the slack daily

There Are No Wrong Roads to Anywhere.

You know that it's there, but you just don't know where - but just because you can never reach it doesn't mean that it's not worth looking for. -- Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

It's been an odd few weeks. Four of them, in fact. And it's not just me; everyone that I know seems to be experiencing the similar peculiar turns of events. Random small-world moments, bits of literature dropping from the sky, staccato pieces of personal history filling in blanks that most of us would rather have left empty. I spend my days thinking more than I probably should. It's a luxury, and one that I probably can no longer afford.

I wrote a few days back that I don't believe in some Grand Plan, but I do believe that there are thematic elements that weave through our lives. I'm noticing patterns of my own, some healthy, some notsomuch. I need to finish the projects I've started. I need to start the projects I've said I'd finish. Every time I work on one thing I think I'd rather work on something else. I have files upon files of partially written works, scripts, pitches, ideas....I wonder if I'm being insufferably lazy or incredibly prolific.

I've given myself 'til the end of the year finish Geek's Guide to Girls, which is currently a random assortment of IMs and thoughts and theories crammed into a single MS Word file. The more I work on it, the more I think what right do I have to be giving anyone dating advice? But then again, why not me? I'm also considering for the first time ever, possibly jumping into the NaNoWriMo pool with another idea that's been kicking around my cranium for years.

I'm finding for the first time in ages that I'm inspired by what's out there. My TiVo is chock full of TV I'm excited to watch. My iTunes is filled with music that I had either forgotten about or had completely missed the first time around. I'm re-reading Watchmen and discovering new elements that I couldn't fully relate to six years ago. My friends are creating worlds that I can't wait to see unfold.

I ran out of funds a while back, and now I'm running out of time. It's a weird paradox; I'm both paralyzed and kinetic. I feel like I'm doing everything and nothing.

It's clear I'm completely lost. But am I going in circles or forging ahead?

I'm terrified. I'm melancholy.

And I'm also enjoying the hell out of myself.

I don't know. You figure it out.

the slackmistress takes san francisco.

I'm still here, sitting nestled between the cool sheets, curled with my laptop. Cartoon Network is on the TV. My head hurts, my feet are killing me, my brain is about to explode, and I am so completely overwhelmed I don't even know where to start.

I have never in my life felt so completely welcomed by a group of people. Most of my writing life is spent on the outskirts watching everyone else rather than in the center being watched. There are 250+ photos on Flickr with the tag slacksumeeting. As I told my friend Tantek, I finally know what it feels like to be followed by paparazzi. Flickrazzi, he called them. There are good photos and bad photos (you didn't actually think I'd link to one, do you?) and erm, bad girl photos. We drank until 2am and danced until 4am and brunched and lunched and schmoozed and hung out. I drank champagne in bed with my evil twin C. and I had girly sleepover time with N. and I ate the best burrito of my life out of a paper bag seated on the cold ground in Dolores Park, where my friend J. and I sipped Moscow Mules and watched A Fish Called Wanda.

Today was the last get-together, brunch in the Haight at All You Knead. I expected ten people, tops. My friend N. and I walked in to discover a such a crowd that they couldn't seat us all at the same time. Consumators took over half the restaurant. My friend J. turned to me and said next time you come to San Francisco, you have to make it a stealth trip. We can't handle crowds like this.

I am exhausted and oversocialized, like a toddler on a three-day pass to Disneyland. My life isn't like this, I explained. Or, as I told my friend N. last night, I am a dork. I am so incredibly touched and shocked and amazed and pleased that people want to hang out with me, but seriously, I'm a dork. I hope they all realized that. She laughed. Because that's what friends do, of course.

What an insanely successful trip it's been. I've had hang out time, I've had schmooze time, I've had how-are-we-taking-over-the-world time, I've had meeting new fabulous people time, I've even had the opportunity to play counselor-on-the-spot and field test my nerd dating advice time. I have hung out with rockstars all weekend, including Internet Rockstar himself. I have remembered faces and forgotten names and met so many fabulous new people who I still didn't get enough opportunity to hang out with.

I haven't processed the whole experience yet. I don't know if I can. Tomorrow is a breakfast and then I hit the road, pointing the Pink Mini southward to return to real life. But I've got some absolutely marvelous things brewing there as well. Seeds are being planted. I'm just gardening in shiny boots and fishnets...

Girly Bits & General Frustration

To say that I'm frustrated is the apex of understatement.

Yesterday I returned home to discover a letter from the Writers' Guild Health Fund. My request for reimbursement for $7,000 I had paid out of pocket to fix my girly bits had been denied. After medical review, the treatment had not been deemed "medically necessary" for my condition.

My condition, of course, being something called VVS. VVS is NOT an STD. They don't know what causes it, but the theory is that long-term antibiotic use (which I underwent for my jaw surgery) can be a factor.

Basically, the nerves in your girly bits become so sensitive that the interpret everything as pain. It feels like your genitals have been rubbed with sandpaper and then set on fire. I went to my doctor multiple times; she finally suggested that perhaps I was making it up. I explained things to my now-ex-boyfriend, but it didn't help that our sex life crashed and burned, and ultimately figured into our breakup.

This went on for about a year. Putting on panties was painful. Exercising was excruciating. I gained twenty pounds. I was insanely depressed. After I moved out of the house, I finally found something online that sounded similar to what I was going through. Two doctors were recommended in the Los Angeles area. One at UCLA, who took insurance. The first available appointment was in October.

The second was in Torrance. He didn't take insurance, but I could get in the following week. Once a week for six weeks, I drove down the 405 to see Dr. McDonald and pay him $1200 to give me three shots. In the box.

I'll give you a moment to uncross your legs.

However, the treatment worked, and suddenly my Death Star was fully operational. And has been for the past six months. But the real pain has been submitting my paperwork to insurance. First they lost it. Then they asked for medical records. And different medical records. And my doctor's qualifications. And then, whoops, they lost the billing. And then they wanted the insurance codes.

And finally, yesterday, the final determination, after me having appealed the decision multiple times, is that my treatment was not medically necessary. All I can think is that if a guy had the same problem, they'd cover the limo, icepacks, and a concubine to bring him orange slices and fan him with ostrich feathers.

I have called and documented and researched and faxed and there's nothing left to do. I'm out $7,000. It was, it is worth every penny. But the fact is, friends, I'm broke. I need that money.

I grabbed two beers from the fridge and crawled into my bed with my laptop to check my email, my skype voicemail, and get some writing done. I thought there'd be a few messages to download for GG2G.

Not. One.

There are a thousand people who read this blog and the slack. I have over forty saved IM conversations from forty different boys asking me forty different dating dilemmas. Please. Call. I hate asking for anything from anyone; it's completely against my nature. But my back is against the wall. This has been the year that everything fell apart: my relationship, my living situation, my career, my health. I don't bitch about it because there's really not much that can be done about it. My philosophy has been that shit happens and you work on the stuff that you can work on and try to remain cautiously optimistic.

So I have been. I have been working my ass off. I don't know what else to do. I'm working insanely hard to create something new, and with this project I need your help. So call. You don't need Skype, you can call from a regular phone. Crosspost. Spread the word.

Thanks.

the slackmistress needs YOU!

Now that I've popped my videoblog cherry, I'm moving onto the Next Step in SlackMistress World Domination: Podcasting.

More specifically The Geek's Guide to Girls.

That's right, darlings, the slackmistress, along with the occasional Fabulous NerdBoy Co-Host is going to be doling out dating advice. I spend hours every evening counseling NerdBoys about their dating dilemmas. Now I'm just going to do it over the Internet Airwaves.

Boys: Got a GeekGirl in your sights but don't know how to make the next step? How does one close the deal over email? Where are all of these supposed "girls" hanging out, anyway?

Girls: I want to hear from you, too. What drives you insane about dating GeekGuys?

All: You can call from your regular cell or home phone (toll costs to Los Angeles apply): 323.319.6462.

Too terrified to leave a message? Email me at theslackdailyattheslackdotcom

Ask what not what your slackmistress can do for you, but what you can do for your slackmistress.

Call now!

(crossposting encouraged!)