February 27, 2011

Wii, F-bombs and Colloquialisms

I have a resolution to speak properly, good diction et al, spell correctly and vacuum more often. However, I am completing abandoning any form of ironing whatsoever.

It has come to my attention, again, that when I speak I sound like a drunken deck hand on furlough. Well, that’s not very original is it, and apparently neither is my use of off putting colloquialisms ad nauseam.

I am told a good portion of currently popular verbal offensives have an etymology derived from Anglo Saxon colloquialisms; I resist the urge to refer to them as anal Saxon… sort of.

I am further inspired to upgrade my vocabulary by my recent adventures in volunteering at SAK Comedy Lab. They perform improvisational comedy without the convenience of foul language. Who can’t get a laugh with a few well timed f-bombs and show stopping mother f-ers? But these talented improvisers garner guffaws five days a week sans vulgarity and overt innuendo.

But back to the dilemma of my potty mouth and how to clean it up: First and foremost I shall have to break the habit of automatically diverting to my plethora of pornographic utterances regardless of the situation. Suffice it say, dropping an F-bomb in church is exceptionally bad form. I simply must make a concerted effort to find a more creative way of expressing myself, by way of which resulting in a more upper crust, well read, vernacular.

I must abandon the nomenclature of the auto-obscenity afflicted sect. I must work to make the synapses in my brain fire on all cylinders electrifying the cerebral mass that imparts, wit, satirical repartee and really big words that makes others scratch their overly small heads.

I must put to rest the lazy gelatinous grey matter that reverts to smutty colloquial jargon without the effort put forth to breathe through my nose.

I must never again, whilst playing a wholesome game of Wii billiards with my sainted eighty year old mother, express my displeasure with a missed shot by shouting, “Go in the dirty hole you cock sucker!”

February 22, 2011

Reading The Movies

The Oscars are this Sunday, yeah I love that stuff. This year I am hoping to see more tiaras on the red carpet. What? Am I the only woman that doesn’t have a toddler in a beauty pageant that loves tiaras?

My goal is to read all the screenplays that have been given the nod, so that on the big night I can cheer for my favorite to go home with a naked golden man. But it is difficult to know which version of the screenplay I am reading when I find them on line. I am most interested in spec scripts, as that is what I write, but also love to read any revision or shooting scripts I can find. The problem is sometimes what you get is just a transcript of what is happening on screen. That’s no fun, if I want to see the movie, I’ll see the movie. I want to read the movie.

So far I have read:

The King’s Speech’ reading it made me want to see it so it’s in the running for my vote.

The Kids Are Alright; good stuff, I cared about the characters, was surprised by some events and wanted to see the movie, but not as much, so maybe I got hold of shooting script because it laid out all that would happen visually.

I didn’t try to find Inception because I saw the movie twice, but I read an interview with the writer and that was interesting.

I found Another Year, but am certain what I was reading was a transcript because it was dry and didn’t hold my interest.

I am still reading the fighter, I don’t know which version it is but the story has me hooked so there you go. Plus I am a Marky Mark fan, what can I say.

For best picture I have seen, The Kids Are Alright, Inception, Winter Bone and Social Network. (I am also a Timberlake fan, but I draw the line at Bieber.)

Sunday night you’ll find me on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn, wearing my big pants and a tiara and wishing I was in Hollywood. Good luck to all the writers, just getting to typing fade out is an accomplishment and should be rewarded with a golden man every time. Hint hint my hubbie! You didn’t think I bought you that gold lame speedo for the beach did you?

February 14, 2011


Our first one was spent in Tucson Arizona, on our third date; the one that sealed the deal.

The second was spent in our first apartment together. We were still new, ironing out some kinks, but we had a 30 year agreement with rights of first refusal after that contract ran out.

Our third Valentine’s Day together was spent in our second apartment; I got a heart shaped ring in a heart shaped box and my heart had forgotten what it was like to be alone.

Our fourth and every one since has been spent in our house. Where better to spend the day of love but in the home you love with the one you love?

By the fifth year we were engaged, honestly I can’t even remember what he got me that year. I was in a diamond haze, and dress shopping frenzy. Want to gain weight? Start dieting for your wedding day, that’ll do it.

Year six and we were Mr. and Mrs. till death do us part. Guess that overruled the 30 year agreement, but I still made him promise that if he ever changed his mind he’d let me know first.

Seven Valentine’s Days and no itch, save for more of the same.

Eight cards, some hand-made, some store bought, all expressions of true love, true friendship and a true partnership built on putting each other first.

Today is our ninth Valentine’s Day, and I don’t want another ring, definitely don’t want candy, still would like a card, but most of all the best Valentine he gives me is every day around five when he comes home, or is waiting when I get home. That’s better than all the chocolate in the world.

February 2, 2011

You Need To Get Your Head Examined

I wish I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me…Except for when it’s your Doctor, and he didn’t mean he wanted me to make an appointment with his buddy who is affiliated with the hospital that has stainless steel mirrors in the “guest suites”. No, he was talking about his colleague, the neurologist.


Ok, it’s just precautionary for two reasons; a family history issue, and a hearing loss issue, however; I think I would have had less trepidation about a session on a leather couch than forty- five minutes in magnetic humming beast with my head strapped down.

“But they have open MRI’s now!”

Save your logical objections to my irrational fear, they are of no use here.

“Perhaps a couple sessions on the leather couch are in order?”

Fine, make me an appointment, but make damn sure it’s with the guy who can write scripts and not the guy who recommends Zen gardens and self-help books, because I’ve made had three appointments for an MRI, aka brain sucker machine, and each time left in tears.

Alas I am making some progress on my quest for photographic evidence that there actually is a brain in my skull, and not just the perfect perpetual motion machine cranking out an endless stream of doomsday what-if scenarios. On my last visit, I actually let them strap down my head and wheel me into the mouth of the kraken before hyperventilating.

Here’s a little something you don’t hear from medical professionals very often. “Why don’t you go around the corner to that little bar and have a few drinks, make those straight shots, and come right back here and we’ll finish this examination.” I did hear that while playing Doctor once, but it wasn’t eight o’clock in the morning, and it wasn’t from a chick in nursing shoes.