. I want to go there and think about all the people that passed through and just be a weird stranger standing on the road staring up at an overpriced building.

It seems so crazy. Money. Like, every two weeks I get a paycheck, and every two weeks the numbers in my bank account twitch upwards, and then they drop again, and it just seems, you know, how easy would it be to just magically add a bunch more zeroes, they're just numbers after all. And then, you know, I could do whatever I wanted, with all those magical zeroes, because no one would have to know it all meant nothing, they were zeroes made of air, etchings in the snow, a simple flick of the wrist, nothing more.

2012-01-07T10:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday came and went. I have dreams sometimes, of monsters and wicked children and McDreamy and people I don't know and people I do know and the fog outside, it just rolls in thicker, thickest, like we're at the ocean. There's nothing left. Nothing really.

I like M83. Matt doesn't so he didn't tell me about this song and this one where have I been all my life? He says they're too hipster, that everyone loves them and they're not all that. But I think they're perfect for zoning out on. So. Whatever. Truth be told, I don't really catch up on bands so maybe I heard them before and didn't know it. Oh, well. One band will not define me.

I don't like when people scream at me, I shut off. It doesn't bode well with my mission to create harmonious situations in life. I do not like conflict. I do not like being yelled at. In fact, if you yell at me I will probably shut off until you've lowered your voice.

I find alcohol often causes people to scream. I find it just doesn't make sense, not really. But I guess life doesn't make sense. So... there's that.

I was so ambitious this weekend, but I've already missed zumba. Who needs it! Probably me. I like the feisty little instructor at the gym, but really the class is mostly populated by cute older ladies and then last time there were these early 20 something girls, as well. Too bad no one can really see into the class - my spastic movements are quite amazing. God help me.

Maybe when I come back, maybe I'll go to the gym then. Or a hike, the sun just came out. Today is someone's birthday. Someone special (duh - everyone's special on their birthday, don't you know?). I hope I can force myself to get out of the house, to go celebrate. I need to get out more, but I like my little neighborhood. My little cocoon.

So, this morning I got my coffee at Proof Bakery, which is like a stone throw's away from my house, and I wanted to wear my BF's Ireland sweatshirt because it may just be the most comfortable sweatshirt on the planet, but I actually changed (FUCK) because I knew it would be populated by the hippest of hipsters, and these hipsters would be wearing the most stylishly unstylishly ironic clothes. So I changed into a sweatshirt that actually fit me. So I put on some pants and flip flops. Wasn't wearing any underwear though - take that hippie hipster hipster-dos (or is not wearing underwear a hipster thing to do?). Really though, I just looked like I woke up. I just looked like I woke up and rolled out of bed and stumbled to the nearest coffee shop for some drip. Which I did. Some sustenance. Some IV drip. I guess I still wasn't hip with my get-up, but I ran my fingers through my hair, like, once. And inside the coffee shop, wouldn't you know, there were hipsters there, even with hipster kids! Perfectly cute and rosy cheeks and ironically dressed in messy but elegant and rainbow colored clothes and little cute hipster boots that I actually wanted. Yes. I envied that little five year old girl's boots. Where did her mother get them? Did they come in grown up sizes? Did the little girl pick them out herself? "Mommy! I want those, those leather ones with the little flowers and crimson hue that make me look like an urban cowboy."

Sigh. Anyway. It was like walking into a catalogue. A catalogue of indifferent too-cool-for-school clothing. Yes. That you wear.

I stumbled back with my coffee and this delicious sesame pastry thing. Of course, of course it was delicious. I'd go there everyday if I could, though the coffee was a bit bitter. Honestly, I think Revo's a better deal. For the same price you get a cup of Joe that's three times as large. Not as bitter too.

But Proof. Proof, you keep me coming back. Why can't I quit you?

Oh, shoot. Greek class now. Instead of studying this morning, I wrote for two hours. Ha, ha. I am not very productive, though in my head, in my head I want to be.

I fear I have too many commitments that I impose on myself, too many go-here, go-there plans. I need to simplify. It's the new year after all. I need to make sense of the unsense.

UNSENSE. Is. Not. A. Word.

2012-01-06T11:34:00.000-08:00

Wow, I kind of want to read all of these books. I've read a bunch, but there are a lot I haven't. Which makes me so, so sad. Deep inside. Deep sadness.

Baby, I've got all of you. All of you now.

Reading BRAVE NEW WORLD now. I bet that's going to happen. People need some soma nowadays. I bet they'll get what they need/want/love/crave. Then we'll really be fucked.

Okay, this weekend I may be going to wine country? Maybe not. Looking forward to a new year. Possibly turning older, possibly not. I'll be a year older soon, less than three weeks, but that's what people do I suppose. They get older.

Traffic. A light was out on Olympic this morning, tacked on an extra 20 minutes on my commute. Was it necessary? No. They don't warn you about that on the google maps, though maybe they do. Maybe I just leave and it takes me so long to get there that life just shifts in the in between, and there we are.

I'm excited about friday. Excited about it all. Looking forward to love, life, justice. All that jazz. But it's all bullshit deep down, you know? Almost missed class this morning, wasted $25 last night getting take out from Indochine since Matt wasn't feeling good and I was trying to help. The Indochine was uneventful. I don't know how I feel about that place. Going there is one thing, but the take-out has always been a little simple, a little undesirable. I need to stop eating dinner during the week, or stop eating out. I need to pay off my damn credit card. Usually we go splitsies, Matt and I, but we also like going to nice places. Then splitsies is inevitable.

CHUGGA CHUGGA.

Fridays are the happiest days of the week, but you know what else is happy? Nothing days. 8th days. Apricot and giant monkey days.

Oh, whatever.

I'm feeling weird. The sun's out which makes me want to boogie. The sun's always out in this town, hence my constant desire to boogie.

And so it goes.

2012-01-05T12:42:00.000-08:00

Matt's sick. He shaved and he's sick and he was on the couch watching Top Gear all night. I tried to create a force field around my side of the bed so he wouldn't infect me. I've got too much to do! No sickness in these lungs, no.

I've been worried about him lately. I think he's seriously having a 30-something crisis. There are no jobs in LA and he's stuck. The only thing he really seems passionate about is scotch, wine, and planning out new recipes to make (don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about this, especially the last one).

I hope he figures out what he wants to do with his days. I hope he figures it out soon.

Honestly, I don't know what people do if they're not writing all the time. The hours are so long and lonely. Afternoons with nothing going on paralyze me. Though I always find something, in the end. I guess other people do too.

SOMETHING like, hmmm, like hiking. Food. Gym. TV. Conversation. Coffee. Bar. New neighborhoods. More hiking. Pilates. Dance classes. Dancing in my living room. People. Strangers. Pleasantries. FOOD. Books. Movies. Greek. Italian. Spanish. MUSIC. BF. LOVE. SEX. FOOD. Fruit. Um. Um. STUFF. Shopping? Staring longingly at the Anthropologie catalogue in which I want to buy every single piece of clothing they have, even the weird stuff. Supermarkets. Farmer's markets. Friends. People I don't see nearly enough.

Oh, the usual.

I've been watching THE HOUR. It's quite addicting. Got to love those British period-piece TV shows. Plus, I hear it's written by a woman.

Joy, I say. J O Y.

I don't mean to pry, but haven't I met you before?

2012-01-04T09:26:00.000-08:00

Everyday I walk past this gentlemen's club on my way to work. Parking is scarce in the building where I reside from 9-6, so my spot is actually down the street. I think the place is even called the gentlemen's club. It's nearby to a great wine store and a fancy wine bar, but then there's also automative shops up and down the street as well. Cat hospital and hotel, pet grooming center. My street's sort of a mixed bag.

When I walk by the strip club sometimes there'll be girls outside in robes or little booty shorts. They're always talking or laughing into their phones or congregating by the stone benches against the wall. In the morning, there are two older people, a man and a woman, that sometimes sit on the middle bench. Not that they ever say hi, and my attempts at smiling and saying good morning usually fall flat as they stare at me vacantly or whisper amongst themselves.

The valet guys are usually nice though, the shorter one is more friendly than the tall one, but that could be on me, as well. Why do I feel the urge to say good night and good morning to everyone I pass on the street. Is it just good manners? And why do I always think everything's my fault?

One time I bumped into one of the ladies as they got out of a black escalade and headed into the club. I didn't mean to, but she gave me a hard glare and just kept walking.

I'm sure those girls get pushed and pulled by guys all night long, but I'm not a guy. They could be a little kinder to the passerby on the street. Then again, maybe not. There's no law that says kindness to people you don't know is paramount. It's probably all in my head. As Matt would say, fret, fret, fret. But I don't think this is fretting, I think it's just thinking really, really hard about small moments of random human connection and trying to make sense of them. Because I just don't get it. Honestly. This whole connecting thing. I'm sure I don't even register on most people's days. Just a bloop and then nothing. I think sometimes we think we're more important than we really are to other people. Most of the time, everyone's just trying to get through the hours. We're all our own little cosmoses (is that a word?). The center of the universe. Our own little suns.

My friend started a blog and wrote that she has no one in LA to connect with. It totally frustrated me, because I'd like to be closer to her again, but for whatever reason I suck and she doesn't want to hang out with me. Oh well. You can't force someone to hang out with you. Doesn't work like that. Plus, I don't exactly make myself available with my quest to spend every waking moment building imaginary worlds.

In other news, my James Dean story won that ticket to Argentina, right? But see, my day job isn't the type of place to just let someone leave for two to three weeks because there's no one else to do the work so then it just piles up and piles up, and plus, there would be so much stuff to do when you get back life would suck. You'd need a vacation from your vacation. And plus, I think I need a steady job, because then I just worry about money and not having enough to pay the bills and I spend all my time applying to jobs on craigslist where my resume is just spiraling out into the abyss that is the internet and hours of the day, precious writing time, are wasted, because I never (hardly) hear back from any of the jobs and then it's like, did I just waste all those good hours? Yes. Yes, I did.

And then I get depressed.

And then I try to hatch schemes to make money and then it usually doesn't work and I think of all the nice food and dance classes I could buy if I had a little extra dinero and then it's just this vicious cycle of WTF.

So, instead, for the time being, I'm thinking smaller trips. Hawaii. Mexico. I'm thinking of saving up my monies. Or maybe staying in Los Angeles, exploring more of California and the Southwest. I'm totally where I need to be right now. I love California - sure, traffic sucks in LA, but there are ways around it.

In the meantime, creative projects! We're finding lots of great stories in the bookstore to develop. There's a horror novella that's really creepy and that could be made cheaply into a low-budget horror flick and a story about spies and the people that help them and an LA phone psychic's tale of life and love (which is really, really well written and soulful) and then a true story about a pot smuggler in the late 70s and many, many more. Looking forward to the rewrite on the home invasion holiday script, as well. Which should be happening soon. Hopefully when we get more help I can focus a litte more (or a lot more) on the creative side.

But we'll see.

It's 2012. A new year. My resolutions mostly stem from writing and living and building something new, something I'm proud of.

I'm excited to see what the days will bring, even if it's the end of the world.

2012-01-03T10:09:00.000-08:00

So, yeah.

As a late christmas present, Matt took me to Victoria's Secret because honestly, I wanted some panties and I don't like shopping for panties so I thought it would be a good chance to get my panty shopping good and done with for the beginning of the year. You'd think walking in Victoria's Secret with your boyfriend to buy panties would be sexy, right? Like maybe sexy girls in pinstripe suits and angel wings sashay around the panty display, try this one, or this one, or this one!

Nah.

Apparently, we stumbled into the Secret of Victoria on the day of their semi-annual sale. Don't get me wrong, it's a good deal, knocking down a $13.00 panty that I saw just last week to $3.99 is pretty sweet. But what wasn't sweet was the feeding frenzy going on around each of the bins. When we first walked up to the store, I noticed the pink SALE sign, and thought, what luck! Today's my special day! Except then I saw the throngs of women, the men playing with their phones outside the store, hovering, and the old sumo-wrestler ladies, dear God, five of them must have elbowed me out of the way while reaching for leopard print thongs (I mean, really? I'm seeing the visual now. Ahhhhh, make it stop).

Mr. Matt had video feed of some football game on his phone and went outside to escape the madness. I collected my bounty and called him back in and then we waited on the longest mother f'n line in the history of mankind. (Seriously, people should not be allowed to open credit cards when there is a panty feast/orgy in the aisles of Victoria's Secret. It just causes more mayhem and confusion.)

Anyway, all the rainbow colored panties were wrapped in crimson tissue paper and I was handed a pink bag with VICTORIA'S SECRET SALE on both sides (just in case anyone you walk by in the next twenty minutes or hour or however long you're spending in the f'n mall has trouble reading where you've been).

I'm proud of my bounty, don't get me wrong, and the deals were good.

But Jesus f'n Christ, what a headache.

We recuperated by ordering enchiladas suizas and fajitas at a nearby Mexican Restaurant.

All in all, besides the panty madness, yesterday was a good day. I have enough panties now to construct my own makeshift panty tent. Screw paying rent, all I need is lace and frills and a spandex/cotton mix roof.

I got to go to pilates too. I'm getting a lil' six pack. Mwa ha ha. And then I went to Metro Fitness for a 10:30 yoga class with a wonderful teacher. The gym is improving, which is good.

The rest of the day was spent writing, I finished two outlines. Though they're quite long.

All in all, a most productive, panty filled day. Beautiful, sunny.

Paaaaaaaaaaaanties.

Over and out,
E

The Orphan Christmas

2011-12-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

We're planning an Orphan Christmas this Saturday, for the friends that can't go home. We're thinking tapas and a hike and maybe listening to some carols. Love, Actually may be watched. Oh, I sincerely hope so. And there's going to be festivities, maybe a Secret Santa. Spiced cider, a crockpot full. On December 26th, I have off from my day job, and I've always wanted to go to the Getty Villa, so I got tickets to check it out on my day off. It will be nice to see the ocean, to be over where the air is clear. Not that it isn't clean here, but you can always see that delicious smog when you're out of it, and I want none of that. None.

A story, did I mention this? Was a Finalist/Honorable Mention in a short story contest. It'll be in the Winter 2012 issue of Copper Nickel. I'll post a link when it becomes available.

I finished another draft of the ISK novel. It's young-adult-ish.

How boring. To talk about drafts being finished. It doesn't really mean anything, does it?

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Tiny Furniture is now on netflix. I got through half of it last night, and then fell asleep. Not to say it was boring. I plan on watching the other half tonight. Tomorrow.

Soon.

Other than that, traffic is a breeze the days before Christmas. Los Angeles is dead. Only thirty minutes today. In the morning, that doesn't happen. Not at eight anyway. Not usually.

"The Enchanted City"

2011-12-21T19:16:00.001-08:00

My story "The Enchanted City" is in the Fall 2011 issue of FLASHQUAKE.

Take a look, if you so desire.

What You Missed

2011-12-21T19:08:00.000-08:00

I'm talking about two entirely separate things.

I need more sleep. Always. Went to bed around 11, woke up around 4:45, then I couldn't really go back to sleep, but I had a very vivid dream about being in the zombie apocalypse. We had found safe haven at a friend's penthouse in NYC. Though I knew we were friends in the dream, in real life I had no idea who he was. The penthouse was stocked with food. We waited for the government to come in, rescue us, but it soon became clear that no one was coming. The sun rose and set and rose and set. We tried not to make any noise. There was a pool there, in the middle of the room. Reflecting windows. Someone turned on all the lights, and I kept telling them, I kept saying, no, no, no, they'll see us, what are you doing? And I woke up with that sort of panic, the lights, the lights. Checking my phone, it was 4:48, not even five, I was relieved I had an hour, forty-five minutes at the most (let's be honest). But then I couldn't fall back to sleep. I went to the gym severely wishing I was still in bed.

Honestly, I feel the most rested and prepared when I've had eight hours of sleep, but with my current schedule that's next to impossible.

I'm okay with that. For now.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me.

You, you, you.

Matt thinks you shouldn't buy a house unless it costs no more than than 3x your income. At this rate, the only place I can buy a house is looking to be the desert. Las Vegas maybe. Perhaps a cardboard box under the bridge.

I never really wanted a house. I mean, if you have a house, that means you have to fix it. It's yours, forever and ever, or until death do us part.

Earlier this week:

The house smells like stale beer, wheat. The floor is sticky by the thermastat. Matt's curled up in bed still, so I tickle his ear so he wakes up. I write him a post-it and leave it on his computer. What it says though, what it says.

The people next door asked me what I do.

I would like to protest the question of "What do you do?"

Any takers?

During the day I'm addicted to checking my email. It cannot be stopped. I've signed up for so many bullshit emails, a genuine one's hard to come by.

But when it does come, when it comes I feel light and fuzzy inside. A poem I wrote is being published. More details soon. Maybe. A few months or more.

Work is more and more creative. Happier about that.

Looking forward to the holidays. We have plans to watch LOVE, ACTUALLY at our orphan xmas. A xmas hike. Tapas. Spiced cider. Maybe midnight mass the night before. Not for the boys though. Probably not.

2011-12-08T04:09:00.000-08:00

Oh, it gives me unspeakable joy. What of it?

Almost 4AM and I haven't tasted blood in my mouth for awhile, but I really have no desire to roll over on my jaw, which is a little bruised. So far, so good though. Matt's sleeping soundly beside me. I was up reading this kick-ass book about pot smuggling before and then I watched 127 hours and although I thought I couldn't watch the scene where he cuts his own arm off, Danny Boyle did it in such a way that was almost okay. I'm also on lots of vicodin and ibuprofen. Yesterday I consisted on pomegranate pinkberry, and today, while one side of my face is more swollen than the other, as far as I can tell, I think it's going okay. Good, even. So far.

Okay. So, also. It's 4AM, and I always tell myself that I'm going to wake up at 4am and write, but doing so just seems a little too early. 5AM sure, but 4AM, it's like four hours from midnight, which I go to bed around there, a little before. I have a hard time pulling that off, sometimes it works, but I found in the five am area. That's the ballpark time.

I wish it could be a little later. Or I could wake up at five or six, do what I do, then go to the gym and knock that out a few hours later, then do what I do, then go hiking and eat lunch to break up the day, then do what I do, come back. Other stuff. Go outside. Smell the roses. Run errands around six. Come back do what I do. Perfect fucking day.

Or not, there are lots of ways to have a perfect day. I don't need much.

Matt's sleeping so soundly next to me. My eyes are dry, but I don't want to get up and put drops in them, seems like a daunting task. Where could they be? By the christmas tree?

Yes.

Stompy stomps was by earlier today (who is just this nice girl that stomps a lot next door - sometimes stays there). Occasionally, I'll catch myself stomping too. It seems like our house is hollow underneath our feet. Funny, these workers came by and actually pushed the house up to where it should be sitting on the foundation, but in doing so they just literally pushed the house up from below, so the wallpaper in many spots is sagged now, and the front door wedges, doesn't close properly. You can see where the wall paper, the bindings are strained. It's actually funny. I knew the house was slanted, I just had no idea how much!

Actually, it's not that bad, but seriously. That's one way to fix a foundation.

I came up with a new idea for a TV series, outlining the pilot now. I like TV, I like the structure of it. Even though I know it's all structure.

More later. Yes. Always more.

2011-12-03T16:46:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure I know you, but I think I do.

The streetlight at the end of the street has been out, was out, for two days. I wasn't sure how to handle it, if I could. Traffic over the bridge would stall all the way to the other side. The first time I was stuck in it, the second time I pushed that little baby blinker down and inched to the other lane, driving down the freeway, out and around again.

I've somehow found a way to make my weekends quite packed, when really, sometimes, maybe, I want to spend it home, figuring stuff out, trying to make sense of it all.

I like coming home to Mr. Matt, he puts up with my shenanigans. My goofiness. I'm pretty damn goofy, I don't know how that happened, maybe I always was.

I've decided to take the bus to the wine tasting tonight. Matt's going to meet up with his OSU clan in Hollywood beforehand and we're going to meet there. It's a silly wine tasting really. Looking forward to it.

Looking forward. Best. Sincerely. Cheers. Take care. The things we say to get through the day.

Buses are funny in LA. You never know who you're going to be sitting next to.

I hope that doesn't jinx me tonight.

Generally though, I miss public transportation and actually prefer it. I loved riding the T and the subway in Boston and New York. I love walking -- it makes me feel strong. And like I'm going on an adventure whenever I step out the door. I'm connected.

What I'm writing now, this is just filler.

I can't stop eating pumpkin pie! It's in the fridge now. Matt made it from scratch from these real pumpkins that he gutted.

Crazy pumpkin killer. That's what he is.

2011-12-01T15:54:00.000-08:00

I had this dream last night. We were on a cruise, but it was in the middle of New York City, but an Inception-style NYC, and you could leave or come - from city to cruise. The streets were moving like waves, made me seasick. Strange, how cities are different in my mind. I build them and sometimes they're monstrous and sometimes they're beautiful.

Sometimes I miss the mess that is New York. But I'd have to start completely over there. I distract easily. Lose my way. But the ferry, no, cruise, we were thinking of a place to eat, and all the people from Thanksgiving were there. Mitchell and Maddie and some other baby (was it spybaby?). And Jimmy Fallon was there, and he was cracking jokes (though he wasn't at Thanksgiving, just in my head). We were sitting at a banquet hall and there was talk we'd have to go soon, but I wasn't sure where. I was sitting next to Jimmy Fallon. He just appeared. Just like that. Was it because of that youtube clip I watched?

I don't know. I wonder how many talk show hosts have been in people's dreams. I'm sure a lot.

And then I was searching for something. Walking through this Barnes&Nobles, which in my mind is eight stories high, a skyscraper of books, corporate. Only didn't Barnes&Nobles close? And there's always this great hall full of books, dinosaur bones, a study of some kind that I'm stumbling into, always sunset.

Last night the power went out seven or eight times. We were watching a movie, Captain America, a super hero something, and the house blinked off and then on. One minute later it blinked off again. This time for longer. We could hear electricity popping and crackling from outside. The hairs on Matt's arms lifted. He showed me, and I thought about how just last week I had shaved all the hair off my body, just to see, and how now even if there was electricity coursing through me, I wouldn't have those little markers, because I wanted to be furless. A split second decision.

So there was electricity coursing through us, and it was all because of the wind. The palm trees swaying, branches crashing down on the street, satellite dishes falling off roofs, and the wind, so strong I felt the windows would cave in. I don't remember, didn't remember anything like it. The fan, the computer, the light from the garage, they turned on and off throughout the night, that white noise.

I wonder if tonight will be the same.

I've been consisting on pumpkin pie for so long. That and sausage balls. (Which, you know, are balls of sausage.) Oh, holidays. You slay me. Though if it's the end of the world might as well eat.

2011-11-30T14:41:00.000-08:00

We are a good team.

I made salami and cheese for lunch, but last night I dropped the salami and cheese on the floor, splat. I stared at it dumbfounded. Did I just do that? Yup. So I picked it up and showed the salami and cheese slices to Matt. Did you see what I just did? I said. Because it didn't happen if he didn't see. What did you do? he said. He was playing halo. No, reading the news. His economy blogs about how we're all going to die. I explained myself, what had happened, the cruelty of life, and then I asked if I should throw these meat slabs out, you know, since the floor had tainted them. Just wash them off, he said. Ever the wise one. I revert to a zombie after work, that drive.

And even now. Just got into the parking garage at 8:50 and left the house at 7:40. New York commutes are hard, don't get me wrong, but at least there you can sit on a bus or a train and read or write or do something. Not at all as draining as driving, especially in rush hour LA where homeless men jump in front of your car and bikers swerve into your lanes and crazy ladies are kissing their men and not watching the road. A lady pulled out today filing her nails - she just pulled her monstrous tank of a car out in front of me. Is that necessary? No. But she thought a non-commital wave would do. Thanks for letting me go. Tee hee.

So, I washed the salami and cheese off, inspecting the surface for dirt or tiny bits of hair or bug juice or anything else that would make me not want to ingest such slices (yeah, I know there's probably bugs and dirt mixed into salami and cheese when they make it, but at least you can't see it).

So, now the salami and cheese sandwich is in my book bag. Am I going to eat it? I don't know. The question of the day. Will I taste our kitchen floor when I do?

I'll probably just buy a sandwich. I have a coupon I should use.

Subwaaaaaaaay...

Woof

2011-11-29T19:17:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, no, the day before - maybe last week - I was listening to this woof woof techno song by Dan Deacon and bopping my head to the woof, woof, woofs and I almost got hit by a car speeding out of a parking garage. He swerved in my lane and I swerved in the other lane. There was a whole lot of swerving. Then he just didn't care, the other car, black, dirty windows. Just kept driving.

Son of a bitch.

Still at work. Feel like I have a million things to do at this day job and a million things to do with my own life. Lots of loose ends. Very peculiar. Life, you know?

So, I think I'm having a hot flash and I'm not even thirty. WTF?

Or maybe there's just no AC on today and I'm used to being blistering hot. I've been having these really vivid dreams, I think that comes from getting a full eight hours of sleep. Got to love the holidays for that. Now that it's getting back to the same routine though I'll probably be getting the usual five or six, which means that strange emptiness when I close my eyes, that weird, cloudy space that I always float through.

Next week I'm getting my wisdom teeth out, and I don't know how I feel about it. I hear that sleep, the deep sleep when they're drilling your bones, that's a good kind of sleep. Restorative. Makes you feel wonky.

For the Culver Hotel writer's group we're reading SNUFF. Haven't read it yet. Heard good things, not so good things, not much of anything. So I'm excited to read and discuss.

The dark comes earlier nowadays. Five. Six. I want mac n' cheese. Maybe after my wisdom teeth are out, I can just consist on mac n' cheese and vanilla milkshakes for a few days. Gosh, wouldn't that be something? Golly gee. Sad I need the pain of four teeth being yanked out to feel justified that eating mac n' cheese and milkshakes all day is okay.

Who am I kidding though? That would get old after awhile. Or would it?

Sluuuurp.

I want to go to Catalina for Christmas. Or January.

We'll see what happens.

I'm thinking of having people over on January 22nd. That's my birthday and I was hoping to see some familiar faces. (Well, January 21st is, but you know, what's a day or two?) Everyone in my family are January babies, except for Gina, she's a turkey baby (born near Thanksgiving, hyuk hyuk hyuk).

I really want to see THE ARTIST, MELANCHOLIA, and THE DESCENDANTS. No one wants to see them with me though. Well, the two people I asked anyway. I may go alone. Or just ask more friends, see who's game. I'm tired of going to the movies with peeps who just complain about how bad the movie was the whole time. It sort of taints the experience, you understand?

I hope the cats are well. The cats in the cat hospital across the street.

I hope everyone gets what they want for Christmas.

Just got notes back on a script and I guess I have a shit load more work to do on it. Don't like that, don't like that at all. How that happens.

But it's part of the process. How it works. Revision.

I like making stories better. Eventually.

Got a new - well, found an Italian TJ wine. $4.99. Wasn't half-bad for $4.99. Italian countryside on the bottle. Of course.

Everyone's still at the office. No one ever leaves. I think my co-worker sleeps here sometimes.

Dum, dum, dum.

Nah, just kidding.

Squeeeee

2011-11-22T14:11:00.000-08:00

So, going to Arizona for turkey day. Which should be fun. Haven't been vomiting journal notes every day, but I've been steadily revising stories, which is good. On schedule. Sort of. Sometimes I'll write a little note somewhere, it'll just be a sentence. But it helps.

Man, how boring it is to talk vaguely about writing revisions to the internet abyss. I'm sure the three people that read this thing are riveted.

A few things have been happening:
-Work is getting a little more creative. Some good perks are happening. We'll see if anything concrete results.
-Oh wait, the above was another vague post. I'm good like that.
-I've been thinking a lot about my past. It's time to let go. Forever. Onward and keep looking ahead, because obviously everyone else is doing their own thing. Bye, bye NY memories. You're erased. Squeeee. <-the sound of memories erasing
-My commute still sucks. I've been leaving before 8AM and I still get to work at 9AM. That's...more than an hour in the car.
-Occasionally my commute doesn't suck though. That's why it's such a shit storm. The streets are unpredictable.
-I still really just want to work in a writer's room. There's a part of me that really wants that. Yeah.
-But I'd be happy writing at home too.
-That's the ideal. Because I have trouble talking to strangers.
-Everyone that applies for freelance coverage and treatment gigs has the same dream as me.
-Maybe slightly revised.
-This should daunt me, but I don't give a shit.
-It's been cold in LA. Like 48 degrees cold. In the morning, then it warms up.
-I'm going to see LIKE CRAZY tonight and hang out with an awesome friend.
-It's sad how much I look forward to seeing movies in theaters and hanging out with awesome friends.
-Wait, no, it's not. Movies and friends are AWESOME.
-I'm hungry. I need lunch.
-But what should I eat?
-Fuck if I know.

What's been happening in the last few months that I haven't been writing in this thing:
-I was eating sushi one night and the gay club next to the restaurant caught on fire. Seven fire trucks. Lots of firemen. And well-groomed men.
-I am still doing pilates. At least three times a week.
-I am also doing yoga now.
-Sometimes I do cardio. In the form of stairs, hiking, running.
-This sounds impressive, but actually I'm really slow.
-I have stopped drinking. I rarely do it. Just when I go out. And when I do, I drink like two glasses and then pass out into oblivion-sleepy-eva-head land.
-I am saving up my monies, so haven't been eating out as much, but I've been writing, hiking, dreaming, watching movies, dancing in my living room (that's free, yes!)
-My boyfriend has been cooking lots of pasta. He loves to improve in his cooking skills too. That's so weird.
-Sometimes in the morning when I'm sad I have to go to work and M gets to stay home, I jump on him so he wakes up too. And I don't think he hates me for it. Isn't that funny?
-I am really lucky.
-Yesterday a car almost cut in front of me and sliced into batman (our new car).
-Batman don't play. I swerved into the other lane.
-Next time, I won't swerve, but let the car hit me. What if there was a car in the other lane? It would have been my fault.
-I want to hike. In the desert. And find cacti colored turkey. And chase them around.
-Most likely though I'll drink wine and get sleepy and giggle and want to be a kid again and walk in the desert. Walk like I ain't never walked before.

2011-09-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

So, I"m pretty upset with myself. I didn't make it to pilates this morning and was so tired last night that I fell asleep with all my clothes on without brushing my teeth or anything. I woke up actually exactly when class ended, and only because there was a ghettobird hovering over our apartment building. I thought the no-show fee for pilates was $15, but it's actually $25, which makes me really, really sad. My account hasn't been charged yet, but that's $40 I'm never going to get back.

It's not Matt's fault, but I went out to a scotch tasting with him on wednesday night, and though I wanted to go home at a reasonable time he kept me out until past 1 in the morning. Didn't end up falling asleep until 2AM. Thursday was a blur. I just can't run on no sleep. I don't know how to be. That, with my commute, pretty much wiped me out. There's another tasting tonight. Thank God it's Friday, but I still have Greek homework due tomorrow.

I guess it's my fault for not putting my foot down. For not being stronger. For being involved in too many things. I should have known because once he starts having fun he never wants to go home and why should he? It's not like he has anywhere to be the next day. But I did. And I do. And I know what I need to do to be a functioning human being, and that just can't happen when I stay out late during the week. Not with this 9-6 lifestyle and the amount of hours I'm clocking on the road. I know I need to exercise. I know I need to eat reasonably healthy. I know I need sleep. And I need to write to keep an even peace of mind. I just don't see the worth of going to bars during the week and getting shit-faced. It's a drain on my wallet and energy and it's not like I'm trying to pick up guys so what the hell is the point?

Maybe I just can't go out with him anymore as I don't have the heart to leave him places and he never, ever wants to leave bar settings. It's just...really frustrating. Because he'll lure me out by saying he'll get me home at a decent time, but then when it actually comes down to it he NEVER leaves at that time. Ever. And we end up staying out until who knows when. Which is fine, I suppose, if you didn't have anything ever planned or didn't want to use your mind the next day, but I need my mind in fully working order, so...

So.

So, maybe I just can't go out with him to a bar on the days when I know I need to be fully functioning the next day.

I'll admit, wednesday night was fun, it was great talking to new people, but if I'm ever going to change my reality I can't settle for just the status quo. I guess mostly I'm just mad at myself for not setting my alarm before falling asleep. I just remember playing mind games with myself. "I'm gonna close my eyes for exactly one minute and then I'm going to go into the living room and get my phone and set the alarm for five AM per usual..." But no dice. No more. I conked out.

Bah. And you know, because I'm making so much money being stressed at work that I can afford to just throw away $40 on a whim. Wee! Here! Take all my money!

Man. I'm just glad it's Friday. There's another free tasting tonight. I'm looking forward to not going to work tomorrow, but I still have to get up early. I want to go to Yoga. I find yoga much more beneficial than Johnny Walker.

I just feel so boring. And sad. How do I get out of feeling this way? =(

Usually my mood improves as soon as I'm back on the east side, so I guess I can look forward to that. Here's hoping.

2011-09-03T20:03:00.000-07:00

Oh, so that was what it was, you were watching football and the smell of Fall was in the air. Even though people don't say Los Angeles has seasons, it does, just not the winter one. Winter in California is a mild, sort of secret affair. You can drive up the coast and the world's hushed. Whenever winter comes I think, "This is a secret day. I am driving and no one from my past life knows where I am. I am going on an adventure."

We doctored up a Trader Joe's pizza, or rather you did, chopping the garlic so it was extra fine, dicing the tomatoes, sprinkling basil on top, and a good, bountiful layer. I bought glasses today at the mall. Doc says I need to wear them more often, just to give my eyes a rest, and since they're the only ones I have thought I would oblige. My other pair was from ten years ago, ten fucking years! High school, I think. It was actually quite easy. We did it in under an hour, and it took an hour to get them shopped, and then bam, I was walking out with this new addition. And man, I could see with them, see with clarity and with depth. Precision. That's key, I think. But what do I really know.

I've been sneaking bits of chocolate, even though I know I shouldn't. Tiny little jagged pieces from the bars Matt hides in the freezer, keeping them cool. He knows I'm not supposed to eat them and used to hide them in high places, but now he's been lax, which is bad for my skin, but good for my taste buds. What's a little allergic reaction rash to a few seconds of blissful consumption? The silky, smooth, robust, rhythmic mmmm, of a few bites of chocolat?

Yeah. Whatever. It's just cruel, it is. Sometimes there's no reaction. It's like a mixed bag. Will I or won't I?

Long weekend, then we leave for Ireland soon. I need to pack. And borrow a rain slicker. And find my passport (just kidding, I know where it is). I've been generating pages, little snippets, it takes me years to process short stories. They're the hardest ones. I need to live more, I think. I need to do things. Go.

Last night I had a dream. No, that's a lie. I've stopped dreaming. Can't remember the last time I've had a deep sleep, it's just this heavy rest, like napping. I'm out and my body sinks and then the light streams through the windows and it's morning again and I do whatever I do until I'm tired. To get the full sleep, the full dream sleep, I need seven hours at least. Eight. But sometimes I'll have flashes of images, the strangest places. I have a feeling the dreamscapes are stored in my brain. Sometimes I revisit them. I don't know how. It's like some nights I'm invited, and other nights it's all 'keep out'.

Happy Labor Day Weekend! Yes. Yes. Yes.

2011-08-28T18:38:00.000-07:00

I just walked down the street with the end of my skirt pulled up, attached to the back of my computer bag, so the whole world could see my underwear. And not only that, but it was not sexy underwear, it was like the underwear that I probably should have thrown away a few months ago, just worn out, you know? The underwear you definitely do not wear on a date. So, yeah.

Enter man in car rolling down window and shouting at me. "Hey! Hey girl!" Me: turning away, god, men are so lame. Man: "Hey! Seriously, though!" Motioning with hands. Me: What the fuck is this guy's problem? Man: "Your skirt is up, just letting you know." He motions with hands to roll down my skirt. Me: "Whaaat?" Touching skirt, realizing it is not covering anything. My ass is just out there.

Oh.

Man nodding, rolling up window. Me, giving the man two thumbs up in thanks. He doing the same and driving on.

Awesome. What a guy. Seriously. Considering that no other stranger bothered to say anything as I tried to find a seat in the coffee shop. Now I know why that college dude was leering at me.

In other news, two of my short stories made it into publications. "Quiet City" in Copper Nickel, it'll be forthcoming in the Winter 2012 issue and was a finalist and special mention in their fiction contest. Also, a little piece I wrote is going to be in the Fall 2011 issue of Flashquake.

Something potentially cool could be happening at work.

More info as it develops.

In the meantime, I'm leaving the coffee shop now, and WILL be checking the back of my skirt to make sure it's not up by my hips.

Hello, world!

237 Reasons...

2011-08-05T11:13:00.000-07:00

One of my feature-length screenplays made it to the top 10% of the Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting, roughly the top 670 out of 6,700 scripts.

The farthest I've ever gotten in this particular competition of bad ass-ness.

Whoo hooooo!
Eva

Oh yeah, and thank god it's Friday. THANK GOD.

Oh yeah, and I'm excited to submit MORE scripts to this fellowship next year.

Rock. On.

2011-07-29T11:38:00.001-07:00

Yesterday it took me over an hour and a half to get home. I said I'd pick up M in Hollywood. Big mistake. I'm never going to Hollywood again during 6-8pm on a weekday. It's just bad news.

During that time, I swear I wanted to kill someone. I fucking HATED it. Being in my car after a stressful day at work.

It made me want to move back to a walkable city. Pure rage I felt, yes.

And then...

Then I went home. I went home and summer nights was going on in Atwater. And I felt instantly better. I love where I live.

It's getting there that's the problem.

From now on, I'm just going to the movies after work. Waiting for the awful traffic to die down. Blargh!!!

Okay, I'm done.

2011-07-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

I type with the wireless running and my computer on my chest and sometimes I get the sensation that my heart is just being baked by the wireless, that small tumors are growing inside my chest and my blood is changing and I just can't help it anymore and so I turn the wireless off, but I want to look up some celebrity gossip or the name of that Buffy episode or maybe what's happening in Greece today, so I turn the internet on again, and it's all because of that itching, that itching desire to know what you do not know and once the wireless rays, those spiral black bars are off, I just want to know more, more, more and I instantly think I'm missing out when really deep down I know I'm not.

Okay. This girl had a party Saturday night and I was really looking forward to going even though she didn't invite me at first but someone else did, but then I took M out for his birthday dinner at Houston's, and even though it's a chain, he said he wanted to go there for 1) the no corkage fee and 2) when he was growing up they didn't have a lot of money but every year his dad would take him to Houston's for one fancy meal, and I like that story very much, because that shows he at least remembers something, because sometimes I think my boyfriend is a robot. I like when he gets sentimental, even though he wasn't that sentimental when he stated it, he just said it like a fact. This is how it is. So there, world. Ha.

I took him to Houston's and I had the crab cakes. They were pretty fucking great, let me tell you, and for $32 a plate they better be fucking great, too. He had the steak, which was pretty raw. It was just this bleeding meat sack, but he was loving it, and I had enough wine where I was willing to try a bite, and I did, and it was delicious (okay, fine) but it was even more so with the red wine, and we went to Lucky Baldwin's before that which may be his favorite place on earth, or at least in Pasadena, I don't know. I had this semi-girlie drink, it was a sour lambic beer. Just a tinge of sweetness, then pretty dry. Fucking good is what it was. I do like Lucky Baldwin's, but man, beer bloats me up good. Like a blowfish. Boom.

Whatever. That's a gross image, but I'm not deleting what I wrote. Ha! Not like anyone reads this, except my mom. Maybe. (Hi, Mom!) She loves me no matter what. I think. Unless I got really, really fat, then she'd probably be like, "Yeah, you let yourself go," and I'd be like, "Damn, Ma. Thanks." Then I'd go on Celebrity Fitness Club. Oh, wait. I'm not a celebrity. Then I'd just eat less and work out or something and maybe go on that cayenne pepper diet or walk out into the desert and get lost and if I didn't die, I'd probably be a little bit thinner again.

I don't know why I called Mom Ma in the above paragraph. I've never called her Ma. Ever.

And that's how we do things up in here. The Greek way! Represent! And by that I mean the really convoluted, complicated way. Yeah. Learned that from my dad.

I've waited too long and now the thought of driving home seems so daunting. Maybe I'll just melt away in my car.

2011-07-16T14:08:00.000-07:00

With all this panic around carmageddon, the streets are relatively traffic free. At least for a Saturday afternoon. We say what we can and we do what we say. Isn't that right? My favorite was the four dollar flight from Burbank to Long Beach. How funny is that? Nah, I'd rather fly. Seriously though, the 10 freeway is green to the beach. I'm thinking of beaching it today. All this carmageddon talk is tiring me out. Seriously.

I want to take in some sun, get even more tan than I am. I want to sing and dance and sing and dance again. Oh. Right. I can do that now.

We left early from work, only an hour or so, since they said traffic was a mess. I tried my best to make this work, but it also didn't make any sense. There was hope in their eyes.

Last night when I was sleeping, Mr. Matt went to the bar and talked with Calvin and Eddie and some other people and he sat at the bar and he drank some beer and I was sleeping this whole time and when he came back and sat on the bed at 3AM I didn't believe him at first. I had passed out with my clothes on, my head nestled on the bare mattress, feet dangling off the bed. I was just so tired, so tired, and that damn fan was blowing. I don't like cold air. I don't like AC blowing. I like hot, sticky weather, and then I hate it, too, but I also love to hate it. M got a box fan, it's by the bed now, just blowing cool air. When I jump out of the shower in the morning, it chills my wet skin and I hate it, hate it, hate it. I don't like the cold. But he likes the senseless noise, the constant nothingness, the whirring.

He likes voices, but I prefer instrumental music. We're planning on going to Ireland in September for Deborah's wedding. The arrangements are almost in place. The lodging. I've never been to Ireland. M's been playing the Dubliners on repeat. I've been thinking about history, and the past. He got this five hour mini series on Ireland's history. He's also part Irish. 75% of him. So he says. It's his culture. His past. We're all so fragmented nowadays, aren't we? We're all just wondering how this could happen, how we could come to be. Maybe we won't go at all though.

My computer's running low on juice. It's not going to be 80 today, and I'm relieved. I'm listening to Batman on repeat. Watch the World Burn.

I'll go through phases, I need the constant of the instrumental in the background, over and over again. It calms a part of my mind I think, and the other part can imagine.

Whatever. It's all bullshit. I'm going to the park.

2011-07-11T13:51:00.000-07:00

We buy watermelon for the barbeque but don't end up eating it so they sit in our fridge for a week and then we decide, yes, tonight's the tonight. We're going to eat that watermelon. We'll have it for dinner, it'll be glorious, but I get home late, or maybe I don't, and last week as I was walking by the strip club, because I always walk by the strip club to get to my parking space at work, there was a beautiful lady that stepped out the strip club door and there were all these men around her (okay, like three) and she kissed one of them on the cheek and then stepped in a silver car, and she almost looked regal as she stepped out of the doors, but then the car backed up and sped down the street and that was it, and this weekend I was very bad and I ate out Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. Friday night was Italian food on the west side, Saturday night was dive bar tacos downtown at coronado's (highly recommended), and Sunday was cuban brunch in El Monte (also delicious, but so much meat!). I felt tired all weekend, maybe from all the good, inexpensive food I was having. Still, a part of me kept scolding myself, saying I should stay home, save my money. I usually don't eat out so much. Not like that. No.

I've become a recluse in my late twenties. Let's be honest. I hate when people ask me what I do. I don't like the Hollywood la di da. It's a stereotype, sure. And it's exaggerated, but there are bits of truth to it too. I feel like it doesn't happen so much on the east-ish side, but maybe I'm just biased. Could be. I have extreme moments of panic where I plan to escape to the wilderness and lock myself away in some cabin and just write, write, write. I don't like the Hollywood mentality. I don't care what clothes you wear, what car you drive, where you get your massages or your waxes. I don't give a shit that you make more money than me or less money than me. I don't care if you're wearing a gold watch. Or that you just got new highlights for your hair. I carry around a battered white tote with ink stains on the bottom. No, I do not want to get a new bag. No, I do not have a purse, I'll just use my jean pocket to hold my ID, my credit card, my chapstick, thanks. Yes, these boots are so last season.

Staple, staple, staple. The interns stapling report and report and report. It's repetitive, but someone has to do it, and I'm grateful that he's here.

I'm so damn grumpy. I don't know when to quit. I'm so damn happy too.

I signed up for two pilates classes this week. Six AM. During the week. Let's see if I can get out of the house by then. It's one thing if I'm half-naked, curled up on my couch writing at 5AM, it's another if I have to wash my face, get ready to be seen by others. You know, semi-coordinating clothes. Or not. That's too hard. A part of me wants to do three classes per week but that might be too much. Too crazy. Too pricey. You know. Just too.

Started watching THE LOST ROOM last night. A recommendation from my writing group. So far so good. I'm excited.

My eyes have been burning. They're rejecting the sun. I wear sunglasses even in the office and I feel better. It still hurts though. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. It's a dull ache. My body is rejecting the sun. Wash, rinse, repeat. REJECT.

2011-07-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

Strange how I knew you so well for such a long time and now you're back to being a stranger and there's nothing I can do about it. I wonder if you think about me this way too. How I was once so familiar. I wonder if we'd even know what to do with each other if you got us in a room together. If God got us in a room and said, hey you, look. Look at this person you used to know. I bet God has more important things to do. More important things than to intervene with the life of a lovesick girl. I've been counting the miles between us, and sometimes I still do, used to know it by heart but now I have to go online to check. The miles are specific, a definite, but they're also just a number, like my bank account. Every week or two the numbers go up and then they go down again. Life's a strange sort of thing. People come and go. You wake up, you fall asleep. And there's always some fool lighting fireworks on the fourth of July, always some fool you wish was you.

2011-06-23T14:08:00.001-07:00

I'm hungry all the time now that I wake up earlier. The gnawing in my stomach never leaves me. Those morning drives through this car soaked city energize me. I feel relief in that in between time, when the sun hasn't risen yet. When I'm alone, obeying street lights. Stop. Go. Slow.

2011-06-22T14:03:00.000-07:00

There's a shirtless guy. He's muscular, and he's lifting weights in the slant that leads to the rooftop parking. He puts down the weights, then he brings them to his shoulders again. I'm not sure what he's doing, it's right by the cat hospital.

At work they're working on developing a movie from a book I found in the database. We're looking at other books, as well. Super exciting. I hope all goes well with the shopping agreements and finding a groovy screenwriter and what not. I think the concept if executed right will be a lot of fun.

But alas, I realize the pitfalls of development. I realize it's nicknamed development hell. The windows at work are really funny, they take up the whole wall and look out on the street and you get to see all the people going and coming from work.

The guy with the weights is gone. I don't know who he was showing off for. There's just this mechanic shop across the street. This office is right by the 405. I can just picture all the smog particles swooping down and dancing around in my lungs. "Hey, hey," they're singing, "We're gonna give you cancer! Yay! Cha cha cha!" Yeah, pollution particles. I'm talking to you.

Highlights of my day so far.

1) Watching the rainbow pinwheel of doom on my computer screen and contemplating killing myself. I kid, I kid. But I swear, the rainbow pinwheel of doom likes to make my life miserable, I'm pretty sure.

2) Going to pilates at 6am. I've been walking over the Hyperion Bridge in an attempt to not use my car when I'm back in the hood, and so far so good. After pilates I had so much energy, definitely worth it.

3) There is no three. I live a sad, sad life. Just kidding, waking up next to M. That was awesome. See, I'm afraid of the dark and all that, so I like having a buddy to talk to while I fall asleep. Sometimes I will poke this said buddy just to make sure he's still there and hasn't vanished into the ether. Because vanishing into the ether sucks. Unless I'm the one vanishing. Then it's awesome. M was in Arizona for three days, and even though that is a ridiculously short time. I get sentimental sometimes. It happens. I'm a girl after all.

Highlight of my week. Well, it's only Wednesday but girl's night at Amanda's was pretty freaking awesome. Also, seeing Lex and other old and new faces that I adore. Rock. On. Such positive energy. I love it.

Oh yeah. You know what's good? Vanilla yogurt and grapes. I crave that stuff. Just saying.

On lunch breaks during work, I lock myself in the sound engineer room and write on the good days. Commuting takes a lot of precious hours of my day. On good weeks, I write 15-20 hours plus Monday through Friday. On bad weeks, 5 hours, which is entirely unacceptable. And writing during that hour at lunch helps make me meet my goal. Because I am a psycho about goals. And finishing projects that I care about. Or at least continuing to revise them and revise them and revise them. It's the only thing that gets me moving forward.

This weekend, since Biscuit got totaled, we're going car shopping. It's strange, I haven't driven down Virgil Avenue since the accident. It's bad luck for me now. I make sure to take Rowena or the street before. I avoid Virgil altogether. (I almost wrote Virgins there. "I avoid Virgins altogether." Man.) That little section by Little Bar. It's weird, I almost had an anxiety attack when I thought about driving down that road where we collided. I wasn't meant to drive. I don't LIKE driving. Sometimes I long to be back in Boston or New York. San Francisco sounds fun. But there's so much good in Los Angeles too. I fucking love this town. It's messy and misunderstood and full of life and sun and crazy dreamers. My kind of place.

Thoughts On My Morning Commute

2011-06-15T20:20:00.000-07:00

Did you know junk mail is subsidized by the taxpayers? How many people actually use those stupid pamphlets. Also, did you know that we're also paying for those democratic/republican/vote for me glossy fliers? Do you know how much glossy fliers cost? It's not cheap.

The trucker had a long white beard and sunglasses even though it was cloudy. He sat like a little buddha in the yellow tractor seat and he backed it up and the little light went ding, ding, ding.

All business is cash. No receipts. An international grapevine. It's easier to do it this way, because you do what you can. According to the guy next to me all chinese are little worker ants. They're taking over. Actually that's just what I thought when the radio man kept saying, "They're taking over, they work and work, they do not rest."

It's strange how where you are is instantly what is. You move to Lagos and suddenly blackouts are a part of your day. They are just what happens. And everyone stares at you. You are not to be trusted.

I want to move to Lagos.

Strange how your world can change. You're passed out, you're awake. Someone's punching you. Someone's saving you.

New York has a swarming bee epidemic this summer. So just ignore the crowds, because there's no point. Right now. And did you know? Swarming bees don't sting. I didn't. Maybe I won't run away next time they swarm on me in Griffith Park.

It's been gloomy all week. Every week. June's just gloomy. But why? Why June?

All my favorite countries are failing. The economies are crashing. No one wants to declare bankruptcy. But maybe they should. Start over. Clean slate. It's a shame that living well doesn't make money. Living well by doing nothing, I mean.

My mind is blank. I can't think. Can't write. I'm supposed to write a page of this new story, a self-imposed deadline and I'm happy to do it, but I don't know if I can. My insides are an empty, cold shell. M's making a Greek salad. We're making bread. And by that we're heating it in the oven. There's leftover pasta. I ate two dried mango pieces. There's sugar in carrots, did you know that? And bananas? Nothing's good for you. 39grams per serving on the back of the mango box. That can't be good. I don't think it can. They don't teach you about sugar in school, only calories and saturated fat. Maybe I just wasn't listening.

Back to the land of the living. To the kitchen to do the dishes. There are dishes in the sink. The thing about dishes is that they never end. Especially if you live with someone who loves to cook. Still, I'd take dish duty over cooking any day. =)

2011-05-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Tick. A tick! From the trail. It was on me. Then it climbed on my computer screen as I was watching Buffy reruns in bed. We went online and looked at ticks -- what it would look like if it had sucked my blood. The size of a grape. I can't move today. Tired from yesterday's activities. So much fun though. I need to get out of Los Angeles more often, and Santa Barbara wine country is the perfect place to escape.

Windy today. With a chance of arctic char for dinner. At least I can stand up straight now, before I just couldn't. Couldn't dream of it. I slept forever. Last night I came home, couldn't do anything but watch Buffy. I watched Buffy like I was on a mission, until four in the morning. Just couldn't sleep.

Last Sunday night we get a text message from M's little sister as we're driving back to the Southland: "Your little sister just got married!" Crazy. To elope.

But that's probably what I would do, too. No text messages though. Silly phones.

Last week ~
Monday: I never realized how much cherry pits look like little fairy skulls. Bloody and perfect and small.

Tuesday: The homeless man outside Smart & Final lounged on the grass, washing his feet with antibacterial soap. He was missing his other leg. I hadn't noticed before.

Wednesday: We were trying to finish all the leftovers in the fridge. All the fruit and indian food and vegetables that were going to go bad this weekend. I fell asleep on the bed, my clothes still on, curled up like a shrimp.

Thursday: I biked in my green skirt, my legs pumping out in front of me, and insisted on watching a terrible Netflix horror movie about girls disappearing in Argentina. Somehow made me feel better about the world. The girls were too perfect in this movie. Only one of them died. The other wandered around abandoned buildings, shouting out her friend's name, trying to find the way home.

Friday: There was an accident in between the hills. A yellow rice rocket and a black mustang, both smashed on opposite sides of the freeway. The cop car weaved in front of us, stopping traffic. Ambulances rushed down the sidebar, a white fire truck followed. I looked for hiking trails up the hills and only counted two. As soon as we shut off our car, the lines started moving. We raced down the mountain and drove through Bakersfield, passing yellow trains with the american flag painted on its side, forever billowing.

2011-05-16T07:20:00.000-07:00

Sunday. The park seemed like another country, the sun sliding between the trees. I wandered the hours in a daze, first the farmer's market, surveying the cherries and then the strawberries for any white mush, any bad seeds, then Proof for an overpriced sandwich we finished in .8 seconds flat, then Target for the essentials we had been putting off: toilet paper and paper towels and toothpaste and lens solution and all the stuff you never want to get but forget you need. We ate a middle eastern sandwich as a mid-day snack, split everything, forfeited on the movie after we got the bill, yogurt and creamed honey and a sample of tuna even though we had already eaten. Can't deny samples. Can never deny.

Sad. I'm just making enough to get by. Right now. I made more after I left college. And the commute was less.

Isn't it strange how anything and everything always ends the same?

So, this is life, the little moments. A happy puppy waiting for the crosswalk, pulling on the leash. A flat tire. Cancelled plans. The haze of morning. Struggling to find joy in a glance. A child dropping strawberries on the ground, squishing them with her shoe. Waiting for the ATM, a girl with skintight black pants before me, bow-legs, thighs that dip outward like a wishbone. A boy smiling next to her, and a man at the other ATM, looking her up and down, up and down, hoping for just a smile. Taking turns. Twenty dollars here, thirty dollars there. You get dinner, I'll get dessert. My sneakers are rotting. I've had them too long. I'm going to eat cherries for dinner, though I think M's making green chile. He's a little home maker, I'm a lousy roommate. I never do my part. Instead I'm always writing, writing, writing, and it takes so long for anything to be complete. Time is a construct, but I need more of it. No more structure. Stop.

I joined Okcupid. I told M and he laughed. I just like looking at pictures. There's a drop down option: just looking for friends. I still feel like a weirdo. I picture what their lives are like, all the lonely people, all the people looking for a smile, wanting to connect. I get it. It's hard to meet anyone in Los Angeles, everyone's got their guard up. Almost everyone. You need to break through, burrow in. I don't know how it works. I've always been standoffish. I don't know. I got nothin'. Really.

And now it's Monday again. Monday, Monday, Monday. Somebody's got the case of the Muuundays.

Good thing. Short week. Adventure on Friday. Yes.

2011-05-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

Hurry up. We're going to be late.

He ate Chicken Curry and I ate Saag Paneer. We both ordered Garlic Nan. I had wine though I only half-wanted it. People stared through the windows. It was strange seeing people, so used to cars instead. I liked it. He looked dashing in his button up shirt. The waiter called me pretty. I tried not to mess up. Wanted this to be a good night. The wine came filled to the brim.

Earlier, we went hiking. I didn't want to go. M said he had a headache so we took a way we hadn't gone before. It led up and down and up and down in the park, finally we found a rode leading straight up the mountain. He went first, I followed. It led to Amir's Garden.

A long time ago two girls had asked us on a trail where Amir's Garden was. For us to stumble on it now, the shade of the jacaranda trees, the lush green succulents, was a beautiful thing. Neon green tables, a bright sign: Amir's Garden, proclaiming: You Are Here.

I thought about it, the other day. Thought about how someone I once loved can just vanish from my life. I've always been a virtual clinger. I hold onto people in my memories, to the point that my mind's pretty cluttered. But not anymore. I need to clean out the closets, the rooms in my brain. I need to focus on what's important.

Yes.

What is important?

2011-05-14T09:02:00.001-07:00

She wore open-toed sandals. She watched him drinking his beer, smooth and dark, sloshing in the bottle.

He made parmesan asiago cream sauce for the ravioli. Outside, a car alarm went off. He poured more wine. Two favorite wines from Trader Joe's, the goat and the horse. Both under five dollars. A thirty-year-old white male was shot in the back in Echo Park. He was a rastafarian. I don't think I spelled that right. The three guys that did it, the police said they were Hispanic. A gang initiation? A disagreement? Someone banged on the door next door. Someone else got mowed down by a car. A biker, just riding along. This was earlier this week. Today, the sun's gone. Clouds hang heavy in the sky, though there's no word on rain. The weathermen in LA, they always get it wrong. Sometimes I think they're just pretending, 'eenie-meenie-miney-mo.' It's going to be sunny today, folks! It's going to be cloudy! Maybe a chance of rain. Me? I'm on the couch, tea by my side.

He took the aloe parts and threw them in soil, tenderly packing them in. Good night, sleep tight. Hopefully, they'll root. Someone, the other day, told me hopefully wasn't even a word.

2011-05-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

Friday, the 13th. Just read Max Landis' "Chronicle" -- what a fabulous screenplay. Loved it. Also reread Scream screenplay. That movie definitely took you on a ride. I remember waiting on line to watch it. The whole theater participated in shouting at the scream. Now that's a good movie experience. When the audience participates. It usually works best with late-night showings, mostly of the horror or thriller variety.

Yesterday I left a frozen dinner on the table instead of taking it with me on the drive. It was a Trader Joe's frozen dinner. Saag Paneer with Basmati Rice. I was so disappointed that it would go to waste that as soon as I came home I popped it in the freezer again. Soon, I will have you, I thought. Because I often talk to my food. "I eat you now!" As I spear a cucumber from my salad, or "Take that, fool!" as I bite into some chicken thigh.

Nah, just kidding. I don't talk to myself when eating. Too busy eating.

Today I heated up the microwave dinner as my work lunch. The picture on the cover just looked so good, though I was saddened to see the cheese cubes weren't as advertised, definitely not as big. Still, for $2.00 and change, I think it was a relatively satisfying frozen lunch. And so far, the cheese isn't upsetting my stomach.

I'm at work now, in the music room, typing away because our Sound Engineer isn't here. I need time to unwind. To decompress. Excited for this weekend.

I'm going to get other microwave dinners. I'm sick of those lame sandwiches I make. Bread, cheese, tofurkey or the real thing. Lots of mayo. Pepper. Although that bread -- yum. I could live off bread and pasta. I'd be a bowling ball sized gal, but at least I'd have me some comfort food.

Boys from the gaming club, walking down the street, probably to lunch. Cars zooming by the floor to ceiling high windows. Yesterday night I polished my boots. I wear them all the time, but don't take care of them. I spent painstaking minutes swirling a ripped t-shirt cloth over the leather. I don't have a lot of nice things. Need to take care of them. Need to. My own.

This weekend, I'm going to go hiking. I signed up for bootcamp. Four weekend sessions. That'll start next weekend, no, the weekend after (we're flying away next weekend, going up north for some beer festival). I've lost about five pounds, but need to gain muscle. Yesterday I couldn't open a big gallon water lid. It was on there tight! Still. Pathetic.

You know. I don't really like beer. I wish I did. I wish I was cool enough to like beer. I think girls and guys look incredibly sexy when they hold beer bottles (or is it just that I'm jealous they actually look like they're enjoying the contents of that bottle?). I want to be one of them. But alas, beer makes me burp. It makes my insides knot up. My stomach hurts after, sometimes hours after. And I feel bloated. Like I'm gonna burst.

The only beer I can really stomach is Guinness. Liquid bread as M says. But honestly, I don't like that comparison. I'd rather have a big chunk of bread. I think bread gives me a rush. A drug-induced free fall of yummy, delicious carb-enhanced goodness.

Spicy food. Wish I liked that too. I can handle medium spicy. What a punk. That's me.

The cats are playing in the Cat Hotel across the street. One of these days I'm going to break 'em all free. I see them lounging by the barred windows, their paws by the metal frame. Paw, paw.

Speaking of pawpaw. How about Miranda July's new movie, The Future.

Yes, please.

2011-05-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

Up front, slower. There's someone watching you, I think. Do you see? He's leaning forward. Two men mimicking dance moves by the shopping mall on Santa Monica and Fairfax. By the bus stop. They have stubble; therefore, they are attractive to me. They are attracting - like magnets. Attract, attract, attract.

I almost fell asleep in Beverly Hills - on the drive. Stalled. Silly rich people. Every time I drive down Santa Monica I think how it would be great if there wasn't just two lanes one way. But no. People like their grass, I guess. LA is a desert, man. There shouldn't be grass. There should be rocks. Cacti. Dry, hard things. Brittle. I wish there weren't even cars. The idea that I'm wishing for more lanes. Goosebumps now, on my arms. I feel it.

When I drive in Beverly Hills, I also think there should be a bike lane.

LA is a city full of pockets. Some pockets are bike-friendly. Others are not. It's only 12 miles to work. That's what my GPS says. I could bike it. And if I got hit by a car along the way, well... maybe God's trying to tell me something. Like move to Greece and live on an island.

I'm going to live on the Ionian islands. Nestled near Greece. Sort of close to where my Dad's from. It makes sense because I'm in between. Greek and Italian. So there's nowhere else I belong.

Earthquake supplies here. She put out her own hand painted sign. It was on the part of Santa Monica Boulevard where people throw their trash on the street, the part where there are fast food chains after fast food chains. Earthquake supplies. An orange arrow pointing to her door. Be saved. Prepare yourself. I can save you.

All day, the clicking of the keys. Click, click, click. The roar of the freeway, trucks barreling by. The phone blinking the date and time, but it's wrong. Stuck. Wed. Blink. July 28. Blink. 4:30 P. Blink. New Call. Callers. Dir. Extension. Like another language. I wonder if there'll ever be a time when Lincoln, Nebraska is the safest place on earth, and the oceans are attacked on all sides, and we all have to go inland, to the heartland.

Funny on my commute, how the people waiting for buses change. Earlier on, later. They become more well-dressed as you approach the west side. Brilliant. Silly. Fancy. They're fancier. That's it. Fancy-pants fancy. The girls with their shades.

I rarely look at guys. Only girls. Girls are prettier to look at. They accessorize. I hardly ever see a man where I'm like, 'Holy macaroni! You are dreamy!' And if I do, someone then says he's a celebrity, or an actor. Which instantly makes him a non-person to me. Those cats, they live in another world. Actually, no. That hardly ever happens. Sometimes I'll see someone and be like, 'Wow, you're smokin'." But then he has a kid, or a pregnant wife, and then I'm like, oh yeah, you're invisible now, too. Off limits. Another zone.

But that hardly ever happens. Really.

Mostly I look at girls. And then I think, man. How are your legs so skinny? I try to be that skinny, but I can't get rid of my bones. And my waist? My hips are bony! M says I have curves. All my past boyfriends said that too.

So, okay. Curvy. I guess that'll do.

Or I'll look at a woman's hair. Silky straight hair. And be like, how long did it take you to get ready? And make-up. That baffles me too. Wait a go, mom. You never showed me how to cake on make-up, and now I'm lost and don't know how to do it.

Then again, maybe that's a good thing? But I like pretend just as much as the next girl. And this city is all about pretend. So is life, yes? Aren't we all pretending?

Is that just me?

Anyone?

2011-05-12T07:10:00.000-07:00

Today, nothing. An old man smiled at me, wild, hair ragged. His back was against the wall and the sun was hitting the bricks so they were white-washed. Even from twenty feet away I saw the wrinkles on his cheeks, the crookedness of his teeth. He was on the ground, in an abandoned parking lot before the light on Pico. I planned on taking the long way to the light so I could stretch my legs, but his gaping smile alarmed me, the way he was leering. Maybe he didn't mean to. I don't know if he was wearing shoes. If he was they had no shoelaces, were barely on him. Like he'd found them somewhere. Or maybe he was a millionaire. Maybe he once was. A helicopter flew low to the ground, right above our heads, and I thought, maybe something's happening, maybe somewhere someone's running from something, really running.

I remember downtown art walk. Now it's become a drunk fest. People come out, they shout orders, get in fights over taxis. But good things happen too. Men breakdance in the streets. Last time we walked to the second floor and there was an impromptu band. A piano in the corner. Some lady singing the blues. They had lined up bottles of vodka along the worn wooden tables. A makeshift bar. Wine and beer. The floor slanted towards the windows, people swayed to that lady's voice, she had shawl upon shawl wrapped around her, she was swinging her hips, and I wanted to be her, swinging my hips with a voice like a cool breeze that would make you forget, make you want more. 'Stead I've got this um, um stutter. You'd think I knew the truth, but it's hard to tell.

A two inch cockroach crawled out from under the sink, scurried to the fridge. M pushed the fridge to the side, squirted the cockroach with bleach. By the end of it there was bleach on the floor, on the wall, on the cockroach, but its legs were still kicking. Now he's on a cleaning spree. He's moved the fridge entirely. "I've never had a cockroach before," he says. I hear the water running, he's spraying and scrubbing. I'm a lousy girlfriend. He cooked a whole chicken tonight. When it came out of the oven it was golden brown. Moist. He made tzatziki. He's a real grown-up. He cleaned the bathroom too. Today I went to work. Sat in traffic for two hours. Stared at a computer screen. Thought of teaching english abroad, but then I realized sitting in a classroom is the same as sitting at a desk. Or no. No. It's not.

During the day I go to the bathroom to stretch. Since the office is a loft, I don't feel it appropriate to stretch out in the open, even though there's all that space. So I go to the bathroom and do yoga in the handicap stall. I stretch my arms to the sky, I stretch them to the floor. I pee, occasionally. In the toilet. Then I flush. Go back to work. When my neck hurts, I'll go back. Just to walk somewhere. All that I need is on that computer, and I need an excuse to look away. Walk to the fridge. Walk to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I stretch to my toes, I practice my snake arms, I swirl my hips, I do the funky chicken. Okay, I don't do the funky chicken, but sometimes I just flail around. It feels good to flail. Then, on the rare case another person comes into the bathroom, I freeze. Tight smile. Hey. Or bright smile. Why hello there! I am always surprised when someone comes into the bathroom when I am there - like they've punctured the bubble of my world. They usually don't pee until I'm gone. Which I think is weird. Like they're shy or something. Or maybe they're doing their own yoga-snake arms, and we're both just shimmying in our own private worlds.

2011-05-11T14:57:00.000-07:00

They told her, come and be found. They told her, you will never know. I'm losing touch. Escaping into dreams. Reality. Pfft. Doesn't exist.

I love this song.

I've been listening to it on repeat. I've heard it in three movies. I hate hearing the same song in different movies, it taints it somehow. But I love this, simple. Atmospheric. M makes fun of me for listening to such simple music. But I think it's incredibly moving. I've been listening to a lot more movie soundtracks. John Murphy, I am in awe of you. Hans Zimmer, I had no idea how many movies you had scored that I love. James Newton Howard, I still am haunted by the Unbreakable soundtrack. Good movie (except for the ending). The music was unforgettable. For me.

Sure, some might say they all sound the same. I disagree. Damn, do I ever. But if you ever talked to me about it, I'd probably just nod and smile. Because I'm just so damn agreeable and all.

But inside, I'd be saying, liar, liar, liar.

I do this thing where I listen to one song for hours and then just write and write and write. And I go to this other place. The end. No more. It's suddenly five hours later.

It's awesome. But it doesn't happen all the time. Usually because there just isn't any time.

Working on getting more freelance gigs. Stuff is in the works.

We'll see.

Sunny day. Lights are off in the office. I like the darkness. Cause I'm a vampire. =)

2011-05-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

The below poem gave me chills. CHILLS. I've heard it before, I know. Somewhere. But reading it last night, I felt this deep connection I couldn't explain. I almost cried. My eyes watered, and I couldn't breathe. (And no, it's not that time of the month. I checked.)

Ignorant Before The Heavens Of My Life

2011-05-10T09:53:00.001-07:00

by Rainer Maria Rilke

Ignorant before the heavens of my life, 
I stand and gaze in wonder. Oh the vastness 
of the stars. Their rising and descent. How still. 
As if I didn't exist. Do I have any 
share in this? Have I somehow dispensed with 
their pure effect? Does my blood's ebb and flow 
change with their changes? Let me put aside 
every desire, every relationship 
except this one, so that my heart grows used to 
its farthest spaces. Better that it live 
fully aware, in the terror of its stars, than 
as if protected, soothed by what is near.

2011-05-07T08:57:00.000-07:00

So, yeah. Saw a play on Thursday at the Boston Court in Pasadena. How to Disappear Completely and Never be Found.

You should go see it, too. I loved it. And I don't love all plays, maybe not even half of all the plays I see. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate them, but sometimes when I'm sitting there in that dark theater I just get bored. Not this one though. Saw another play here. Courting Vampires. I loved that one too. Both plays mixed media.

I went for a Live Wired discount showing. $10 tickets. There's also Goldstar discount tickets floating around the ether.

Now I want to see the other plays, or at least read the other plays from Fin Kennedy.

Good stuff.

2011-05-05T07:28:00.000-07:00

I figured out why I'm so intrigued by online dating -- it isn't that I'm unhappy with M, it's that I love filling out quizzes, I love seeing how people define themselves for other people, it sort of fascinates me.

You wore those earrings for a reason, I wasn't going to wear this necklace, but M said it made me look pretty. I wanted to look pretty. I think. Tonight. I'm feeling festive. But I didn't want to, I never want to wear so much make-up that it doesn't look like how I would look like in the morning, that you wouldn't recognize me, but some people on online dating do. Some women cake their faces with make-up, other women show shots of them dancing, their bodies twisting and turning, showing off their curves. Others do a close-up shot of their face. No smile. Then there are those that stare demurely up at the camera, or over their shoulder in a 'come hither' glance. We're posing for each other. And the men. There are those in business suits, jacket over their shoulders. Black and white. Head shots. Staged scenes down a street. Others show themselves on a mountain, in biking gear, smiling naturally, and then there are those who just take the shot, no smile. Nothing. You can tell, mostly, which ones take their own shot and which ones had professional help and which pictures were taken at the spur of the moment, at a bar or a park or finishing a marathon. What do people write in the 'describe me' box? Tell me a little about yourself. 200 characters or less. 200 words. How do you define a person in 200 characters? What do you leave out and what do you choose to say?

I found this same fascination with those online quizzes going around facebook a few years ago. The assignment was to write 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. But it wasn't completely random. We chose how we wanted to be perceived, how we thought we would be perceived. I did one, but I don't know exactly why I chose the items on my list, like I sing in my car, make soundtracks for every screenplay I write, adore avocados, am sometimes standoffish but don't mean to be. Love bacon, though I haven't had it in awhile. Honestly.

But with online dating, all those check boxes, and clicking if something is a dealbreaker or not, how do you know if you haven't really talked to a person? How do you know? I found myself not having any dealbreakers, which didn't unsettle me at all. You say you don't want a guy with a kid, but what if that guy knows you more than anyone else you've ever met? What if that guy really sees you?

2011-04-27T14:12:00.000-07:00

I fucked up today.

I left a strawberry on Matt's wood block countertop. While at work, overnight, whatever, it decayed. Then strawberry blood soaked into his wood countertop. Now there is an emerald strawberry stain on that beautiful wood.

You can't take me anywhere. I swear.

In other news. Saw friends in atwater as I attempted to run last night. I love how the place where I live is the type of neighborhood where you run into people you know. Comforting, it is. Yet in a big city. Although Los Angeles is a strange sort of city, a congealed mess of neighborhoods. I swear. Depending on which neighborhood you live in it's a whole new world.

LA Festival of books this weekend! I'm excited. Mmm. Books.

2011-03-31T18:46:00.000-07:00

I've taken to writing on the bridge after work. There are these tables and comfy chairs over Pico Blvd. An enclosed bridge connecting the movie theater with the rest of the mall.

Right now there's a Source Code screening, and there are all these people in front of me, standing and talking and waiting to see one movie star save another.

Work was fun this week. Not going to lie - my favorite part of the job is finding projects that might be developed into movies, that might have that potential.

And then the voices rise and ebb and flow and blah blah blah.

So, I figured out a way to maybe be happy with this short screenplay I'm writing. We'll see though. It may just all be in my head.

There's this new gym that opened up in my neighborhood - or it will open, May or June (so they say). $29/month + no initiation. I hope it's not sketchy though. There's a $35 cancellation fee. No matter what. And the guy said fancy classes are going to cost extra. Basic classes are included in the price. Aerobics (what does that even mean? Spandex and neon headbands?). Basic pilates. Then Yoga costs extra. He wouldn't say how much. He also said they may raise the price in six-eight months. Due to inflation. For our own good. I can't take gym spiels. The blah blah, go here. We'll see how it goes. I do like the fact that I can walk to this gym. That's the only reason I signed up really.

Right.

Gas is $4.00/gallon now. Holy macaroni.

There's this lady in front of me. She's pretty. But she's wearing these high, black pumps. They look leather. Or pleather? And a red skirt. Checkered top. Honestly, I don't get how she walks in those. It must be hard. Life must be hard in those kind of heels. Lord. I'll stick to boots, thankyouverymuch. Bare feet and sandals, please.

"Please Turn to Page 22" Staccato Fiction

2011-03-21T13:27:00.000-07:00

I have a little piece in Staccato Fiction. Check it out!

I've always written tiny pieces like this, but never knew what to do with them. Not for the longest time. So they've been piling up in my computer, on my desk. Maybe I should collect them, put them in a chapbook or something. The ones that really sing. Or...maybe I'll just keep them close. Who knows? Blahblahblah...

But apparently there are journals you can send them to. Journals that LIKE tiny pieces. Hurrah!

Sunny today! Yesterday's rain was crazy. Strange world. Yes, sir.

2011-03-20T20:57:00.000-07:00

I've been subject to sterile posts of the censored variety. Should this be a blog about true feelings or a blog where big brother is always watching?

INSERT P.C. BLOG POST HERE.

La di da. Flowers and sunshine.

Today was glorious, the rain cocooning us inside. I wrote for hours, in bed, I was a revision beast - a homeless person - hair all ragged, same pink shirt as last night. Dorky glasses. Rock. On.

Usually I'm self-contained, but occasionally I'll get these flare up of desires for people I don't really know. They're harmless really. I'll get these flare ups to be loved, to have someone look longingly into my eyes, to have them hunger to undress me and not be scared, to kiss me in the in between places, and I'll want to want that craving too. The craving you can't fake. The one that makes your world brighten, that makes you sweat, stand up straighter. That sort of adrenaline, it doesn't just happen. I've tried faking it before, but part of what makes it so rare is knowing how fleeting it can be. Sometimes I'll get these flare-ups, and I'll think, how much do you make? What do you do? And I'll think. We are not what we say we are. I can't even remember faces, but it's that feeling I'm chasing - just thinking about it. That feeling of connecting, of looking at someone else, seeing them for who they are - and realizing that I want to stick around. And realizing that they may be a fuck-up. And realizing that there's no way in hell this is gonna work out, but still just taking it one second at a time.

But usually, usually when I get these flare-ups, I tuck them away inside of me. Because we have to walk in straight lines, you know? And there needs to be some sort of order. And even though I don't allow myself to believe in astrology, I keep thinking that a part of me is always restless, but a part of me needs stability to. And then I keep thinking, what the fuck, Eva? Take it easy. Get out of your head. And then there's the little voice that's always asking, why, why, why...

And I think about slowing down, asking people how their day was. And I hate asking that question, "What do you do? How do you make a living?" I find myself asking that question when I don't know what else to say, when I'm staring in someone else's eyes and I'm on the spot even though I'm not on the spot at all, and I freeze, not having a clue how to talk to another human being. Is this what being shy is? Probably. Or stalling for no reason at all, because really, what I want to ask them is, "How do you live? What makes you smile? When was the last time you really fucken felt something?"

Shit.

On a completely unrelated note, Matt's making a cookie ice cream souffle. Yes. Please.

2011-03-19T09:30:00.000-07:00

Friday was better at work. Learning the system more.

Whew. We'll see.

2011-03-17T13:32:00.000-07:00

Unless they fire me beforehand. For being slow. For checking my work before sending it off. There are some projects they're doing that I'm supremely excited about. I wish that was a bigger part of this job.

Man.

Sending this out to the universe...

3...

1...

1...

Where my mom will probably read this. Maybe a sister in Michigan. Definitely not my boyfriend. I don't update enough for him to check it.

Speaking of Michigan, Detroit's pretty cheap nowadays. Maybe I can buy a house for a dollar.

2011-03-17T13:29:00.000-07:00

So I'm temping at this place. It may go permanent, it may not.

I don't think the assistant manager takes breaks. I don't see him go to lunch, unless it's a business lunch. Isn't not taking lunch illegal? To pressure someone to not take lunch? Plus, he's in the office before I come in and usually still there when I leave. Right now, this job is 9-6. They discourage me working overtime because I'm hourly. I'm worried that when this goes salaried, they will be paying me not that much money to work a whole lot of hours. Which means no time for my own writing projects - the projects that make me happy, content, that make me want to live.

I don't know how I feel about this. I don't like this obsession with work in the USA. How what you do defines who you are. I don't necessarily like the Hollywood mentality. I love stories, I love creating stories, being immersed in them -- but I don't like business. Or fretting that if you take vacation you'll be so far behind when you come back you'll never get your head above water.

But I'm broke. And I live in Los Angeles. Which is an expensive place. And if I lived anywhere else, New York, San Francisco. There would be the same dilemma.

The thing is. There's no way to work 9-6 and get the amount of work that's required of this job DONE. There's just no possible way. The orders keep coming in, fast and furious. The development part of this job is now going on the back burner. I can tell it'll be a weekend/evening sort of thing. Searching for books in their database that would make great films. This job could be 24-7. It could consume you. Especially with my personality.

God, I feel stuck. Is it that time of the month? ::Eva checks calendar:: No. Which means I can't chock this up to hormones. It's just... life.

Fuck.

2011-03-07T14:19:00.000-08:00

The office where I'm temping shut down all water - including in the bathrooms - because someone was stealing it.

Isn't that illegal?

In other news, it's hooooot today. 65. But feels even hotter than that.

This weekend was amazing, hiking, lots of writing, good food, and Greek.

My goal is to work towards that -- everyday.

2011-02-13T17:38:00.000-08:00

Another poisonous-something sighting! I almost stepped on a baby rattlesnake on the ladder hike in Griffith Park. Sure, the snake was dead, but oh man. Its little rattle was hardly developed, and the head was flat and mean. I wonder if someone stepped on the tiny guy, and then I wondered where his mommy was.

Gulp.

I think it was a diamondback from the markings along its body.

It's been slow the last few days, or fast. Trying to find a happy medium between work and life and happiness. But it's hard. I bet everyone goes through this. Except trust fund babies. Perhaps.

Darn.

2011-02-13T12:57:00.000-08:00

I saw my first black widow spider at our new apartment. She was by the tomato plant in the front yard. It was night, and Mr. Matt almost swiped her. The black widow was just out in the open, in her little web between a flower pot and the thyme (which is why Mr. Matt was out there in the first place).

You could see the red mark on her back. Long legs. Just waiting to strike. Or minding her own business. You never know...

2011-01-30T21:26:00.000-08:00

There's a spider in our bathroom and I have named him Fred, and I really wish I hadn't named him at all, because now I feel bad whenever I try to kill him. The first time I spotted him he was crouched on the shower ceiling and since then he's moved to the corner by the sink and currently resides above the toilet. He's a spindly little thing, light brown, with two front legs longer than the others. Oh, I really, really wish I hadn't named him Fred.

Just now I've tried to squash him with the broom - I don't want him landing on my head when I'm on the john, weaving his web in my hair, that's all I need to end the night - but I couldn't do it. Before this, I also failed to smash him with the rolled up WIRED magazine by the sink. It would have been such a simple killing, but no. I've gone soft.

"Come kill Fred!" I say to Mr. Matt, but he won't. Instead, he applauds Fred. "He's got spunk, that Fred. Look at him go! He's an active little fella."
"Be a man!" I say, but Mr. Matt still won't budge.
"I think he's your pet," he says. "I think he likes you."

And so we've come to this. Fred's now climbing the walls, skidding over tiles. He's clinging to my shampoo bottle, his little legs quivering.

Shoot.

2011-01-28T09:37:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend dated a Scientologist. I thought this was the stuff of myths, but no. They exist in the real world, and they are normal people with dreams and hearts and lives loved and lost. Of course.

I don't consider myself funny.

Traffic in Los Angeles gives me ulcers. And by that, I mean, it's not that bad, but I wish there wasn't so much of it. Mr. Matt says he wants to move to Santa Barbara, where there's less pollution and distance from wine country. It does seem magical, the golden hour sunsets, though we have those in La La Land, as well.

I've always felt strange and lost and alone, even when surrounded by people -- does everyone feel this way and they just choose not to talk about it? Friday is finally here, and with that comes the expectations for the weekend, though we're buckling down. I've rediscovered tuna fish sandwiches, and realized how important sunlight is to me. And parking spaces. To have one when there are none. Like last night.

Hiking more, trying to go every day when there's time. It's good to get out of the neighborhood, change up the environment. We climbed a ladder in Griffith Park that led up the spine of a mountain, and when I looked down into the valley there was a rusty and burnt out car from the 1940s just rotting away. I imagine it would have been hard to extract, maybe that's why they left it. Maybe they thought it would have disintegrated by now.

Climbing up mountains messes with your head. You look up and it doesn't seem that far, but when you look down, you realize how high you've climbed. I always feel better coming down, knowing I've walked all that way.

I've been reading. What a concept! We took the christmas lights down, and our brilliant plastic tree. The pine scented candles are all used up. Sad to see them go. You know, if you squinted the tree looked real, and on the streets now, the real trees are abandoned, toppled over on sidewalks and stripped bare.

But I need to focus on the positive. Only eleven more months to Christmas. And there's Fourth of July to look forward to. And Cinco De Mayo. And Birthdays. And Fridays. And Saturday nights. There's new movies to watch, and books to read, and long walks on the beach, or just the thought of it. Friends to visit. Post-it notes. Little cups of soup with too much sodium. The positive. Dark chocolate that I'm allergic to. The positive! Stories to write. And time to fill. Shows to watch. Nights to dance. By myself. In my living room. To the blues. And with Mr. Matt, of course, though I'm always stepping on his toes.

Vivian Maier

2011-01-28T08:58:00.000-08:00

Check out her discovered work, if you haven't already. And if you're in Chicago, you should go see her photographs. They're all kinds of amazing and beautiful and human.

Here's a little info on how her photos were found from the guy who found them:

"I acquired Vivian's negatives while at a furniture and antique auction while researching a history book I was co-authoring on Chicago's NW Side. From what I know, the auction house acquired her belongings from her storage locker that was sold off due to delinquent payments. I didn't know what 'street photography' was when I purchased them.

It took me days to look through all of her work. It inspired me to pick up photography myself. Little by little, as I progressed as a photographer, I would revisit Vivian's negatives and I would "see" more in her work. I bought her same camera and took to the same streets soon to realize how difficult it was to make images of her caliber. I discovered the eye she had for photography through my own practice. Needless to say, I am attached to her work.

After some researching, I have only little information about Vivian. Central Camera (110 yr old camera shop in Chicago) has encountered Vivian from time to time when she would purchase film while out on the Chicago streets. From what they knew of her, they say she was a very "keep your distance from me" type of person but was also outspoken. She loved foreign films and didn't care much for American films.

Some of her photos have pictures of children and often times it was near a beach. I later found out she was a nanny for a family on the North Side whose children these most likely were. One of her obituaries states that she lived in Oak Park, a close Chicago suburb, but I later found that she lived in the Rogers Park neighborhood.

Out of the more than 100,000 negatives I have in the collection, about 20-30,000 negatives were still in rolls, undeveloped from the 1960's-1970's. I have been successfully developing these rolls. I must say, it's very exciting for me. Most of her negatives that were developed in sleeves have the date and location penciled in French (she had poor penmanship).

I found her name written with pencil on a photo-lab envelope. I decided to 'Google' her about a year after I purchased these only to find her obituary placed the day before my search. She passed only a couple of days before that inquiry on her.

I wanted to meet her in person well before I found her obituary but, the auction house had stated she was ill, so I didn't want to bother her. So many questions would have been answered if I had."

2011-01-26T17:18:00.000-08:00

Don't be mean.

Two birds just crapped on my head, and by crapped I mean, CRAPPED. One as I was at a crosswalk and the other when I was walking past a liquor store. The first bird poo was reasonable. Clear, small. Easily forgotten. The second though. That was the motherload. I don't think I've seen so many colors in a bird's shit before. And streaking down my hair! And clumped on my hand (I was talking on my cellphone at the time)! Green and gloppy and white. Too much information? I know. Just trying to wrap my mind around it. I was walking to the post office to get stamps, a simple act. But the birds just couldn't be happy with a simple act. I can still hear them chattering above my head. Laugh all you want, little mocking birds. You may be perched too high for me to reach, but your day is coming. Just you wait.

(Actually, nah. There's really nothing I can do about it. Except take a shower.)

New music love of the day: THE MOODY BLUES. Excellent writing music. Thank you, Mr. Matt. You complete me, with your Oklahoma State shirt of fighting Pistol Pete and the meat you marinate in the fridge days on end for pork roast.

Downton Abbey

2011-01-26T16:28:00.000-08:00

This show makes me love television.

2011-01-20T17:35:00.000-08:00

We went to Point Dume over the weekend and walked along the beach to Paradise Cove. Malibu, man. We could see the smog covering the Los Angeles basin, but we were safe for the moment. I tried to breathe deeply so I could suck in as much clean air as I could.

It was warm. 85 degrees, and we looked at the starfish and lobster bits stuck on rocks, in the sand. I found the blackest rock I've ever seen and stepped on a mussel and threw shells into the waves. We walked until we were hungry. Though I'm always hungry. And the shack of fried fish didn't help.

I forget how peaceful the ocean could be.

Seals poked their heads out of the waves. You could hear them off the shore. We climbed up the mountain. In some parts the rock was so smooth it looked like plaster. The sand felt like silk on my toes. Velvety.

There were lots of kids at Paradise Cove, but if you kept walking it was quieter. And I didn't mind the kids so much, they were throwing the sand and didn't bother us. They were building little clumps and calling them castles. The dogs were happy too, running in circles and into the waves.

Our apartment doesn't get as much sunlight as I would like. I sat on the porch today, soaking in what I could.

Fruit. Vegetables. These are luxuries. It saddens me to think it might get to the point where we might not be able to afford them. Los Angeles may be sinking. The water may be rising. Some say the Mayans were wrong, 2011's the end.

...

Sheesh.

QUIET CITY

2011-01-20T15:39:00.000-08:00

My looong short story "QUIET CITY" was a finalist in the November 2010 Glimmer Train Short Story Award for New Writers competition.

Now I just need to keep sending it out.

In other news, beautiful Los Angeles day! Smog excluding...

A trip to Santa Barbara Wine Country (Or Santa Ynez Wine Country, depending on who you talk to and how far you travel.)

2011-01-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

Currently reading: GHOST HOUSE by Carole Maso. Love, love, love it so far. She's poetic in her prose, and her stories are non-linear (whatever that means). Many have said my stories - or the ones from the heart - have a non-linear quality. And at first I thought that was a bad thing. By the way they were saying it. "This makes no sense. You have to have it mean something." And so on. I, as always, am learning. But Maso's words comfort me. There's another way to go about this, and that makes me happy.

At the Hadsten House, we watched japanese people on stilts go through obstacle courses. We threw our suitcase and clothes all over the room.

"Now you have to be the next champion!" The announcer's fist pumped the air in front of him.

I discovered the aim of life is to sing. Sing when you're drinking, sing when you're eating, sing when you're with company or by yourself or with friends. You must never be afraid to show your true colors, but often it is hard not to lose yourself.

Cheesy, I know. And god, all that cheese we ate. With crackers and free wine tastings. Delicious.

The fire was going in the fireplace, but it was fake, just illuminated lights, barely any warmth.

And the Hadsten House's ravioli is a giant PIE of ravioli. It fills the plate - monstrous. Three meals worth of food, and the cream and butter in that dish, you could swim in it, but oh, it was tasty, which is the point. I guess. I couldn't finish.

We met the guy with white hair from Sideways. I don't even remember that movie, but three people mentioned where we could find him, so we went to say hello. Mr. Matt bought some wine - from every winery we went to, and the world swirled from all those tastings.

We saw vultures and hawks and falcons and a bob cat, too. The vultures were perched on the telephone poles, huge, bending the wires, only not - maybe only in my head - but still, they looked like they could crush the world. There were Emus, and barn cats, and ostriches in ostrich land. You could feed and pet them, fun for the whole family.

The Emu's eyes scared me, red. They reminded me of the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, their movements quick - the sound they made deep in their throat. One tried to gnaw at us from the cage. He kept sticking his head through the fence, but it would get stuck, and he'd open his beak, make that clicking sound in his throat, and then try again. Relentless.

The last winery we went to, there were angels in the sky. We went to a rustic winery, and then a fancy one. Some had wine and cheese and salami you could buy and watch the sunset. Others had free samples, and others still just had wine. Still, there were olives to taste, and signs and cameras in one. And there was a sense we were going somewhere which I sometimes didn't get anymore.

M told me, he said: This is my favorite place on earth. All the places I've been. The countryside is beautiful. Close to two cities: Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. But you're far away from it too.

Everyone has dogs here, and they lounge about in the tasting rooms. The dogs are content to be patted by travelers and tourists, their tongues lolling on the floor. Lolling. What a fun word. LOLLING.

Nowhere Near Here

2010-12-06T09:27:00.000-08:00

I love this.

'Nowhere Near Here' video.

'Nowhere Near Here' is a stop motion animation that uses a combination of light with stencils and long exposure photography to tell the story of a dog running around the city at night, doing whatever a dog does. The animation was first exhibited at the The Herbert, in Coventry, on the 7th October 2010.

2010-11-01T08:39:00.000-07:00

Got this from a friend. It really hit home, so I have to share.

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life 
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission. 
be on the watch. 
there are ways out. 
there is a light somewhere. 
it may not be much light but 
it beats the darkness.
 be on the watch. 
the gods will offer you chances. 
know them. 
take them. 
you can’t beat death but
 you can beat death in life, sometimes. 
and the more often you learn to do it, 
the more light there will be. 
your life is your life.
 know it while you have it. 
you are marvelous
 the gods wait to delight
 in you.

-- by Charles Bukowski

2010-10-28T11:08:00.000-07:00

There was a huge accident at Lexington and Orange right where the parking garage entrance is at work. Good thing I was five minutes late this morning, because two cars crashed into each other with such force that one flipped over! No ambulances though. Hopefully, no one was hurt. =(

2010-10-23T10:50:00.001-07:00

How did it get to be October already? For the last few months I’ve been working as a Script Coordinator/Writer’s Assistant on a TV show, Imagination Movers. It’s been a blast, and I’m learning a lot about revision and editing and creating. Plus, it’s just fun to be working in Final Draft all day.

Am I a Final Draft/screenplay geek? Perhaps.

It feels like Fall in Los Angeles, and a couple of weeks ago Greek class resumed at St. Sophia. I love the way the Greek language sounds, even though my accent will probably always be dubbed American.

The itch to travel has returned, as it often does almost every other month, and I’m saving up money to head somewhere out of California soon. Just for a mini-vacation. A breath of fresh air.

I still don’t know what I want to be for Halloween. Usually I just throw on a mini-skirt, or maybe this year I’ll just put a paper bag over my head and cut out holes for eyes.

Kidding.

Sort of.

Revisions of my own stories continues. A slow and sure process. Steady as it goes, I suppose. I'm aiming to send out work in December and January and keep inventing, creating, revising.

Pismo Beach, CA

2010-09-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

Pismo Beach, CA

2010-09-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

2010-09-14T23:28:00.000-07:00

Montage of a relationship from katherine tran on Vimeo.

*Borrowed this from Katherine Tran's website - she shot an amazing video which was included in the UC PLAYWORKS original theater production of my one-act play Fly Me to the Moon. Had to share.

A man trades his own memories to give his wife a pricey memory trip to the moon.

Directed and shot by: Katherine Tran
Co-Director: Diana Payne

Starring:
Karen Fitzgerrell
Jacob Shipp

2010-09-04T11:39:00.000-07:00

2010-07-27T21:54:00.000-07:00

Today in Griffith Park we saw a falcon snatch a baby bird from its nest and rip it to shreds right in front of the mama and papa birds! They were screaming something fierce, but the falcon still ate that baby bird's insides. Sadness.

What's scary is we were about five feet away from the predator and she didn't even care. Too busy snackin' I suppose.

I can still hear those birds screaming as their baby was eaten.

=( It's a cruel, cruel world.

2010-07-09T13:41:00.001-07:00

Revision of stories and money-making job hunt continues, although my real job shall always be writing. Take THAT, reality. The weather in Los Angeles has been especially cool this June and July. We're talking mid-70s, which is a treat considering the summer-time months in LA can be scorching hot if you don't live by the ocean.

I've been running by the river in the morning and late-afternoons. Not both in the same day. It's more of an either/or thing. I joined The Tracking Board and am having fun reading screenplays and researching forums. All in all, so far it's worth it.

In other news, I'm planning a pilgrimage to the Margaret Herrick Library in Beverly Hills to read some of the Nicholl winning screenplays for research. My biggest concern? Parking. BAH to parking in this city. Especially on the west side. It's either pay, pay, pay or non-existent.

I spent all monday taking the temp agencies Word, Excel and Outlook exams, complete with tutorials. Guess I'm rusty on my formulas. Oy. But after all was said in done I tested 90%-100% on all of them, so that's a relief. Also, 99 WPM typing. I can always be a career secretary if worse comes to worse. Blargh. I mean, yeah! Excitement! Honestly, any sort of income in the next few months is good. All kidding aside. =)

So, yes. Life is progressing slowly but surely. Our one-year lease on the apartment is up in December, and while I'm not sure if we'll stay here or move (M wants a little more gardening space), I can honestly say that right now I'd be happy either way.

2010-07-09T13:34:00.000-07:00

The colors are off on this flier. I'm not sure what the uploading problem is, but will try and figure it out. For some reason the colors go all nuclear when I download the picture. I'm sure it's something I'm doing. =)

Transcripts of a First Grader

2010-06-25T09:31:00.000-07:00

...Complete with stick figure illustrations.

Found when rummaging through the attic.

Stick-figure boy and girl standing on a street. Boy holds flower.
boy: do you love me?
girl: no boy, no, I do not love you.
boy: no one loves me.
girl: so go.

A stick-figure girl and stick-figure car stand atop a mountain:
girl: Car, do you love me, car, pleas car love me
no answer
girl: car do you love me
no answer
the car did not any answer the car did not answer

A girl is in bed. there is a pumpkin head beside her. A square window reveals two blobby birds. The little girl has a thought balloon. She dreams of the same scene...only the pumpkin head is sleeping. Begin scene.
Girl in bed: I love you.
Pumpkin head: I love you.
Girl in bed: Big. I am.
Pumpkin head: My.
Girl in bed: ZZZZZZZZZzzzzz...
Pumpkin head: Love.

While this is going on, two blob birds upper right have something to say, as well.
Left blob bird: I do love you.
Right blob bird, flapping wings: No one. Loves me.

A little stick girl and another little sick girl stand in front of a hose. All is green.
Stick girl #1: I love you.
Stick girl #2: I love you too.

The next page, both girls are in bed. One little girl dreams of being eaten by a giant fish while a baby fish watches.

A A A A

End.

Another note. Must be a little older. Second grade?

Note to Julie:

Julie -

I'm sorry for what ever I did. And I'm not mad at you.

Are we friends?
Yes No circle one and put it
in my locker

P.S. I'm writing this in Health class with evil Mr. Campora talking about drunk people!

- ? ? ?
(Eva)

Whoa. I don't remember Mr. Campora. Or this conversation. Or whatever Julie was mad at me for. If she even was. Probably I was paranoid even as a kid. =)

What I Missed

2010-06-24T07:01:00.000-07:00

- The wind rustling in the evergreen trees outside at a steady pace, like the waves of the ocean. Rising and falling, ebbing and flowing.
- The scattered bird feeders on the lawn and the cardinal that sits on the swaying branch outside my window.
- The humid nights and fireflies, blinking on and off at dusk.
- Two black cats, one with a chip in his ear, stretching on the furniture and over the rug and running into you because they're so damn happy to see you.
- Fresh smell of grass and dandelions.
- The swish of the occasional car down the road.
- Bagel with cream cheese and lox. BAGEL WITH CREAM CHEESE AND LOX. BAGEL WITH CREAM CHEESE AND LOX. (Can you tell I really love NY bagels with cream cheese and lox?)

In other news, Dad's attempt to grow a peach tree on our front lawn by throwing all the peach pits he eats in the shrubs has spawned three little trees. He showed me the little orbs on the tree, the baby peaches.

Operation clean my room and pack up my memories is still in effect. I've been finding all kinds of goodies from high school, boys' numbers, old journals (and lots of them), handwritten notes with inside jokes that completely bewilder me. And all my yearbooks from elementary school up to college. Why do you need a yearbook in elementary school anyway? I've found old writing, too, from second grade, first grade, even kindergarden though it doesn't make much sense, lots of pretending that I know what I'm doing, a scribble here and there and then a picture illustrating what I meant. Of course! The boy and girl are in the garden. They're playing "let's smile wide and throw our hands up in the air"! Lots of meticulous children's books I wrote to myself in first grade, on tiny memo notepads (complete with illustrations of blobby people and monsters, some that look suspiciously close to Dr. Seuss characters, others that are on another planet of their own). Old pictures, too. Of moments I've forgotten, or have slipped into some far-reaching corner of my brain. Like when I went to the beach, of my high school sweetheart, of being in the drama club, of friends from the Netherlands, in those little attic rooms in the castle, of the Shakespeare Club in high school and the literary magazine and Tennis and Basketball (caution: three point shooter) and all the travels through Europe, and kindergarden crushes complete with pictures of boys and girls smiling with bobble heads.

Allergies aren't so bad here either. Well, at least not in the first day...so we'll see. And there's this feeling of strange tranquility. The land of eternal lawnmower sounds. It's all so familiar and all so strange. Los Angeles is another world. The city is another world. What if there's more than one place you call home?

Barnyard Theatre and Fly Me to the Moon

2010-06-24T06:44:00.000-07:00

My one-act play, Fly Me to the Moon, is going to be performed in Davis, Ca! I already posted on Facebook, but thought I'd do here, too. I'm relatively new to playwriting, mostly focusing on fiction and screenwriting, but the folks at Barnyard Theatre have been amazing. You can tell they really love being a part of watching plays evolve from the page to the stage.

Barnyard Theatre is a community theatre group dedicated to creating theatre from scratch. Every summer this group of theatre artists gathers in Davis to develop a new script, and transform a working barn into a non-traditional theatre space.

Situated in the fields of Yolo County, the unique location of the Historic Schmeiser Barn supports Barnyard Theatre’s innovative staging and the creation of dynamic relationships between actors and audience members. The artists are dedicated to producing high-quality theatre in a stress-free environment.

The Barnyard Theatre motto “Think Organic” reflects the company’s dedication to creating theatre from scratch, and its ongoing appreciation for Yolo County’s agricultural roots. Each summer, while preparing for the production Barnyard Theatre takes great care to preserve the beauty, history, and functionality of the barn.

Mainstage
Summer 2010

Things That Fall From the Sky:
an evening of short plays

Three short plays. A story about a man waiting for a bear, a young couple visiting a shop that sells memories, and a girl who loves the stars but it now afraid to look up.

directed by Lindsay Carpenter

Performance Dates:
July 16, 17, 18, 22, 23, 24, 25, 29, 30, and 31.

Time: 8:30 (sunset)

FEATURING:
Unusual Epitaphs by Rob Rinow
A long-time traveler with no roots, who wants to be remembered for being eaten by a bear, meets a lonely security guard / tour guide / shindig planner whose roots are too deep to break free.

Fly Me to the Moon by Eva Konstantopoulos
In a shop that sells memories, the most expensive memory for sale is a trip to the moon. This is a story about fantasies, nostalgia, and what we're willing to do for the ones we love.

Things That Fall From the Sky by Brenda Varda
Melvia is a young dreamer who corresponded with the astronauts on the ill-fated Columbia before the space shuttle exploded. Now she fears her beloved night sky, afraid of the great fiery things that might fall from it. This is a story about love, grief, and looking up at the stars.

JUNE BUG

2010-06-16T10:51:00.000-07:00

I just graduated from the MFA program at the University of CA, Riverside. Whoooo hoooooooooo! These last three years have been great for my writing and teaching experience. I learned a lot about myself as a storyteller and a teacher and human being. Joy for learning! Really. I'm not joking. =)

There's still a lot of work to be done though. On Tuesday, we had a pitch festival at Raleigh Studios and there are a handful of producers who want to read my screenplays. All the more motivation to finish up those screenplays. And fast. I'm excited they requested the screenplays because I worked on those pitches for weeks beforehand. Oy! I definitely prefer typing away in a room as opposed to pitching my projects, but everything is a learning experience and I met some great people. I'm extremely glad that I went.

ALSO, I'm excited to take this next step, been looking for a job, as well, but I've been torn because my real job (in my head) will always be writing stories.

On the home front, we got a tomato plant that's sprouting green tomatoes. And it's cloudy outside, but refreshingly so. The farmer's market is booming in Atwater Village on sundays. I dig the strawberries you can get, a cart of them for $4.00. I've been practicing my Greek everyday, as well, and I'm heading back to New York from June 22 through the 29th. Going to be packing up my belongings in my childhood home since the parental units are moving. Sad. But also necessary. I think it's high time they moved on from that house.

This summer I have a lot of writing planned, but then I realized that I always have a lot of writing planned. So, it's all good. =) I've decided though, for purposes of sanity, to take it one story at a time since working on too many stories at once makes my head hurt. This last quarter has been crazy, but I'm excited because my one-act play, "Fly Me to the Moon" is going to be performed at the Barnyard Theatre in Davis, CA. Dates on their website.

I've been running by the river. There are herons down there and ducks and geese and little birds on spindly legs.

Side note: My mom just sent me this, and I wanted to share. It's a quote from MANI Travels in the Southern Peloponnese by Patrick Leigh Fermor:
(the speaker is on a small ship sailing around the tip of the MANI-south of Sparta)

….The sun was already high in the limitless Greek sky: a sky which is higher and lighter and which
surrounds one closer and stretches further into space than anywhere else in the world. It is neither
daunting not(r) belittling but hospitable and welcoming to man and as much his element as the earth;
As though a mere error in gravity pins him to the rocks or the ship’s deck and prevents him from being assumed into infinity.

A Note Of Guilt: From A Catholic Girl

2010-05-14T16:04:00.000-07:00

Not that I've been writing in this everyday, but I'm on the last lap of graduate school and am sprinting to the finish line so this is a note, mostly for myself, because who else reads this?

E, don't feel guilty for not writing in this. You'll have plenty time (in theory), to write here after mid-June. Until then, turn your damn internet off.

The end. =)

Tonight...Rock the Black Box

2010-04-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

Date:
Saturday, April 24, 2010

Time:
8:00pm - 11:00pm

Location:
The University of California, Riverside, Humanities Building 411

A night of MFA Readings
Works from first and second year screenwriters and playwrights:
V Zamora
Leonid Leonov
Sara Green
Eva Konstantopoulos
Joe Powers
Ching-In Chen
SR Mishler
Melissa Harkness

Festival of Books This Weekend! Joy!

2010-04-23T13:13:00.001-07:00

General Information

Posted using ShareThis

2010-04-12T13:57:00.001-07:00

"All I hope to say in books, all that I ever hope to say, is that I love the world." - E. B. White, the author of Charlotte’s Web

2010-04-11T19:03:00.000-07:00

Life is so dull without love, truly, life is so dull. I love the way people meet, I love the way people lie. I love the way people just fall over themselves wanting to impress others. I love life. Abstraction. Abstraction. Abstraction.

I am having difficulty. Writing what I am supposed to be writing about. Instead I'm recording my dreams, trying to make sense of these images in my head. What does the needle mean? Why am I being chased? Who are the women with blonde hair trying to kiss both my cheeks? Wish me a good trip? I don't know. My subconscious dreams up these images. Bright sky. Blue night.

I submitted my stories to a bunch of contests. I'll let you know if I hear anything back, but if I don't, well, let's just let this little admission slip away. Until next time. You know.

Oh, and in other news. M helped with my taxes, meaning they are done!

What. A. Relief.

Because lord knows, I can't do my own taxes. Or, at least, I've tried doing them by myself, but I just end up banging my head against the table. Damn.

Also, I've been doing more yoga. And I feel so much better for it. It's almost sad that I didn't do this sooner. But no matter. Live for today!

Woot.

New Quarter!

2010-03-29T11:58:00.000-07:00

School starts tomorrow! My last quarter at UC Riverside (if I can finish my thesis in time, which I will. Even if I have to go sleepless nights!). I'm going to be teaching three discussion sections of Intro to Creative Writing. I love the first assignment. The students have to write 50 factoids about their lives, themselves...Creative writing is so important! Last quarter when I asked my students if any of them had taken creative writing in school before college, only a few raised their hands. Damn. It's good that their first class is with Goldberry Long though. Talk about inspiring. Sheesh.

After graduation in June, then it's looking for a job to pay rent/bills, working on polishing up my stories to send them out. =) Joy. Terrifying joy.

We spent this weekend in San Francisco and Oakland, also visited a friend in Davis and one of M's friends in Sacramento. I seriously LOVE the Bay area. It's probably one of the only other places I would consider living: San Francisco, New York, Los Angeles. I'd say Chicago too, but the cold winters! Still.

Actually, I'd probably live anywhere for a little while (especially cities, have you noticed a trend?). LA though, man. It's hard to beat 80 in March. That is if you like being warm (me! me! me!).

M mentioned on our trip that he wants to move to an apartment or house with outside space for a garden. I agree. Not sure where the world will take us after I graduate, maybe it'll just be down the street, or perhaps somewhere else...?

Who knows!?

I do love the school system. The quarters that divide up the year in neat, little sections. Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer. Oh yeah, and the breaks. It gives you designated work time and play time. Mmmhmmm, must be the Virgo in me that likes the organization, while the Aquarius is all, "Whooo hoooooo! Let's go travel the world already!"

Oh, conundrum.

Sweet Disposition

2010-03-22T09:49:00.001-07:00

This song is a little old, but I heard it again last night and remembered how much I love it.

April 24: MFA Showcase at Black Box Theater in Riverside, CA

2010-03-21T15:15:00.001-07:00

There's going to be a showcase of UC Riverside graduate students theater and screenwriting work on April 24 at the Black Box Theater.

More details coming soon...

2010-03-21T15:14:00.001-07:00

Hello Everyone:

There will be a reading at St. Francis College on 22 April 2010 (from
approximately 4pm - 6pm) by some of the contributors to the anthology,
PAIN and MEMORY: Reflections on the Strength of the Human Spirit in
Suffering. Free and open to the public. Refreshments will be served.
Books/signings.

Details here: www.ebibliotekos.blogspot.com Come and meet the
authors! Please post, forward, and share this information.

--
Editions Bibliotekos
www.ebibliotekos.blogspot.com

SPAM? BE GONE!

2010-03-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

NOTE: I keep getting spam comments. Didn't even know that could happen. How the hell do I get rid of that?

There's not a lot to know about you.

Already the dream's fading. There was sand for miles and miles. They gave me a huge stuffed animal that had 'congratulations' written on the white belly, but the desert wind swept the bear from the truck and it tumbled in the sand and fell over a dune. I was going to jump over the dune, but something stopped me, good thing too, because the sheer drop was immense. Straight down, one mile long. I couldn't even see the trees and river below, it all looked like dots and lines. I wasn't good with hope. There was no way I was getting that bear back, so I didn't even try. It was just a stuffed animal bear anyway, what would that do for me? What could it do?

There was a trailer but the power wasn't turned on. We went inside and there were large, muscled men that didn't have much to say. They were drinking beers and wanted to see which room I would pick. I didn't like them watching, I can tell you that. When I did pick a room, someone I didn't know was sitting on the other twin bed. She was laughing like she knew me, and I didn't know why, so I played along and pretty soon we were in this giggling fit, and the walls were wooden, but it was that plastic wood that you can glue on and peel off. I was waiting for something to happen, for the trailer to start. That's what we were waiting for but nothing ever happened. And always there was that cliff, taunting me from outside, that stuffed bear at the bottom of it. I had this fear that they were going to push me over, but I didn't know why, as I didn't know them, not really. Somewhere my dad came into it, he was in one of the other rooms with my little sister. She was reading Manga on this tiny baby bed and dad was saying I couldn't stay in their room, because there wasn't enough space. I said I didn't care, and I don't think I did, I was only concerned about how high the trailer was parked. How the wind might knock us over the dune where we'd surely all die. And those muscly men kept drinking beers, and for some reason, I thought they were our beers, and that they should leave, but when I told them so, they laughed and said I was the guest, not them. I didn't know any of them, except for dad and G. And when I looked in my family's room, they weren't even there anymore. I spent the night with the laughing girl, and she talked about spiders on the walls, how she had tacked sticker stars on her ceiling and watched the constellations glow, come alive above her. She was all right, but she wasn't family. I had the sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't remember any of this when I woke up.

But then I tried to remember it. And then I did. Though it was creepier in my dream, there was a lot I wasn't sure about. It was hot, I knew that. Hot. And then windy. Sand kept getting in my mouth. We wanted to be in the trailer, because it was somehow cooler. Even though there wasn't any power, we had light.

We're going up north for my "spring break." Not sure yet about the details, but around the San Francisco area, or outside of it, in the mountains. I'm excited to get away from Los Angeles, I just got back from that European excursion and now I'm itching to go again. I guess that's life. I know I'm where I'm supposed to be though. I love this city. People don't believe me when I say it's diverse, but it is. You just have to know where to look. One more quarter to go for school. I am pumping out my second/third revision of the novella about Rock O' Land, NY. Christmas time. All that holiday cheer. It's going to be epic. Or a beautiful disaster. Either way I would have tried. That's something, right? Also reviewing animated children's shows materials, I'm hoping to get started writing one next quarter. My last quarter. We'll see. And it's just been revising, revising, revising for those screenplays.

I'm not sure I like playwriting as much as fiction and screenwriting. I think I need more practice with it. I'm not sure I have a full grasp on non-fiction or poetry after leaving this program. Those are areas that I'd still like to develop. I'm glad I spent so much time in my first genre (fiction) and second genre (screenwriting) and that I had the chance to take a playwriting class with Rickerby Hinds. Definitely don't think I've got playwriting down though, still have a lot to learn, which is great. I like learning. =)

Not that I'm a master at screenwriting or fiction, but it's where most of my time has gone day by day these last 3 years. I don't think I'd ever call myself a master, even if I was. There's always something more you can learn, and I wouldn't want to brag about telling stories. That's besides the point. I always, in some way, want to be a student, learning about the world around me.

Tonight we're going to the Pantages, then heading to the Griffin for T-dawg's birthday. I hope I can get in after ten, I've been seeing a nasty line outside that bar (I only say nasty because I don't like to stand in 'em).

Yesterday I did yoga. Earlier in the week, too. My body hurts in places I didn't know it could hurt. That's a good thing, right? Or maybe I'm doing the positions wrong? Also, been running/walking/hiking. I like moving. Need to find a place to go swim and I'll be set.

We'll see. =)

March Madness

2010-03-10T09:23:00.000-08:00

It's Wednesday, last week of school. Finals week is next week.

Finished first draft of my novella/short novel and am currently revising so it can be shown to my professors and then hopefully other people, too.

We're planning a trip for "spring break." Possibly going up to the Sierras and San Francisco. We'll see. It'll be good to get away from the daily-daily.

Other than that, been running/hiking more, though this week has been crazy. I'm trying to keep it together, focus on writing, which is the most important thing, why I'm here.

Over and out,
E

More later, hopefully something more substantial. I keep getting these spam comments. How do you get rid of those? Ugh.

SKYLIGHT BOOKS READING -> February 27th at 5:00pm

2010-02-24T17:12:00.000-08:00

I'll be reading at Skylight Books at 5:00pm this
Saturday, February 27th, along with Julie Cline, V Zamora, Bonnie Bolling, Patricia Rosales...

Here's the bookstore location:
1818 North Vermont Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90027

If you're free, come out and support! Should be fun. =)

That's What He Said

2010-02-10T11:18:00.000-08:00

"You know what kind of girls you meet in bars? The type of girls that go to bars.”

I had to think about what he was saying. But it made sense.

Sunny today. Yesterday it rained. We had spaghetti with sausages and tomato sauce. The tomatoes were ruby red, it was like we were slurping blood. Sweet blood. No, it just looked bloody though. Not salty at all.

Valentine's Day is coming up. Blarg. M and I are probably going to spend it in the casa. Relaxing. Cooking (or he will cook and I will attempt to help him and cut up vegetables and not hurt myself). I'm excited to go celebrate Single Awareness Day, too, on Friday. Joy!

Let's make 2010 a great year. Because why would you ever say, "Let's NOT make 2010 a great year!" That's like shooting yourself in the foot.

Mmhmmmm.

Plop Plop Plop

2010-02-05T19:46:00.000-08:00

Rain. Again. It's okay though. LA needs it. This desert city.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

M's cooking steaks. We are hibernating tonight. Why is it that I never want to go out when the weather is gloomy like this? That's fine though. Perfect for cozy activities like watching movies and writing and reading and resting.

I don't know if I can take classes next quarter, but I hope I can take a couple.

Need to find a job. June or July. Projection. Also want to come back to NY mid-march or mid-june. Guess we'll see where the chips fall. I drank an exorbitant amount of tea today. My goodness.

Last night, we watched TRUCKER.

Good. Movie.

2010-02-04T16:06:00.000-08:00

Currently:

Listening to techno in the TA office. Cubicles upon cubicles.

Just graded some writing prompts.

Thinking of what to get M for his birthday.

I am bad at "getting things."

Attempting to draw for my graphic novel class.

And write. And write. And write.

I believe I will be staying for one more quarter, then graduation!

Writer's Week at UCR

2010-02-04T16:04:00.000-08:00

Whoo hooo!

Writer's Week is coming up at UCR, and there are some great authors in attendance. If anyone's in the Riverside area, you should check it out. =)

The Cove

2010-01-18T21:49:00.000-08:00

So depressing. So very depressing. But worth watching. I cried. =(

RAIN

2010-01-18T17:50:00.000-08:00

It's supposed to rain ALL this week. M is making chili, perfect rainy weather food. I've been inside all day writing, but I still have more to do! Perhaps my 'to do' lists are too long?

NEVER!

I am a huge planner. Must be some of that Virgo in me. Balances out the dreamer Aquarius. Not that I believe in that stuff, but there does seem to be some truth to it. I just updated my daily, weekly, monthly and year plan...mwa ha ha...

It's my birthday this week, too. Weird. There are so many January babies that I know!

A part of me is missing NY! Walking places! The other day I walked to the organic super market on Los Feliz and felt better. Ha.

Now we're just listening to the blues, rocking out.

Keep on, keep on. =)

MOON

2010-01-17T16:22:00.001-08:00

Damn. So, it wasn't perfect, but this film definitely made me think. A subtle sci-fi pic. Trippy.

(Not to mention a brilliant score by Clint Mansell, my hero of atmospheric soundtracks.)