Never Just Yet

Not never expected it. But usually I'm oblivious--

Subway was packed, my dogs barking and tired. Standing beside the clapping doors, with every chime before they closed, my hair would catch with the sweeping breeze. 

side note: wear a mini skirt, more traffic will follow.

Six feet tall. Dark hair. Ruggedly handsome. His vibe not bad. He was the manly kind. They're either manly or they're not. He looked my way more than need be (much more), but given the place we were at...it was, well...it wasn't a good time for any eye contact, at least not the kind that gives a silent invitation. Or perhaps I wasn't ready to share what I was feeling. He was pretty cute and I was feeling less than stellar, not to mention tired.

...I just get nervous when people stare, especially when you don't mind the attention. I can be a classic Chickie-poo when it comes to the woman-man thing. 

Yet on a lighter note, my days are freeing up, which is a gift. Time to write what I haven't been writing. Commit to the next script, or commit script suicide.

Behind The Door

Part 1

As Alice falls down the rabbit hole, thumping and bumping against raggedy edges, her tender flesh scraped and cut on wild twisted roots, she wonders how much farther the drop will be?

After the rocky landing, stars spinning above her crown, pupils rolling like marbles - she grabs her forehead. Words finally stand still.

All is murky and dim. Mr. Cottontail no where in sight. Was it just a terrible dream? One brought on by a deluge of sweets and endless bad TV?

No.

Standing on her feet she begins to walk, following the will in her heart, though fear creeps within a few heartbeats from behind. The only option is the future. The past is already forgotten. Forever.

R.I.P Yesterday.

Ahead a dim light is visible. lt grows brighter with each step. She swallows hard, scared shi*less. She enters a room, vast and endless to the eye.

Beneath a halo of light two doors stand. One is large and ornate, wrapped in gold dust. She sweeps her fingers across the glittery surface. The other is smaller and plain. She sweeps her fingers across that one and gets a splinter. Bloodlets dot the ground.

"Choose Biotch!" they speak aloud.

Alice bites her lip...this may take a moment.

Private Parts

I used to journal, almost every night. Journals remind us of who we are and how far we've come, maybe even how much farther we still have to go.

But I stopped journaling, which sucks.

side note: last time I was in Los Angeles, I was in a coffee shop on Beverly Blvd. I was sipping java, journaling. There was a guy next to me writing on his laptop. We sorta eyed one another - what we were writing. He journals on his laptop. I journal on paper. We swapped some words about it. 

I later realized I was speaking to Dean Deleo. He was nice.

Back to what sucks--

A close family member told me, "yeah, I've read your diary..."

I lost my breath for a moment. I hold many secrets, wants and wishes between those pages. The violation, trust, instantly broken in shards. There's no going back after such thing.

side note: Read it after I'm dead.

So, this is me: a pressure cooker, a lid twisted on too tight, anxious and kinda angry. Pissed from all the crap floating around in my brain, unable to release on the page - a mental melange of sewage. I feel desperate to purge. Don't feel safe to.  

There was no honest apology. No word that it was an accident. No begging for forgiveness. Nada. Just a huff and a haughty comment, "I thought you were reading mine."

My skin crawled. Beyond shocked and appalled. If there's one art I get in spades, it's boundaries and giving people their personal space. Also, I'm not that nosey.

I can shrug most things off, but not this.

Journals/diaries are private. Many parts of my journal/most journals carry secrets that aren't meant for sharing. I'm still in shock, and I learned of this in the Spring.

Who the F reads someones' diary?

The Ugly Truth is...

It's been a while-- I'll try to update.

I'm going through this thing...I don't know what to call it? What I do know is that I don't like it. I feel like a flowing river rushing towards a broken dam, just flowing at the mercy of a strong current/tide (Gods hand)- seeping into places that I never fathomed to go. I've not lost my sanity, yet. 

I did see this handsome stranger, which is rare, so very rare for me. Good looking people are everywhere- the difference is what holds your (my) attention. I feed more off energy and a vibe. Bad vibes make me flee fast, as if running from a virus or toxic stench. Many of my friends are crushing on someone - I don't even have a celeb crush, which is infantile to share, but who do you think about when it gets quiet...I have many quiet/vacant moments without a thought or person crawling across my mind. Hollow, like a coconut.

I have to Up my black wardrobe, which isn't bad. I love black. My new Addams uniform for a time, and only for a time, I hope.

side note: Why are people so sensitive, as if the whole world is out to get them? Don't we leave such childhood feelings in the past, not tossing them in the path for others to trip on.

Insecurities get mucky when we remain too silent. Share the love--

That handsome stranger- he was tall, dark and handsome. Not sure if he was married...did I see a ring? I never look for rings, which causes many of my girlfriends to gasp out loud. I'm horrible at the flirting, look for the ring-thing. I flirt with everyone, without knowing I'm flirting. I laugh easy, it's a problem.

Yesterday on the train, a seventeen year old boy, a child, was giving me the eye. I look younger than I am, but COME ON!!!! A reverse gross-out.

In truth, the last month has been a crushing blow on many levels. A friend assures - Don't worry, the year is almost over. 2012 is two months away.

I replied, "HEY! I only got TWO months to make up for one of the shi**iest years of my life. I'm not giving up!!!"

A lot can happen in 60 days: I could hear from God on something I've been praying about for 20 years (it's big, and worth the wait). I could meet some tall, mature, kind, humble, creative, sexy stranger - My Eagle. I could hear from this agent who has a script I wrote...still waiting...please sign me...insert puppy whimper.

2011 is still a good year! Truth.

As we GRAZE we RAISE

INSENSITIVE DOUCHE BAGS.

On the subway today - massive cattle cart. Elbow to elbow. Suicide rush hour. Traffic - Slow crawl.

A guy stumbled on the subway today as it made its stop into a station. He literally went flying across several feet (toes) and fully sitting bodies, almost hitting the end of the cart. He apologized. No one batted a lash. It was as if it never happened. I asked, "Are you okay?" The mildly to severely shaken man nodded and whispered, "Thanks."

But it didn't stop there.

A few short stops later, a very visible pregnant woman walked into the train. She must have been 8 months along. No one offered her a seat. I was sitting too far away to give her mine.

The herd does stick together. Like a stack of cards, they fall or stack accordingly. How did we get to this point? Have we raised ourselves to be this unfeeling, fickle mass of inhumanity? Have we forgotten what it means it be civil?  I've written about this a few times, and it never fails me that I write about it time and time again. 

When the last civil heart stops beating, what the dang-hell is going to happen to the generations coming up? The tiny fingers and toes that will walk and wave a nation to keep on spinning.

I don't want to think about it.

Toronto the kind...now bone-chill-cold. And it's only September.

A Tale

As I'm writing, he's looking up up at me: Deep brown eyes that scream something that must be completely fabricated from my imagination, cause I truly know this man intimately just from reading a few pages of the Vanity Fair article.

Yeah, he's also on the cover.

And unless he was prompted to "Give me sex. Give me smoldering. Give me lust!" Perhaps the gent appears this way naturally in the everyday. Wakes up this way. Brushes his teeth this way. Puts on his socks this way. It's possible...

Probably not.

My eyes can't help but wander ever-so-All the Time! The Vanity Fair cover beckons me. A magazine I picked up off the side walk amidst a sign which read - FREE STUFF. Out of natural curiosity my friend and I pillaged through the goods. My friend nose deep in kitchen ware, while I stuck to the magazines. And there he was - Johnny D, smoldering, manly (cause manly is so hard to find these days. I'm dead serious) and hunky. Mind you I'm not some Jack Sparrow tramp. Never think of the man twice within five minutes. But something about this particular cover lured me, called to me "take me home...forever." So I listened, as any healthy, normal woman would. Perhaps it was a mid-cycle moment of weakness...Nah, it's just a hot cover.

So my friend and I walked, Johnny D secure under my arm. The rag sat next to me and my friend at the local beach cafe. He was the silent third company, and he was very acknowledged by the many women who walked by. A sudden gasp (I kid you not) would follow, as women stopped for a moment, dropping comments, their skin growing hot and flush. Their imaginations most probably drifting off to that place. We dare not go to that place, at least in public. One femme even stopped mid-way while in conversation with her gentleman caller, held in Johnny Ds gaze (it was crazy, I share no lies). If a man could find a simple magazine to be the object of his envy, it was this magazine. I laughed on the inside, which quickly turned to sadness...I would hate to feel what that man was feeling.

Who can compete with dear Johnny D? Not many. Who can steal a heart without so much as a word, but only give a glance taken within a frame? Not many. Who can cause me to write when I should be asleep, sleep that is essential to me. Not many.

so she sighs...

It's just a magazine.

Network B*tch

I recently read an article about networking and how essential it is when trying to sell a script in Hollywood, that it doesn't matter how great the script is, what matters is who you know!

I get that, I do. But like I wrote in a previous blog: I don't know how to BS my way through a crowd. I do do it (mingle in a crowd), and I truly do enjoy meeting people who love film: writers, directors and such; and there is a sway of banter exchanged. People size you up quick (I guess I do that as well), most are awesome, themselves, just people coming together to meet other people who love what they do, to see who could possibly help in their climb. BUT, what I wonder is...and this is when it gets sticky? tricky? pricky...? 

Like the Prick you just met who does his best to belittle anything you say cause his peepee isn't big enough. Someone you correct and say "no, I didn't pass out flyers, I was the assistant coordinator to..." which shuts him up, immediately tripping his swagger. 

It's tuff though. When I meet people (network), I don't begin to ramble off my experience or accomplishments like a human resume, while fake-laughing and reading expressions to see if I've impressed or intimidated a few, which I've seen many do. I think it's in poor taste to do such a thing. From my experience, seasoned individuals don't feel the need to push themselves that hard, which then goes back to the selling a script in Hollywood, you gotta network bit.

Blake Snyder, a real Chill-Cat who passed away a few years back said, "there's not just one way to sell a script in Hollywood." I believe him, he's a genuine person, not fluff, not pretentious, just human. I have to keep his words in mind.  

Then there's Don Carmody, who also shared with me "You Don't Ask, You Don't Get!" also, wise words. Words he expressed when he shared of his own start in the business, saying it took him a long time to realize the truth in that statement, and the sooner I learn it, the better off and faster things will come.

I keep the You don't ask, you don't get! with me at all times.

So, when I do go to Los Angeles, I'll have to keep that in mind. You Don't Ask, You Don't Get! 

That's where my networking will begin.

he made me look

Across a crowded room.

That's how most people notice one another, isn't it?

But these days, though the room be dense with bodies, I see nada.
A friend of mine recently told me she's found the man she wants to marry. I'm truly delighted and happy for her; many prayers were sent for this love to arrive, and he has. But what about just thinking of someone kinda special - just for fun, when nobody's watching. That lost look that begins to glaze over the eyes. What about that? What if such a fantasy no longer exists. There's no one to crush on? No one to think "what if?" No one, that when someone says their name, you smile wide on the inside, and for a brave few, the outside.

I get out, I see people, I meet people. I'm not a shy gal, I usually introduce myself first. I don't stick to the walls and become one with wallpaper. But still, amidst drab conversations, between mercy laughs (which I never do) and short smiles, most of time I'm bored. I've yet to be stimulated. Yet to be intrigued. Mind you I laugh, and at stupid things most of the time, cause truly-truly funny things are hard to come by. So I'll settle for stupid, which is okay - it allows me to think less and laugh more.

Like that gosh darn highschool crush. His name was Dominique. He used to walk behind me when I walked home from school, several meters away (he was shy). I would of course be blabbing to God, cause that's what you do when you think no one's watching. At least I did. 

Later, years and years later I saw him working at a bank. I stood in front of him and knew he was from my past. He looked the same, older, and kinda shorter. We had a "I know you" moment, which we shared in silence. Later that year he waved to me at an Echo and the Bunnymen concert. I didn't recognize him without the wood separating us at the Bank. 

But it's been soooo long since I've sighed. Blushed, or even giggled about someone. They say "when you least expect it you'll meet them." I believe this statement to be a total lie. Who ever came up with this probably said it to some lonely spinster back in the dark ages who was never asked to dance at court. 

But it would be nice. That fuzzy feeling. "The lean" as I call it. The one that causes you to stare just a little bit longer, while thinking absolutely nothing of course. Cause you're just too busy watching.

Must watch more. Must think less.

trust the foe

When are secrets secrets, and how does one know who to trust? I'm struggling with this right now, and it sucks! Like I said, honesty is everything to me.

I take secrets to the grave, no matter what the state of a relationship is. Sometimes even when it's not a secret, when you know it's best not to speak a word - one doesn't have to be told "shhh, don't tell".

In this world where people climb on the backs of "friends" and "peers" to reach that level, where secrets and sometimes half-truths, half-truths which is just a lie, sizzle and pop, where does trust factor in? Cause lips as much as ears enjoy the sticky sweet drama. The he said, she said bullsh*t. The "did you hear such-and-so" load of crap.

When high school was behind me, a most horrible period of time, I thought the childish dramas would end. But they don't, they only grow more tangled. Cause unlike the cafeteria, the main foyer, or behind the gym where fists, brows and hair gets pulled, bringing the shame into the light, grown-ups take it to another place. It becomes more plotting, b*tchy, and used to hurt reputations in the workplace, and even sometimes church. 

Best to keep the long nose out of it. Look elsewhere, and keep track of your own life. The fall can be considerable and take years to mend, for both parties.

But everyday is a day to learn from, to know what counts, to make amends, to hope for the best and to be thankful. And I am thankful.