Everyday Goddess

I'm listening, but there's no sound.

He told me that I wasn't the one.  And that he couldn't love me.

And I told him that then I didn't want to date him anymore, because I'm looking for the whole deal.

We had a day full of plans, a month full of plans, but only one of us was eyeing a life full of plans, so as quickly as it came, it was over.  Doesn't it always seem that it's at the moment of release and belief and hope that it all disappears sometimes?  I had just stopped being afraid.  I just begun to allow myself to believe.  I had just admitted to myself that that wall I thought was there - was worried was there - was miles above where I'd already fallen to.  I had just begun openly and confidently telling people about my boyfriend.

Do you always feel stupid?  Because I always feel stupid.  Foolish.

Earlier he said that he wished I could scuba dive.  And I thought, I wish you could enjoy a good glass of wine, but what's that got to do with anything truly important?  I want to believe that with the wisdom of my 35 years, I know what's important, and that he is young and foolish.  But the heart is smarter than all of us.  It knows what it wants and doesn't want beyond the beliefs of our soul and the wisdom of our mind.  Sometimes, the heart simply knows.

I always think about all the faults I acknowledged and released.  All the things I was willing to live with.  It always feels like the other person is less forgiving, more hung up on this or that.  It always feels like, fine, go find someone else who can deal with this quirk and that insanity.  But we all have those things that someone someday is going to have to live with.

I thought yes with this one.  Not because my clock is ticking or because I'm over 30 and desperate to be with someone but because of who he is.  I thought yes.  I could see it, feel it.  Last night I was sitting next to him in a restaurant, and I was looking at the faintest of laugh lines around his eyes, and I thought yes.

Two people this week thought my "biological clock" was ticking, and it was weird to think, wow, they are completely wrong, but it's not like I can convince them with protest.  I remain open to possibilities and paths, that's who I am.

I believe that each breakup hurts more now because I am getting closer.  This one hurt much more than I could have expected.  And I with my ego am so shocked by it.  So surprised.  A big part of me thinks he will change his mind, wake up, love me.  But I must trust that he knows his feelings.  I must trust that if he could love me the way I deserve, he would have never risked the you're-not-the-one-but-I-still-want-to-be-with-you-for-now play.  A woman like me who stays in that game is hoping for an emotional turn-around, and that's foolish.  Sometimes it even works, but it never gets you what you most deserve.  Someone who whole-heartedly wants you.  Loves you.  And isn't the type who needs convincing or tricks.  The strongest foundation to build a life on isn't built on manipulations.

Perhaps I am too idealistic (always), but it's who I am, and I like me this way.

In a strange, background way, breakups have begun to hurt less, too.  Because I know that I will be OK.  Because I know that I will stand for nothing less than I deserve and that is precisely why it will find its way to me eventually.  And if I am single, then that is OK, too.  Because I am open to what life brings, and I'm not hung up on anyone else's script.  It is truly wonderful to know oneself.  But oh, it's amazing how heartbreak actually hurts in your heart.  Do we project that?  Or is that why it's called heartbreak?  This one took my breath away.

I want to drive to work and take his picture off my bulletin board so it's not there on Monday morning.

I hope that it is easy for him, finding love.  I hope that the next one is just it for him, so he never hits his 30s and learns how precious it is to connect at all.  It's knowledge that makes you powerful and wise and more ready and able to commit for a lifetime, I think, but it's hard earned.

My phone is off, my friends, till Monday.  Comments are closed on this post.  Don't worry, I'll be OK.

I'm going to the movies.

You Should Ask Him Out, If You Want To.

This post is cross-posted at BlogHer.

This is my new and studied position.  Upon landing in Los Angeles and finding myself single at 30... Well, I read all The Books.  You know, all those dating books?  I know you know The Books, even if you haven't had the joy of reading them and trying to figure out the right and wrongs of the dating scene.

Even I, champion of the go-with-your-gut philosophy, bought into thinking that maybe, just maybe, The Books knew something I didn't know.  So I did the best I could for years, reading and thinking and seeing what happened.

But at the same time, I find it very difficult to follow "rules" when they feel counter-intuitive.  For example, if calling a guy is going to relieve some stress for me, or I just want to call the guy, I do.  I don't play phone games and no book was going to change that.  'Cause I just don't have the patience.

I did, however, buy into the "men need to pursue" philosophy for a while.  For one thing, it can be pretty freeing, because you just go about your business, working on being friendly and doing things you enjoy, and if someone's interested they ask you out.  That's pretty cool, and I definitely recommend it as a general rule.

You know what though?  A few months before The Boyfriend did exactly that - met me at a games night and asked me out - I met someone I found interesting, got his number from a mutual friend, and called and left a message asking him out for coffee.  He never called back.

And sure, maybe he thought I was "desperate."  Or maybe he just wasn't interested.  Honestly, who the heck cares?  I was interested, so I called and asked.  There's just nothing wrong with that.  There was just as much of a chance that he would bite, and we might have gone to enjoy some coffee and more get to know you.

Asking a guy out doesn't mean you're desperate.  It doesn't mean you're too aggressive.  It doesn't mean no one would ever ask you.  It doesn't mean anything beyond, hey, you seem interesting, wanna get a coffee?  (Or dinner, or go hiking, or whatever.)  I felt great about it, to tell you the truth.  It would have been nice if he was interested, but he wasn't and we both moved on.

So here's my philosophy, forever and for always, on whether you should ask him out if you want to:  YES, YES, YES.  If he thinks it means you're desperate - or my personal fav, thinks it means you're totally insanely into him - then who wants him anyway?  The cool guys, if they're into you and smart enough to realize that a date is just a date, not a lifelong commitment nor a definitive statement of everlasting love, they just say yes.

We'll do it all.

Julie, if you believe in synchronicity, then I would say Wil wrote this just for you:

maybe you can just enjoy the tour

~

Hey, here's a pic of The Boyfriend doing something cool!

No, I'm not dating Weird Al.

(I'm really just here to amuse myself, people.  Clearly.)

~

OK, so after work yesterday I ran to Target, and I bought a pack of Hanes thongs with stretchy lace top.  The Victoria's Secret bikini underwear was driving me so crazy that I changed my underwear in the car in the Target garage before I went to my girl's night last night. 

Yes girls, I had on fresh underwear just for you!

Anyway, I found these Hanes Solid-Color Satin-Trim Thong Underwear on Amazon and they're really close but with a smooth top, so I might try those, too.  I will tell you, I'm like a size 10/12, and the 7s are a little big on me.  Underwear sizing is like rocket science, I swear.  Like I have any idea what my hip measurement is when I'm looking at underwear in Target.

~

I need a new roommate starting Nov. 1st, so like, I finally got around to sending out an email to everyone I know with the 411.

Yeah, so far I've gotten TWO e-mails asking me if my soon-to-be-former roommate is OK.

THE BASTARD BOUGHT A CONDO, PEOPLE.  Yes, my much younger than me and totally frugal and responsible roommate is leaving my poor ass behind as he ascends into adulthood.  HE'S DOING JUST FINE, THANKS FOR ASKING.

Meantime, I need a damn roommate.  Could I get an email about that now please???

~

Carnival of the Mundane is up over at Kapgar.

~

A Career In Business Isn't For Every Gender

I've been in this field a long time. I've seen what it can do to someone who's not thick-skinned enough to bear the slings and arrows, and believe...

Alas, it wouldn't be funny without that grain of truth...

The secret is, her underwear sucks.

I've been fighting with a size medium pair of peach-with-gray-flowers Victoria's Secret cotton bikini underwear all day.  This pair has not yet fallen apart - which tends to happen to Victoria's Secret cotton bikini underwear surprisingly quickly - however, they have a tendency to slide down in the front.  One might think that perhaps I am wearing the wrong size, however, the surplus of fabric in the back seems to belie this.

Further, when wearing the medium size, not only is there too much fabric in the back, causing me to continually readjust them forward, but the sheer mass of extra fabric somehow seems to cause them to bunch up into my butt crack.  I can solve this particular problem by buying smalls.  Which cut into my skin, look horrible under my clothes, and clearly do not fit at all.  But smalls do stay far, far away from my asshole, which counts for something, I guess.

When considering the odd design and construction of my Victoria's Secret cotton bikini underwear - fleeting though it may be - it occurs to me that noone who designs Victoria's Secret cotton bikini underwear actually has an ass.  This is a logical conclusion I have come to after years of being assaulted by Victoria's Secret marketing, which features and speaks to absolutely no one who is anything like me.

Why I have continued to buy underwear from a store that clearly doesn't consider me part of their customer demographic, I have no idea.  (Hint: lazy)  Hey, I like to be sexy.  My lingerie purchases extend far afield from my practical cotton underwear.  But clearly, the average Victoria's Secret customer is a man.  Who fantasizes about women who are nothing like me.  Yeah, that makes me want to buy some underwear.

Hey!  I'm going to go to Victoria's Secret so I can look like absolute crap in underwear designed for supermodels with no ass!

Everyday on my way home from work, driving down Hollywood Blvd., I am faced with the side of a very large building featuring a pile of naked women.  This billboard is apparently meant to interest men in Victoria's Secret make-up.  'Cause it sure as heck ain't talking to me.

Wait, yes, it is talking to me.  But it's not saying anything nice, and it's not making me want to buy Victoria's Secret make-up.

Hey, marketers, want to get my attention?  How about a billboard that features Ben Affleck and Matt Damon buck naked, testing the waist bands of Victoria's Secret cotton bikini underwear?  Of course, the problem here is that the waistbands wouldn't hold up and we only show famous women naked on billboards.  But hey, maybe Victoria's Secret underwear would actually fit Ben and Matt better than it fits me.  Perhaps that's the secret.

This blogger is taking suggestions for a new underwear brand.

Just another pretty face?

Hey peeps, what do you think of my new pic under my "About"?  (Upper left.)  This is the one I had before:

I like that one, but I'm looking down, and it's not my cat.  Which isn't to say I don't like cats, but it's just not my cat, and it's a bio pic of me.  But perhaps the attitude on the new one is confusing?

Oh, and everyone say Happy Birthday to Ryan, aka The Boyfriend.  (Honey, send me that pic of you and Weird Al so I can put it here and say you're not Weird Al.)  :)

Coming soon:

My latest BlogHer post!
A knitting update with pics of actual finished projects!
An answer to reader Meredith who asks, "What's your spiritual persuasion?"!
The film short/film career/short film career update!
Overuse of exclamation points 'cause that's just the kinda Girl I Am!!!

Now, of course, I'm going to feel really lame if I don't do all those posts soon.  Good thing I have no life.  Wait a minute...

Walk this way.

So last week I went to the podiatrist for my heel pain. 

It was disturbingly like going to the chiropractor.  Suddenly, I had a problem I never knew I had (flat feet), and I needed to buy something (inserts for my shoes).  On the other hand, I got a shot of cortisone (getting another in three weeks), and the inserts do really seem to make a difference.  As opposed to that overpriced foam pillow I slept on for one night.

My foot still hurts basically all the time, but I made it through football practice this weekend OK and broomball.  So far, so OK.  I have high hopes for that second shot of cortisone, and I'm sure to start doing those prescribed stretches any day now.

But you know what I was thinking about at the doctor's office?  The difference that money makes.

My first couple years in Los Angeles, I had to call to confirm the co-pay amount ($10/$15) and budget it.  And when faced with a surprise $25 medical purchase, I would have had to say that I would come back on payday.  It's embarrassing, and it makes you feel like shit.  It makes you a different person.  It undermines you.  I only just recently realized that I actually had cash in my wallet to park in the medical center garage.

Now, when the docter suggested inserts for my shoes - which flat out correct the way I've been standing for years - it was no big deal.  It wasn't a moment of fear, feeling bad, embarrassment.  It was OK and slide the debit card.

Money changes who you are.

I have an active imagination.  And it makes life frustrating at times.  I have this thing where my mind decides to go off and explore options I don't actually have.  For example, all the talk about condo buying swirling around me has me thinking about houses (because the thought of buying an apartment condo just... ug).  Which inevitably has me screaming at the mountain of the sucky quality of life in Los Angeles.

Now, hey, I choose to live here and YES there are a million great things about L.A.  Yeah, yeah, I get it.  But here's a piece of my world (#s from Zillow):

The house I grew up in in Coral Springs, Fla. was 1,662 square feet.  It had 3 bedrooms, 2 large bathrooms and a huge backyard.  Built in 1973, its value today is estimated at $332K.

My parents live in what now looks to me like a veritable mansion just outside of Austin, Texas.  It's 2,694 square feet, 2 stories, with 3 bedrooms, a den and a loft and 2 1/2 baths.  Built in 1991, it recently appraised for just under $200K.

The little house my fantasy eye just spied in Burbank?  It's 1,200 square feet with three bedrooms that I believe are actually 2 bedrooms and a strange third room, with 1 1/2 baths.  Built in 1937, its asking price is $700K. 

Did I mention 1 1/2 baths???  So you're sharing a bathroom with your kids.  For $700K.

Look, it's the market, it's the area, it's L.A., and I need to get with the reality, yada, yada, yada...  DUDE, YOU ARE PAYING $700K FOR 1,200 SQUARE FEET AND ONE REAL BATHROOM.  Seriously, am I the only one who thinks the L.A. real estate market needs a solid slap in the face?

Like, OK, I have to start with a condo so someday I can aspire to this?

In the name of full disclosure, the property in Burbank has got a lot of amenities.  It's a nice property in a great location, and I'm a broke loser in an apartment, fine.

But these expensive little L.A. houses will never look like anything worth what they cost to this South Florida girl who visits parents in Texas.  I'll never be able to shake it, but here's hoping someday I have a house of any kind to call my own.

Hey, maybe by age 50 my 10 year old can kick me out of my own bathroom.  Now that's living the La La.

It's Autumn, and the living is crispy.

Well, I flat out missed it.  The Autumn Equinox was Sept. 20th, and there was no mention of it here.

It was on my mind in fleeting moments, and in fact, fall is my favorite season, but my life is at capacity, and I'm struggling to balance it all.  I'm hardly managing with panache, but I think I'm hanging in there.  I spent the 20th and 21st with friends, sharing games, good food and conversation, so perhaps that was its own celebration.

This post is up, however, because The Boyfriend - who just patiently listened to me download (read: vent... read: rant) about some of the things I'm dealing with right now - sent me an Autumn Equinox card from Blue Mountain Arts to support my new Blogher Ads.  So here's what Blue Mountain Arts has to say about the Autumn Equinox:

Autumn Equinox - Mabon - September 22  Today is the official beginning of autumn.  The air is crisp, the foliage is spectacular, there is a nip in the air.  Summer is over, and Winter is quickly approaching.  Autumn is the second time of balance in the year, when day and night are of equal length.  It is a time to celebrate the harvest and to store our abundance for the coming cold but cozy months of winter. Animals are busy preparing for winter hibernation.  Everywhere, there is great energy in the air.  From this point on, we celebrate the oncoming season of shorter days and longer nights.

May it find your seasons turning to delightfully crispy fall delights.

Do you know what it feels like for a girl?

Welcome to short-attention-span-Friday.  Likely updated throughout the day.

I had to laugh at myself this morning as I was driving home from The Boyfriend's to go get dressed for work.  I suddenly realized that in the past 24 hours, I had stood my ground at work on a job issue with perhaps not total aplomb, but at least with a nice show of balls ovaries.  And then later that day, when presented with a friend's 3-week-old baby to hold, I had whispered in what might have been fear, "Oh, no, I can't."  She was just so small.  I was sure she would just break, and having never actually held a baby, I was also afraid I would just spontaneously drop her.  And yeah, I've never held a baby, so what if I held her wrong, in some fabulous display of cluelessness?  Meanwhile, The Boyfriend braved it later, and I was impressed.

Oh, gender stereotypes - so good for a giggle for a girl like me.

~

Meanwhile, my roommate's done bought a condo, and I can't for the life of me decide what the best move for me is.

What I want is to move into my own apartment.  I want it so bad that I keep taking the issue back up and turning around in my head as though if I just think about it long enough a life without a mortgage worth of debt payments every month will suddenly appear.

The easiest - though by no means actually easy - option is to find a new roommate.  The wrinkles here are that my complex requires a new 1-year lease and is then allowed to up my rent another 4%.  Currently we're on month-to-month because we've been there so long, and after adjusting to the concept of month-to-month (the standard in Florida is one year at a time, month-to-month means double rent), I've discovered it actually favors the tenant most of the time.  If my job situation blows up, I have options.  I'm not locked into a $600+ bill because I'm under a lease I can't get out of.  Plus, my current roommate, besides being my friend from filmschool, works the nightshift, so I am blessed to have the apartment all to myself every weeknight.  It's been a great situation, but I knew it couldn't go on forever.  So - do I do the new roommate???

The third option is to throw all my furniture and kitchen stuff and books and basically everything I don't use everyday into storage and see if I can find someplace to sleep for a few hundred dollars a month.  Like a bedroom in a house or even a shared room situation for a few months.  There's a lot about this that appeals to me.  First off, I really, really want to pay less rent, not more.  I mean, don't we all, but like seriously, what's really going around and around in my mind is, is there any way to pay less rent???  The disadvantage is all the work and time this option would take.  And would I even end up saving money?  And am I really ready to do this?  And how the hell does one put all of one's stuff in storage anyway?  But, if I did this, then I probably wouldn't have to be locked into a year lease and maybe I would gain some flexibility.

So I don't know what to do.  I change my mind everyday about what's best.

~

Funniest Jon Stewart ever:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ki2GWdOIYxw

Seriously, after hitting it out of the park like that, how does he get up the next day and do it again???

~

From an article in Variety by Ben Fritz about a MarketCast/Google study on whether and how movie viewers find out about and research films before going to the movies:

Despite the sterotype of heavy Internet users as young, tech-savvy males, study found other kinds of moviegoers amoung the Web users.

Well, there's some shocking news.  Let's all laugh together, shall we?

The Engagement Ring: It's Time to Let Go.

This post is cross-posted on BlogHer.

My engagement ring was absolutely gorgeous.

It was nothing I would wear now. Not only because when I called off my wedding I switched to silver, but because should I ever become engaged again, I don't want an engagement ring.

I think it's time for women to let the engagement ring go.

For me, specifically, it always felt a little creepy, the inequity of it all. I wasn't in the position where I was cajoling to get married - in fact, I was totally surprised by the proposal, so in my mind I justified the ring as completely his choice, his gift. So I could ignore any antiquated meanings, right?

Except, why didn't he wear one again?  Why was my status suddenly projected to the world and not his?  So much for "Ms."

And the ring came up in discussion after discussion about why I wasn't changing my last name - something that could hardly have been a surprise to him. But perhaps it was one of the many personality traits he thought I would "grow out of" when I "grew up."

I couldn't understand why I would change my last name. Most women still do, I know, but for me, my name is a major part of my identity. Plus, I knew for a fact that changing it was a major pain, and I knew for a fact that he wasn't changing his. "Why am I changing my name and you're not changing yours?"

"You have an engagement ring, and I don't."

"I didn't ask for this!"

It was pretty. It was shiny. Truth be told, I loved it. And I felt like I took my soul back when I slipped it off and returned it.

Sometimes, we lose good things when we choose bigger things that are best for us.

I was raised Christian, primarily Episcopalian. When I walked away from the church and embraced my true spiritual beliefs there is no doubt I lost the many truly valuable things a church offers. Community, social services, tradition, ceremony. When you walk away from the church, you have to find these things somewhere else, and that can be difficult, sometimes impossible. You have to make your own traditions and ceremonies. You have to count on your community for social services. Sometimes you have to face tough moral issues without a book to point to and an entire religion to back up your convictions. It's hard, and I'll be honest, I miss Christmas Eve mass. I miss singing in church. But I am not Christian, and so I gave up those things I loved in my heart for the truths I hold in my heart, soul and mind.

I bring this up not to challenge religion. I respect and would fight to defend everyone's freedom of religion. I bring this up to say you can't have your equality cake and wear your pretty ring, too.

When I think of two pairs of hands, each with a wedding band and neither with an overpriced, commercialized and antiquated purchase... well, in that pair of hands I see meaning, I see partnership, I see equality, I see love, I see strength.

I suspect most women aren't ready to give up the engagement ring. For one thing, we are far, far away from feminism's ultimate promise, and in this middle land, it is often true that the sacrifices for freedom and equality are still mostly made by women. Giving up that engagement ring surely feels like one more sacrifice, and your partner doing one load of laundry a month and being praised like a god just for showing up for one wedding meeting or one playdate probably doesn't seem like equality. The entire wedding industry expects you, the bride, to spend months and months of your life planning a wedding and then the whole world takes back what you were told for your first ten years of adulthood and expects you to pick up your wifely duties and work that job feminism fought so hard to get you. I bet that ring feels only fair. Something to cling to. One battle where you just want to take the shiny and close your eyes to what it really means.

Only you can't, really, can you?

Still not fair?  You bet.  Women still have to lead the way.

We have to let the engagement ring go.

Follow-up:  Lisa Stone pointed out this 2003 post from Anil Dash on the topic of diamond engagement rings over in the comments thread on BlogHer.

Another turning point; a fork stuck in the road.

"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. The people who get on in this world are they who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them." -- George Bernard Shaw

A few weeks ago, I realized that I was in need of a major attitude adjustment.  I've let Los Angeles and the entertainment industry drag me down as surely as I fell into the depths in film school.  But whereas that was a one-week plunge to the bottom of a pit I spent the next two years trying to climb out of, my descent to jaded aspiring has been slower and more subtle.

Recently I've been thinking about my situation and all I've done in the past four years.  There is no doubt that my progress is slowed by my financial situation, and that's frustrating, but I already know I'm in this for the long haul.  I've directed a PSA, met tons of people, and I just directed another film short.  I get to do cool stuff all the time and am constantly learning.  And in my heart, I have no doubt that I will be a working director someday.

Honestly, I've been letting things get to me that I have no control over and which aren't ever going to change.  I think of it as screaming at the mountains to move, and people, I've been doing it.  And I'm done.  I'm ready to get positive about who I am, where I've been, and where I'm going.  Because in my heart, I know that that is my truth.  I just got hung up on other people's opinions and perceptions.

Here's an example.  I've decided that one of my goals for next year is to find a screenplay to attach myself to and begin to work at getting it off the ground.  Schedule it, budget it, try to get funding, all that joy.  When I first came to L.A., I bought into the whole, if you want to direct (and you have no money and no connections) you have to write screenplays, and I thought I could do that if I applied myself, but the truth is, when I'm working a full-time job, I can't write a feature-length screenplay.  Or perhaps even more true, I don't want to.  And having a screenwriter on the team who isn't me really speaks to my belief in film and television as collaborative arts.  The more talent at the party, the better.

So I have to find a screenplay.  And that means 1. Finding one I believe in and am passionate about and 2. Convincing a screenwriter to take a chance on me while being completely honest about who I am and what I bring to the table.  And that's not a lot that's tangible.  I don't have a studio deal, my contacts are not huge, and my reel doesn't accurately reflect my ability - a problem for new directors because the opportunities and funding to direct are few and far between and you learn by doing and doing and doing.

Last week, I went with my friend Julie to a reception for screenplay competition winners.  I gave my card and my pitch to three writers.  And you can see it in their faces:  Who is this - another LA wanna be.  They look at you, and they want to see desperation.  They want to see someone who is full of it.  They want to see a loser.  They want to see someone who's going to quit after a few years, having never broken in.  And who knows what else they see.

The fact that some of what they see is true is what makes it hard.  It's why so many successful people in Hollywood are egotistical freakazoids.  Because on many levels, it helps to be clueless about your own shortcomings.

I talk to screenwriters, and I see the truth about what I bring to the table.

Except, I've been focusing on the wrong truth.  Yes, I'm noone right now.  But I know in my heart that that isn't always going to be true.  I don't know how far I'll go, but I will direct.  Because I will never quit and because when I'm on set directing, I know it's the place for me.  I love it too much not to make it, and I love it too much to quit.  I have determination, persistence, developing talent, and I'm not a egotistical freakazoid.  I can helm the creative story ship, and I can do it well, under pressure, within schedule and under budget.  With my eye on the story, my finger on the tone, and my brain in the game.  I'm a team player, and it is the collaborative nature of film and television that really gets my heart pumping. 

Don't let the attitude in this town and in this country fool you - We Make Magic Here.

I, for one, am living the dream.  Life is good.

Hat tip for the opening quote to the Jeffrey R. Gund InfoList.  And George Bernard Shaw, of course.

PS.  Holy Crap, was Studio 60 effing fabulous television or what???  Just wow, man.  Wow.

PPS.  Does anyone have info. or a link to an option contract?  I'm unsure how to protect the screenwriter (and myself as the director) in an "option for a dollar" deal.