The Apex of Sucks for You

Here we go again, carefree and cubicle-less. And I am only carefree because I just paid all the bills; next month is going to suck; won’t be feeling so free and happy then will I? But right now I am loving it.

I am no good at corporate cubicle bullshit. It’s like being in high school, and I hated high school. Only now instead of cliques of snotty brats with boyfriend jackets and mall hair, it’s teams of cheap skirt suits with bad bobs and head bands. God help you if you’re in with the wrong crowd, or in my case trying to stand outside the fracas and stay unnoticed.

The final straw was being quite loudly, enough for every prairie dog to hear, called into one of the 14 manager’s office to explain why I had not returned a customer's call. However, all our calls are recorded and with less than one minutes effort, the desperate to prove her worth among all the bosses cow, who had herded me into her office, by which I mean a cube that has all four walls, found the call and clearly heard me returning the customers call and satisfying their needs. Something I am sure that particular, now ex-boss, is all too unfamiliar with doing. I was dismissed without apology or explanation, to everyone who had witnessed my scolding, that I had not been derelict in my duties.

And while you may be thinking; “that is the apex of sucks for you,” you may be right and that's a good thing, because it all gets better from here. Yes, I now have to find another job, but that’s just it. It’s just a job. I’m still gainfully unemployed in my chosen field of writing and therefore have lost nothing and I solider on unscathed.

Besides how many of you would love, just once, to tell a crazy bitch to shove it and walk out with as much of your cubicle décor that you can carry stuffed in your purse? So what if you can pay your electric bill next month, it’s overrated!

Clerks

We went to Panera Bread and there was a kid working the counter named Dante. So I asked him, "So Dante," are you even suppose to be here today?" He said no, but thanked me for asking and gave me some bagel samples. He totally got me, I love it when that happens.

It's Electric

It spans the generations, the color wheel, and economic barriers. I’m told in some states you must have it at the wedding for the marriage to be legal. We had it at ours, Wayne just doesn’t remember. Granny does it; the kids do it, although not as well as the able bodied adults, hell even the priest does it if he’s had enough wine. But even so, I was a little surprised to see it done in the middle of the dining room of the Greek restaurant we visited last night.
But perhaps I shouldn't have been; because it also spans the species.

YOU DON'T GET WHAT YOU WISH FOR YOU GET WHAT YOU WORK FOR

I saw this recently on a kid's tee shirt. Well, she could have been anywhere between 18 and 25, but she looked like a kid to me. The shirt struck me for two reasons. First you don’t usually see tee shirts like that on kids. There were no skulls flipping the bird, no effigy of a long dead rock icon, just YOU DON’T GET WHAT YOU WISH FOR YOU GET WHAT YOU WORK FOR. My first thought was this kid must be an athlete, because watching the Olympics makes you realize how hard those kids work to get what they want.

So then my second thought was me. (Usually my first thought) I was doing all this wishing I would win the contest and my script would make it to TV. I even asked other people to wish for me. And when I did not win and it was time to work, I have not been able to get it going. I managed to compile a list of agents I want to query but I can’t seem to finish the query letter. I found some contact info for the actress I would love to play the lead, but I am not sure if she would even read my mail. The problem is that I am spending time looking for places to submit, and can’t seem to get down to the work of writing. Writing the query, writing more episodes, writing more posts. I can’t seem to get back to working for it instead of wishing for it.

If you can find it in your hearts, please wish for me that I can find the inspiration to stop wishing and start working. Thanks and here’s wishing you a nice day.

NO TV FOR YOU!

My sitcom did not make the top 25 in the script contest. I am somewhere between screw them, they are stupid, what do they know; and screw this, I am stupid and what the hell do I know about writing for TV. The latter smarts. However comma I have always prided myself on being tenacious, occasionally to the extent of the retarded mindset of a pit-bull who won’t let go just because you can’t make him; so I am working on agent query letters. Also have no idea how to do that.

Anyway, who says I can’t write for TV, except for those contest guys and my mother who says I should get a job for Christ’s sake, as if Jesus needs me to have a job, he’s doing ok look who his dad is. I mean who better to write for TV than me, I was raised by a TV. A nice one that sat on the floor and later was a nice stand for the new TV. And Paul Lynd never sent me out of the room when he wanted to say something blue.

Some of my favorite shows could be a little frustrating, but maybe that’s why we watched them. Like I knew from a young age that somebody should have kicked Gilligan's ass, I wanted to be Ginger, even though I am really more of a Mary Ann, and that the professor was bangin both of them. I knew Mrs. Brady was well quaffed bullshit and that my human mother was a lot more like Alice and Alice from Mel’s Diner.

I loved Dick Van Dyke, maybe more than Captain Kirk, I loved Mary Tyler Moore, but not as much as Dick and I love Rhoda but not as much as Mary. Why couldn’t they let those girls be happy, do you think Mary was really so big a prig that she couldn’t keep a boyfriend and was Joe really that bad? No, you just can’t mess with the formula. What happened after Sam and Dianne got together, Maddie Hayes and David Addison bumped uglies? Stinksville! Do you really think Ted is ever going to meet your mother? Not if they want us to go on watching.

See, I know how TV works, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. But my script isn't a rehash of old formulas either. It has some really funny, snarky characters that make you laugh, maybe even cry, (when I get around to writing the very special episode that you and your family won’t want to miss) and interesting, relevant in today’s world storylines.

So, I know that trying to get my show on TV, or get my books published is like trying to win the lottery, but even my mother says you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket, and somebody’s gotta win.

Update: Not Going To Hell

We were in the grocery store the other night, (I ended the self inflicted Wal-Mart purgatory), and there he was! I asked Wayne to go and look at him and he was not impressed. I guess the only reason I thought I was impressed with this boy, is because I thought he was impressed with me. Gawd, am I a desperate attention whore. But I feel better now that I have figured out that I was never really attracted to the boy, I was attracted to the thought that a boy like that could be attracted to me. The kind of boy that was never attracted to me in high school; or later when I started going to dance clubs. The kind of boy that all the girls loved and all the boys did too. I just wish I had spent less time lamenting boys like that and maybe I would have found my man sooner.
Super love you Wayne; I am very impressed with you and endlessly thrilled that you are attracted to me.

That Is So Un-Kewl

I am awake. I am a sentient nerd.

The reality that I may always have been a nerd and not known it, really harshes my buzz. I thought I was kewl. I rebel to the point of screwing myself regularly, whilst thinking I just stuck it to the man, I wear pink converse tennis shoes, classic kewl kid garb only slightly milded by the hue, and I use the f-bomb as an adjective every chance I get. You see, I am just as kewl as I was in the 10th grade. Which would be totally rad dude except that I keep catching myself doing way un-kewl shit.

Recently I became aware that when I greet my neighbors I usually say, “hey neighbor”. I thought this was a good way to deal with the fact that I can never remember anybody’s name. And I caught myself concluding a voicemail with “okey doky doodely doo, I’ll talk to you later”. WTF! I shiver to think how many times I may have done that before my awakening.

OMG! Even though I am fluently using f-ing text abbreviations I have begun to think I may not be knarly after all. In fact I think I might be Ned Flanders.