Echo

Tonight, What I’m Calling a Good Time:

candlelit bedroom, downward spiral, trent reznor paralyzing my mind as i do freestyle yoga and smell fresh possibility in the cool night air.

End of the Workday Musings
(aka Desperate Attempts to Make the Clock Move Faster)

Have you ever had a nickname/handle for so long that you can’t even remember where it came from? Why the hell am I jpchunderbutt?

I met with the producer of my short and he’s now on board for my dark comedy feature as well. He was really excited about it, which is awesome because not only does he get it, but he sees its potential. The most important thing is to have people who are really excited about your project. Sometimes it just takes one person with enough connections to push things through. He thinks it can be shot comfortably with a budget of $3 million. I told him, that’s a little bit above my credit card limit. We’re going to be putting together a business plan and investor’s packet soon. This whole thing is so exciting because I finally have a producer who knows how to do these things, has experience doing it, and really wants to see this happen. I’m really, really excited. (Blog Ho, I still owe you a copy of the script and $1. I haven’t forgotten. They’re coming when you least expect it…).

This Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise thing is both disgusting and ridiculous. I don’t care how good-looking he was/is. He’s so cheesy in real life that he’s like that dorky uncle that everyone has. And then he’s got his mouth pressed up to yours and you’re like, what the hell is going on? You’re my uncle! And you’re old! And you smell like a wet vacuum bag! And then he acts like nothing happened when your mom and aunt get back from shopping at Target and you’re not sure if you’re supposed to be excited or disgusted at this little secret. Which is how I theoretically imagine what kissing an old cheesefart like Tom Cruise in public must feel like when you’re a young, spritely girl who knows with each camera flash, that your credibility is going down the drain.

I am trying to get a 4-pack in time for summer. Brian greatly appreciates the now-common sight of me on the floor of my bedroom, lying down in my underwear, watching DVDs as I lift weights and do crunches.

Speaking of strange behavior, Brian thinks it’s strange that when I come home for lunch and heat up spaghetti, that I take off my shirt and eat while just wearing my bra so as to not risk getting anything on my shirt. I also make spaghetti sauce shirtless, wearing an apron over my bra as to not soil any shirts (tomato stains can be hard to get out). I told him my habit has always been to strip down to my bra when I get home. It’s the equivalent of a man loosening his tie when he gets home from work. In high school and junior high, the bus would drop me off at the bottom of our hill and I would have to walk a mile up a steep hill in sweltering California heat. I’d be sweating and feverish by the time I got to my front door so the first thing I always did was strip down to my underwear and stand in front of the fridge with the door open to cool off.

Clothes are overrated.

I’m leaving for NY tomorrow night. Rie gets married on Friday night and I’m supposed to read a poem at the wedding. I chose:

“Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not of one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.” (Kahlil Gibran)

I love this quote:

“Night fell again. There was war to the south, but our sector was quiet. The battle was over. Our casualties were some thirteen thousand killed — thirteen thousand minds, memories, loves, sensations, worlds, universes — because the human mind is more a universe than the universe itself — and all for a few hundred yards of useless mud.”
~ John Fowles (1926-)

I’m bored now. I’m going to put my head down and will away the time until I get to leave.

I luuuuurve Family Guy.

But I just read creator Seth McFarlane’s bio on imdb, and it gave me chills. Holy crap.

Beyond Words

California Vanity? Sounds Redundant

I drove by a Lexus yesterday with the vanity plate: ADONIS

It made my soul gag.

Something to Get the Blood Boiling In the Morning

“A woman should say: “Have I made him happy? Is he satisfied? Does he love me more than he loved me before? Is he likely to go to bed with another woman?” If he does, then it’s the wife’s fault because she is not trying to make him happy.”

~ Barbara Cartland (1901-) British novelist

Once again, kids:

“[There’s] no substitute for real nutritious cuisine.”

One sign that you’re ignorant:

You go into a state of moral outrage when your state of denial is challenged.

I think she’s right, you know. Much respect to Maggie. If we as a country could be more self-reflective and take more responsibility for our actions and the things we do that cause reactions throughout the world, maybe we could start rebuilding our relationship with the rest of the world.

“Spurs insiders are understandably nervous about Duncan’s tentative movement after three ankle sprains and the lingering discomfort in Ginobili’s groin.”

Heh. The line that made thousands of sports fans across the nation suppress giggles.

I just got back from Hotdog, the Saturday night event at this gay bar. I went because I was promised there would be gay porn projected.

Walking in, the first things I see are male strippers dancing on a stage in front of a screen that had erotic film clips projected onto it. The strippers’ themes were Cowboy, and Mexican Wearing a Poncho (I know he was supposed to specifically be Mexican because his poncho had the colors of the Mexican flag on it). According to Brian, I walked into the door and my jaw just dropped. I was completely captivated by the strippers and how men would go up and nuzzle their faces into the stripper’s crotch. It was kind of hot. If someone wanted to call me gay, I think I’m much more gay man than lesbian. By the way, gay men are so much hotter than straight men. It’s so unfair. Also by the way, Brian has agreed to take me to a lesbian bar in an effort to get me over my fear of burly lesbians.

Speaking of…I don’t know what…I was at forty deuce early in the week for Thode’s birthday and I went to use the restroom. There was a white girl with short curly hair waiting in front of me. And before I go further with this story, let me say that I had gotten a good look at her and she was most definitely a girl. Well, when I went in after her, I was surprised to find the toilet seat was up.

Now…why would the seat be up after a girl goes in there?? I was so incredibly confused. I’ve heard of guys who pee sitting down (yeah, certain people…you know I’m talking about you), but girls who pee standing up?

I bet Julia Roberts pees standing up.

Ah, i figured it out. i’m afraid that if he can’t understand me but still insists on staying close, when my insides get anxious and angry because what I’m trying to communicate isn’t being understood, i’ll get frustrated and resent him and lash out at him. so if i were supportive of myself, wouldn’t i say, the need to be understood is very important to me so i shouldn’t compromise in this area, for the benefit of both parties involved? It’s amazing how similar my brother’s and my brain are. Sometimes I think my wiring is the same as his, but I just learned how to fake it better. I understand why autistic kids pound their heads against the wall out of frustration. Not being able to communicate what you desperately want to communicate and not being understood is an intense drowning feeling. They’re lashing out, desperate for a way to be understood. I think being truly understood feels like an affirmation that you truly exist.

after the sun goes down is when i fit in lifetimes of thinking about you
you keep finding new places to hide
while i close my eyes and remember that icicle that was dangling
recklessly from the porch overhang that one morning,
your frosted breath grasping at its stoic impenetrability.
perhaps you weren’t even present then but it’s become my thing these days,
painting you into every picture.

i need to be understood. i need for that person to understand me. because if they can’t help me get my life’s “point” out of me, it’ll just die with me. whatever it is that i’m trying to communicate, i want someone who can also see it and can help me translate what i’m trying to say. it’s lonely in here, yes, because i’ve managed to lock myself in! i’ve been so embarrassed to tell people this but i do need someone who can open that door. there’s something i’m really, really, really passionate about, but i can’t seem to find exactly what it is.

I am trying to be kind, but I just don’t think he understands me.

I’m looking for a mentor. Someone gentle. That’s what I’m looking for right now.

I’m in the dark of my bedroom, with only the flickers of a candle keeping me company. I’m in my expanse of a bed, laying within its sea of dark green sateen sheets with my computer nestled against my body, its battery heating up my skin. Earlier, I had worked out until my entire body was exhausted, with every muscle feeling alive and aware. I came home and took a shower, and suddenly realized something I’ve been taking for granted that I really actually quite enjoy.

I love when I go through my rejuvenating ritual after a night of abusing my body at the gym, exercising my discipline by testing my body’s limits. When I come home and shower, I love how clean I feel and how good my body smells, how my body is so spent of energy that it melts into a state of blissful relaxation. I love how the heat of the hot water is still emanating from my skin when I smooth on softly perfumed lotion and slip between the deliciously cool sheets. I love being alone, safe within my private space which shields me from the night by turning the darkness into a blanket. I can thoroughly enjoy this moment, this invigorating bubble in time.space where I am free to be completely content.

I’m listening to David Seaman’s Back to Mine, the glow of the computer making me feel like I’m in the mystical cave that Plato was trying to describe. It’s this secret place you find by going on an expedition through the endless forest that makes up all that is unkown. And deep in those woods, it’s there, along with many other treasures that you may not even notice. I stumbled upon this place when I was young, and even though I had no idea what exactly it was, it felt good. It’s a place where you can distance yourself from this earthly plane and give yourself enough perspective in order to recognize the different planes. I feel like Einstein had a similar vision of this aspect of reality, which he was trying to explain with the theory of relativity. Space and time are closely tied together because we’ve stored them in our soul memories as a linear equation, but they provide the boundaries of our existence, what keeps it all together, like a giant sack. But if our existence’s real goal is directed towards expansion, then it’ll require deciphering the clues from the past as well as from those far away to move us towards that expansion. Sorry, I think my robot side just took over for a little bit.

Pretentions are so heavy. I think that’s what the people who created the bible were trying to symbolize by the cross Jesus carries. It’s the stuff that’s distracting us from our soul’s purpose, and are causing us to react to things rather than embody our pure spiritual state. It’s the hidden messages that are transcendental in the clues we left ourselves for our future soul incarnations that are the important ones for our growth. Life, seriously. It can be treated like a treasure hunt for clues that point to the universe’s secrets.

I am having trouble staying awake. I’m feeling so stagnant. I want to go explore the world again. Under the cover of night of course. What is it I love so much about thunderstorms and the darkness of night? They just feel so safe to me.

I’ve gotten into the habit of blogging in bed when I’m crazy tired. My inhibitions are completely turned off and what I write is pretty much the raw output of what’s in my head. I was hoping to watch Go tonight. I’ve unplugged my phone. I am having the time of my life here all by myself…I’m just happiest when I’m alone.

My coworker’s father has a lemon tree. I asked him to bring lemons to work tomorrow so that I could make lemonade since they’re 33 cents down at Ralph’s and I don’t wanna pay that kind of money for the weed of the citrus family. He asked me to call him at midnight to remind him. The midnight call turned into no promises of lemons tomorrow, dragging on instead into a sleepy conversation about nothing in particular, though he asked me: So what’s your deal? Are you a player?

What is my deal?

I can and can’t be trusted. I am respectful to good boys, devious to bad ones. I fear chains more than anything, and will meet any threat to my independence like a woman fighting for her life. I am the future mother of someone’s children, the future ex-wife of perhaps another, and the imaginary conduit of cheap motel room fantasies with multiple faceless strangers I have yet to meet. I’m an internet prophet with a heart of gold, whose witnessing of a room full of people having sex turned my stomach to the point I didn’t want to be touched for a year. My politics are liberally suspect and I have a secret life that may or may not exist, depending on what time of day you ask me. And I eat. Red. Meat.

Would you trust me if I were you? Can you really be so sure? I saw a man in my dreams once and he was made out of so many prisms, the light was trapped inside of him in incongruent, jagged little pockets. I wanted to offer him a cigarette but was terrified the smoke would aggravate his internal situation. I still wonder what I would have seen if I had offered him one. Does anyone really know what’s inside of them, inside each and every one of those little pockets that contains entire universes complete with logical orders and desires and personalities? Perhaps there is a demon trapped in every one of them, but when you put together two or more demons finding out that they’re no longer the sole powers in charge anymore, suddenly no one wants a democracy.

If you want to look under the surface of things, I can promise that you can breathe underwater. But you should never believe everything you see. Because when you see that light appear at the end of a murky tunnel, you’ll have to answer yourself one question:

Is that light a combination of every shade of a spectrum? Or is it just an illusion completely devoid of anything?

[this message brought to you completely sober and topless]

My Belated Recap of 2004…
(as found on a ragged piece of paper in my purse)

2004 was the year of…

full time work. living without a net. chiropractors, acupuncturists and physical therapists. self-medication self-obliteration, resurrection on a bottle of wine. ipod was my savior when i saw someone else’s reflection in a dirty puddle. double digits with his little boy asleep in the next room. living naked in a dark place where i didn’t belong. and a sense that i was doing it all to myself. kinky lawyers. faceless penpals. mistakes promptly erased, and the not so clear aftermaths. Frei Bros. vs. Daniel Gehrs. Air at the Hollywood Bowl. false friendships and lesbian dramas. and souvenirs…an undeniable ball of unresolved anger. forwards backwards forwards back. not so much a dance as a stumble. contemplation of death. celebration of life. the birth of two new souls. words as code (never let them know you’re drowning). Never let them know what you need. muse. bleeding. industrial strength soul purger. saying goodbye, saying goodbye, Saying Goodbye. You will learn to like the pain. Whoever said it’s better to tear off a Band-Aid quickly never had a wound that wouldn’t heal. frienemies. letting go. pretending to let go. Fuck letting go. the chase for money. Crying in the closet. Crying in the closet, just because.

Untitled Nancy Travis Pilot = Good Hair

Last night I went to hang out at the taping of Nancy Travis’s new UPN pilot because Reggie’s friend Marcus was in it. It’s based on these people who work at a morning show and it’s actually pretty damn good. It’s got Nancy Travis in it, as well as the cute non-Ryan Reynolds guy from Two Guys and a Girl and a Pizza Place, the black girl from Real World: Los Angeles, and this really funny actress who was kind of like a non-flamboyant Jack from Will & Grace–super oblivious, goofy and adorable. Too bad no one will ever see it because it’s gonna be on UPN.

The thing that impressed me was that everyone had good 360 hair (hair that looks good from all angles). They would have hair people come out and retouch their ‘dos after every take, and then the women would kind of walk around stiffly for the next few minutes like they had nail polish drying on their heads, until they finally forgot about having to preserve their perfect hair. I wish I had a hair team following me around. The way rich women out here have Hispanic nannies tailing them wherever they go…if I ever made a lot of money, I’d have an entire hair/make-up crew running around 2 steps behind me at all times.

The show is produced by Courteney Cox and David Arquette, who were both there. David was wearing this retro brown suit with white leather shoes, and looked like an undertaker on his way out to a night of disco dancing. When I was introduced to Nancy Travis, I could only remember her from this play that I’d seen her in a few years ago about stalking, which was a terrible play. I was pretty lucky that I had forgotten that she was in So I Married An Axe Murderer (one of my favorite movies) until this morning, because I would have surely embarrassed myself by gushing. Being on set just made me stir-crazy because ideally, I want to do a half-hour single camera show. I love TV because you get to develop your characters and they’re always growing and evolving. It’s like having make-believe human Tamagotchi pets, with me playing God. But then again, I’m probably not the kind of person who should be trusted with that kind of responsibility in front of a national audience. Remember, my GI Joes had sex.

Do any of you remember the show Off-Centre? That was a funny show, with Eddie Kaye Thomas from American Pie, John Cho and that hot English guy. Too bad no one ever saw it because it was on UPN.

I’m excited about Brandan Wright. His knuckles must drag!