Don Yeager

I finally had one moment of happiness during spec writing.   I've been wanting to confess to a jury that I'm a horrible person who doesn't deserve life because I've been hating myself so much for not producing an apt portfolio of my writing.  It seems like once a year I should produce a spec or play that is great.  Nope.  They just get slightly better than the thing produced the previous year that was just okay.  But I had a nice moment today.

It was about 8:00 when everyone left work and instead of scurrying out with them I forced myself to stay and work on my own things.  I never do that because I hate staying in the same place for too long.  I will go to a bar and quietly hate myself as others roll their eyes at the pretentious girl in the corner staring blankly at Final Draft and drinking whiskey.  Plain whiskey.  This girl is a douch bag.

So I stayed hidden inside tonight.  Wrote some beats down of what I needed to fix and just chilled out looking at it.  I never do that.  I never chill out.  Especially when I'm writing.  That's when I'm the least chill.  Every sentence determines my future they must be perfect ahhhhhh no one is ever going to cure cancer!!!!!!!!

So I just chilled the fuck out and sat with my feet up staring at the board, and ideas just magically came.  They wafted through the not good story and kind of corrected things and put it all in order.  I didn't have to do anything.  It was so little work.  Then I realized what I was feeling.  Like Don Draper.  I was Don Draper for a minute out of my life.  Sittin' all alone late at night with no one in the building but me and my thoughts.... I could have been a Mad Men character if I was wasted.
I wouldn't have been surprised if left work and came home to notice the perfect amount of man stubble had grown handsomely on face.
Now bring me a sad housewife!

I think I might be... Dumb

I just realized I've been writing a dollar sign like this all day:

Scared?  I am.

Working at Paramount

Behind our offices there is a fake creepy alley.  Like windows that are painted to look broken and rusty and weird shops that say "Get your locks here."  NCSI is right next to us on the lot, so I assume every time I am squeezing past camera ops to get to work they are shooting a scene for NCSI.  LL Cool Jay is always there and his face is like a baby's.  But not this time.  At lunch today,  I was trying to get by and they were filming something really small.  Only like a couple lights and a couple crew dudes.  As I was about to pass through the scene after "cut" was yelled, a prop guy said,
Dude: Watch out for the cum.
Me: The what???
Dude:  The cum.  There's cum everywhere.  We're shooting with a lot of cum.

I was positive I must have misheard this guy, until I saw the man they were filming, this dude with nothing but underwear on.  I am sure I did not miss hear him.

...

Something I just thought:

"I can't wait for Tina Fey to get really old so I can talk to her."

Marriage

The thing that terrifies me most about marriage isn't the commitment or the giant decisions or the starting of a new life.  The thing that scares me the most is the ceremony.  The more people I invite, and the bigger deal I make out of it, the more I'll be embarrassed when I get a divorce.  

Dad's Jokes - 1987

My sister just found a clip of my dad telling jokes at The Improv in 1987.   The best part is he was introduced by Gary Coleman who opened with very, very long airport jokes.  When he finally got to the punchline of the first one, the joke was "I have a lot of leg room."

And with that, here are the best Dad jokes:

"My friend just bought a new dog.  It's half pitbull, half collie.  So it will attack someone then immediately go for help."

"There was a time period when my dad and I dressed exactly the same.  I'm not exactly sure why.  It could be because we were in prison."

"My dad has the worst toupees.  They have a chin strap."

And then some others about fax machines.

"We, too, are Stardust" - Gaarder

Where do you go to talk about philosophy?  It seems as impossible to find a group of people I can ask questions with than it is to answer them.

I didn't go to school for anything remotely intellectual, so I have no friends of that sort.  Where do I find people who will answer my questions?   Who will also want to sit in my apartment and drink wine and admit they don't know the answers, either?  I've wondered this my whole life.  In high school, I thought they were in college.  In college, I thought they were sprinkled throughout artistic collectives such as theatre companies.  I'm sure they are, yet I have not found any of these people.  I see them on interviews on my computer.  Do you have to be rich and famous to meet these people?  It seems like you do.  I'm pretty sure I do.  You must find success in the material world to be heard in the immaterial.... How ironic.

Why Friends with Benefits Doesn't Work

The myriad rom-coms with this plot, or, "emotional spine" to use a word from work, always have the same moral.  According to these movies, the FwB relationship never works because one person will inherently start having feels for the other.  (Note to self: write a FwB rom-com that's really serious and someone dies at the end).  And most conversations I have with friends come to the same conclusion, even though most people I know haven't been in this situation for too long. I have, and I will tell you why it doesn't work.  It's not that the feelings get in the way, it's that there's no tenable expiration date.   You cannot just "break up" with a friend because it's not working out.  I think most people would agree with me that break ups with really close friends are harder and more painful than romantic relationships that come to an end.  Usually, a break up with a good friend is because of something big.  Two people get into such a big fight, or one does something that hurts the other so much their years and years of friendship are torn asunder.  ("Don't say 'torn asunder.'"  "It's the only word I can think of!"  "People are going to think you're pretentious."  "I'M NOT PRETENTIOUS BECAUSE I CAN ONLY THINK In my opinion, good friendships have to really blow-up to completely break-up.  But romantic relationships don't have to.  At least, what I've seen, they fade away, or start becoming serious and one isn't as into another as much, so they break it off so as not to hurt the other.  There's a logical ebb and flow.

I guess what I'm saying that I initially thought was really interesting is not unique at all - I think I'm simply saying people need boundaries.  I'm a relatively relaxed person when it comes to relationships.  But without boundaries, this conversation happens over and over and over  from both parties:
"Hey, I think we're getting too serious.   I can sense you're developing feelings for me."
"No I'm not."
"Oh, okay...  Are you sure?"
"I'm sure.  I think if we would have dated ever, I'd be bored with you by like the third date."
"That's really mean."
"No it's not!  I'm just saying the truth!  It's not like we're dating, so that isn't the case!"
"Okay."
Silence. Wait two weeks.  Have the same conversation, rinse, repeat.

I think I need to date a mime.  God, we'd never fight.  But he'd pretend to hang himself a lot.

PS.  How gross is this poster!?  Ew!  

A Real Page in a Real Packet we Received at Work

That Last Post Gave Me a Joke Idea:

1840,  Russia. 

Four men sit together in an ale house. 

Haggard Russian #1: You guys remember the days when we would ask a question... and we didn't have the answer right in front of us?

Haggard Russian #2: Yes, yes.  You had to go home to your encyclopedias, or ask around to your smartest friends. 

Haggard Russian #1: Life was so much harder then before we met our new friend.  Now we just ask Gogol.

Gogol, the 4th man, shrugs.

Haggard Russian #3: The man knows everything. 

Boring Technology Thoughts

I won't bore you with all the "how our brains are changing because of cell phones and constant information!!!" observations.  I just simply want to say that I re-read all the Harry Potters recently, and it struck me as so sad that had those books been written just five years later, all the wizards would have cell phones.  With all their magic they posses, their only mode of communication was owl letters (very primitive  or both you and the person you needed to connect with had to be in front of fire to talk.   I'm glad J.K. decided to not even include cell phones in her later books, even though every kid had them by then.  Seriously, every major moment in that book could have been prevented had they had text messages.  How are wonderful stories going to be told anymore?  What are going to happen to all the merry mishaps?  They are so easily avoidable in this constantly connected world.... it makes me sad.

I also constantly wonder if other people have the ONE thing they've thought of since they were little on the subject of "what if people back then had what we have now."  Because I've had the same one since third grade.  Mine is... the Nurse or the Friar could have called Romeo and told him "She's just pretending."  That's always what I think of.  Which makes no sense.  Because they never lived.

Stand-Ups

What I hate.  Maybe more than anything in the world.  Maybe more than the movie "Wedding Crashers."  Is sitting in the audience of a comedy club, listening to a comedian telling a "dirty joke" you've heard 100,000 times, and they get mad at you because they assume you're not laughing because you're a prude or insulted.  And not because it's just not funny, stupid, unoriginal.  My jaw shakes in rage just thinking about it.
No, I can't say any more on this topic because I'm too mad just thinking about it.  I should also note that I haven't seen a comedy show since like, November.  It's still rattling in me.

Dead Squirrels

I think a out this all the time.  Why don't you see dead squirrels around that died of natural causes?  The ones that, old and wise, sitting on a branch.... Pass in the wind.  Their eyes close and having led a full life... They fall from their branch, and tumble to the ground.... Completely at peace.  I've never seen a squirrel not dead from its skull crushing under the weight of a vehicle or it's innards ripped to shreds by a wild dog.

Get on that, Ellen.

I Have 3 Years Left!!!!

Blogging has become so difficult.  I no longer have interesting thoughts.  Something I read recently (a nonfiction book called "Imagine") told me that creativity peaks when you are exactly 30 years old.  Apparently, that is why so many great artistic geniuses create their "masterpieces" around their 20's, and can never really reclaim that artistry no matter how old and sage they become.  I don't want to believe this, but it feels true.  How awesome was "The Shining?"  When was the last one of his 1,000 books he wrote even close to "The Shining?"  When was the last time Sam Shepard wrote something like "Lie of the Mind?"  No matter how depressing it seems, you can't help but look at the facts.  According to history, it looks pretty true.  At least, as far as writers go.  That's mostly what I am basing this current conundrum on.  So if this is true, that means I have exactly 3 years (4 if this truth counts for the entire 30th year) to create the best things in my life.  And the sad thing is, I look at this not with fear, but with hope.  If you would have asked me three years ago when I was moving from Chicago to L.A. what would happen in a year or so, I would have said, "Oh, I don't know where I'll be in my career, but I am pretty sure I would have written something very, very good."  That has yet to happen.  I keep thinking I'm going to write something "very, very good" any second now.  So I do things like (see post below) that I think have the potential to be wonderful.  But usually, they simply result in strangeness. And result in finished projects that quietly sleep under my bed.  Because I know they aren't my masterpiece.  And who wants to come out of the unknown-writer-closet with anything less than a masterpiece?

PS. Stephen King and Stephen Hawking look extremely similar, right?

Sam Amidon

I contacted this man whose CD's you might have heard in my car.  I want to write a play that is very, very loosely based John Steinbeck (my favorite American novelist)'s book "East of Eden."  I want this guy to help me write it, and for him to let me use his music in it.  What a long stretch, right?   Let's see if it comes to fruition, shall we?

Tell me if this doesn't scream moving out West and reading Steinbeck and folk-y love.
Here he is in concert with one of my favorite songs:

Bekah Brunstetter, can you "The Secret" this for me?

Matt and Ben

I am doing this play.
I also am still working on "The Haunted Hathaways," a Nickelodeon show.
I have nothing to blog-write about!!! Or, for that matter, write-write about.
I sit in a room all day and make jokes, so I have no real-life jokes to make.... 

So this is all I have today:

What I just walked into the writers' room to hear: 

"What would it be like to be in a washing machine also with vomit."

Isn't it Weird...

When you trip while you're alone and  naked....?

Smile

If ever you are on a quiz show and I'm your partner and we have to know adorable things about each other, you should know that the thing that makes me more mad than anything else in the entire world is when men tell me to smile. 

When you are a very tiny, young girl, complete strangers will tell you to smile ALL THE TIME. Whenever you are not skipping around looking happy to be alive, they will demand this of you. And if you're like me, consistently angry, this will happen to you more frequently. 

I never lash out at people when they upset me because it doesn't occur to me to do so. I totally would if I wasn't caught up in killing them in elaborate ways in my mind. While a group of skinny dogs watch and laugh. 

But when a man tells me to smile, I understand the phrase "it makes my blood boil." That's the feeling. Hot, hot anger. 

Why do they think they can do this? Why should my stroll down the street be about you, and what you want me to look like? It is the exact same thing as saying "Don't wear sweatpants. Wear a skirt."

And it's always the same type of man. Old, ugly and dumb. 

And here is what is probably behind the hatred I have for the entire male species I feel at these moments: I cannot win. There is NO way to respond. Because here are the two options:

1. I say, "Go fuck yourself." or "Why don't you smile, you fat piece of shit?" or "I will if you castrate yourself so their are less ugly, fat fucks on the planet?"  

I've never said any of these, but I have said things said similar to "Go Fuck yourself", or given le finger. And it will without a doubt, STILL make him win. Because he goes "Whoa, aren't we touchy!" Or something that means you are a crazy bitch. 

2. The second thing I can say is "I'm not going to smile because I don't feel like it, and it's not your place to tell me how I should be feeling at the moment." Then he'll get confused and I will have to launch into gender role equality sermon, which will make no sense to this man (see above: old and dumb), and I have no desire to talk to him or educate him. I have the desire to deeply shame him. And even if I DO say these things in a pleasant, docile way ("smile"), I can guarantee you this man will actually be thinking ohhh, you are one of those crazy feminist. God, feminists are so annoying. 

Maybe Amy Pohler knows the answer to this question. Yes. She definitely knows that to do. Tina Fey always says Amy is not afraid to leap down someone's throat when she is offended. Who do I know that can ask Amy Pohler what she does when male strangers command her to feel a certain way for their own pleasure? I bet her retort would raise the perfect balance of fear and shame.

(Fat) Horatio Sanz Sex Dream

Truth be told, there is never actually sex in my sex dreams. They consist of me and a man talking about whether or not we are going to have sex. Or, in one case, grocery shopping with Jeff Goldbloom as he tells me that he's thinking about maybe raping me. That's about as far as they go.

Last night I had a full-on, kissing sex dream. I saw Horatio Sanz in an elevator and told him to come up to my apartment. He was like "Oh, yeah!" (cuz he was still fat then. And because this never really happened). Then I started worrying whether or not people would start calling me a star-fucker. Yeah... that's that star fucker... we hate her. 

Then we kissed and it was really gross, and I thought... I've never kissed an obese person... they're lips are just so... fat. So I told him I don't want to have sex with him anymore and he was really mean to me and told me I'm annoying and left wearing sandals he hadn't come in with.

The Perfect Joke

I almost made the greatest joke the other day.
It would have been super elaborate, and probably super confusing, but in my mind... it would have been the perfect joke.

Last weekend I told the guy I've been in love with that I'm in love with him. It was a dramatic, Mufasa-falls-off-the-cliff-moment in my life. I'd put it on a life timeline if I were still in 4th grade. It wasn't that big of a deal to him. He was kind of underwhelmed by the moment. (I was having). Either way, we didn't get into it, but I'm 99.9% sure he doesn't feel the same way. (That .1% is sheer delusion, which, I believe, is healthy and means I have a soul).

The next day I'm at work. I work on a Nickelodeon show. If you've ever watched the network, you'd know that every episode of every show involves sliming, spilling, blasting, and all around messes. So we had a wedding episode the other day where, of course, the wedding cake gets thrown onto a character! So we had like 5 cartoonishly-giant wedding cakes laying around. At the end of the day, we still had one that wasn't smashed. The props guys begged for one of us to take it home. And I happen to be on my way to meet said guy I'm in love with at a bar with some other friends to play trivia....

Cue dream joke sequence:
What if I showed up with this 4 foot tall wedding cake and said to him...
"....I don't take no for an answer....."
or
".... It's now, or never, Len?..."
or--
The dream sequence went on so long that I didn't realize someone had already thrown away the cake.

PS. It should be noted that if the cake wouldn't have been thrown away, and this would have taken place, most of the people at the table, including Len (definitely his name), would be horrified, weirded out, and not think it was funny at all. He would probably get a restraining order on me. (Which would be hot). I just didn't want anyone reading this to think that I thought OTHER people would enjoy this joke. It was and will always be... just for me.

*Bird by Dragon

**

Two of the writers from the Nickelodeon show I work on took me to lunch the other day to tell me how to become a writer. It was the best conversation I've had about the writing process in years and years. I feel like for the past decade, I've been given the same advice about writing; write every day, be brave, read Syd Feild. And I cannot tell you how exhausting it becomes. But the rules and tips I hear usually are the same type of things that apply to like... baseball and Buddhism; they are fleeting and, though pretty, a bit obscure. You can't sink you're teeth into, "Write what scares you." It's more like... a vague idea that you could put on a coffee mug.

These guys, Jon and Gabe, gave me the simplest way to write a pilot spec. I will write it here so I don't forget it. And also, I might come upon this blog post ten years from now, when I'm in jail, and think, "Oh yeah, remember when I was trying to be a writer? How cute... I didn't kill my husband!!!"

AN INTERESTING WAY TO GO ABOUT SPEC WRITING:
1. Write down a list of every TV show on TV. Pick one of these out of a hat. This is the show you're writing.
(I got "Girls." Out of every show on television. That's funny. Not sure why).
2. Determine the "identity" of the show.
(Many shows have a "bread and butter" identity if you look closely).
3. Write down at least 50 ideas in which the shows' characters do something that fit this identity.
4. Watch the show and take notes. Determine the structure.
(Gabe's words on this: "Sometimes it can be as simple as an emotional structure, rather than a plot-type one.  Do episodes always start with a crisis?  Or do the end on a sad/down/bittersweet moment instead of a happy ending?  I remember big bang theory would often skip a traditional wrap-up and instead end at the funniest moment in the climax.")
5. Structure out 10 of the 50 ideas you have into an entire show.
6. Decide which one to write. And don't sacrifice character for jokes!
( I would never. I always do. Something to work on).

Basically, the writers in my room are incredibly sweet and I currently owe them a lot.


*You're really cool if you get the joke I made in the title.
** Want to sign up for this woman's writing workshop in Colorado!? It's only $500 and it's called "Disembodying Poetics." I'm sure there's space.

A Compliment

I received the best compliment I've ever been given today. At least, the one that makes me think.
A crew member on the Nickelodeon show I work on said to me today:

"I like the way you are."

Out of nowhere. I response to nothing I did or said. He was an old dude. He was a camera opp on "Starsky and Hutch." He's really old. He said it in that old, maybe gay, wise man way that I only recall from teachers from college. I like the way you are. It's a lovely thing to say, really. There's a lot of people I highly enjoy, but few people I think I could say that to, and really know what I meant. I can't wait to tell all those people.



PS. This was the first picture that came up when I google-image searched "a compliment."

This is a Conversation I Had

I ran into an improv friend at The Echo last night. This is what was said:


Me: Hey!
Jeremy: Hey!
Me: (yelling) I'm mad at you.
-What'd I do!?
-Nothing.
-Okay?
-That's the point!!!
-What?
-You always act like you're flirting with me and it's dumb cuz you never ask me out on a date and you totally should.
-Okay...
-Ask me out on a date!!!
-Um...
-Ask me out on a date, bitch!
-I...
-Don't worry, I'll totally say no.
-What!? That's mean.
-Well it's the truth. I will definitely say no.
-Okay fine let's go on a date.
-BE SPECIFIC! Where are we going?
-I don't know... to a ferris wheel.
-Okay!
-What!? You said you were gonna say no!
-Well I changed my mind.
- Uhhh!!!
- When are you picking me up? I'm super busy lately... it will have to be a Saturday night. You good for Saturday?

Then I think he walked away.

Something Should Change

I'm reading this book a couple days before I turn 26. I'm sick of people telling me I'm still very young. I'm not. I should have already accomplished something by now. Yet I have accomplished nothing. 

This book is really impacting me more than I wish it was. 

When it comes to comics/comedians/funny writers and the such, it seem like they take life in strides. They get married later and make lots of weird decisions and spend a lot of time making crappy movies and stuff because they are trying stuff out. Because they are funny and creative. But I'm reading this book and watching his sketch show "THE STATE" that was on MTV in the 90s at the same time...  and holy shit, he was 22 when that show was on!? What the fuck!? What?! They look so grown up? How did they do that? And he got married to his wife when he was 25!? Ah. I'm terrified. 

Reading this book was honestly, the first time, (truly) I have ever in my life thought, "Maybe I shouldn't be doing this." Never thought that before. I always wanted to be an actor. And that slightly shifted when I decided I wanted to write and act, and see which one happens first. And ultimately do both of them. So I haven't really changed my life course since I was five. (Michael Ian Black has a funny part in the book saying the same thing. That his life career was decided by someone who still couldn't tie his shoes.)

But should I be doing something different? I've been out of college for 4 years now. I don't go on auditions. Not because I'm scared of rejection. Come on. My own self-rejection is eons scarier than some woman's who is comparing me to a whole bunch of models. Melinda, I totally agree with you. I'd hire those hotties over me any day! I don't go on auditions because I am so, so bad at them. It's just a waste of time. And I do the minimal amount of writing. Minimal. People think I write a lot more than I do. Because I'm always working on something. But I spend a lot more time thinking about it than writing it. I produce maybe one not very good thing a year. Should I be doing something different? Something should change. 

He is just so funny it's painful. And so are all of his friend. 

Ever since I started making decisions, I knew the one thing I wanted out of life was to be a part of a group. And this group consists of people that have similar desires as I do. And they are all charismatic. And they are the funniest people in the world. I want to be friends with the funniest people in the world. I would be content accomplishing nothing in my life is the people I surrounded myself were the funniest people in the world. Because I'd be happy all the time. Right? I don't see that happening in the near future either. 

Last day at The American Federation of Musicians

RIP, best/most ridiculous temp job ever.

I wonder what font the Hollywood sign is...

Something just hit me about "The Sound of Music"

When there is a thunderstorm and all the kids get scared, Julie Andrews sings "My Favorite Things" to cheer everyone up. 

I just realized how out of place "When the dog bites" is.

She says it as if it were comparable to "when you're feeling sad." Like they happen the same amount of times in a lifetime. Like it's an obvious "bad day" occurrence. Isn't this unsettling? Do people get bitten by dogs way more often in Austria?

Does this mean Maria Von Trap has been bitten by dogs on several occasions?

Logic tells me, it does. 

Down with Smut!

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Old Lady Clothing

How do all old ladies have these shoes? Where can I get them?

Food Review - Cake Pops

I asked for one of these with my coffee this morning and quickly told the barista, "Don't worry, I'm not going to eat it." I hope she didn't think I was insinuating I was going to put it up my butt. The obvious other thing one would do with a cake pop. 

How did these become a thing? There is absolutely nothing "indulgent" about them. It's a waste of your life. 

The icing isn't even icing-like. It's just straight-up, hard white chocolate. Gross.  

And the cake part is a bastardization of what cake means. It's not fluffy, or complementary to the "icing." It is  mushy and wet. Like, if you were a slave on a boat, and the pirates that took you hostage were having a birthday party on deck. And they got finished with the cake, and were in good enough moods to toss you some into your dank, moldy cell. But you didn't catch it right away, because you were asleep from exhaustion. You sleep a lot. So you wake up hours later, and see a blob of cake sitting in the corner that is now wet and a little stale. But you eat it anyway cuz, hey, you're a slave, you don't get a lot of perks. THAT is what a cake pop tastes like. 

In conclusion, eat a cake pop when you want to feel really, really sorry for yourself. 

Stupid Dream Journals

This came in an email from a yoga teacher. Because yoga teachers 
Buried Dreams: An Exercise

do stuff like that. I will answer them here. 
PS. Whoever made this exercise up went back and forth 
from using "5" vs "five." Pick one. 

1. List 5 hobbies that sound fun: 

- Trying to learn Dinosaur names, horseback riding, trying to become a psychic, 
becoming a psychic, trying to un-learn how to be a psychic because
I keep accidentally using my new found powers for evil, not good. 

2. List 5 classes that sound fun

- Horseback riding, modern dance, AA. 

3. List 5 things you personally would never do that sound fun

- Go to a Furry convention, wearing a Furry costume, creating my Furry identity,
get thrown off a horse, kill someone. 

4. List five skills that would be fun to have

- Detective

5. List five things you used to enjoy doing

- Singing, journaling, algebra homework,  writing on T-shits and/or
cutting out the sides in a "cool" way, Pam Concerts. 

6. List five silly things you would like to try once

- Really yelling at a stranger. I mean like, really give it to them. Punch 
someone in the face, do a backflip, read Marina Raether's poetry
 out loud in a really sarcastic voice with a lot of eye rolling in front 
of a large crowd that she is also in, 
  buy a fedora.  

More on Hashtags

What if someone's last name was Hashtag?
Just a few years ago it would have been an innocuous enough noun-based last name.
But now, due to the Twitter revolution, this person's life will forever be tainted and followed by:

Cindy: Hi, My name is Cindy Hashtag! Nice to meet you!
Stranger: Hashtag what?
Cindy: Just plain ol' Cindy Hashtag!
Stranger: I'm not getting the joke. I usually understand hashtag jokes because they are simple enough that even the not-funniest people in the world can make one.
Cindy: Cindy Hashtag!!!!
Stranger: HASH. TAG. WHAT!?
Cindy: FINE!!!....... My name is Cindy Hashtag #that's my real surname.
Stranger: Oooohhhh. I get it. That's a funny joke!! I love and understand hashtag jokes because they tell me exactly where the punchline is.

Cindy rolls her eyes and stabs herself.

When You and a Stranger Both Assume the Other is a Homeless Person but Neither of You Are

. 

So this guy I thought was homeless came up to ME this morning because he thought that I was homeless!! And all this time, I thought HE was the scamp! Isn't that a kick in the head!?

In my defense, he looked way more homeless than me. I guess he was just cold and didn't like buying new clothes. A lot of people in my neighborhood look like homeless people but are in fact not. They are in fact neighbors in my building. Or getting ready to audition for the ensemble in RENT

In his defense, I was squatting over a gutter in an alley at 8:00 in the morning trying to open a can of tuna and cursing loudly. And looking back, yes, this probably did make me look crazy. 

So I don't eat a lot of tuna, okay, guy. So I was using both the wrong end of the can opener as well as the wrong side of the can to open my lunch! Big woop! That makes me so "crazy looking," does it? And so it was early in the morning and I was "crouched" over a motel gutter opening tuna. Maybe SOME people don't like opening tuna in their studio apartment because it's STINKY. I'm sorry I don't STINK, guy. Don't condescend to me because generally I KNOW how to open a can of tuna, but this morning I forgot. SORRY. 

Now I need to pick a new Least Favorite Homeless Guy in Studio City.

Everything One Needs From A Dining Experience

#BekahBrunstetter

Is this how I use a hashtag?

Why don't I just write "Bekah Brunstetter?"

What's the difference? 

#HashtagProblems

My High School Friends Work for the Pentagon

I get a kick out of people that think I'm smart. I am in no way a smart person. I'm not fooling myself, and this is not me projecting any "lo self-esteem." Proof that I don't have lo self esteem: 1. Every post below 2. The fact that - as you can probably tell- I don't feel the need to proof anything before "publishing" and 3. I have a fucking blog. I am definitely okay with myself.

Compared to the people I went to high school with though, I am a groundling; a savage pauper that doesn't deserve a seat because they would just poop in it accidentally. Or get their tomatoes all over it. Compared to my friends, I am Smeigal.

One of my close friends, Nicolette Leung, works for the pentagon... tracking rainfall...on the roof?  And makes sure that the pentagon... doesn't get all wet? Because then Y2K would happen. That's my synopsis of your job, Nick!

But today is about Marisa Raether. Yes, she is The Glam Girl that posts on this website from time to time via her fictional website The Stinky Heel, or something like that. I know this will come as a shock to most of my (non existent) readers... But her posts are actually written by me. Ha HA! No, the real Marisa Raether has never written a word on this Blog of Blogs!!! All of her posts have been *post-humorously written. And for good reason.
She's... okay... I can do this.... She went from being a receptionist and in a few short years, the V.P. of the entire company... The company?  Oh, well.... okay... it's this company that runs all the electronic databases for the military's health information. So like, when a guy gets wounded in Afghanistan  and they need to pull up his medical records to make sure he's not allergic to penicillin or something... It's hard to pull up because like, they're in like a cave in Afghanistan.... and cave's only have ONE outlet (like everyone knows) .... so they gotta use some pretty good software that has to constantly be top-notch and cutting edge. So like, when the software isn't working, Marisa may be having a mai tai in Cancun, but she'll like  get a call from a General (no really, we've seen her say, "Uh, I have to take this call"... "Marisa, who's calling?"..."A General") who yells into the phone "Raether!! The software... the SOFTWARE!!!!" and she has to order people to fix it and manage and do other Vice President-y things.
 To simply her job, we all just say she's  in bed with the military industrial complex. 
Same diff.

And the amazing part of this tale, is that she was given no help from her parents, was the second oldest in a family of eight children, and she did it heeeeeerrrrr wayyy!!!!!!!

Now, good journalists usually, at this part of the essay (I'm going to start calling my blog posts essays. Sooo Leena Dunam), ties it back to the beginning  or somehow works themselves into it. And how does this make me feel? But I don't really need to do that. I don't have any way to relate Marisa or any of my friends' incredible triumphs to myself, except to say that I am constantly amazed by them. I could never do that shit. Nor get a 1600 on the SATs without studying just because... what, they're easy? My dumb friends!! God damn your simple logic!!! You take it for granted!!!

But because today is Marisa's birthday (maybe it was a couple days ago.. whaaa? I a ah don't know! I am ah stupid-o!)... and for all of your viewing pleasure, I present something she actually did write.
Enjoy:

*Marisa's favorite thing in the world is catching my many and colorful malapropisms (see essay titled "My High School Friends Work for the Pentagon"). Here's one for you, kid!

I emailed Marisa when I lost a whole bunch of money because of shitty airport shit. I couldn't articulate any of my thoughts. I told Marisa the facts via email, and asked her to articulate them for me. Within 5 minutes, she sent me this... this would have taken me at least a month. Enjoy, and feel free to copy and paste. You get a lot of free shit when you can talk this good:


To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to inform you of a recent travel experience I had with Air France during which I encountered a dismaying lack of customer service and a level of unprofessionalism I found to be both inconsistent with previous travel experiences with your airline and, more importantly, entirely unacceptable.

On August 28, I was scheduled to travel from Los Angeles (LAX) to Paris, with a connection in Boston.  My flight from LAX to Boston was on American Airlines, and I therefore had to make my way to the Air France gates at the Boston airport when I arrived.  My American Airlines flight arrived on time and I made it to the Air France gate 55 minutes in advance of my flight to Paris; at this point, I was directed by an Air France employee at the gate to go to the baggage claim area.  A group of passengers from my American Airlines flight to Boston had the same itinerary, and we all followed the instructions from the Air France employee, only to be told minutes later that we were not going to be permitted to board our flight to Paris due to the fact that we had not arrived at the gate within an hour of our departure time.  Not only had this piece of information not been relayed to me (or to any of the other travelers in my situation) at the time of booking or at the time of my arrival at the Air France gate, but the information was relayed in a rude and outright dismissive manner by the Air France employee in the baggage claim area, with no offer to assist me in any way.  When I accepted the fact that arguing to get onto my flight was futile, I inquired as to the location of my luggage; in response, the employee promptly refused to look into the matter and simply stated that he "couldn't help me at all".   No effort was made to assist me in either rebooking a flight or locating my luggage; instead, I was dismissed with no explanation or apology.  After doing my own research, with no assistance from any Air France employees, I was able to book a flight to Paris for the following day, expending an addition $$$ of my own money that I had not anticipated; in addition, I had to spend the night in a Boston hotel and pay cab fare to and from said hotel.

I made a second attempt to locate my luggage when I arrived at the Boston airport the next morning.  Upon approaching the Air France counter and inquiring as to the location of my luggage, I was told by the employee that there was nothing they could do and I would have to inquire in Paris as to the location of my luggage.  Once again, no apologies were offered and no attempts were made to assist me in any way.  When I then arrived in Paris, I made a final attempt to reason with the employees of Air France, to no avail.  The only piece of information that was passed along was that my bag was most certainly not in Paris, since Air France has a policy of "never putting a bag on a flight without the passenger begin on board".  Interestingly enough, this was the first time I had been informed of this supposedly hard-and-fast rule; it was at this point that I was able to discern, without any assistance from your airline's employees, that my bag was still in Boston.  After a series of futile phone calls, my baggage inexplicably turned up at the Paris airport five days into my stay.  At this point, I had been forced to purchase new clothes, undergarments, and toiletries, adding to the list of unintended and unnecessary expenses brought about my your airline's utter lack of refusal to assist and communicate with me.

At this time, I am requesting full reimbursement of the expenses outlined in the attached receipts.  I cannot overemphasize the frustration and disappointment I feel in the appalling lack of interest I was afforded by the employees of Air France throughout this travel experience.  At no time did I make unreasonable demands; rather, I simply expected someone within your organization to take an interest in my situation and offer to assist.  Unfortunately, I was dismissed at every turn.  Having made the trip to Paris on previous occasions with your airline without encountering any such difficulties or inconveniences, I was surprised and dismayed to see such behavior from your employees.  I sincerely hope that more effort is made on your organization's part to instill and foster a genuine interest in your customers and their concerns.  I look forward to hearing from you regarding this matter.

Respectfully,

Mackenzie Yeager

This Should Not Be That Hard

I have a whole bunch of "maybes" in front of me in the writing-for-television-world. They are all slight maybes, but could very well lead to a JOB. I feel very comfortable handing people something I wrote and saying, "here, look at this. I'm a good writer. Give me a JOB." I'm comfortable saying this because  I think I am very, very funny. You show me a hand full of 25-year-old women that are funny and I will show you I deserve to be in that group. (note to self: don't make that a saying). 

Why just women, Mackenzie? You aren't funny enough to be compared to GUYS? Shut the fuck up, other Mackenzie, I'm less interested in this conversation than I am with people asking me how I feel about "Girls." I don't feel anything about "Girls"!!! Stop asking me about "Girls". I should make a webisode called "Stop asking me about 'Girls'." Things to do list...

No! SEE, THIS is the reason I don't have anything to hand over to people who may give me JOBS!?! Because I cannot for the life of me sit down and write a 30 minute multi-cam sitcom. I keep trying to do that, then I think... "What if everyone started using sting-can-phones instead of cell phones... what if that was a new retro-hipster thing to do..." I'm going to make a webisode about that. Where can I get some string?...

Mackenzie, this is a sitcom. It's not fucking rocket science. Your main characters don't have to be a manifestation of the Ego, Superego, and Id. (Oh, man, I was joking and now I want to do that). You don't need to start with a overarching theme of Man Vs. Himself, or Man vs. Mountain, or Man vs. Wayne Brady's improvisational singing abilities. 

I talked with one of my dear friends Ike Holter (a wonderful, wonderful playwright whom I bet in a few years you will know his name!! - Fame) and he walked me through it. It's simple. 

- It's a girl (me) that lives in L.A.

- It's set in a comedy/improv club (because that's where I spend all of my time)

- She wants to do stand up, but is too afraid (let's make her not like me, then ( because I'm afraid of NUTHIN!!! *Eats a piece of metal*) 

- That is her main drive. 

- But it gets complicated when she starts LiKINg A BOi! (why not let the main story line be her crush on a guy? It's simple to follow and will be fun/ easy to write. Don't over think it) 

- She has a sassy best friend because Ike wants me to write a sassy best friend (I'm going to make it Ike... his real name in real life is actually Ike "Isaac" "Sassy" Holter.)

- The first driving action is that she finishes whatever training classes they have at the comedy club.

- The teacher says that she has a set next week because that's a thing. 

- She's scared. But not terrified. 

- Because she's going to get terrified later when her crush is in the audience!

Nope. I'm already lost and I don't have any desire to write this. 

- See, this is hard, Mackenzie. 

- It's not that hard you stupid idiot.

- This is why I don't get things done, because you call me things like a "stupid idiot."

- It's an endearing term... You know I don't actually think that you are stupid.

- You KNOW I'm stupid. MUST we bring up my 3 digit SAT scores again...

- Oh please, that's a test scoring how well you take a test. So you can't take tests. That's a good thing!! You think outside of the box...

- I fucking hate it when you start patronizing me like this. 

- I'm not patronizing you...

- YOU'RE ITALICIZING EVERYTHING. OF COURSE THAT'S FUCKING PATRONIZATION!!!

- Look how smart you are, Mackenzie! You spelled "patronization" right on your first try. 

- See. This is the reason. THIS is the reason I can't write a fucking 22 page sitcom. Because you're always in the way, making life miserable. You're like Hitler. I'm like a Jewish diamond seller who is JUST trying to do his job (sell diamonds) that he's had for the last mashugana-15 years in his same little store that his grandfather's grandfather owned, and then you come in, and Hitler-shit all over everything.      I KNOW how to sell diamonds. Can you PLEASE just let me sell diamonds without putting me in a concentration camp? Is that so much to ask?!?!

....

Hello...?

.....

Hitler, are you listening?!?!.....

....

Wow... I think I just defeated........................................................................... myself. 

- This essay was first seen in the Op-Ed section of The New Yorker, titled, "How To Write a Man vs. Man Story Brilliantly."