This is awkward.
I have no problem incorporating the most personal aspects of my life into a celebrity gossip blog, but, somehow, in a blog devoted entirely to my life, I’m stumped. I have writer’s block. Weird.
I’m going to start this the simplest way possible. I am going to tell you guys what I did today.
I got up at 10 am. And the only reason I got up that early is that Laremy called to ask me what time we were meeting at the theater to see Garden Party at the Seattle Film Festival, and to confirm, for the third time, that he could bring his wife. Not because Laremy and I are having an illicit affair (he confirms that he could, he supposes, understand how other people could consider me attractive, but I am “not his type”), but because he’s not sure they’ll have a seat for her. It’s an indie flick, not the Sex and the City opening night. And I know both the director and the producer. It’ll be fine.
I get up and blog about celebrities for an hour, still half asleep. This will not be my best work. There are rumors that Angelina Jolie had her twins, and I’m hesitant to believe this. It turns out not to be true. I have a sixth sense for the goings-on of Angelina’s uterus. Like, Hayley Joel Osment sees dead people, and I see Angelina Jolie’s vaginal canal. We all have our gifts in this life.
Decide to go back to sleep for an hour or so. Wake up three hours later. I suck so hard. Feel gross about this.
I think I’ll go into the office for a little bit. On Friday afternoons, everyone sits in the boss’s office and bullshits for an hour or two about anything and everything. It’s fun. I don’t even bother bringing in my laptop, I just bring in my dog. He’s a conversation piece.
I have another reason to go into the office — I need to submit the insurance papers for Charlie, my dog who died a couple months ago, and I want to make copies of the documents before I send them off into the deep abyss of insurance-land. Submitting these insurance documents is a process I’ve been working on for about a month. Not that the entire thing would take more than half an hour, but it takes me like four days to work up the courage to do five minutes of it. It was gut-wrenching when the hospital where he died submitted the final report of his death. They’d reported every half an hour on his condition for the two days he was in the hospital before he went into cardiac arrest and died. It’s horrible to read. I stood there next to the office fax machine the minute it came in, reading every sentence of it, trying not to shake and cry. I was expecting a simple one-page fax stating his cause of death (parvo). Instead I get a five-page document detailing the demise of my one-time BFF. It caught me off-guard, and it sucked.
Anyway, I make the copies, then head down to the cafeteria to see if there are any pre-made sandwiches I can buy. I’m hungry. The only kind of sandwich available is ham. Gross. The other choices are pepperoni pizza and an Odwalla bar. I know I should get the Odwalla bar. I get the pizza. And since I’m getting the pizza, I may as well get a chocolate chip cookie, too. I consume them both in the space of five minutes. Ew. I will never find a hot husband if I continue to be gross like this.
Hang out with the staff in boss’s office for an hour. I tell them about my plans to adopt a baby from Russia. The only other girl there is very excited for me. The boys are awkward about it.
Head home to drop off my dog. There’s a rooftop deck on my building, covered in grass and woodchips, where people bring their dogs. I ride in the elevator up with a guy with a golden retriever. We walk onto the roof together, where four other people have their dogs. They chat amongst themselves, and nobody says anything to me. The guy with the golden is hosting a party up here tomorrow. Invites everyone but me. Decide I must suck so very obviously.
Guy with the golden leaves. Other people stare at me when I don’t go with him. “You’re not his girlfriend?” they ask. I am flattered that anyone could think I could be anyone’s girlfriend. “No,” I say. “I’ve never met him.” They laugh, and then they introduce themselves and chat with me. Maybe I don’t suck. Why am I so quick to jump to the conclusion that everyone hates me instantly?
I drop off Leo in the apartment, then take the elevator down to the garage. Guy with the golden is in the elevator again, this time sans dog. He smiles at me. As we walk out to the garage, he turns to me and says, “So, are you coming tomorrow?” I look at him blankly. “To my party? On the roof?” Ah! I smile and say I’ll try to make it. Am secretly thrilled that he wasn’t intentionally excluding me. Why do I just assume everyone hates me?
Drive to theater to meet Laremy and wife for the movie. Chat with the producer outside for a minute, then head in to watch the film. Actually, that’s not true. First, I stop at the concession stand to buy a medium popcorn, soda and Junior Mints. I mean, I already had the pizza, so the day is pretty much shot, diet-wise. May as well live it up. Back to diet tomorrow.
Movie is basically a character inventory of the city of Los Angeles. Makes me miss LA. Makes me not miss LA. I can’t decide, but anyone who says Los Angeles is a city without character hasn’t really lived there. Los Angeles is a living, breathing thing, and it smokes weed and it sunbathes and it sleeps with your boyfriend and it has to go now because it’s meeting a producer at the Ivy in fifteen minutes. The soundtrack to this film is amazing. Decide what I really need to do is be a singer-songwriter. I tend to decide this about once weekly.
I eat all the Junior Mints and most of the popcorn, all by myself.
Movie ends, and I head home, alone. I’m supposed to meet some girlfriends out bowling, but I’m exhausted and also I don’t want to go. I don’t feel like telling them I’m bailing, so I don’t. Will deal with the fall-out later.
