Fantasy Weekend

Leave work early.
Stop at Pavilions on the way home and partake in their special weekend sale on sausages.
Make up a cocktail and have it on the back porch. Something with Root Beer.
Put on my holiday short shorts - they are actually kind of preppy.
Layout polos and matching bottoms for the weekend.
See SEX AND THE CITY 2 four more times (in my fantasy it's amazing).
Have dinner at Cecconis (that's actually happening).
Go to Dance Bitch at Fubar.
Sleep in.
Therapy (again, happening)-- a really great session
Hang out near pools. In my fantasy, my body is exactly where it should be by the 4th of July.
Laugh a lot with the boyfriend.
Brunches.
BBQs.
Hot dogs and potato salad.
Ribs.
Closeness and intimacy.
Ice Cream

The Biggest Loser is on Taco Tuesday

Isn't that just God's sick sense of humor at play?

And speaking of God, I think he has everything to do with the fact that on Biggest Loser Taco Tuesday I want to eat as much as I can in front of the TV while I watch The Biggest Loser. Tonight was homemade chicken fingers with a salad that was loaded with blue cheese dressing and honey mustard to dip the chicken fingers in. And I mixed taco seasoning in with my breadcrumbs. Plus A&W Root Beer.

It's okay because tomorrow is Workout Wednesday and I'm meeting my friend Tim at the Gym at 7:15. It IS okay, right? I don't have too many calories to burn off, do I?

We have to resist the temptation to work out too hard because last week Tim overexerted himself and bruised a muscle or something. I thought he might have strained his neck by looking at all of the guys at the gym. But it was his bicep that was hurt.

Let me get back to the blaming God part. I think it's my Catholic sense of repression and rebellion that makes me want to eat a lot of fatty things on Biggest Loser Taco Tuesday. It's like Friday's in Lent. I don't get real cravings for meat except on Fridays during Lent. I could literally be a vegetarian all week and it'll be on a Friday during Lent that I binge on a Whopper. Or a pastrami sandwich. And it can't just be good meat like a grilled chicken breast. It will be a chili burger or an Italian sub. Or a plate of french fries topped with carne asada meat and strips of bacon.

So all of this talk of food might lead you to believe that I have a weight problem. Which thankfully I don't. But I kind of think about food all of the time.

Well...okay, food and sex. I'm a man. A man who can cook. So when I'm not looking at porn sites, I'm looking at food sites for recipes. It's kind of sick. But also kind of delicious.

But not both at the same time. That's a no-no. Keep the bedroom separate from the kitchen. Real pearls of wisdom to live by.

Why All the Sudden Blogging?

I'm inbetween projects, so I have more time to spend on here.

No longer clogged, now I blog.

The Single Body

Why is it that when people find loving relationships, they also find love handles?

I've been in a relationship for four and a half years now. When Wes and I had been dating for about a year and a half, I noticed something. I had to start buying size 34 jeans. Listen, I'm not fat by any stretch of the imagination. I'm 5'10" and around 160-165. I look lean. But I was getting to 175 and I looked like I swallowed Frosty the Snowman if Frosty was made out of matzo balls. It was not cute.

I remember calling my friend Brian because Wes and I were going to run the Florence Marathon together. I thought: "Here's my new weight loss plan."

Brian's response: "Why do you need to travel half way around the world and train for a marathon just to lose 15 pounds? Get to the gym!"

Then he offered another important piece of advice: "You've got to get your single body back, man. You can't just let it go. You've got to be training for life, not just eating for love."

It's like some crazy sexist advice that one's grandmother would give to a female child: "Fall in love and get married. But whatever you do, never lose your single body."

Well, I actually did run the marathon with my boyfriend. And we did cross the finish line, hand-in-hand in a Catholic country. And I did cry. And I ran with a single body, which I've worked hard to maintain. I've done P90X, six days a week for three months. I work out with my friend Tim, who's single.

Another piece of advice you'd probably read somewhere:

"To maintain the single body, one must exercise with a single friend."

I guess the main reason we let our single bodies go is that we find comfort in someone else. Obviously, we don't feel like we need to maintain certain appearances after a while. I don't know, I like looking good for my man and I know he likes looking good for me. And we sleep better when we're fit and we eat better and we basically make sure that we're around for each other for a long time.

On the other hand...we love to eat and there are so many restaurants that we need to know about so that we can recommend to our friends. And it's sophisticated to drink.

So it's tough. At the very least, one should learn how to dress around their extra baggage. Camouflage at least works for about 15-20 pounds. After that, diet. And after that...(sigh) exercise.

I guess those cute annoying couples do things like work out together. But how can you check out other people if you're going to the gym at the same time?

Joking!

Besides, it's not fun to check anyone out when you're working out hard. I like to be sweaty and stinky and grungy when I work out. Getting the single body is not pretty.

Epilogue: My friend Brian has now been in a relationship for a couple of years. I wonder if it's as easy to maintain that single body.

Laundry and other Excitements

I was talking with my friend Sarah yesterday about what we did over the weekend. And I guess it's just a sign of getting older or tired that I was a little jealous when she said she did laundry. I used to be the guy who lived in NYC and was out until 4:30 in the morning on Sunday/Monday morning and had to get in three hours sleep before work. And here I am now saying: "Oh my God, that would be so great to spend a whole day just listening to NPR, doing laundry and cooking for a week. Luxury!"

But I guess those are the things I like to do now. I like to get caught up on my Real Housewives and fold laundry. I love going through my refrigerator and looking to see what needs to be cooked up. I love putting on my headphones and listening to my iPod while grocery shopping. I love looking through the circular and making shopping lists. I am so strange.

Am I just turning down the volume? Is that a bad thing? I could go through cookbooks and make new recipes all day. What is that saying about me? Is it saying good things or bad things?

I want to go to Savannah and hang out with Paula Deen. Wouldn't that be kind of fun?

I Dreamed a New Dream

I'm reading the Joe Papp book FREE FOR ALL: JOE PAPP, THE PUBLIC AND THE GREATEST THEATRE STORY EVER TOLD. It's got all of these great stories of The Public Theatre, told in oral history. My favorite part of course is where they cover famous productions from Hair to A Chorus Line to True West and The Normal Heart. I'm not all the way through yet, but I have to say that it's a bit like hearing your parents tell stories as a kid and just imagining what it was like to be there.

And, like everything in my life, it got me thinking. What am I passionate about? Sure, I've got this brilliant brand name education, some good life experience, and a shit load of things I've written. But am I living my passion? Here comes the life crisis, I'm sure you're thinking. That seems to be the theme among friends and my boyfriend. You grow up with dreams and then some of us face reality. Some of us kind of face reality and manage to do what interests them - that's kind of like moving to Orange County from Oklahoma because you want to be in Hollywood. It's "I'm doing what I love" adjacent.

I don't want to be adjacent any more. I want to be smack in the middle. I'm a playwright who should be working towards having more plays produced. I've started in the right direction and I finished two plays at the end of last year. And I'm currently working on a third. I've got a fourth that I'm trying to figure out and an older one we might produce. I'm tired of thinking - I can only be a produced playwright one way or another. Like self-producing is a bad thing. Like it means the work is of lesser quality. Like someone else has to like it in order for it to be good. And that someone else has to be an off-Broadway or regional house.

I'm more interested in the experience of it all. I haven't had that rehearsal room experience in a while. I haven't had those crazy discussions about things I've written with a group of actors and a director. I haven't rushed home after a read-through in a while to do an all night rewrite.

It doesn't mean that I'm abandoning the idea of working in television. It just means that I'm making more room. If I'm going to be struggling, I might as well be passionate about some of the things I'm writing. Because the dream is living that life. It's not making a shitload of money. And at the same time it's not about abandoning the idea that I can write for a living and only write. It's just that I don't want to sacrifice one for the other.

Putting it out there.

My Surreal Life

Yesterday was a quintessential Old Hollywood moment. I went to Hollywood Park, which I had never been to, despite being a native Angeleno. It was the memorial for John Forsythe who my boyfriend represented for years in voiceover. We got dressed for the races: he pin-striped pants, a cardigan and a dark straw hat complete with dark sunglasses and stogie; and I was wearing a stone colored suit with bright striped shirt underneath, hair off my face, grey Oliver Peoples sunglasses and green Prada loafers. We arrived in our caviar colored BMW convertible. It was very Hart to Hart, which was very appropriate given the stars who were at this event.

Of course, much of the cast of Dynasty was there as was Bernie Koppel (Doc from The Love Boat) and the guy who played Oscar Goldman in The Bionic Woman. My two geek moments were when I saw this put together, but not overdone, older woman in a black fedora and black trenchcoat. I looked at her and thought she looked very chic, but very understated and then I realized it was Angie Dickinson. That was kind of amazing. No-nonsense. I was later next to her in the buffet line and was secretly squealing.

Tippy Hedren and a bunch of hairdressers - and I don't mean that in a derogatory way. I think they were both hairdressers and gay. But they were more botoxed than she was.

But all in all it was a day at the races and that seemed delightfully retro. It was also a gathering of people who all knew Mr. Forsythe and had fond memories of his kindness. There wasn't some big thing, it was just people gathered at tables and reminiscing.

That was probably the most chic and understated thing of all.

I'm Crying A Lot These Days

I don't think I can handle much more of this crying.

WATCHING GLEE:
Kurt and his Dad, the emotions, the letters K-U-R-T in big lit up letters a la GYPSY, the big dramatic solo numbers performed with tears in his eyes.

My boyfriend thought that when he sang, "Everything's Coming Up Hummel!" that he was singing "Everything's Coming Up, Homo!"

That puts a different spin on things.

These are the conversations that happen in my household. Then I start crying in bed, eating my grasshopper mint chocolate chip sandwich from MILK on Beverly Blvd when Kurt's Dad says it's just Kurt's job to be himself. I did the Naomi Campbell on Oprah ugly cry. It was bad.

And then later that night I watched THE BIGGEST LOSER on DVR. And it's that part of the season when they show the remaining five contestants the taped interviews of their formerly fat selves saying things like:

"You don't want to be back here."

"I am so proud of you. Look at how far you've come. You look great!"

"You've changed your life."

It's ridiculous. What happens to the interviews of the people who got kicked off the first week? Do they ever get to see those? It's serious waterworks. That's a great show to just clean out your eyes with. I had pink eye last week and I feel like that was better than a saline rinse. And emotionally cathartic at the same time. All I needed was an enema and I would have felt completely cleansed.

So last night on MODERN FAMILY, I just couldn't help myself because the whole surprise wedding of Phil and Claire...again, just emotional. And these are the comedies.

So I'm doing a lot of crying these days. Over the TV. I guess I just need a release.

Creativity Now

I had pink eye last week.

And a boss who was incredibly paranoid.

So I had an impromptu week off to write. So I did.

I finished a spec of MODERN FAMILY in order to get a comedy job. I wrote 21 pages of a new play I wanted to start. It was a play that got rejected for a commission proposal. So since I did such a thorough job of knowing what the play is going to be, I decided to start writing it. And I've written 27 pages of it so far.

I had the outline for the Modern Family script done. I just needed time. And I got time. I asked the universe to help me. And it did. I know it all sounds weird and creepy. But whatever it is, it resulted in having a week to spend writing. And it set the course for me to keep going. So that's what I'm going to keep doing.

My boyfriend is working on a creative project downstairs.

I had rehearsal this weekend of a short play of mine. That was good. I'm going to finish half of the play by the end of this week, if not before.

Revisions of the spec this week. Ready to send so I can get some general meetings and send the script to people who like me as a writer. Execs and other decision makers.

And I want to do a reading of this new play next month with some friends. Just to hear it. Creativity now! And tomorrow! And the next day! And so on and so on and so on and so on!

I Believe

Well, if Brooke Burke can go on OPRAH and talk about her "Bucket List", her list of things she wants for herself and they can come into reality, I need to get my list started.

I started visualizing the other day the good things that I want in my life. And in an effort to put myself out there, despite the fear that I might look like a food, I am going to write exactly what I want.

First of all, I want a life of fulfillment. In that life, I want a partner who is happy and healthy and brings that back to me. Then I want to pass it back to him, but with even more happiness. And I want him to then grow that happiness even further and pass it back to me again. And so on and so on. I want a healthy strong body - one that is inspired to move and dance, like I did when I was in college. I want to put thoughtful and delicious food in my mouth. I want to take the time to take care of myself and others.

I want to be a paid writer. I want to staff on a show in the next month. And I want to be employed through the next year and have an even better opportunity come to me right after that. I want to leave my current job for this new job and the next opportunity. I want to sell at least one show this year. I want to decrease my debt and increase my capacity to enjoy my life, more freely.

I want to make up inspired and fall asleep accomplished every day. I want to smile at my boyfriend and laugh hard. I want more silliness in my life. I want to enjoy my dogs more.

The job I want is writing for GLEE or MODERN FAMILY.

I want to keep writing. I want the commission I applied for from Interact. I want Ignition from Victory Gardens to do my play ON THE SUBJECT OF LILLA. And at the same time, I want it to be done at the Alliance in Atlanta.

An agent. I need an agent too. And a new car. And a cover story. It could be the cover of the Calendar Section of the LA TIMES. I wouldn't hate on that.

I want to remember that when you put something in the universe, the universe conspires to help you get it. It worked before.

Retreat

I have to go to the OC for work this weekend. Well, it's work on two fronts. I'm covering a theatre festival for work. And I'm going to be meeting and socializing with a bunch of artistic directors and literary managers at theatres that I want to produce my plays.

And I've been writing a lot this year, so I have a lot to share and talk about.

I have outfits planned.

I have meals planned.

I have personalities planned. :)

I also have some quiet time planned for me to go back to my hotel room and just write and write. These things make me inspired. So I'm going to pack my car up with my computer and some adorable clothes and drive down to the OC listening to KCRW and get to work. I'm also going to work out. And run in the morning.

It's funny that my way of relaxing is to pile on a bunch of things to do. Fitting everything into my schedule.

Making it all work. Because I have a lot to do this weekend. Oy.

Falafel

I just keep eating and eating. That's not good. I think I might be gaining weight.

I was just eating Falafel wrapped in a lettuce leaf with cucumbers and hot sauce. How can that be fattening?

I ate five.

Oops.

And they weren't even that good. I make these great chickpea veggie burgers that are so much better and juicier. I need to make some of those soon. Those are delicious. With onion, micro greens, grated carrots, lemon zest, and fresh herbs fried in olive oil. Delish.

How am I going to look cute when I meet all of these artistic directors and literary managers this weekend?

A big scarf to distract. And sunglasses. And lots of friends around me hugging me.

Push It

Get up on this!

That's kind of how I'm feeling right now. Push it! I just finished one pilot and working on another and maybe trying to cram another spec in last minute because I don't know if the other material is working and meeting people and listening to pitches and coming up with fresh ideas and then there are the plays: the two I did in the Fall and need to rewrite and the one that's waiting to come out of me and the other that I did a commission proposal for. F-F-F-F!

I'm an artist. I try to remember that. Because I'm also the person who needs to pay my bills. But first and foremost, I'm the person who needs to write in order to make sense of the world and who needs it to be smarter and to be curious and to delight in fashioning a world of my own design. It's all of those things. Control in a world that sometimes feels vast and bigger than I can stand.

Today I have to remember to keep pushing it. To write those projects.

THE MEDEA EXPERIMENT
CURSE OF THE ASIAN CHILD
BOTTOMED OUT
SINGLED OUT
MODERN FAMILY
KEEP UP
EMPERORS

Do it. Remember what speaks to you, Loo.

More to come...

Grating Cheese

I'm in the mood to grate some cheese.
I've got a lot on my mind, trying to finish some writing projects, trying to pull my shit together. I think it's time to make some enchiladas tonight.
The sauce has been resting and marinating and getting flavorful in my kitchen.
I made it nice and not spicy for my boyfriend.
It's a good traditional red sauce.
Cheese enchies with olives and green onions.
maybe a nice salad.
some black beans maybe.
just putting it all together.

The ideas tend to come out when I'm doing things like chopping and grating and frying the corn tortillas to soften them up.
I'll put on some Beyonce. Maybe the Madonna Glee Soundtrack in anticipation for tonight.
Then the boyfriend will come home.
I will present him with the enchilada tray, like some sort of Spanish language commercial or something racist on daytime TV.

"Hola, mi amor. Las Enchiladas para ti!"

"Wow. That's beautiful. For me!"

"Si! For you."

BIG SMILES. END OF COMMERCIAL.

Gleeking out on Madonna

So tonight the baby gay boy in me will be in full effect. I will be watching "The Power of Madonna" episode of Glee with an ice cream sandwich with the other gay boy in my life. Memories of my childhood will come flooding back. We will be holding hands, giggling, hopefully crying at some point, and singing along.

Madonna's played a significant role in my life. I remember the first time I heard "Holiday." I was in my Mom's red subaru station wagon. We just sat there and listened. I know it didn't go further than..."gosh, I really like this BLACK singer." But it changed something for me. It meant that I would have a life long obsession with R&B music and anything that made me shake my booty.

Then I was at summer camp and someone was singing along to "Borderline." I thought: "Wow, there's that Madonna again." And then I watched the video: "Who's the cute guy in her video and where's that rooftop?" So I guess I could say that she started my obsession with cute guys and NYC. Well, that might be stretching it. I probably was obsessed with both MUCH earlier. Like birth.

Then I kind of ignored Madonna. I had the "Like a Virgin" and "Dress You Up/Angel" singles that I got at the swap meet. Yes, I am half-Mexican and went to the Santa Fe Springs Swap Meet as a child. I won't front. So I listened to Madonna, but it wasn't that big a deal. I was much more into Stacey Q and Debbie Gibson.

I thought the True Blue album cover was kind of cool. And I think the lady who drove me and my brother to school in the morning listened to the cassette tape. There were some great songs on that album and the Herb Ritts cover was amazing in retrospect, but I wasn't all that into it. I liked her transformation and my friend Alanna lent me her VHS copy of the Live in Italia concert. But I was just kind of ho-hum about Madonkey (that's what we call her).

And then came Like A Prayer.

Well, the rumor was that they filmed the Pepsi commercial in my CATHOLIC HIGH SCHOOL. And then I saw the video. And I was like: "Oh the irony!" And that started my obsession with irony. And black Jesuses. And choirs. Then I learned who Donna Delory and Niki Harris were (her back up singers - really the Florence Ballard and the Mary Wilson to her Diana Ross) and become obsessed with them.

Then Jennifer Richard got me the cassette tape and I was like..."holy hell, I'm a homo!" Hee hee. No, it wasn't that immediate. But I was officially drinking the Kool Aid. I got the remixes of "Express Yourself." I knew the entire dance that she did at the MTV Music Video Awards that year. I thought it was brave that she was showing her roots and I was excited that she went from dark hair in the "Like A Prayer" video to blond again. I thought it was an important social statement. Then something significant happened.

I might have expressed this in a previous post about my high school crush, but the "Express Yourself" video was the back drop for one of the most uncomfortable conversations on my life. I had to tell someone I wasn't obsessed with them. A boy. For FOUR HOURS. Why he let me talk to him for FOUR HOURS was odd and strange. And the fact that I had FOUR HOURS worth of denial in me was impressive. So I officially then became obsessed with boys. Actually, Irish boys. And look at me now...with a hot Irishman. Seriously. It's funny how Madonna has been there for so much of my life. And that I was listening to them replay a video for a song called "Express Yourself" every hour during this four hour conversation...when I was expressing myself...wow.

But Madonna taught me a lot of things too. I reflected on my own Catholicism and the hypocrisy within the Church (and became obsessed with THAT), learned who Fritz Lang was and what "Metropolis" was (the inspiration for the "Express Yourself" video), was introduced to the music of "Sly and the Family Stone" (according to Madonna, "Express Yourself" was her nod to Sly and the Family Stone. I got introduced to the work of David Fincher, who directed that video.

And then I was hooked: from "Cherish" and the mermen of the video to "Oh Father" to "Promise to Try." And then the Blond Ambition Tour which I didn't go to but heard about and listened to on the radio and watched on HBO and taped and watched obsessively. And even watched the rehearsal special on MTV and saw the performance version of "Vogue." And felt butterflies in my stomach when I watched the "Vogue" video and memorized those dances. I was so hooked.

I even gave lectures on Madonna to upper level religious studies classes as a Freshman in college to Juniors and Seniors. At my Catholic university!

She encouraged my artistry and my ambitions to work within a popular idiom. My plays all deal with identity and have an awareness of pop culture in style, in language and just as a part of the world they live in. Sometimes that influence is right up there at the forefront. Sometimes it's less so.

I've Gleeked out enough for one post. But I'll probably do so again. She's amazing and I love her. I'm glad I got to grow up in the era of Madonna. Doesn't that make me sound so old? But it's true. It's had such a major influence over me in so many ways.

Just paying homage.

My Problem with my Status Update

It's crazy to me when someone I haven't seen in a while starts talking to me about what's been going on in my life, as if they're explaining it to me. And just when it starts to get really annoying, I remember...

Oh, I put that in my status update, didn't I?

"Oh, so you've already seen pictures of my niece."

"Right. I did do flights of bourbon in Louisville with my friends Emily, Kory and Sarah."

"Sorry. I did take the Lord's name in vain last week."

IN some ways it's good to have a status update repeat your status back to you in the form of a friend who reminds you of how busy you are and how much writing you've been doing lately. I've never noticed that I'm an incredibly prolific, wide-ranging, nimble writer before. Seriously. I'm usually really busy freaking out about deadlines and feeling like a loser to realize how productive I'm being. So thank you, status update for that.

And I notice people congratulating me on how productive I am. That's a boost. It makes my life seem more interesting than I find it. And it gives me the opportunity to be witty a lot.

My status update helps me remember how many people in my life are fans of either RuPaul's Drag Race or The Real Housewives of New York City or Glee. Then it reminds me of how many gay people I know.

Lots.

Actually, it doesn't seem like I have a problem with my status update.

Except maybe that it means I don't hear my friends' voices as much as I used to.

Asian Five Way

Tonight I had dinner and drinks with four other Asian friends. Julia, who I know from NYU who's a famous playwright and TV writer, her husband Ed who's also a good friend, my friend Paula who's a TV writer and their friend Florence - who they have in common. Originally I was supposed to get together with Paula, then she mentioned that Florence was in town and wanted to bring her friend Julia - who I happened to know.

It was definitely true of tonight, but is always true of when I hang out with other Asian people, that I am reminded of how Asian I am when I hang with other Asians. The conversation always turns around to food, deals on food, great restaurants and we're always on time. Or early.

I also noticed that we all go out of our way to thank our servers and be nice to our bartenders. Which all people should do anyway, but there's a certain graciousness that I don't always find in people. It's a sweetness.

My boyfriend always complains about how loud I am and I feel quieter when I'm with Asians as well. It's very interesting.

Back to that graciousness and sweetness...it reminds me of all of my Asian cousins and my relatives. I can think of all of my Asian family and reflect on that sweetness. And the wanting to feed everyone or share food and share conversation. I guess it's familiar to me, so it feels like the way that people should act. It really does feel that way.

I hate when people are greedy or territorial over their food. I'm going to eat off your plate and I may or may not ask. But you're welcome to do that to me as well. My Auntie Dolly always said, "Don't be shy" and "there is plenty." I love that sort of generosity. It's an inherent kindness that is so nurturing. It's milky and luxurious...if I had to describe it in a texture or a feel.

With the Latin part of myself, it's all about fire and spice and fragrance. It's the smell of food cooking - onions and carne asada and corn. Those are some of my favorite smells. But I'll save that for another post another time.

It was a nice evening full of chiming in and gathering. I guess that's also very Southern, which is why I get along with my friends from the South so well, I suppose.

What is going to make me feel better?

Frankly, I've been getting massive enjoyment from turning on music in my kitchen and making tacos. Last night was pretty amazing. I had five tacos with homemade turkey taco meat. I've been watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution on ABC and telling myself that it's not about eating salads and veg, but it's about making things myself. So it's perfectly okay if I'm making chicken fingers and homemade ketchup and french fries. I'm not buying the processed shit. It's the new health food. Just make it yourself, no matter how much butter, oil, sugar or fat. Just imagine how much MORE fat there would be if you got it through the drive-thru.

Yes, it's not as good as a raw food diet. But it's not as bad as McDonald's every day. I mean, that is what's driving American towards obesity. And I'm not anywhere near obese.

Five tacos? It's not like I finished the entire box of taco shells. That would be sad.

Brain food. That's the other thing I tell myself. It's brain food. And I'm doing A LOT of writing these days. I deserve it. It's a reward. More things I tell myself that just keep me eating.

I'm a taco freak. What can I say? That and fried rice and tostadas are things I like to make for myself when I'm not feeling great. Or when I want something fast. Or when I'm watching a favorite TV show. Or when I'm having a childhood memory.

Okay, so those are the things I like to eat whenever, wherever, however.

Whatever.

Choosing Between My Fabulous Mythical Gay Body and My Fabulous Semi-Factual Gay Wit

I have this constant battle going on in my head of this person I think I am vs. the person I think I could become. It's the:

BATTLE OF THE MYTHICAL GAY BODY VS. MY SEMI-FACTUAL GAY WIT

And it isn't about my body or wit being gay, but it the fact that this is even a topic of blogging IS so gay. I always say that I can't do two things at once - try to get to the gym three days a week and yoga at least once plus two days of running AND write every night. So I make a choice. And while I make that choice, I inevitably make two or three hundred bad choices.

Like last night's Doritos Nachos with Turkey Taco Meat and Cheddar Cheese. Plus tons of Tapatio hot sauce. But wait, I always heard that spicy foods speed up the metabolism. Is that a total myth? Because I base my diet choices on that. And I forgot to mention one thing: I ate this at 11 PM. I don't have a sweet tooth, but I do like to eat.

Update on the body: it's not bad. I've got a little more pooch than I'd like, but it's not protruding. This is another myth I tell myself. As long as it's not protruding, I can fluctuate. As long as I don't have to buy new pants, I'm fine. And the time I did have to buy new pants, I decided to run a marathon. But it's not just about the body, I guess. It's about clarity and it's about setting up routine again. It's about achieving something. I'm tired of coming close to things and not getting them in the rest of my life. I have a passable body. I can go to the beach with my shirt off. I have nice legs. The face is good. But it's ALMOST there - well, almost minus 7-10% more body fat loss and my current weight minus five actual pounds with way more muscle mass.

Yes, I live in West Hollywood and I realize that's a factor. A big factor. A big big factor. The fact that I'm becoming a big factor is a big factor. Gosh, I want an omelette right now.

But I'm writing, so that's good, right? Productive. Productive and good for the mind. It's important to keep the mind active to ward off the Alzheimer's, which is what my grandmother had before she died. So as long as I don't get that or dementia, I should be good.

Another myth...

Trick Me Again, MPK!

Necessary info:
MPK - Michael Patrick King
SJP - Sarah Jessica Parker
S&TC - Sex and the City

So another thing I've been watching on repeat is the new Sex and the City trailer. It's good, right? It just reminds me what a sucker I am for those characters. I saw the first trailer for the first movie and I was excited because it had been four years and the movie was something a lot of us thought would never happen. We should have known by the trailer and the poster that it might not be the greatest follow up of all times. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed seeing "the girls" back in "the City", but overall the movie was a bit long and sad. While I admire what MPK was doing and I think there was some excellent storytelling, I was left a little empty inside. I thought the costuming was good, but it just felt like the TV show on the big screen in certain ways and not all of those ways translated. Again, I'm a huge fan and will forgive anything.

So fast forward two years to the sequel. Well, the minute I saw the teaser poster with SJP in the aviators and the white Halston with the bedazzled number 2...I drooled a little bit. I knew we were in for some over the top outrageousness. Then the first trailer...it was a tease, but more info was shared than in the teaser trailer for the first movie. It had some clips, it looked good, "Empire State of Mind" was used effectively. We knew they were going to the desert, there was an over the topness about that trip.

Then I waited four months. FOUR MONTHS!!!!! For a damn trailer. And just when my patience was used up, we got the new trailer last Thursday. And I does NOT disappoint. Let me tell you. It's fucking great.

Let me illustrate the battle between the rational mind and the maniac that I am for this show.

The trailer starts with more shots of New York and "Empire State of Mind." I think: "Really? This started out just like the last one." Then: Oh My God! The girls are back! One, two, three four! They're back, they're back, they're back!!!! Thank God Then I hear "It's been two years..." Oh My God! VOICEOVER! It has been two years! two long years, SJP. Why couldn't you just do another series to hold us over. Five episodes would have done me just fine! We see the girls in action. Lily is driving Charlotte crazy and puts two red handprints on her white pants. Then Carrie gives Big a watch. They're both looking a little haggard and old. Are you sure it's only been two years and not twenty because you look old. But just when my cynical self starts to take over, the girls are back at brunch with the kids and Charlotte wonders how Samantha is going to swallow all of her anti-aging pills. And Samantha replies with: Have We Met? Oh God! That Kim Catrall is so amazing. Can they all be nominated for the Oscar already? Then more funny lines and the whole "We need to work on the Sparkle." And Just when I think I've seen it all...LIZA LIZA LIZA LIZA!!!!! It's got a Z in it!

What does happen after you say "I Do", Carrie? Then they decide to go to Abu Dabi and the music changes. They're in the dessert. Okay, turbans. Hammer pants. The fashion show in the middle of the trailer. I get it. A few more jokes. I'm starting to get board then I see...what is it that I see? I see Carrie in a J'Adore Dior tee and a ball skirt and a tan man who strangely looks like...

AIDEN! Are you fucking kidding me? She's going to go through this shit again? It's Aiden vs. Big? Really? Come on! Haven't go gotten over Aiden! He's back and he's amazing and oh God, I love him. And is he going to fuck this all up? It'll be fun to watch because all of Carrie's ridiculous behavior is so amazing and oh god, I'm going to faint. Can I get a glass of water? I'm lightheaded. Really, I'm going to faint it's just too much! too much of a good thing!

So I really don't calm down for the rest of the trailer. And even though I think the Aiden thing might be a little dumb and too convenient, I just can't wait to see them together and to see her be temped and for it to get all messed up. But this time the movie seems like more of a romp (as they've said in many interviews). It's going to be so good! Oh Jesus, what will I wear on opening night? I want May 27th to come now!

And all hope is lost. I love the girls. I can't wait to see them again.

My DVR is an Emotional Library

Is it sad or admitting too much about myself to say that my DVR acts as a playlist of emotions that I draw from as I sit down to write?

Let me tell you what I mean. I'm working on this pilot right now and the one thing missing overall are these emotional interactions and intimate moments between an husband and a wife. On tonight's Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood, I was witness to their marital problems and their desire to keep their marriage together and to stay connected. I watched Dancing with the Stars and saw Pam Anderson's and Niecy Nash's emotional rumbas. It's like some people listen to music to get in a certain mood. This is the music I listen to when I need to get into a mood with a scene I'm writing. Its a bit sad and pathetic and too convenient an excuse when my boyfriend asks me why I'm watching the same scene from Real Housewives of NYC over and over again. But it's really said when Ramona tells Bethenny that she has no friends except for her then fiance (now husband) Jason and that she'll probably screw that up too. And to hear Bethenny beg Jill to just listen to her...well, I'm crying now. It really gets me in the mood to write some real characters. Thank you, reality TV. Sorry WGA. But I'm not in the union yet and this is great research.

Knowing What's Best

I love the internet sometimes. When I'm feeling like I need advice or support I put something in my status update and all of a sudden my 566 friends are there for me. I don't feel so lost. You know how people like to talk about putting an intention out into the universe. Well, putting something in a status update is basically putting that intention out x the number of friends you have.

You have to know what's best for you. It's a lesson the universe keeps trying to teach me and I keep working hard to ignore. My therapist reminded me that when I applied to graduate school, no one read my play and I trusted myself completely. And look what it got me: a full ride to NYU.

I have to trust myself. We all have to trust ourselves. We know in our hearts when we are being truthful with ourselves. And we have to act on that more often. We'd be a hell of a lot happier.

I want an agent and I want a career. But I'm not trusting myself. My boyfriend keeps telling me that. And I don't want to listen. Here's someone who has faith in me and I'm not listening. What's the matter with me? I'd rather listen to people who don't really have my best interest in mind. And when someone pays me a complement or says they're impressed with me, I'm skeptical.

I'm not going to do that any more. I had drinks with my friend David last week and he's doing a lot of that. I'm hoping he stops soon. Because I'm sure his life would be better and more fulfilling if he would just stop listening to the voice in his head that tells him he can't or shouldn't or that it will never happen.

I'm musing tonight because I know I have some notes to take down. And I'm procrastinating. But I'm also doing a lot of soul searching. I've given up too much control when I shouldn't. I'm better than that. I think a lot of us are better than we give ourselves credit.

We need to ask ourselves what we want and start doing something to get us there.

Putting Gas in the Tank

Sorry, True Believers, I have been absent from my blog space for about 9 days because I've been in pilot writing mode. My eyes are bloodshot, my lids are heavy and I'm at the office doing my day job. I dressed up though. I'm wearing my favorite shirt from Hawes and Curtis, a London based shirtmaker. And nice dress pants. Looking professional because I just did a very professional thing last night and I finished this script. In a week. So before I get to the task of going through the script and finding the holes, I need to take a moment.

This weekend I have a very important task. I need to fill the tank. The love tank. The creative tank. The fitness tank. Actually, I have about three tanks to fill, I guess.

The love tank. The bf and I are going to grab some movies and some meals this weekend. We had a good week and met with a client of his on some projects he wants to pitch. So when I thought all I had to give was to the pilot, I had even more I needed to give. That was good though. I think I might have an idea ready to pitch come development season. But this weekend needs to be about hanging out.

The creative tank. Going to the art museum, watching movies, eating exciting food, catching up on TV shows.

And the fitness tank. All of this writing means all of this EATING. I've been happily stuffing my face. But now it's time to make up for it and get in shape for the marathon which is staffing season. Meetings, outfits, etc.

Anyway...that's the latest and greatest. More to come. Probably this weekend while I'm filling up the tank.

What is Good Writing?

I'm a writer.
I think I know what good writing is.
My opinion comes more from reading than it does from my MFA.
This came up yesterday and this morning with my boyfriend and this application
he's putting together where he needs to write a personal statement.
The thing to know about my boyfriend is that he's very smart and well spoken.
He went to the University of Virginia. THE University.
So he's a brain and very impressive.
And he has a command of the language and loves big words.

This is the thing that I, personally, know about writing. And I'm only speaking for myself.
I believe good writing is economical. For me, it's not about how many five dollar words you use or even how many words you use, period. It's more about how
much feeling can you pour into expression using the least amount of words possible.
But the most important thing is that it sounds like you.
But just a real expensive, more articulate
version of you.
It's kind of like being Carrie Bradshaw.

And I love how my boyfriend expresses himself...
Well, I love HIM, so when I looked at his personal statement,
I wasn't excited.
Because it sounded so remote. And abstract. Nothing about
the language he was using felt like I wanted
to get to know more about him. Mainly because
there was very little about him personally in that statement.

Well, then I have to have that conversation.
Actually, I get out of the conversation by sending
the less uncomfortable email
because I'm a coward.
But I sound very authoritative in my cowardly email.

And he comes back with something that sounds so professional,
but so personal at the same time. And that to me is good writing.

I love vernacular. I love voice patterns.
I love how people aren't aware of what's coming out of their mouths,
but their body language gives them away.

That's why I love certain reality TV shows because
it's such a great dramatist's lesson.
I know, it sounds blasphemous. But it's "real" life being played out.
And by the time people are filming multiple seasons,
they are no longer guarded about having breakdowns or
"private" conversations on camera. It's a real master class sometimes.
For real.
Ha ha.

Good writing is writing that you aren't always aware of.
Just like good directing or good acting.
It makes you feel and it's clever,
but it's insightful in a way that
feels familiar and fresh at the same time.
It's language that brings us closer, not by
commanding but by persuading.
It doesn't always draw attention to itself.
But can when the moment is necessary.
It says things that everyone can understand
and makes everyone feel a bit more
insightful for agreeing with the sentiment.
It's just good.

Now back to the good writing that I'm trying to work on.

Make Me A Celebrity Blogger

I have the feeling this part of my blogging history will be referred to as

"Getting his bearings"

I'm not always sure what to write. It's a bit of a potpourri at this point. Maybe I'll land on a style or a format at some point. Right now, it's just whatever comes to mind. Some funny. Some poetic. Some tragic. Some words that are not my own.

But it would be fun to have people listen to what I have to say, right? It's kind of more immediate that the writing the scripts thing, although I'm still doing that of course. It's just getting some thoughts out there, which may not be useful to anyone other than myself.

But some times its nice just to type. It's therapeutic and relaxing. And I promise to try and make it funny as well.

Reprinting: My Cousin put this on his Facebook Today

Not sure where this came from, but my cousin Alan put this up on his Facebook page and it made me think of growing up. And this says a lot about the Hawaiian spirit. And a lot of my personality comes from the fact that my Dad was raised in Hawaii.

I included some translations in parenthesis:

Friends vs. Hawaiian Friends

FRIENDS: Never ask for food.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Always bring the food.

FRIENDS: Will say "hello".
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Will give you a big hug and a kiss.

FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Call your parents’ mom and dad.

FRIENDS: Have never seen you cry.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Cry with you.

FRIENDS: Will eat at your dinner table and leave.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Will spend hours talking, laughing, and just being together....then help clean-up when all pau (finished)!

FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes.

FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowd's okoles (butts) that left you.

FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, "I'm home!"

FRIENDS: Get mad when you don't stay in contact.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Years could go by and you pick up like it was yesterday.

FRIENDS: Come and go.
HAWAIIAN FRIENDS: Are family.

That was pretty heartwarming. just thought I'd share a little generosity of the Hawaiian spirit that my cousin shared with me.

Oscar Recap: Coffee Editioin

I'm at Akasha, my little coffee shop near the office, and I'm listening to a group of ladies, probably in their 40s, give their little recap of the Oscars. They're really breaking it down. Well, they had their little Sex & The City moment by talking about their lives and families. Then they needed to talk about something lighter and moved onto the Oscars. Breaking it down, their little Fashion Police recap in Culver City. You should have heard the things they had to say about Charlize Theron. You'd think one of them was a former editor at VOGUE. Maybe one of them was. It's interesting to listen to actual women actually talking and the things we all get together with our girlfriends to talk about.

Now, just need to replicate that in this script I'm working on. Thanks for the reminder ladies. THey're even efficient. They sat down 10 minutes ago and then did their quick recap and now they're off for the rest of their days. I think they just got out of yoga class.

And now two of them are chatting on their own to network. It's literally like a live webisode!

Imagine that. :)

Procrastination

I do not want to do work.
I write and write and write.
just need to remember
it's like breathing.
and if I stop
I will die.
cheerful thought.

Am I Entertaining Enough?

Sometimes I worry that these blogs are just me rambling on about the minutae of my life. I'm not curing cancer here. And I have that childhood thing of needing to be funny and clever and witty and sparkly at all times. Just a question I'm throwing out there.

Trying to give you blogosphere realness.

Hot Nude Yoga: The Return Week 3 of 4

There's nothing that puts me in a better mood than talking about Nude Yoga. Well, I guess DOING Nude Yoga would put me in a better mood.

Week Three.
I was feeling the benefits of the practice in my daily life. My energy was up, I was feeling more productive. I was writing a lot and feeling vital (I should get my ASS back into class). It reminded me a bit of when I was doing P90X, but my energy didn't necessarily just spike. It sustained. And I just felt more intuned with my body. Plus I would come come and try out what I learned on my boyfriend, which I think he enjoyed. And still does.

There's something about pressing your body weight on someone that takes consideration, attention, care and thought. It is a sensual experience in that way. I guess in our definition of sensuality and sexuality, it seems weird that you would be naked and paying attention to someone in a way that doesn't lead to you having sex to that person. But that's what I enjoy about the workshop. It allows us to face some of our prejudices, then tear them down. Or hold on to them, I guess. That would be the other option. Just get caught up in judgment. But for me, I really tried to put that aside.

And this week was difficult in particular in that regard. There was an older, short Mexican man who was my partner the first week and I always felt he was trying to cue himself up to be my partner again. If I'm speaking honestly, I would say that he's not really my type. And that's not what it's about, but I also wanted to connect with some other people. The point of the workshop isn't to partner with one person the whole time. But then again, maybe that was my projecting. So I partnered with him and just focused on the practice.

Since the workshop, I haven't been doing much yoga. I try and exercise as much as possible, but nothing centers me like the practice. I need to get back into it and shift my energy around.

No More Junk Food

I eat junk food when I'm depressed or overwhelmed. Who doesn't? Probably the healthy people who are at the gym at 5 AM, on the treadmill, watching Headline News. Those people. Healthy in body, feeding the mind, keeping sharp. Not me. At least not today. Feeling a bit mentally lumpy. Intellectually skinny fat. I just need to streamline.

Last night I had fried mozzerella with french dressing. And a frozen pizza I dipped in the french dressing. Ugh. That's not good.

I'm trying to get these writing projects done and it feels like I've been on the treadmill of an aspiring writing career for too long. My legs are burning. I know I need to get back on, but gosh, it just feels like my leg muscles should be developed by now and I should be reading to run that marathon. And run it in great time. Under three hours. But it's only my first one. So maybe under four is more realistic.

What does this metaphor mean? Keep training. Keep your eye on the prize. Do it every day. Don't get caught up in what it means for the rest of the race. Focus on Mile One. Then Two. Then three.

I actually ran a marathon. I should know this. And not as a metaphor. Sorry for the whining. Was feeling a bit alone today.

Putting my running shoes on aka my thinking cap aka my writer's brain. I'm going for a run. Not letting myself get buried in a stack of fried cheese.

Naked Birthing

I guess the straights needed to have their own version of Nude Yoga at some point.

My friend Marc was telling me yesterday that he heard about this phenomenon among pregnant couples called "Naked Birthing." And it's exactly what it sounds like. Women giving birth while naked. What's sexy about that? Answer: Your husband getting naked too so that you feel comfortable...? I understand natural birth, but au naturel birth? That might be too much.

What? Do you think that the baby's going to feel weird with all these people with clothes on? Are you trying to reduce the level of shame? It's not like that dream you have where you show up to school naked and everyone else is wearing clothes. In my own similar dreams, I'm usually just pantsless. Never fully naked. Maybe I'm self-conscious of my pec development even in REM. More therapy on that matter soon.

The way it was described to me is that the father also wants to share in the experience and lay the baby on his bare chest. I guess straight Dad's aren't ashamed of their pec development. What kind of crazy bullshit is this? And what do the doctor's think? And what does this have to do with baby development? I kind of get the birth underwater because it makes the transition from womb to world a bit easier. But this makes no sense.

Then again, I'm gay. I could probably be naked doing just about anything else other than giving birth. Which I can't do anyways. Along with getting married. Another post for another time. :)

What's More Boring Than...

Talking about theatre?

Nothing.

And I'm what you could call a contemporary American Playwright. I'm so contemporary, that I'm not even all that well produced. I am so up-and-coming that I've barely gotten up.

I'm a theatre geek. Self-professed. I love talking about Tony Kushner and I love staying home with my Albee anthology from 1966-77. I even have stupid, for me only geek references to Albee, Caryl Churchill and Wendy Wasserstein in the new pilot I'm writing. I'm heading to the Humana Festival at the end of the month where I'm going to gush, ridiculously about dramaturgy over bourbon flights. I'm not saying I'm the BIGGEST theatre geek. I would never say that. Heavens, no.

But even I get annoyed with pointless articles that are written like:

"Playwrights Migrate to TV" (Wall Street Journal)
"The Most Important Plays Ever" (or something ridiculous like that from Denver Post)
"The Female Playwrights Taking British Theatre by Storm" (Telegraph/UK)

And there was some TCG bullshit article talking about theatre development of new plays, etc. It's bullshit because it seems like theatres are making themselves obsolete. And you can't just put a facebook reference or add a podcast to your website to make yourself relevant. It's kind of old news and who cares about who's not writing for theatre. Stop with the articles, start with the finding new exciting ways for people to see theatre.

Talking about the traditional model of regional and off-Broadway theatres is old and tired. Let's find new ways to get plays done. And that can be done on the cheap. And it's not about a You Tube video, because that's old and tired too.

Bitching about tired articles about tired ways of producing theatre is tired.

Hot Nude Yoga: The Return - Week 2 of 4

DISCLAIMER: This series, HOT NUDE YOGA THE RETURN is intended for mature audiences and people who are not related to me or my boyfriend. :)

So it's Week Two and I'm actually really into this workshop at this point. My energy is different. I'm not getting tired throughout the day. My energy is very even and I've got an abundance of it. Wow, didn't realize that a few tugs on the balls and some breathing could do that. But I guess that's the point of this workshop: education.

So I get in, take my clothes off, say hello to Bill, my floormate who has his mat next to me and get ready for some...

PENIS REFLEXOLOGY.

What? Flash forward twenty minutes and now we're all standing up and doing penis reflexology. It's like regular reflexology, but instead of the foot...so the philosophy is that there are pressure points that respond to parts of the body that can be reached when massaging the penis.

We were instructed to put our thumbs on top of the shaft of the "sex organ" (I'm still laughing at some of the terminology...yes, I'm ten) and to move the thumbs up and down the length...my mind goes blank.

Uh...are we masturbating?

I look around. Yep. Across the room, there's a tall blond, swimmer's build guy. Arthur. I only remember his name over a month later because he's got the distinction of being the first guy I've seen in my Hot Nude Yoga practice where I'm like "hubba hubba." But I'm determined to not let that interfere with my Tantric Yoga and Sexual Kung Fu practice. So back to my penis reflex--uh oh. Hot guy and penis reflexology feels a bit dirty. So I look at the short Mexican guy next to him. He looks like he could be an uncle.

Back to Arthur.

The reflexology is supposed to be a lengthening exercise. Yesterday, I was on the internet and happened upon a technique called Jelqing, which is supposed to be another lengthening technique that doesn't involve pumps or meds. Anyway, for more info on that Google "jelqing." Fascinating. So in the interest of making my boyfriend happy, I've been practicing a lot of reflexology since the workshop: education.

Before getting to the partner work, I should mention that Dana said something at the top of class that he's never said before:

"Just because you're rubbing someone's butt, doesn't mean you can touch their asshole. And just because you're rubbing their inner thigh, doesn't mean you can grab their dick."

What? Did we have an asshole/dick incident last week? We've never had a warning before. So I started out class a little shameful, which had evaporated by the time I got to reflexology. So we're doing our normal partner coda and I'm paired up with a really sweet older guy and we have a great partner session. But then Loren offers some alternatives that involve rubbing the sex organ against someone's butt. We're not told to actually DO these exercises, but that's just information for at home practice with our lovers. A bit contradictory to the whole, don't stick your chocolate in someone's peanut butter conversation at the top of class.

Aside from that, another good class. Actually because of all of that, another good class. Just another mindful week of serious nude yoga practice.

My 10 Minute Play is Being Produced

It's funny because I do love validation. But when I put on Facebook that my 10-minute play was being produced by a theatre in San Diego, I got really shy. Like, "Oh, it's no big deal. It's just a 10-minute play. Oh, whatever." What the fuck is wrong with me? If I can't enjoy my success, I'm going to have a pretty miserable life because I intend on being very successful. :)

It just reminds me to focus on removing the negative from my life. I say things that I don't think are negative because I've said them to myself my whole life. I have a 10 minute play that's being produced. Yippee! That's awesome. Period.

God, sometimes I can be such an idiot. And my friends are happy for me and have Facebooked about it. That's sweet.

So for the record, I'm excited. I think it's just the first of many great professional things to happen this year. Now back to writing and pausing "Kell on Earth" in order to write some more. I will be blogging about "Kell on Earth" soon, as well as the Modern Family panel I went to. I've got lots to blog about. I can't wait!

I need a foot rub.

Hot Nude Yoga: The Return - Week 1 of 4

Okay, so go back and read Hot Nude Yoga: The Return - Prologue to get caught up. This is part 1 of 4.

So as you remember, I spoke with my therapist about my nerves in taking this yoga workshop

TANTRIC YOGA AND SEXUAL KUNG FU

As you could understand, I'm sure. I just didn't want to be penetrated.

I mean, right? I'm not a spit on the hand kinda guy. Not to be crude, but this is Loo's View and it's not always a clean view. Sometimes there's a bit of dirt on the rosebud colored sunglasses.

I think my main concern is that I'd embarrass myself. I was the kid who would be the butt of the joke. So if I was with a group of classmates and they said, let's go skinny dipping, I'm the kid who would be game and would turn a bright shade of red when I realized that I was the first one with the clothes off and in the water. And everyone was just interested to see who the first fool to drop trou. Well, that kid is me. Always has been. I'm a little too game for anything.

So I was having flashbacks to being fourteen and being the awkward, gawky skeletal kid. So I didn't want to be the first kid to get excited while everyone was perfectly in control (i.e. flaccid). Well, rest assured, kids. I wasn't.

CHECK POINT 1: THIS WOULD THE POINT IN THE BLOG THAT ANYONE WHO IS A FACEBOOK FRIEND/RELATIVE OF MY BOYFRIEND SHOULD STOP AND THINK VERY CAREFULLY. IF YOUR OPINION OF ME IS GOING TO CHANGE HEARING ABOUT MY NUDE OBSERVATIONS IN YOGA CLASS, THEN TURN BACK NOW.

For the rest of you (hee, hee...btw, I think my late grandmother Mona would be listening, ears akimbo. She loved this sort of stuff. Just hearing her voice in my head saying "Oh, get out! Ay, loco!" makes me want to cry)...

The class is crowded, btw. With people who basically are hoping that this turns into a circle jerk. Not to be crass...well, actually I enjoy being crass. But that's seriously what was going on. We were about 25 crammed in that place. A lot of Lookie Loos (no pun intended). AND I WAS ONE OF THEM. The thing that I actually love about my Not Nude Yoga practice is that I get really into the feeling of the yoga practice and being in my own body. As much as there might be eye candy around me, it makes me incredibly internal.

So Loren is the guy leading the class. And Dana, my favorite yogi in his Brooklynese, is there helping out to adjust us and lead us through the yoga stuff. I talk about Dana in my Season One musings about HNY. He's a breath of fresh air. So these two cute guys are leading the class and we start out with what's called Breath of Fire which is like hyperventilating. And Belly Breathing, where we're supposed to extend out stomachs out while we're inhaling. At that point, all vanity has to go out the window. Because that shit looks cute on someone with a six pack, but someone like me with a smooth tummy...well, I look like an ad from Save the Children. Sorry. But that's the visual.

At this point, it just feels like a lot of nude lamaze. Then Loren tells us to grab our testicles.

CHECK POINT 2: NO, REALLY IN-LAWS. PLEASE STOP READING NOW.

What you're supposed to do is gently pull on your testicles in accordance to your age. So if you're 25, then it's 25 times. So I start tugging...hey, nice. And it's good for the health and energy flow and it feels good. Okay. I'm getting into it. Then he has us grab our "friend" and flop it up and down, so that it's slapping around. Okay, now I feel like I'm five and I'm in my Underroos. This is a bit silly. Then he excitedly says a phrase that I will never forget:

"This is where the man juice comes from." Snot flies out of my nose. I swear, it's snot.

Is it inappropriate to laugh so hard your side hurts in yoga class? Isn't there a connection between enlightenment and humor? I'm considering myself incredibly enlightened at this point. And actually, I'm feeling relaxed and I'm enjoying myself. It's kind of silly, but it's enjoyable. I'm smiling.

Then he says that sometimes about how this is when people can start getting aroused. Well, that just did it. It just went from silly to something else. And yes, at this point, I did look around. And yes, it's what you expect. So I won't go into further detail. I'm sure your dirty minds can do a much better job than I can at painting a pretty darn good picture.

And that was about five minutes. Other exercises happened. Very sincere exercises.

So once things settled down, we continued with our practice. Stretching and downward dogging and letting our minds empty out. It was incredibly meditative. I guess this is the part where I should say that I get a lot from this practice. And this a humorous blog, which means no disrespect to this practice. But I actually do believe that enlightenment and humor are connected. We can't take ourselves so seriously. We can't be so quick to judge. And there's no quicker way to get rid of judgment than to strip down, expose your short or not so short comings and just breathe. Get over it, right?

We then went through a series of exercises, which can be better explained on Loren's website, www.rawtantra.com. And we finished up with partner work. The partner yoga was a lot of thai massage, which is a lot of pressure and release (not that kind of release). I learned a lot. I love massage. Giving and getting. For me, it's about the healing quality of touch. It just feels good. It's simple. Not a lot of thought or analyzing to that. It just feels good. I think that was the lesson of this workshop. Yeah, it's fun and silly and profound and educational and feels good. It made me focus on being present.

But the massage part was great because I learned that I don't have to cramp up my hands giving my boyfriend a massage. I can use my body to apply pressure that feels good, but doesn't tire me out. And it is sensual to lay your body on someone. It's connection.

So I left the workshop not feeling nervous. And not being penetrated unexpectantly and unwillingly. But with a sense of energy and awareness that carried me into that week and lead to an incredible amount of productivity in that following week. It was pretty amazing.

And I left with a smile on my face. Enlightened.

Late Night with the Dogs

I'm feeling like I'm coming down with the cold that everyone has. So I am here, sleeping downstairs in our "man cave": the downstairs home office with the 26" screen that doubles as a computer monitor, watching the episode of "The Wendy Williams Show" that her parents were on. It's like a warm foot rub to me. Comfort.

I'm drinking a tea made with chinese herbs, much like the tea my Dad used to make us when we had a cold. But when we were kids, he would boil up the herbs and stink up the house. I think the tea tasted so disgusting to us because smelled it. This is just from an eye dropper. You drop three droppers full in hot water. It's not so bad. And it does the same thing. The funny thing is that I was raised in a homeopathic family just because that's what people did. Home remedies is what they used to call it. I think the reason I don't get as sick as Wes is because I have lots of garlic and ginger in my diet and I love rest. My body tells me what it needs and I am too happy to pay attention.

Now if I could get that body to love exercise so that it could look like a million bucks, that'd be great. Right now it's at about 750K. Not horrible, but not stellar. I give good face and that counts for about 500K.

Where was I going with this? Oh, nowhere probably. Just that it's nice that the dogs are sleeping next to me while Wes is upstairs luxuriating in his stank germs watching Spartacus. He's getting over his cold and I'm glad he gave up the man cave tonight. I'm trying to stay away from his germs and just let me body rest so the germs in me don't start getting any ideas.

It's also comforting to work on this blog in the dark. It's nice and easy during a week that was anything but. Happy to be home. Wish I could have my arms around the man I love. But I don't want his cold!

We'll save the cuddling for this weekend in Palm Springs.

Make Me a Bravolebrity

Is that how you spell it? Bravolebrity? As in Bravo Celebrity? These mash up phrases totally confuse me. Just when I thought I had a grasp of the English language that I mastered back in the 4th grade. Now this. Oy!

I think my life has really been influenced by my avid watching of reality TV shows on Bravo. It's kind of like doing impersonations, but this is more like an attitude impersonation. Here are some examples:

I was watching part of a Real Housewives of New York City marathon from Season One this morning while I was getting ready for work. Then I saw Bethenny Frankel on Wendy Williams this morning. And I instantly got in that sort of quasi-entrepreneurial/I'm gonna kick your ass/Eyes on the Prize mode that both Jill Zarin and Bethenny get into. I came in my office and got some shit organized and set some priorities for the day. All good things. But it was done with a bit of a flourish and some sass. I was doing a subtle drag version of Bethenny/Jill Zarin that no one but me was aware of. To the outside world, I was probably just being bitchy.

I put on a tight sweater today, I had the big sunglasses on...I had a "conference call" this morning with my friend Susan while on the way into the office this morning. I probably thought there were cameras on me in the car. I started giving her advice on her life in little snippets that would be great in a teaser ad for next week's episode of

LOOnacy: The Entertaining Life of an Aspiring Somebody

Oooh. That IS good.

But I said things like:

"You don't talk about him (her boyfriend who's moving cross country) all the time because you're finally in a place where you're secure and you don't have to pretend like it's all okay. Like BLAH BLAH BLAH my BOYFRIEND, my boyfriend, my boyfriend."

and

"If his boxes had come weeks before he got there, you'd be freaking out because that's what people do."

These grand statements that have no credibility or value. But that sound really good an confident in a 30-second spot. I was chock full of them this morning.

It's all due to Bravo. It's changed the way I relate to the world.

Brava!, Bravo.

Procrastination Nation

I'm trying to write
and I'm a little scared
and I'm staring at a blank page
and I really want to get this
shit done. I want it to be brilliant and
I'm just not in that head space.

So instead I listen to Elvis Mitchell interviewing
Colin Firth.

And type in my blog.

Hello.

Embrace me. I need the good energy to move forward.

Curves

In the category of things I have no business commenting on...

CURVES

I just was walking down the street near my office and saw a plain looking woman, a bit heavyset, walking around the building where Curves is and looking around. Then I saw her slip in quickly. Like a cat burglar.

Before the doors shut behind her, I saw what the inside of a Curves looks like. Usually, I walk by and see the blacked out windows and think that maybe it's an incubator for vampires. Or some weird sex club. It just seemed like a front to me. But in the three second quick peek I got, I saw what it was really a cover for.

I think Curves is an adult day care. I saw a bulletin board with C-U-R-V-E-S cut out in block letters. The bulletin board was lined in construction paper. And there was a hula hoop. I might have even seen a gold star or two. I'm sure there were machines in there and working out was happening. I'm certain of it. But...it really did look strange from the outside. And the door quickly shut behind me, because no one wants me to know what's really going on inside.

It really does illustrate the difference between the gyms that are frequented by gay dudes and the gyms that are frequented by straight ladies. In my gym, everything's open. There are lots of windows and lots of dudes showing off their junk, freeballing in loose gym shorts. The shower curtains are open. And so are their mouths, with loud grunts - male mating calls to let you know that they are working hard and have no problem vocalizing the combination of pleasure and pain.

File that under: Information That Will Be Useful Later.

Women keep it all bottled up inside, secretly working out in coverted office space. Gays need the asthetics - the skylights, the high ceilings, the Aveda products and low lit steam rooms. Interesting.

File that Under: Reasons I'm Glad I'm a Gay Dude.

Meatloaf

I got a craving for some meatloaf and I wanted to make something. We just had a valentine's day dinner party the other night and I had some leftover mozzarella slices. So I decided to do a layer of mozzarella. I think you can always put just about anything in a meatloaf. But here's what I did today. And it was delicious!

2 lbs of ground beef
chopped onion
breadcrumbs
basil
garlic powder
oregano
salt
pepper
mozzarella slices
2 eggs
creamy french dressing

I basically take a bowl and mix everything other than the mozzarella and dressing. Then I take 1/2 of the mix and put it into a pyrex or a meatloaf pan. Then a layer of mozzarella. Then more meat on top. Then pour french dressing on it or ketchup.

Variations:
pickles
raisins
red bell pepper
Parmesan cheese

then bake it in the oven. Yummy. 375 for 45 minutes to an hour.

Done and done. Enjoy. It's four minutes to midnight. Tired.

Loo Recommends: Ben and Dave's Six Pack

I love podcasts.

I just like to always feel like I'm always at a party where I'm sitting in the corner or retreating to the office or passed out upstairs in my bedroom while things happen around me.

It's strange.

One recent discovery and quick fave is Ben and Dave's Six Pack. www.bendave.com These are two out gay guys who are clearly and openly and outly and so totally fucking gay but not with any of the Classic Gay attributes like lisps, sequined jackets, and quippy bon mots. Although, these guys are funny. I listen to them while I'm cooking. I feel like my mother and her stories (aka her novellas).

Anyway, listen to them. Gay or straight. They are great. And I'm rhyming again.

Memoirs of a Hollywood Geisha

DISCLAIMER: The following post is partially fictionalized and partially played up for humor. In the words of my boyfriend when he starts getting loud at parties...

"I'M HAMMING IT UP, DEAR!"

**** So part of my being Mrs. Wes is that I have to get dressed up and take the rollers out of the hair every once in a while. Yes, as legend goes, I was rescued from a gutter in Downey, cleaned up and ushered into my life as a Hollywood boyfriend. Truth be told, I'm New York-educated and am pursuing my writing career. But every now and again, I don the dark glasses, put on the pill box hat, drag an Oleg Cassini out of the closet and pull it together. A Kennedy reference is actually apropos in this instance because this morning we went downtown to go bowling for one of our favorite charities, Best Buddies - which was started by Anthony Shriver.

As some of my old friends and my boyfriend can attest, sometimes I can be a fan of a theme. Whether it's my Junior year in college being the year of Navys and Greys or my birthday party in grad school where I announced the theme was 1981 - Calvin Klein minimalist chic, I like to have great stories in my head that make sense to no one but me.

This morning it was easy Hollywood Sunday morning. An outfit that seemed appropriate to the Farmer's Market if one was trying to be on the DL, but wanted to look good for the paparazzi. Translation: grey jeans, terry cloth track jacket by Juicy Couture Mens, blue "UP" t-shirt featuring Ed Asner's character on the front (supporting the family biz), and a pair of white and tan Pumas. I also had my burnt orange sunglasses on. Very low-key. I felt like I could be in one of those Details diagrams that would read:

"Gay Hollywood Domestic Partner or Mobster Tourist"

[Side note: Last night's theme was 80s power bitch - hair was kind of feathered into a bit of a nod to Hillary Clinton, grey v-neck, hot pink tee underneath, grey jeans and silk scarf poking out of a peacoat. We were going to meet a young boy that Wes had met out months ago. I got a little Alexis Carrington/Abby Ewing on it.]

So we get there and see our friend Mark who was running the event. We say hello to some of Wes' clients. I got introduced to Cindy Crawford, who was gorgeous in person and had a nice vibe. Everyone who knew her kept saying how incredibly nice she is. I love to hear things like that. We saw Harry Hamlin who is totally sexy and the lovely Lisa Rinna who I only admired from afar. It was nice to see these folks with their kids. Wes and I were starving so we crammed some food down our throats and then went to mingle.

I was talking to the woman who had worked on PR for the event when a Buddy came up to me. The Buddies are who the charity is for. They are intellectually-disabled individuals who are placed in jobs so they can be active. [Side note: I don't know if we have a term that's fully satisfying. Mentally-handicapped or disabled doesn't seem any better. I think Buddy is probably the best option.] So a Buddy came up to me and spoke in a very soft voice, so I had to lean in. An adult (maybe his Mom) came up to me and said that he maybe he thought I was someone that I'm not. Hmmm. Then she asked me if I was on HEROES.

I politely replied "No." But in my head I was thinking: "Does he think I'm Masi Oka? Do we all really look alike?"

Then she replied that he thought I was Adrian Pasdar. Well, hello Buddy! Can I get you a drink? A soda or a fruit juice, of course!

Then another Buddy came up to me later and asked if I was a celebrity: "Only in my own mind, Sweet Pea. Only in the Windmills of my Mind."

So the Buddies got my Hollywood Casual outfit. Well, if I was going to impress anyone, I'm glad it was them. It was a fun event, as usual. Chatted with Kiele Sanchez, who's an actress I've admired for a long time, although I was playing it cool and not admitting that to her. But if our friend Jen reads this and busts me, I guess I'll just be a big nerd. Oh, well. I could do a lot worse being rescued from a gutter in Downey.

I did my job: helped the boyfriend pick out silent auction items to bid on, functioned as pretty arm candy, made witty remarks and posed for pictures. Now I'm back home, rollers back in, just pulled out a mozzerella stuffed meatloaf out of the oven and the dogs are laying at my feet passing gas. Oh the sweet, foul scent of reality!

Out There

I don't really know what I'm going to write until it comes together. I had an interesting end of the week. My friend Elyzabeth has this saying when she starts getting a little envious of someone and she says that she's not "keeping her eyes on her own paper." Remember in school when someone would get tempted to cheat, the teacher would say, "Keep your eyes on your own paper." Well a lot of us do that in life. We look around to see how successful someone else is or how much their failing in order to gauge how we feel about ourselves. We spend so much time looking at other people's papers that we don't focus on our own.

And I was guilty of that last week. I try to be the goody goody and not feel those things, but my therapist says it's normal to have those feelings. And my friend Steve said the same thing. I owe him a drink for that sage advice. My friend not my therapist. Although I'm sure I owe my therapist a couple of rounds as well.

I had my jealous moment. My jealous cry. My jealous trip to the Pavillions where I bought all sorts of feel good foods. I wouldn't even say junk food. The act of cooking makes me feel good. Chopping and sauteing and mixing and being creative in the kitchen. Another analogy that comes to mind from therapy is that when I'm cooking I don't spend all of my time worried about other people's opinions. I know it's good. They taste it and give their approval, but I'm not hanging on every word. It's a nice end result, but not the goal.

Why can't I do that with my writing? Everyone's opinion matters. Not that notes are not helpful, but I place my value in other people's hands constantly. Ugh. Stop it already, Loo. Just stop it.

I've soaked in the tub. I've had the "get productive" talk with myself. I've had the "keep your eyes on your own paper" talk as well. And now it's Sunday. I've been working on re-outlining and just taking some good character notes. Now I'm at the self-motivation, think positive end of the sentence. But in order to get there, I had to have the "I want all of these great career successes to happen to me" moment. Why deny myself that?

Without it I wouldn't have had that great feeling of strolling through the aisles at the West Hollywood Pavillions. Not to cruise, just to luxuriate in the florescent lighting and the many different sections of the store. On a Friday night, my favorite time to go grocery shopping. I do a lot of things that make me feel like an older person. I also love an early bird special at a diner. Anyway...

I had to start looking within and taking care of myself. That moment of jealousy was a brilliant reminder that my paper is the only thing that will make me happy. Looking outward only makes me frustrated. I'll get there. Just one step, one page, one thought at a time. But I'll get there. I've written countless plays, tv specs, pilots, etc. utilizing that exact philosophy.

I've spent some time out there looking around and now it's time to come back inside and settle in. Happy Sunday everybody.

Four Women

Listened to this in the car over the weekend and also love watching "Without You I'm Nothing" Sandra Bernhard's amazing movie and her version. Just thought I'd reprint the lyrics here.

My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is wooly
My back is strong.
Strong enough to take the pain
Inflicted again and again
What do they call me?
They call me
Aunt Sarah
Aunt Sarah...

My skin is yellow
My hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong
My father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
What do they call me?
They call me
Saffronia
Saffronia

My skin is tan
My hair is alright, it's fine
My hips invite you, daddy
My mouth like wine
Who's little girl am I?
Anyone with money to buy.
What do they call me?
My name is Sweet Thing.
Sweet thing.

My skin is brown
My manner is tough
I'll kill the first mother I see
My life has been rough
I'm awfully bitter these days
My parents were slaves
What do they call me?
My name is
PEACHES!

Cooking Makes Me Feel Better About Myself

I had a tough day, not unlike Amy Adams in "Julia and Julia."
But I didn't make a roast chicken.
I just listened to podcasts about food.
And made a salad and israeli couscous with parsley, lemon zest, pine nuts, golden raisins, and black pepper.

My perfect day would be:

having a bowl of pozole or menudo for breakfast
reading the NY Times either online or in my hands
in bed
then going to the gym and working out chest and back and freeballing
going grocery shopping for an hour - or no time restrictions
then coming home and making a pasta while listening to a great iPod mix
"Surrender" from the Diana Ross album
"Come on over baby" by Christina Aguiliera
"Four Women" by Nina Simone
"Lilac Wine" by Jeff Buckley
"Heartbreaker" by Dionne Warwick
maybe listening to "Spilled Milk" or "Savor Portland" or "Good Food with Evan Kleinman"
nap
private man time
catching up on TV
sex with my boyfriend
going to dinner or making dinner at home with lots of wine
if I make dinner then I'll look through my cookbooks and online about two hours before
nude yoga
laughter
sleep

maybe that will be tomorrow's agenda
i need it

Reconnected

Thanks to the wonders of technology, namely Facebook, I am now friends (again)with a bunch of my grade school classmates. We've gotten together now three times in the past year or so. Last January, last March for St. Patty's Day and now this past January.

I remember being nervous the first time all saw each other again. Part of it is that so much time has passed and you feel like a different person. Frankly, I wasn't all that popular in grade school. I was strange. I liked comic books and fashion magazines. I liked the band Lone Justice because I'd seen them on a New Year's Eve show on MTV. I thought that made me cool and alternative. I was skinny with buck teeth, a lisp and a matching green tank top and short outfit by Generra that I wore on free dress days. I felt like a planet that hadn't been discovered yet. No name and barely there.

I think what I'm discovering in some ways now is that a bunch of us felt that way. And we've taken our adulthood by the balls and transformed those feelings of isolation into something else. It's made some of us more reflective. It's made a bunch of us let go. My best friend Alanna (who I didn't go to grade school with) and I are always found of saying, "We're just two kids from Downey." I think part of my identity will always be tied to being right off the 5 and the 605 freeways.

What I found when we saw each other again for the first time in that small group of about ten of us, was that time had made us laugh at everything. And yes there were some revelations - secret crushes and the like - but the real revelation was how quickly we all became 14 again - in the best possible way. We fell into our rhythms again.

I'm not sure why I'm thinking about that today. Maybe it's because I look at my Facebook and I see Niki's new recipe or Judy's funny TGIF comment or the fact that we're all planning to see each other again when Michelle comes to town. It's just nice to know that everyone's okay, I guess. Yeah, it's really nice to know that everyone's okay.

Loo Loo's Favorite Things - Feb 2010

I love a good podcast, which I think I've mentioned. I just finished listening to

Spilled Milk, which is www.spilledmilkpodcast.com and fantastic. It's these two people Matthew Amster-Burton and Molly Wizenberg who live in Seattle. First of all, I love the Pacific Northwest and culture up there. I used to live in Portland and now that it's become such a foodie town, I'm kind of in love even more. The idea is that they choose a food item and then make it, talk about it and eat it. And they laugh and tell funny stories. It's the best. It's new, but so far they've done Fried Eggs, Squash, Milkshakes and Valentine's Day. I love listening to anything that sounds like I'm sitting in the kitchen or in a living room listening to conversations. What can I say? I like company.

Deluxe Dogs - We used to get these from Weinerschnietzel when I was a kid. They are hot dogs made with chopped onion, tomatoes, mustard and a pickle spear. I added a couple hot sweet peppers from Fresh and Easy. There are certain foods I eat when I'm feeling low or tired and in today's case, sick. I came home feeling achy and had some hot dogs in the fridge. So I cooked them up and made my deluxe dogs. I also make tostadas, which I will devote a whole post to at some point soon because I love tostadas. I want to weep I love them so much.

Project Runway - it's not as good as Season Four, but I'm loving this season. I'm watching it now. Just pressed pause. But Tim Gunn could say dirty things to me and I wouldn't complain. He could tag me from behind and tell me to make it work anytime. I'm kind of serious.

My Juicy Couture Zip Up Jacket - Wes gave it to me for Christmas. And I love it. I wear it everywhere. When I put my cap on, I look like someone's friend's cousin Vito.

Quiet Time - I'm sitting here typing and loving having the time to just relax and write down some thoughts before I have to do anything major with the rest of my night.

Baths - I might have to take one soon and close my eyes. I love how loose my testicles are in the bath. seriously. I know it's inappropriate, but it makes me happy.

Foot rubs - my kingdom for a foot rub. I need one now. I think I might have to do it myself. Sit indian style then bend down and work my elbow into the arch of my foot. Ahhhh...

That's it for now. Now back to Project Runway.

Hot Nude Yoga: The Return - Prologue

So as some of you may remember from last "season", I had started taking Hot Nude Yoga classes. I detailed my experiences, my fears, my trepidation in a few steamy blog posts. But I persevered. I managed. I stretched. And I showed my weenie off in front of other guys.

Not only had I taken off time from writing this blog, but I also took some time off from my Nude Yoga practice. That is until I saw these words on their website:

TANTRIC YOGA AND SEXUAL KUNG FU WORKSHOP

What does THAT mean? Prolonged stretching and dirty martial arts? Naked Karate? Bonerville? My curiosity got the best of me and I did more research. I found out that this practice wasn't just made up. I found that it involved a lot of breathing...heavy, probably. And I learned that it helps in prostate health. But just how was the prostate being stimulated? That was the curious part.

Then I felt kind of weird. Because, yes, I was curious. But I clearly didn't want to make my boyfriend uncomfortable. And this class sounded like it was more sexual in nature. Also, I discovered that "kung fu" translates into "skillful practice." So sexual kung fu was the skillful practice of sex?

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? Is someone going to penetrate me and I'll be in such a higher state of being I won't notice? Oh God! All the questions and all the worry. I thought my nose would start bleeding any second. That's what would happen when I'd have anxiety when I was a kid.

I then became convinced it was a silly thing to do, so I forgot about it. But I kept thinking about this idea of being more mindful about sex and how great that would be for the two of us, not that I need sex lessons, but I love education. So I took a deep breath and sent Wes a very thoughtout email:

"It's Sundays 7:30-9:30. here's the link. Is this ridiculous? If you don't want me to do it, I won't"

SEND.

Then he sent back a response pretty quickly. I got nervous. He wrote:

"Consider it your early Valentine's Day gift. You're all signed up, my little Dark Sting." Now that's support.

Then I cried.

No, not really. But I thought it was so sweet. He got me the workshop. But then I had to go. I mean, it sounded interesting. And I liked that it had a spiritual, energy bent to it. But I had to then actually go and take the workshop. It was over four Sundays.

So on Saturday morning I went to therapy. And started talking to my therapist about it:

"So I signed up for this sexual kung fu yoga workshop thing. I'm excited about going. But scared about going. I mean...is someone going to slip it in?"

Okay, not verbatim. But close. I might have actually said "slip it in" to my therapist. He assured me that it was a great thing. Wes was okay with it, so much that he bought me the damn workshop. And that I should relax. But just be careful about backing into anything.

Kidding. He didn't say that. My therapist is insightful, but not quick-witted.

It could be good for me and for us, he said. I could open up. I could share these techniques and bring them home.

But I just didn't want to do anything that felt inappropriate. And my therapist said, "Then tell them to stop if it doesn't feel good."

Clearly I have issues with boundaries and not asking for what I need. That was another therapy session. So I guess this yoga thing was having a good effect on me already. It was setting the stage for other types of therapy. This was a physical kind and taking about taking action. And the other kind was about talking.

Wow. I have the power to say "yes" and "no?" Deep. Yeah, I guess I do. And what better place to start than Naked Yoga. At least I'd start out comfortable.

My High School Crush Does Not Want to be my Facebook Friend

His loss.

You know, I thought that maybe enough time would have passed and that he would have seen that I was really an innocent kid dealing with confusing feelings that really had no outlet when I was fifteen. So maybe I called him nightly. Maybe I had his parents freaked out because this lispy kid kept calling the house. I might be worried that some strange boy was calling my son. A boy they never met. A boy who wasn't on the football team like their boy.

I prefer to believe that they were racist.

We even managed to weather the storm of the four hour phone call I made, pleading with him to still be my friend. Lying through my teeth and trying to convince him that I didn't have feelings for him. That I wanted to be a friend to him. Just a friend. Just an emotionally needy, physically affectionate friend.

We really didn't have a lot in common. I don't know why I pursued the relationship--I'm sorry, friendship, so passionately. I was a huge Madonna fan (still am). He was into Rush, Leppelin, The Who, Boston. Probably. The boys in my high school were into Classic Rock. He probably was too. It didn't matter. It's not like we had to have everything in common. Variety is the spice of life, after all. It's what takes us outside of ourselves and allows us to see the world as a bigger place. Maybe my Unnamed High School Crush didn't want his world to be big.

He works with Nascar, I think. Lots of cars in his profile pictures. He protected me from being his friend, but not from viewing some of his pictures. Including his girlfriend or wife or woman he stood very close to one day while out at a winery and asked his "friend" to snap a quick picture of them together so he could send the passive aggressive message to the strange boy who would call his house at odd hours that he likes girls.

Well, that strange boy is now a strange man and I'm not falling for it, buddy. Yeah, I said "buddy." A nice, safe, masculine term of acknowledgment. Like "man", "bro," or "dude." Safe and non-threatening. Because even though you may not believe me, Anonymous Crush, I am safe and non-threatening. And really, really nice. Just ask my boyfriend. Not my friend or roommate, my BOY FRIEND. Manpanion. Domestic Partner, if that makes you feel better.

You know, Crush Who's Name I'm Not Mentioning Out of Respect, I should really thank you. Because you were my first. You kind of set the stage for the relationship I'm in now. I'm in love with a Potato Eater. A Corned Beef-loving, cabbage-smelling, delicious morsel of an Irishman. That's my Wes. I have no problem mentioning his name. Because I'm proud. Out, LOUD, and proud. Wes also loves musicals, which is why we're a better match than you and I were. Well, that and the fact that we were only fifteen and not ready for a real relationship.

I like Irish guys, thanks to you. And if you were my Facebook friend, I could say a proper, modern thank you. Not really "say", per se. But write...well type. And thanking you would involve sending you a Facebook message and not really hearing what your voice sounds like now as an adult. Is it deeper? You still have a pinhead, judging from your pictures. But is your voice at least more mature than you are?

Facebook's a bit impersonal, actually. But thanks to you, I can't even do something impersonal to you.

I'm so mad I could reveal your actual name.

But I won't. Because I'm the bigger person.

Where I want to Work

Okay, so in the spirit of a new decade, and in the fact that I need to not just have a day job anymore, I'm going to put a list out there into the universe. It's not a wish list. It's a "This is Where I Want to be Spending my Time and Making TV Money as a Staffed Writer" List:

into the universe...planting seeds...manifesting...visualizing...intending...

Let's go by network, shall we?

ABC
Desperate Housewives
Brothers and Sisters
Private Practice
Modern Family
Cougar Town
The Middle

NBC
The Office
Parks and Recreation
30 Rock
Parenthood

CBS
The Good Wife
How I Met Your Mother
The New Adventures of Old Christine

FOX
GLEE

CW
Gossip Girl
Life Unexpected

HBO
Big Love
True Blood

Showtime
US of Tara
Nurse Jackie
Weeds

Putting it out there and doing the work. Proclaiming to the universe that this is what I want. It's a serious thing, this writing career. I'm focused in a way that I haven't been focused in the past. Maybe it's about finding the way I want to write and what I want to write. And maybe it's finally figuring out that it's up to me. I can't expect someone else to guide my choices.

I know better than anyone else what I am capable of. And right now I'm capable of writing a new hour long pilot and a new multi camera half hour. I'm capable of writing two new plays in the past four months and a new proposal for a commission.

Closing my eyes and taking a moment of silence to make the intention.

Now back to the business of being fun and entertaining on the interweb.

Thank you.