We agreed that I’d send her and her 89 years of spunk thru the William Morris Agent Training Program. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Why William Morris?” I’ll tell you why; because according to the Princeton Review of Jobs, “In operation for more than a century, William Morris Agency is the oldest and largest talent and literary agency in the world” Oldest agency; old lady…seemed a perfect fit. Also, “WMA does seem to make an effort to hire significant numbers of women and minorities into entry-level positions” Gramma’s got both, so that’s two birds, one jew for them! And then there’s the fact that, ironically, I know someone there that can get her the job.

She was totally cool with the seven day work week (if you just keep telling her it’s Wednesday), being on the receiving end of a lot of yelling (she’s a little hard of hearing anyway), and the obligatory trainee dog collar (it matches her medic-alert bracelet) but she was a bit concerned that the $400/week salary would interfere with her cushy social security benefits.
According to their quadruple X website, “Trainees start in the mailroom where they generally spend four to six months sorting, routing and delivering mail, manuscripts, packages and internal documents.” According to Grandma, the mail cart is a smoother wheel than her walker, and she’s getting lots of hugs on her rounds. Tonight she’s going to one of the agents’ birthday parties at Life and then “the party after.” I don’t expect her to call Dial-A-Ride before 3 or 4 am.
I think the area where she’ll really excel is on someone’s desk. Generally speaking, there’s less room for falling down, and imagine what Nice Grandma nice-grandma.mov and her counterpart Angry Grandma angry-grandma.mov could do if it was Sumner Redstone she was leaving messages for and not me.
In the meantime, I’m writing writing writing so that 2-5 years from now, G-d willing, when she’s made a full-fledged agent, she can tell me all the reasons why my stable of work won’t sell, hip-pocket me, and stop returning my calls.

I thought I’d embark on this psychic journey by picking up some used psychology books, but since that takes actual efforts, I signed up for Tut notes (tut.com) and receive a daily message straight from The Universe to my inbox. So wherever you see my name, swap it out for yours, and wherever you see “I” or “me” it’s you-I and you-me.

“A life properly lived is an easy, luxurious life, it’s not supposed to be hard though we can make it that way with limited thinking, low expectations, or failing to see ourselves as we really are: Infinite Beings of Light. Fun loving gladiators of the Universe. Adventurers just being human, with eternity before us and the power of our thoughts to shape it!!
WE MAKE OUR OWN REALITIES, OUR OWN FATE AND OUR OWN LUCK. That, is how powerful we are, and andrea, that, is how powerful YOU are. And to offset all the mainstream thinking to the contrary, you deserve to hear this kind of message as often as you have to hear all the others.”

So Spartacus, is the power of your mind box making your personal reality, fate and luck as craptastic as mine? And we only have ourselves to blame! Not even Mom.
No really, let’s just suck it up and take responsibility for something once in our lives. Fuck. Shit! Fuck.

Oh my god what have I done?!
What am I doing?!

Think about it: That’s why people act like assholes!

Is this a breakthrough?
I feel like ass.
THIS is hard.
Nap now.

I awoke thirty-seven hours later (is that normal?) with a vice-like grip on my tear stained pillow to find this guy:
“What if the one person who you believed liked you the least, andrea, loved you the most? Yeah, “hate when that happens.”
-The Universe
P.S.- It sometimes happens like that, andrea.

Um. What? Does it just sometimes “happen” or is it due to the incredible power of my thought making?
Someone doesn’t like me? Who?
Wait, no. Someone loved me in that way and I fucked it up?
Why am I not open to love?
And why didn’t the asshole just tell me he loved me instead of acting like I smelled moldy? I might have issues with feeling deserving of love, but that’s some seventh grade style bullshit.
I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.

So clearly you no how to right. I’m excited about this idea and can help you develop it into something like Elektra meets something that made money. But I’m trying to read between the lines. Looking for hints or suggestions of how I could allow you to master my universe while simulatneously allowing me to take you to places you’ve never been.  I am not a confident cocky guy.  Sware.  EXCEPT when it comes to really feeling confident about what I know… and I know this: I would make you feel like a princess. A goddess.

So, do you want to come into the office and talk about your pitch or meat me for a glass of wine and let me make every pore of your body sing out with joy?

The fam is well, thanks. Rose turned 2 last weekend!
Alan [redacted]
[redacted] MEDIA
[redacted] BLVD.
10th [redacted]
LOS ANGELES, [redacted]
310-[redacted] – Direct

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Heya Alan [redacted]!

I’ve been hard at work on a new, new idea and I think it’s ready to pitch. And specifically, I think it’d be perfect for Warner Bros., but you tell me:

Batmannelli
It’s the next Batman movie…except Batman would be played by Liza Minnelli.
Liza’s already on-board.

Let’s take over the world together like you said!
Hope the fam is well.
-andrea yay

  Add to that that that one person just happens to be my ex-boyfriend, who I habitated with for years, introduced to all my friends, and touched parts with on a semi-regular basis, and you might see why I want to punch you in your screen. Yeah, I know him. No, I do not want to be his friend.
Can we please talk about the fact that you’ve neglected to give me any option to make this screen go away other than to be-Face him, which I JUST TOLD you I don’t want to do. You never listen! I’m not harboring resentment towards him, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in seeing his “status” or tagged photos of his new Tiny Asian Girlfriend on my home page.
You’re so unfair! Are you doing this to him? Are you?!
Will you just be honest for one second? What are you really trying to say? Every. Time. I. Log. In.
Also, why not go for broke. I mean, you have a “Wall” and a “Fun Wall” why not have a “Naked Wall” –- where we can collect all the peoples that we’ve let see us at our most undressed and afterwards had that horrible realization that we actually LET them touch us from the inside (a.k.a. Regrettable Naked Times) and it feels like we’ve just run, full speed, head first into a brick wall—The Naked Wall. If we can make it “public” you’d be doing a community service by helping us avoid double-dipping.
Also also, what else do you know? Is a “People You Will Open Yourself Up To Only To Get Hurt” feature in the works? How about “Good For One Date” or “Don’t Date This Dude” or “People With Baggage Who Never Open Their Proverbial Suitcase” or “Secretly Married?”
Look, our problems are fixable, if you’re willing to change. I’ll keep ignoring those “87 requests” for bullshit things, if you will stop being jealous over him. Seriously, it was a million years and 3,000 miles ago. But if things aren’t gonna work out between us, I still have my space.
xo
-andrea

My bestie Teeter, (Teeter, Teeter) recently in brand new LoVE and on tour with Bon Jovi (JBJ) rolled into town, and by town I mean Anaheim.

It did not take a lot of wordsuading to convince her to get the hell out of Anaheim and away from the sad, angry cronies hauling JBJ’s washer and dryer around America (DO NOT WASH TICO’S SHIRTS!) and making Teet’s life 89.6% miserable. So together, we ripped up Los Angeles and specifically the Cha Cha lounge on a packed Thursday night. Teeter kept telling people, and by people I mean boys, that we were from Chattsworth and I told one group of guys that I was a wee girl of 24 only to have them not believe me because they thought I was EVEN YOUNGER. I also got to re-meet a gal pal (who I had met thru Teeter ages ago and hadn’t seen since her last visit for no good reason why cause she’s awesome) who believes herself to be on the verge of dating Scott Speedman, whose celebrity is in question, but is most likely solidly in the B-tier. We had ridiculous amounts of fun, spent a lot of time and money in the photo booth, the dude who I told was 24, who actually WAS 24, never called me, and the next day we sat in traffic for the two hours and forty-five minutes it took us to get to the Honda Center and Teeter’s two solid hours of work.

Teeter is in charge of a JBJ contest where people can spend $2 to text message a number for a chance to win a 3 song vantage point on the side of the stage. Mere feet away from the very well pickled JBJ, his “High Volume Mullet,” and his bedazzled vest as shirtwear. If I had known that my sister-in-law was in the audience, we could’ve just chosen her, but sadly these dots were not connected till much too late and other ladies won*. Apparently, a typical JBJ audience is comprised of women pushing 40 and wearing their tightest jeans and fanciest tops. They also generally weigh in at around 250 pounds. It was a fascinating night spent mainly in craft services and in the swank Hilton suite in Orange, CA. *The O.C’s Luckiest Ladies

Goodbyes with Teeter were only medium-sized painful cause she (and the band, if they can find their way) will be back on Wednesday for us to see what the Staples Center has for us to eat. I then hoof’d it to my brand new $125/50 minutes Beverly Hills therapist who seemed like a much better match than that last guy, even though he was great but mainly expensive. She told me that my wires are all a jumble, and that she can help me un-cross them…but I’m gonna have to talk about the stuff that makes me the most uncomfortable, that it’s gonna be hard, and i get to pay a lot of money to do it. She also asked me, on the way out the door, to please not date anyone this week. Not a problem.

I never made it to the Downtown Art Walk or the WGA screening of Whore-ton and His Whoo or Wine Club (Zinfandel Night) but had a quick wardrobe change and was off to the horrible fucking Sunset Strip to a birthday party where I had to pay twenty US Dollars to park my car to attend a bar that had a DJ with a live drummer. Is there anyplace worse in LA than the Sunset Strip? I think I’d rather drive back to Anaheim in rush hour than go there again. By the time that place got full we left and went to another different place that wasn’t on the horrible strip but had a horrible name like LIFE and stayed until the lights went on and the JBJ stopped. Seriously, they played one. I drove my friend home, drove me home and then drove around the internet like an idiot instead of going straight to the also made-up place in my dreams.

Getting out of bed the next morning in order to make it to my pre-meetng meeting made me want to cry, but I did not, thanks to a) me being out of tears and a2) my No More Tears ‘08 Campain of Happy Times. So, six hours and several cups of coffee later, I am now running Writer’s Lab West, the NYU Alum group, and am up for a seat on the Council. What can I say, I was tired and weak and said yes…and I can always quit.

Then it was straight to the UCB where I tried to stay awake in the dark theater (more coffee ahoy!) whilst a group of sad angry middle-aged men made a lot of shit jokes. literally. And then, it was back to the Cha Cha for a welcome to LA party for some dude I don’t know but welcomed anyways. To bring this saga full circle, who was standing outside close talking and smoking with a lady…none other than star of Television and Film, Scott Speedman. I quickly texted my pal to break the news that he was there with who might just be his ugly sister. She was sad, but after declining my offer to put the hurt on him, and advising her to never ever date or vote for actors, I decided I really wanted to ask him, in a totally platonic way, to take pictures with me in the photo booth. Wouldn’t it be so funny to have those pictures, RIGHT HERE. Well, I pussied out. I had two chances and I just couldn’t figure out how to approach him without seeming like an asshole, stalker, or straight up lunatic. Not sure why I cared, but instead I started my new fun hobby of getting random dudes to take pictures with me and without their shirts. Do enjoy while I take an 18 hour nap:

ed. note: Tally of Women Down now stands at eight. and why god why does Pedialyte taste like Jolly Rancher Sauce?

Today, I’m FIIIiiiiiine but crying again so I decided to multi-task.
If I’m already gonna get my face all wet, I might as well save time and cry in the shower.
So now I know, first hand, where rape showers (ever seen a movie where someone gets raped? they ALWAYS cut away from the actual mis-deed to the girl scrubbing herself raw [the worse the rape the scratchier the scrubber: bar of soap = SM rape, washcloth or those liquid soap poof things = Med rape, loofah = LG rape] in the shower, hysterical. This is what I call a Rape Shower.) are born.
You can barely even tell that you’re crying in there, it’s nice and hot (I don’t know about you but my body feels like an ice pop when I cry), and it cleans away any evidence.
Later, I met up with SB where she nicely suggested/recommended adding some Wellbutrin to my life. An anti-depressant.
That’s makes two! All I need is one more so on Thursday I will meet with my brand new first time ever $250/hour shrink who will likely third the motion and pass it into effect.

So thank you to #1 mama jo wachner, for telling me to consider writing drama instead of picking a new career.   

I spent pretty much all night last night reading the wikipedia entry on this word, or notion, or process and I’ma share with you my Mr. Toad style wild ride from confused blog to drunk sinning confused blog in hell.

I’m gonna use the make-believe for this one.

Imagine please, that Jean Luc, terrified at the prospect of meeting his girlfriend Magdalena’s parents (Henri and Genevieve), has them turned into Down Syndrome kittens instead (still named Henri and Genevieve). Several months after Magdalena accepted the fact that they’d never learn how to use a litterbox, Jean Luc decides he isn’t really ready to commit to Magdalena anyway and fesses up.

Maybe Jean Luc apologizes. Or doesn’t apologize, it doesn’t even matter.

Because Magdalena now has to burn his stuff, cry into a trough of profiteroles, seek professional help or do whatever it is she needs to do in order to accept Jean Luc’s dickery, let it go, and go forth with life as an unwounded happy-like orphan lady.

I’m with me up till here. I get that it’s bad for Magdalena to stay the victim, to be angry and resentful.

The part that I don’t get is how forgiveness affects Jean Luc, or is this just a connotion? If Jean Luc asks Magdalena for forgiveness, he isn’t asking her to heal herself. He is asking for his speciest behavior to be excused, for them to be “friends” and or for things to get naked again, right?

Magdalena can forgive Jean Luc for felintarding her parents. But that is not to say that what Jean Luc did has been erased, it’s just to say that it’s not a source of pain for her anymore. So what then, would make Magdalena, who happens to find parenticide unacceptable, and doesn’t even like cats, special needs or otherwise, even if she was adopted, even if her parents hated jews and she was one, now knowing that he is capable of such craptastic behavior, want to be involved with J.L. in any capacity?
Is there some notion that forgiveness means you’re willing to like the victimizer still, or again, or or be willing to form a new relationship instead of cutting them out of your life?! I lost me.

That said, I double majored in Dramatic Writing and Philosophy (or, as my mom called it, “Unemployment”) and even though gathousands of american dollars were thrown that way, I can remember that I liked Kant, hated metaphysics, and developed funny doodles about unicorns and fagots (look that word up if you think that was a hate word crime) but if you asked me why…well please don’t ask me why.

Lately, (like, since yesterday) I’ve been thinking about what the difference is between Character and Personality. Specifically, do they or can they change? And I know that I studied this when I was like 19, but I can’t remember to take my socks off before getting into bed most nights, so clearly, I turned to my friend, the internet for re-remembering.

I’d like to share with “you” what Johnny Knuckles has to say about it cause I think it’s pretty effin’ brills. Who are you Mr. Knuckles, I’m not sure you answered all my questions, but I think I’m in love:

(ok, i am a webtard and can’t figure out how to re-post his blog post here so either click on the link above or read it x+paste style here)

Personality vs Character
Many of you groin-grabbing fucktards– wait, hold on. Let Knuckles start again. Just noticed an alarming lack of epithets on this site lately and panicked.

Alright, today’s sermon from Father Knuckles is the confusion between personality and character. It’s important to know the difference between the two. Especially during times of war and when you’re dating.

Personality traits are individual, subjective and vary widely.

Character traits are constant, objective and timeless.

Character traits include honesty, trust, respect, responsibility, leadership, loyalty and courage. One’s character can be objectively judged. Character is defined as right or wrong. Character, despite its detractors, can be taught. However educators are bypassing the difficulty of teaching character and have gone directly to self-esteem, the reward of strong character. But without character, self-esteem is a hollow concept.

And while character traits are universal, each individual has the choice to accept or reject them. One of character’s best features is that you can do them without conviction and the end result is the same. For instance, a coward can recognize he’s a coward yet still perform an act of bravery and no one will fault him acting out of character.

Personality is subjective. It includes your sense of humor (or lack of), whether you’re outgoing or shy, friendly or stoic, your interests, passions, and the list goes on. While some people have well-developed personalities, their character sucks and you eventually avoid them even though “they’re a lot of fun.”

Taking the historical big-picture long view, personality is neither right nor wrong. Some people will like any particular personality and others won’t. (You’re thinking Knuckles is trying to justify his crappy personality. But you would be wrong. Knuckles is a pantload of fun.) And while someone’s basic personality never changes, it can be improved with exposure to the arts, people, travel, reading, hobbies, and pilgrimages to the holy site of this blog.

To sum:

Clinton has personality.
Bush has character.
Kerry has neither.

Bless you and fuck off, er, go forth and multiply.

Father Knuckles

seriously love him. but to bring this full question mark (there’s no way it’s sensical enough to be a circle), if you have a photographic memory could you ever not be an asshole? I seem to remember my philosophy professor saying that one of the two was unchanging. it was either personality… or character. what what?
-mama knuckles

(my The Secret style attempt.)