the slack daily

Life/Death.

Things that make me die a little inside:

• Hearing from someone that they took a check that was mistakenly sent to their house and wrote on the envelope "no longer lives here."  To be fair, they did email me about it - just to an email address that I haven't used in two years (and I haven't used to correspond with them in just as long.) 
• having a woman refer to me as "girl."  Not as in "she's such a cute girl" (I'll live with that) or "Girl, get it together!"  (sassy!) but as in "Girl, there's no toilet paper in the bathroom."

Oddly enough, those are also the same things that make me feel stabby.

Things that make life worth living:

• WE HAVE A WII.  (And a Wii Fit!)  Don't tell Will that Wii Sports sneaks in some exercise with his game-playing.  He's a purist that way.
• We had a GREAT chat last night.  My thank-you speech, here.
• We've decided to make BeTheMarriage Live! (On Ice!) a regular fixture, so check out the details here. For those too lazy to click: this Saturday, June 28th at 9pm PST.  BYOB.

I hate blogging in lists, but I hate not blogging even more.

Also!  SlackMom celebrates her second 31st birthday today!  Happy Birthday SlackMom!

My favorite SlackMom story here.

Ways in Which I am a Jerk.

I was three years old when I attended the Ark preschool in Glen Ellyn Illinois.  It's the place where I learned to tie a knot and write my first and last name and sit quietly and read my book while the other kids went over their ABCs.  Outside on the small dirt playground I eyed the monkey bars in shape of a snake wearing a boater suspiciously, not entirely sure if he was going to swallow me whole or burst into The Music Man.  There was music time and quiet time and learning time and play time.  Honestly, the only thing that interested me was learning time. Quiet time was a waste, I could nap at home. Music time had us playing triangles and wooden blocks, which I would have enjoyed if the other kids didn't use the time to throw them at each other.  But play time was was the hardest, as everyone separated into groups and I'd have to figure out who I'd be friends with for the day.  I wasn't really willing to commit past that.

I've written before that I was an odd child, and I wasn't really interested in playing with the other kids.  This worried my preschool teacher, and notes were sent home saying I didn't play well with others.  I wasn't mean, I wasn't disruptive...I just didn't really seem to care. SlackMom finally took me aside and said pretend you're interested in playing with the other kids. That'll get her off your back.  Now that she had explained it in terms that made sense, I complied. And I learned how to get along with people I didn't particularly like.

Working the front desk at an upscale gym in Los Angeles, you'd think I'd run into cases of over-inflated egos with a sense of self-entitlement every day.  The fact is that it's rarer than you'd think.  But there are a few cases where my smile shines a little brighter, my compliments get a little more effusive, my hands clasp and I positively giggle. 

It was a moment like this that my boss, T., comes out of her office and asked what the hell was that?

That was me being a jerk, I responded.

If I don't like someone, I make no effort to connect to them.  Usually by way of ignoring them.  But there are some people you cannot ignore.  They're your co-workers or they're your clients or they're friends of friends and you have no choice but to interact with them.  So I'm nice  Beyond nice.  Incredibly nice.  I overcompensate for the fact that I don't like them. 

This used to be due to the fact that I thought there was something wrong with me, and perhaps by being nice I'd see whatever it was in them that everyone else would see. And y'know what?  That rarely works. Now it's just my way of being a jerk.  Because generally if you don't like someone, they know and don't like you back.  So if you're only nice to them, complaining about you makes them look like a bigger dick.  Because I'm a jerk that way.

How else am I a jerk? 

I think this is brilliant.  (Is that jerky?)
I have been slack on the slack daily.  I assure you I'm not sitting around eating bon-bons.  If you're having a slackmistress jones, you can always stalk me at Antisocial Networking, Twitter, and the Slackmistress Appreciation Society (I think having an Appreciation Society also makes me a jerk.)
I would consider item number two to take care of the jerks in item number three.

Ways that I am not a jerk:

I listen to my husband's songs about the air conditioner.

Your turn!

Strange Things are Afoot at the Circle K.

That above reference makes me nearly a thousand years old.  (But I only look half that!)

The heat has hit Southern California, but thanks to this new little philosophy called "thinking ahead" we have a portable air conditioner.  Which is not portable in any real sense, but it is hooked up, so while the rest of the universe is a balmy 102 degrees, it's 71 and breezy here in our personal batcave.  Of course, it's a thousand degrees in every other area of the house.  If you need me, I'll be receiving visitors in the boudoir, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna leave.

...except that Will just came in and the following exchange occurred:

Will: I'm going to Ralph's [local grocery store] to pick up lunches for the week, do we need anything?

Me: Check around and see.

Will leaves.  And returns thirty seconds later.

Will: I don't know what that means.

Me: Check for stuff we only buy at Ralph's.

Will: Okay.

He leaves. And returns thirty seconds later.

Will: I'm still not exactly sure what you're getting at.

Me: Toothpaste.  Toilet paper.  Dish detergent.  Stuff to clean the house.

Will: Y'know, we'd save a lot of money on stuff to clean the house if we didn't clean the house so much.

Me: Who is this "we" you speak of?

So he made a list and we left Daisy in her air-conditioned crate to head to the Ralph's together. Once inside the air-conditioned store, he pulled the shopping list out of his back pocket to go over what we needed when item #4 caught my eye.

Me: My love?

Will: Yes?

Me: What aisle is the "Anti-Bitch Powder" in?

New at Antisocial Networking: Saturday Night Special!

50 Weeks of Marriage...

...and this is what passes for a fight in my house:

Me [walking in the door at 5pm after seeing my friend L.]: Hey, honey.

Will: Did you have fun?

Me: Yeah, we just caught up and went to Ernie's Taco House.

Will: You went to Ernie's?

Me: Yeah.

Will: I didn't know you were going to eat!

Me: It was three o'clock!  We were hungry!

Will: I can't believe you had tacos without me!

Me: It was a quesadilla.  Anyway, remember last week? 

Will: What are you talking about?

Me: You had a burrito while I was working. 

Will: I don't--

Me: You went to Los Tacos while I was at the Adoption Fair!

Will: I-- oh.

Me: So what do you want for dinner?

Will: NOTHING! ...or tacos.

A Fond Farewell.

If you don't follow me on Twitter, you missed the events of yesterday which went something like this:

Will: Let me know what I can do to help out [with the New Year's Eve party prep.] 

Me:  Mmmkay.

...

I: print out recipes, take inventory of the liquor cabinet and the pantry, create lists and head off to multiple grocery stores.

Will: watches football on the couch with Daisy.

...

Upon my return from the grocery store:

Me: Honey? 

Will: What do you need?

Me: Can you do me a favor and drink the rest of this beer?  I don't have room for it in the fridge.  Oh, and eat this cheese.  And these cookies.  And there's like the smallest bit of gin left, can you just polish it off so I can toss the bottle?

Best. Wife. Ever.
...

I should be writing about the past year, but hell, I spent the entire year writing about it.   I have some Big Plans in store for 2008, I've got garlic crostini to bake and mushrooms to stuff and bubbly to chill, so you'll have to wait...'til next year.

Big love,

the slackmistress

Faith.

A honk and a screech of tires against the street outside makes me think that someone's driving a getaway car.  I'd say I hope that they're getting away from something good, but that would defeat the purpose of getting away.

Speaking of getting away, it's being reported that Diablo Cody and her husband Jonny split up.  Supposedly journalists first took notice that her "Jonny's Girl" tattoo was missing, as apparently we now catalog the inkwork of press darlings.  I'd say that such people have way too much time on their hands, but then again, I have a blog.

Upon finding out about the breakup, Will said to me

Are you going to break up with me when you become successful?

I looked at him.  Baby, please.  What're the chances of that happening?

Tomás and I discussed the ups and downs of this business while we picketed today, how it can be - hell, it is -  incredibly difficult to stay upbeat and open maintain creative energy and focus when times are tough.  Regardless of whether or not you believe in any higher power, faith is something you need in this business. Faith in yourself, faith in your ability to persevere, faith in your talent.  The one thing I tell anyone who wants to be an actor or a director or a writer is that you can be amazing and talented and work your ass off and never get a shot.  Or you can get a shot and do amazing things and then never get another shot.  You just never know how it's going to work out.

Will and I just celebrated our seven month wedding anniversary.  Which came a few weeks after our one-year anniversary of dating, which came a few weeks after our one-year anniversary of meeting.  We like to keep track of these things, because it's a source of endless amusement.

Longtime readers know that professionally, things have been incredibly rough for the past three or so years.  Add to that a big breakup and a move and, well, faith had been in short supply 'round these parts for a good long time.

Talking to Tomás reminded me about this, reminded me that I'm not the only one who feels this way, and that I'm not the only one who's hit a rough patch.  Things with Will haven't totally been a cakewalk, and while lately my time is short and I imagine my patience is shorter, he reminds me to have faith.  Not just in us, but in myself.

Things have been tough.  It's not that they've gotten any easier.  To be honest, with the demands on my time and my energy, going from 4:45am 'til midnight some days, it's actually been tougher.  I am exhausted, the apartment is filthy, I survive off sandwiches made by a wonderful wife of a Teamster and cookies baked by the Strike Captain's wife that are brought to the picket line.  I haven't gotten any proper exercise in ages, minus the eight-to-twelve hours I'm on my feet.  Our finances dictate that there will be no Christmas gifts exchanged this year.  I should be miserable.  I should feel worse.  But for the first time in ages, I finally have faith that it's gonna be okay.

...

Blogger night is back on, although we don't have a room reserved or anything of the sort.  Will and I will be at Bar Lubitsch at 8pm this Monday, December 17th if any blogfolk want to meet up.  If you don't see us in the front room, make sure to check out the back (there's a room behind the bathrooms.) I'll send around an email to those who were interested...

 

Continuity Errors Get Me Hot.

Yesterday, after spending my morning videoblogging, my afternoon picketing and my evening working, all I wanted to do was shove some food in my face (thank you, anonymous benefactor, for picking up the tab at Swingers for WGA members.  I enjoyed my ahi tuna sandwich and we tipped on the full tab, I swear) and crawl into bed.

I pulled on my PJ's (we need to get the pilot lit on the furnace, so it's incredibly chilly) and burrowed into the covers.  As I switched off the light and went to kiss my husband, he said softly

You know something?

His voice had that vulnerable edge, that I-am-about-to-say-something-important-so-listen-up.  I turned over on my side, resting on my elbow.  What?

Dee and Dennis are twins, right?  So why didn't they both go to school with the rapper who Dennis thought was retarded?

What?

Dennis says that he knows that L'il Kevin is retarded because he went to grade school on the short bus.  But if Dennis and Dee are twins, shouldn't they both have been in school at the same time?

I came up with some plausible explanation (maybe they went to different schools, maybe Dee was held back) and then turned back to go to sleep.

...two minutes later

Hey baby?

Yes?

Y'wanna do it?

Because discussing continuity errors on It's Always Sunny is supposed to get me hot?

Good point.

...two minutes later

Will?

Yeah?

Okay.

But...

Don't ask.

You can find Will's take on twitter.

And because you can never have enough It's Always Sunny, a clip from the episode in question:

... Also, if you want to be included in the blogger night invitation for Monday, December 17th, please email me!  I'll work on getting an evite out by this weekend.

Love is...

Sunday Morning, 8:13am:

Will and I are woken up by the sounds of Daisy's tags jingling while she furious scratches under her chin.  He looks at the clock, then at me.

You wanna walk and get bagels? he asks.

Sure.  I stretch and yawn.

I just gotta take a shower first, he tells me.

You can't wait 'til after we get back?

Nah, I feel gross.  I didn't shower yesterday.

I turn to him.

You didn't shower yesterday?

Nope.

But last night I put your---

I washed that!

Oh, you did, did you? I regard him with what I hope is extreme skepticism, but it's early and I may just look charmingly homeless.

I swear, he insists.  I washed that up before we went to bed.  Y'know, just in case. 

Uh-huh.

I can't have you putting dirty junk in your mouth!

You're a regular boy scout, I tell him.  And you're paying for bagels.

Scenes from a Marriage.

Last night, Will and I crashed out on the couch, watching The Office.  Dwight is in back of Michael's car...

(About two minutes in...)

Will and I are holding hands and I notice his wedding ring. 

Remember how you didn't held out the wrong hand for your ring?

At the wedding?  Yeah, I thought making the "L" to figure it out wasn't so classy.

You should have just remembered which hand you use to pee, I told him.

I don't have a go-to hand.  Sometimes I use my left.  Sometimes my right.  Sometimes neither.

Neither?  Why?

If my hands are full.

Why would your hands be full if you were going to pee?

Like if I was holding a sandwich.

I look up at him and raise an eyebrow.

Okay, so I was coming home from Subway a few years back when I still lived with G. I was starving, but I had to pee.  G. was in the bathroom so I unwrapped the sandwich and started to eat while I tried to hold it.  He came out of the bathroom, and I rushed in.

Why didn't you, I don't know, put the sandwich down?

Hey, you saw that bathroom before you lived here.  That's gross! 

Point taken. 

...

Someone - well, many someones - asked me aren't you afraid to marry a person that you haven't known for very long?  My answer was - and still is - no.  There were things I didn't know about Will, but I knew who Will was, and I loved it.  The thing I told my parents, my family, my friends is that I don't know everything about him, but I know that no matter how hard it gets, he's willing to put in the work for the long haul.  Like me. Even couples who have been together for years go through rough patches; times change, people change, situations change.  It doesn't matter whether you've been together for ten years or ten days.   

Things have been extremely rough for the past couple of weeks, but we'll work through it.  Every day we're learning new things about each other, and while most of it is a sheer delight, some of it ain't so pretty. Like the fact that he eats sandwiches in the bathroom.  I guess as long as he keeps it away from the tub, he'll be fine. 

And so will we.

 

Vaginaface Minus an Hour.

Last Night, 5:30pm:

We're getting ready to go to TDR's and TAB's Pumpkin-Carving Party.  Will's in the shower, I'm, erm, taking care of some personal grooming.

Will looks at me.  Is that my razor?

Yeah, it gives me a closer shave.

He grimaces.  I wish you wouldn't do that.

Why?  It's not like I'm sticking it in my butt.

I know.

I rinse it out when I'm done, I buy the replacement blades---

It'll give me vaginaface.

It'll give you what?

Vaginaface!

You know that I do this so it's less messy for when you, you know, actually have your face in my vagina.

I know.

So you understand how ludicrous this sounds?

Vaginaface!

At least my hair - on my head - looked cute.

This morning, 9:30am...or is that 10:30am?:

After two parties and a late-night stop at Jan's (because I need a gyro at 1:00am, and can I also ask, why does a diner need a website?) we came home and crawled into bed.  I was dead asleep until Will ran into the room.

We lost an hour!  We lost an hour!

What? I rub the sleep from my eyes.  Slow down.

This is the day you set the clocks ahead.

Okay, if we're doing anything to the clocks, we're setting them back.

No, no, I was working at my computer and it says 9:30 but my cell says 10:30.  It's ahead!

I slowly retain consciousness.  No, Will, it's spring ahead, fall behind.  And I'm pretty sure it's next week.  Your computer is just dumb and prematurely set your clock behind.  I pad into the kitchen.  The microwave and the kitchen clock both read 10:30am.

Normally it's this weekend, but for some reason it's next weekend, I tell him.

Are you sure?

I grab the computer and quickly Google it.  Yes, I'm sure, next week.

Oh, okay. You can go back to bed.

I raise an eyebrow.

Or, you can uh, lay there on the couch and watch the Bears game and I'll go get us coffee and how about I make dinner tonight?

Now you're beginning to make sense.