Vegas, baby!

Angela, Arianna, Olga, and me! Ready to head out on the town Saturday night!

Vegas is one of those ideas friends banter around and around, and until somebody comes in from out of town or until somebody gets married, it rarely happens. And yet, this past weekend, we made it happen without any of that. A couple of months ago Angela, Arianna, Olga and I were having lunch and saying it sure would be nice to get away. The other three all teach middle school together and I think the thought of anywhere without preteens was intoxicating. So we made a plan. Quick and simple. One hotel room, food, alcohol, and fun.

Whereas with this Europe trip I've been planning for almost a year, I took the opposite route with Vegas. I Googled pools at strip hotels. And then I modified my Google search to family friendly pools at strip hotels. (Apparently pools are the hottest clubs now, and after getting an eyeful of the club, er pool, at the MGM, I'm glad to say we enjoyed our quiet family friendly pools at the Excalibur where yes, you could drink, and where I didn't feel like I was in a bad spring break movie).

We took in the sights, had some drinks, talked and talked some more, laughed, danced, and ate. We ended up at the Bellagio buffet Saturday night, and yes, the dessert was by far the best part of the meal. Though the Kobe beef wasn't bad either. However, while I'm proud of myself for trying it, I don't think I'll stop by for another round of caviar any time soon.

We caught the Bellagio fountains show at the top of the hour, we had frozen drinks somewhere along the strip, we laughed at girls in six-inch heels and then rubbed our own feet when we got back to the hotel Saturday night. Oh, and we rode the monorail a few extra times because the AC was high and there were benches.

We also threw a few dollars in the slots as we passed through each new casino. None of us won anything until Angela sat down at a video poker machine, put in a dollar and promptly won $50! She cashed out and celebrated!

All in all, the perfect Vegas weekend. We got their Friday after 9pm and left Sunday before 2pm. Just right in that it was too short, none of us wanted to leave, especially after our bottomless champagne brunch at the Rio. But alas, all good things are much too short and remembered much too fondly. Here's to the next trip!

The Wibbs

Marianne Wibberly & me (Cormac Wibberly is just over my shoulder)

When I went to film school at UCLA I took advantage of every opportunity that came my way. Screenings, extra classes, guest lectures, everything, even the free fair each August that might yield some useless flyers and a couple run ins with classmates. And I'm fortunate that as an alumnus, I'm still able to take advantage of some of the cool opportunities that come about. Last night was one of those very cool things.

A few months ago on Twitter I began following @dottiehudson, the account that belongs to The Wibberlys. The Wibberlys are writing partners who are also married. They've written movies like NATIONAL TREASURE, I SPY, BAD BOYS 2, and CHARLIE'S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE. Big, billion-dollar grossing movies. They (though I think the account is mostly updated by Marianne) tweet about anything and everything. I follow them and occasionally I favorite a tweet. Then a few weeks back they tweeted something about their USA television series COMMON LAW. Ang and I were big fans of the show and sad to see it get cancelled after only one season. Marianne mentioned they were gonna just start shipping copies of the DVD out to fans. I favorited that tweet because I thought that was a really cool thing to do and the next thing I knew we were Twitter friends and I had a copy of COMMON LAW show up on my doorstep from Amazon.

Cormac, Hal Ackerman (UCLA), Marianne

Fast forward to last night. I was excited to be able to head back to UCLA and see The Wibberlys be honored with an award, enjoy a screening of NATIONAL TREASURE (which holds up really well -- I saw it 10 years ago when it first came out and it was just as enjoyable this time around), and then hear Cormac and Marianne speak about the film after. The only bummer of the night? There were just 10 of us there for the screening. The thing about people no going to things in LA? Totally true. UCLA couldn't even fill a theater with film students for this event. Just crazy.

But, that meant that we had a nice intimate evening with the screenwriters. No mikes, I just loudly asked my question from a few rows back, and then we held court in the reception area as they shared stories of Jerry Bruckheimer and their college days and what it's like to be married to your writing partner. And best of all? I got a huge smile from Marianne when I whipped out the COMMON LAW DVD and asked her to sign it.

Sometimes we meet people we've admired and they fail to meet our expectations. And then sometimes we meet people and they exceed those expectations and it turns out to be just a fun night. One more adventure for the books. I'm glad last night was one of those nights.

Pepe Update - He Lives!

My really bad picture of Pepe from last night, see his paw on the white fence on the left hand side

Yesterday afternoon a friend asked about Pepe. I had no news to report. He had apparently seen the cage and marshmallows and by now stale Kashi bar and taken the first path out of town. Or so I thought.

Fast forward eight hours. It was quarter to eleven last night, pitch dark, and I was lying in bed reading. I hear a noise and couldn't determine if it was on the street or behind our house but I wasn't concerned. I grew up on the busiest street in Howell. Without air conditioning. I can sleep through almost anything. But then the noise got louder. Almost a purring. And yep, there he was. Pepe.

He walked by on the fence just outside my window. The fence that separates our side yard from the neighbors driveway. He walked the fence like he owned the place. Then he got down, on the neighbors side and proceeded to have himself a grand old time.

The motion light came on next door but no one seemed to investigate. I don't know the neighbors more than to wave hello and they have indicated to us numerous times they don't speak English. Which is a lie since I heard the husband speaking almost perfect English on his cell phone last week. But anyway, they are quite neighbors and their dog never barks. We love them.

So Pepe had himself a night. From just my listening in, he seemed to jump down on their car and onto the trash cans (I am totally guessing, I actually have no idea what he did). But I did see him on the roof overhang at one point. He made lots of loud grunting and tick-ticking noises while he was purring. Then he proceeded to walk along the top of the fence three more times. I checked the trap when it got quite but he wasn't there. I'll try some new bait today.

So Pepe lives. And lives well, I might add. No I'm not going to set out water and food bowls for him like a friend suggested. Yes, I still want Pepe to leave. Mostly because it's a bit disconcerting to have him prowling around outside my bedroom window at all hours of the night. Also because I know he's not a good house guest. Also, because I'm almost out of marshmallows.

So close!

In less than a month Angela and I will be in Paris. And then in London. And then in Paris again. It's so exciting it's hard to even comprehend. But then again, it's kind of sad too because in just over a month our trip will be over. I can't even think about that right now.

We've been doing a lot more planning lately. Almost every day we discuss things we've read or people have told us (shout out to Heather G for her awesome blog post just for Ang and I the day after getting back from Europe!). Several of Angela's co-workers are going to be in France the same time as us so while we're not meeting up, we're discussing plans and sharing tips and purchases. I know it seems like all we do it plan, and how much can there really be? But let me tell you...

A couple of weekends ago we hunkered down in our Corner Bakery and did some major work on London. We get in on Sunday morning and we leave Tuesday night so we need to pack a lot in to a short amount of time. And we have to leave some free time just in case we can sneak in a last-minute play date with George.

So that weekend we figured out our plans for London. We ordered Oyster cards to ride the Tube with which are conveniently delivered to your house for free. We bought tickets for one of those big red double decker sightseeing buses you hop on and off of so we could get the full-on tourist experience. We reserved a table for high tea at Fordum & Mason where it looks like we'll not only have tea but a full on meal and then belly up to a dessert cart. We bought tickets for the London Eye and for the Tower of London. We planned routes to get from our hotel to each of these places and planned to visit not only Baker Street but the famed Hamley's toy store (it's a good thing we'll be seeing the grandneighbors six days after we land stateside!).

We've also done a few things to make our lives easier over there. We've opened our beloved Rick Steves' travel guides and snapped pics of each page on the historic walks and made Evernote files so that we can look at our directions and maps on our phones (for free, meaning no data charges, with Evernote Premium) and not call too much attention to our touristy selves. We've also Mapquested our walks and our train rides all around both London and Paris, taken screenshots and saved those too. We're probably over prepared but it feels right, and it's fun to trace the routes on the maps and dream about where we'll be.

Oh, and we've also secured earlier dates for our Global Entry interviews! In just two weeks! So hopefully we'll be able to breeze through customs with an eye scan and a song.

We have a bit more day-to-day planning to do in the upcoming weeks. We bought two more suitcase locks this week to secure our backpacks on the Chunnel as well as our roller bags. We've gotten directions on how to navigate the Montreal airport for our Air Canada connection (shout out to amazing cousin Doris!). Oh, and we've got a pant situation.

We've realized, thanks to several friends, that jeans might be too casual at some places in Europe. Yes, we're dressing up our top but our bottoms will still need to be in pants that look decent with Nikes. So...we're on a pants hunt. When you're our size, that's difficult to say the least. If you're wide you shouldn't also be tall is the mantra of most designers in America. So...that will be our next few weeks. And a skirt or pair of crop pants might get tossed in the duffel as well. Such first world problems, I know.

So, lunch at the Eiffel Tower booked. Tea in London booked. Shuttles from the airport arranged. And each night, I still close my eyes and see those twinkly lights of Paris. I cannot wait.

Pepe 1, Humans 0

Just a little update on the Pepe situation.

Pepe is still king of Abbey Place.

With no movement on his part to eat the Kashi bars put in the trap Thursday, Angela did some research and discovered that raccoons have a sweet tooth and like marshmallows. (Hence, the pest control expert's desire for me to whip up a batch of Rice Krispie Treats). So Saturday we traipsed to Target, bought some marshmallows, and sweetened the pot so to speak. You can see above how I laid out a little trail of marshmallows and then put a few more in the back of the track thinking Pepe would scarf them down and go searching for more.

But no.

Monday evening the marshmallows were still there. Right where I'd placed them. The landlord called to check in (a surprise in itself) and suggested moving the trap or putting eggs in it. A) I don't know where to move it to exactly. The side yard isn't much bigger than the picture above shows. B) I'm not making Eggs Benedict for Pepe. He can just move along, which maybe he's done. Or so we thought...

This morning I peered through the living room window, on my tip toes, to see down to the yard and I couldn't find any marshmallows. Maybe something was trapped! But no, the trap wasn't sprung. So on my way out this morning I went to the back yard. And this is what I found:

Pepe, or some other mischievous yard creature (yes, we have back yard gnomes, the backyardigans, but they are usually lazy and don't leave their picnic table), had very nicely put all of the marshmallows into the cage for me.

Yep. All the marshmallows and the Kashi bars are now in the back of the cage. Not chewed on or eaten at all. So helpful.

I think Pepe is telling us to take our food and shove it. He doesn't need our help, nor does he want it, to get out of town.

So we'll see what happens tonight. I'll leave the food out there. We have the trap for 30 days and maybe, just maybe, that was Pepe's parting shot. Maybe we can have the basement entrances sealed up tight and say goodbye to our little raccoon adventure. Or maybe not.

The Pepe Saga

This is Pepe. He is our raccoon. And when I say ours, I mean he lives in our house. Allegedly, if you want to be precise. Under the house. In the crawl space. In the crawl space that was boarded up and blocked by several bricks. Apparently Pepe is quite strong.

Pepe came to visit almost four weeks ago for the first time. Well, that's when he made his presence known to Angela and I. We were eating nachos, watching TV and he walked across the top of the fence outside the living room windows, stopped and peered in. For some reason I yelped, jumped up and shut the window. We have screens. We have bars. But I thought Pepe might still come in. The photo above is our first interaction with Pepe. It was still light out, just barely, and he walked back the way he came and disappeared. I did not follow him. Angela didn't either but to be fair she was on crutches and in an arm cast.

This is the next night when we saw Pepe again. This time he paused in the second window and waited as I took about 10 photos. I think he knew I was getting the light just right. Then he climbed down the end of the fence and strolled down the sidewalk like he owned the place. And frankly, after seeing his paws and claws, he does.

This is the last time I took a photo of Pepe. It was a couple of nights later, much earlier in the evening, and he looks like he groomed himself for the photo shoot. He looks good. He watched me for a moment and then headed on down the fence to the sidewalk. After that we didn't see Pepe for almost a week. I'd tweeted and Facebooked about him and we concluded that he must have known his five minutes of fame were about up and was heading elsewhere. Maybe north for the summer. This turned out not to be true.

Last week Pepe showed up again. This time I didn't even bother to get up and shut a window or snap a picture. He came by a few nights in a row and I placed a call to my friendly pest control company. They assured me they could tango with Pepe.

Fast forward to this week. After several other phone calls and landlord dealings, the day had come to find Pepe a new home. For the night at least.

It's bright and shiny and very close to his old home. (Look close and you can see the teeth/claw marks on the crawlspace window!) And when the two grown men who came to set it up asked me for a Rice Krispie treat (apparently a favorite of southern California raccoons) because they had brought a trap but no bait even thought I was told this endeavor was costing THOUSANDS of dollars, I smiled to myself. Pepe might just win this one.

And so last night I baited the trap with a broken in two Kashi blackberry breakfast bar. I don't keep Rice Krispie treats in the house. And apparently that bothers Pepe because he chose not to partake of my offerings last night. No one did. Not even the cat that overnights behind the grill and spends the early sun moments washing her fur like she's prepping for her own photo shoot.

This is what I found this morning at 6am.

Unsprung trap. Kashi bars still where I threw them. And no Pepe sighting last night. It's possible he can read and knew what all the hoopla was yesterday when the big red truck arrived and the two grown men stood around talking about how he might like living in Malibu. I don't think Pepe wants to live in Malibu. I think Pepe likes it here on Abbey Place. I mean we have nachos and dry crawlspaces and that pretty great fence. And no one will force you to eat the Kashi bars.

Paris Update

"Paris is always a good idea." -- Audrey Hepburn

And I have to agree. This trip Angela and I have been planning has just been such a cool part of our lives. I'm a firm believer that people need hope to cling to or bear hug and for us, over the past year, it's been Paris.

Yes, we have jobs, we have other things going on in our lives but Paris has always been there, in the books sitting on the table or the ever-growing pile of stuff to pack, or the sparkly new tennis shoes being broken in, or the daily reminder on my iPhone.

Yesterday Ang and I spent the afternoon culling our closets and our shopping bags and figuring out exactly what we're taking to Paris clothing-wise. Here's the result:

• Two pairs of jeans each
• Two pairs of Nikes each (we wear the same size so score!, four different pairs to mix and match)
  
• A pair of Lands End Starfish pants (think dressier yoga pants) each 
• A pair of jean capris each
• A pair of sandals each 
• Seven scarves (three we bought new and then the rest we had; I'm taking one I got for a high school graduation gift and we're taking one from Grandma Cows)
• A pair of sleep shorts and tank top each
• Three lightweight hoodies in a sweater material
• Four three-quarter length cardigan sweaters
• A combination of three-quarter length boatneck tees, short sleeve tees, and sleeveless shirts that we can both wear
• A pair of sunglasses each
• A backpack and a purse each
• Two new brightly colored beaded necklaces we got this weekend and a few other jewelry pieces

We have to pack everything we're taking in two rollerbags and two backpacks so we've been very selective. Luckily, Angela and I wear the same size in almost everything so all tops can be worn by both of us so we can mix and match a lot more than if we wore different sizes.

And while we were deciding what to pack, we tried on every outfit to make sure it worked and fit properly, and we took pictures so we'd remember what went with what and to make mornings easier if need be. Here's Angela's plane look:

Starfish pants, grey Nikes, red patterned tank top, white hoodie, seafoam scarf - perfect!

And here's just one of my sightseeing looks:

The scarf was a Christmas gift from one of Angela's students this year and it's so fun! And yes, we watched a YouTube video about nine times in order to learn new ways for tying scarves!


We still have a few things to do before we finally get to pack our suitcases. We're trying to decide if it's worth it to drive to San Luis, AZ to get the Global Entry passes we've already paid for but can't get in Los Angeles until later in the summer. We have to reserve our time on the London Eye and maybe the Eiffel Tower and schedule high tea in London. We have to finalize our daily plans and figure out exactly which bank cards to use and how much cash to take and where to get it. But the To Do List is diminishing. And that's so exciting. So freaking exciting.

Hope

These are pictures I took, of the same cross, on Maundy Thursday and then a few days later, on Easter Sunday last week at my church. To me, they represent what I hold on to most tightly every single day.

Hope.

Every day I get up hoping that the day will be good. That I will find my purpose for the day, for the hour, for the moment. That I will smile. That I will be moved to tears. That I will experience the joy that comes from knowing deep down in my bones that my Lord died but rose again.

And to me, that doesn't just mean I believe when I go to church, or during Lent or on Easter morning. To me, that means that I have hope in every part of my life, in every part of my day.

And yes, a lot of the time it's hard to hold on to that hope. Particularly when employment ends (as it did, again, for me on Sunday) or when bad things happen to people I love. When I'm unsure of which way to go next, which path to take. When I do my best to move my body and eat well and the scale doesn't move. When I get rejection after rejection.

And yet...these crosses stay with me. These images, ingrained in my head by a lifetime of faith and learning, keep me going. Keep me getting out of bed each morning, often when the sun's not yet out, strapping on the running shoes, moving out the door, then settling in at the desk. These images keep me praying and believing. They keep me writing and cooking. They keep me hopeful and optimistic and sure that in the end, all will be well.

Several weeks ago I turned a script over to someone at a production company. Since then, I've had to fret and stew and wait. My work is done for now. I have no idea if they like it, it they've even read it. And yet? I have faith, I believe, that for some reason, this is my path.

I am beyond blessed not by the things I have or the life I live but because I have faith. I have hope. To me, there is nothing more important. It is what got me through two weeks of nursing duty, knowing Angela would heal after her fall. It is what got me through the great sadness of losing so many family members in the past years. It is what gets me through every day here in Los Angeles, knowing, trusting, believing, that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Many Christians say Christmas is their favorite holiday and I am usually right there with them. But this month, this season, I can't help but think that Lent, and particularly Holy Week, might ultimately win out. About how two such stark and opposing images of such a powerful symbol can bring about immense emotion.

For me, it's all about the hope.

Grandma Cows

Yesterday Angela and I were talking to my parents about what color they're going to paint their house this summer. My mom wants us to look at some color samples online and help her narrow them down. Angela pipes up and says, you know who would've been great at this? Grandma Cows.

And it's true, she would have been. She knew something about interior decorating and design that always was just right for the situation at hand. She helped my mom pick out wallpaper, make wall hangings, move furniture. Heck, she had enough practice in her own living room. We rarely went to Grandma and Grandpa's house when the furniture was in the same spot twice. And we'd stop by daily. Daily.

She'd get up every night almost, move things around, rearrange till it felt just right. She had superhuman strength. Grandpa was never involved in this, in fact, he was lucky if he knew where to sit the next morning.

Grandma Cows would have been 90 today. Ninety years old. I have a hard time reconciling that with the woman who just last summer was eating cookies, drinking been and fighting with the cable company so she'd get her Internet working. She had to keep up with Facebook and email you see. She almost never posted on Facebook but she saw everything. And I loved waking up in the morning to find an email she'd sent the night before when she couldn't sleep. More often than not I'd call her instead of reply. She loved to talk on the phone yet almost never called. She didn't want to bother me. So instead, I called often. Especially when I was driving. I'd pass the time telling her what was going on, what I was cooking that day or where I was going. What I was writing. What I was watching on TV. She loved to talk.

Several Christmases ago when we first got a Wii, she came right over the day after Christmas and bowled with us. And regaled us with tales of all her strikes when she'd played on a league years earlier. To me, Grandma was ageless, she was just grandma. Always the same. Always making potato salad and baking rolls and smashing the strawberries for shortcake.

She wore the same housecoats or shorts, would walk outside in her socks and never once tried a shirt or a dress or a pair of pants on in a store though she shopped all the time. If it didn't fit, take it back. Or hang it in the closet, it might fit later.

I'm not sure I'll ever forget my last week with grandma, my last day. It had been a long summer, grandpa had been sick for a few years but the end really took it's toll on her. She was a trooper though, making it through the funeral on her own two feet. We spent a lot of time with her that week after the funeral, just sitting, talking, sharing stories. She told us the same stories we'd heard hundreds of times and new ones, sprinkled with a good dose of fantasy we guessed. Grandma was the ultimate fisherman even though it was grandpa who went out on the boat every summer: her tales grew and grew as the days went on. 

That last day we spent with her was perfect in that it wasn't. It was a normal day, like so many we'd had with grandma over my lifetime. It was five days after grandpa's funeral and my mom, dad, Angela and I arrived in two separate cars at her apartment at 8am. We stopped on the way and got donuts from Quality Dairy. There's something grandma loved most in all the world and that was a donut. She had the coffee brewing and we settled in to hear a few more stories.

Soon Sue arrived and Mom and her got to work on the thank you notes we were there to write. But grandma didn't get busy right away. She had to deal with some neighbors. See wherever grandma lived, and during my lifetime she lived in at least seven different places, she made friends. Fast friends, good friends. And her last apartment was no different. People stopped by, to check on her, to say hello, to offer a hug and a coffee cake. She was happy in that apartment, so happy.

Angela and I were watching the grandneighbors that afternoon back in Howell (grandma's apartment was in Lansing) and then we were going on to a Tigers game that night. We had to leave the gathering early. I remember grandma insisting that she walk us all the way to the door. And she did, outside, even though her legs were swollen and she was tired. She walked us outside and gave me a hug and said she'd see me soon. She knew I was going back to California in a day or two and we both ended up in tears. But happy tears. Oh so happy tears. We'd spent the week together. We'd spent a lifetime together. A few miles didn't matter. Nothing did really. Over my life there'd been disagreements and knock down drag out fights and it didn't matter. In that family, you were always family. We spent one Christmas disowned by grandma. No Christmas. Presents delivered by a quiet grandpa. And still, we went back, eventually.

That day, as I walked to my car, wiping the tears, I had no idea it'd be the last time I saw her. Not a clue. As my mom liked to say, Bette had been dying since the day she met her (over 40 years earlier). She had made it through heart attacks and strokes and cancer and so much else. Nothing could keep her down. We were sure she'd outlive us all. And yet, she didn't. One week to the day that we buried grandpa she had a massive heart attack.

I didn't see her while she was in the hospital. I had many conversations with my dad about whether or not I should fly back to see his mother, his mother who spent too many days at the end in bed. She hated being in bed. She'd much rather spend her time at the computer playing solitaire, reading a book a day (she's the one who helped instill in me a love of reading - she gave me my first Danielle Steel book in 8th grade, Palamino, and it changed my life), baking a cake every morning or checking out the neighbors from her front window seat.

And so I didn't go see her in bed. I couldn't do it. It was hard enough seeing grandpa in the hospital and I only did that once. I wanted to remember her as she had been - walking if not running through life.

The relationship I had with my grandmother is unlike any other I've ever had. She's the person I would call on the phone after school and tell about my day back when phones had cords and you had to memorize a person's number. She's the person who had me stay at the farm for weekends on end, reading and baking and just being, each summer. She's the person who loved driving and would pretend we were in the Batmobile whenever we were going down M-59. She loved to yell that we were throwing out nails to stop the bad guys. She's the person who made everyone in my family read the novel I wrote. She the person who bragged on me and supported me and was sure that someday, every one of my dreams would come true.

She's also the person who hurt me more than anyone in my life had hurt me before. She was volatile and mean and spiteful. And yet? I loved her so much. So very much. Because she was real. She was funny and smart and strong and mine. Oh so mine.

Grandma, I hope today you and Pat and Grandpa are having the biggest party up in heaven. I hope you run into Grandma and Grandpa Knapp and remind Grandma that you were married to Bill first. I hope that you run into Grandma MacDonald and play a little croquet and have a good fight about the rules, just for old time's sake. I hope you get a donut and a beer and a long chat with good friends. And most of all, I hope you know how much I love you and miss you. Every. Single. Day.

Travel Update

Whenever I take a peek at my countdown app I am shocked. It seems like just yesterday it was 85 days. And now? Sixty eight days. Just over two months! Until Angela and I go to Paris! I seriously can't believe it!

We're still doing preparations every week. Mostly gathering supplies, shopping, talking ideas. Over spring break we'll spend some time solidifying our daily itinerary and making sure we know just what will happen over there. We've made almost all of our reservations and I'm feeling like we're really getting ready!

We've gotten most of our toiletries around, it's weird - most of the traveling I've done in the past six years has been to Michigan. And all I take there is a few things. But to Europe? We have to take everything! We've done some road tests - I discovered a mini contact solution bottle lasts me just about two weeks. A three-ounce bottle of shampoo does not. (Yes, I did the studies!) We've found inexpensive adapters, we've gathered some new storage bags (giant ziplocks for shoes, packing squares for undies and socks, 99-cent pill boxes for small jewelery).

So we're getting there. We've found Amazon Prime to be our friend. We've decided to stick with brightly colored Nikes in four hues that fit us both and a pair of sandals each. We've tried different hiking socks to figure out which are best. All that's left? Find the perfect jeans/pants. No sweat...

I can't wait. I keep thinking about the pictures I'll take, the journaling I'll do, but most of all -- what I'll see. These places I've imagined and dreamed about almost my whole life. I just can't wait.

Paris. Sixty-eight days. AHHH!

A dream deferred...

This morning Angela and I sat down at the table with coffee and the paper. She had to go to a Professional Development training downtown and got to leave later than normal so we took advantage (we never make coffee on weekdays). I read our horoscopes out loud and immediately, Angela yelped when I read mine. (See above, from the LA Times today)

Why? you might ask. Well, to put it simply, the pilot is not happening.

There will be no filming this summer in Michigan (well, I'll probably film the grandneighbors incessantly on my iPhone).

That's it. Another Hollywood deal that fell through. There's no huge scandal. And yes, I'm embarrassed and sad. But also, I'm okay. Really, I'm okay.

Everything happened so quickly. And I got excited so I blogged about it all. Because that's what I do. I write. I write to understand, to figure things out, to make sense of the world. I write. And so I did. And then I wish I hadn't. But...then again, no I don't.

I love that I have so many people out there in the world who care about me, support me, and want me to succeed at everything. I am so blessed by the people in my life. Every single one of you. I can't truly express that enough.

I love how excited you are for me. How interested you are in my really quite uneventful life. I love how invested we are in being a part of one another and our worlds. I LOVE THAT.

And so, I wanted to tell you all that the pilot isn't happening. Not now.

I have no idea what's next. Well. That's not true. I do know what's next.

I'm writing two movie scripts back to back. I love them both. I'm having a blast with them. Then I'm going to write a new pilot. Set in the world of women's golf. Um, yep, I'm going to use my Michigan vacation as "research" for that one. FORE!

And I've gotten the old band back together. My writers group, FOS, reconvened on Sunday for the first time in over a year and a half. And it was awesome. It was as if no time had passed at all. I got great notes, got to hang out with my friends, new and old, and just be a writer. That was fabulous.

So again, thank you all for being in my corner. Always. Trust me, every single one of your likes and comments and texts and phone calls lifts me up and keeps me going every single day. I am one lucky, lucky girl.

And....ACTION!

Me working on Sonora's webseries

Back in December a really cool thing happened. We had a staged reading of my sitcom PREGNANT OR NOT HERE WE COME. It was amazing. It was a night I'll never forget (even though a lot of it is a heart-pounding too loud to hear much blur). And then Christmas happened and New Years and I have a DVD that's not the sound quality to show people and then that's it. Nothing else happened.

Hollywood's a tough town. I have a sign on my wall next to my computer that says, "Hollywood has high walls but there are gates." Below it is written, "What are my gates." The answer? I don't know.

I've been scaling the walls for years. YEARS. I've been working and strengthening myself and working and preparing for the moment I go over. If you can ever prepare for such a thing. I've been hunting and planning and tracking the gates but they seem to move. Write a spec script of a show that's currently on the air. Write a pilot. Write a screenplay. Write a play. Write a sketch. Make a webseries. Get a job. Do work for free.

It's a lot to navigate. There's no one path that leads to being a screenwriting, a television, or even just any type of writer. Every single person in Hollywood has a different story on how she or he broke in. Every. Single. Person.

And so last December my friends and I decided to try our own way. Build a new road. We did the staged reading. And yet? The path was blocked. The road ended.

But...we didn't want it to end. We wanted it to keep going. We all had such a great time that night, and the weeks leading up to that night. Working like crazy to pull it off. Preparing and rehearsing and writing. I loved every crazy minute of it. I loved working with all these great people, meeting new people, seeing actors perform my story on a stage. Amazing.

And then, I went back to my regularly scheduled life. In January I sat back down at my desk and started writing. Other things. I rewrote my one-hour pilots. Now I'm working on a couple of screenplays. I wrote a treatment to be pitched to a production company. And while it's all forward movement, it's not enough for me. Not now. Not since I've had a taste of what the other side is like. The fun, working with people to bring my stories to life side.

And so, Monday morning when I sat on Sonora's (my amazing producer of the staged reading) porch and ate an orange and lamented about how I didn't want PREGNANT to die, I had this crazy idea that I was scared to tell her. And yet? I did anyway. I told her I wanted to make something. For the first time since I moved out here I have a desire to move away from the keyboard and onto a stage or behind a camera or anything other than just sit behind the keyboard.

So together, in one of those excited, heart pounding moments where you literally feel like jumping up and down, we decided to produce and film the pilot of PREGNANT OR NOT HERE WE COME.

Yes, it's true. All the gurus in Hollywood say don't make a pilot. In fact, just THE DAY BEFORE I had been listening to my beloved John August and Craig Mazin on their Scriptnotes podcast telling "the new billionaire in Hollywood" to spend his or her imaginary money making movies, making music or making a broadway show. They implicitly said, don't make a pilot. They did say make a series though. And so, I'll ask forgiveness not permission on this one.

I know it's a crazy idea. I've never made anything before like this. But Sonora has. She's made an award-winning webseries. She's been in a ton of movies and on a ton of television shows. She knows how to get shit done. And so, together, with Dasha and Angela, we're going to do this.

But here's the cool thing: We're not going to do it alone. It can't just be the two of us, or even the four of us. It has to be an all-in, everyone is our biggest cheerleader-type of thing. We need you. All of you. I need you. I need my family and my friends and my peers and everyone to help me do this really cool thing. And I'm not just talking money (though trust me, there's one of those dreaded Kickstarter emails coming your way soon, I know, I know, we all feel the same way in this town, but it's how shit gets done). I'm talking love and energy and coming to the screenings once it's done and tweeting about it and Facebooking about it and reminding me when I'm in the thick of it how awesome it is and how awesome it will be. Because life is too hard alone. Way too hard.

Monday morning after this very quick and life-changing (well, maybe, we'll see) decision was made I was shaking I was so excited. And terrified. So so terrified. I called my parents on the drive home and can I just say, I have the coolest parents around. Without even a second's hesitation they were like, that makes sense, what do we do, do we need to paint, will people like the food I make, we'll sleep at Jenny and Andy's so Sonora can have our bedroom. I'm serious. That's what happened FIRST. Coolest. Parents. Ever.

So yeah, that's a detail - we're going to shoot the pilot in Michigan. In Howell and Detroit because well, it's set in Detroit. And because I have people there. We'll shoot in my parents' house, in a local parking lot and hopefully a local bar. It's a 22-minute pilot with four lead actors and all but one scene is set inside. We can do this. It will be amazing. It will be. I promise.

We already have the amazing Ashlie Atkinson (coming soon to a TV near you on FOX's US AND THEM) committed to be the lead. Knowing she wanted this story to continue to live was a huge part of what pushed me to want to do this. She was amazing in the role and even though I didn't write the part of Leah for her, the minute she said Leah's lines, she became Leah, which was so awesome. We're working on getting some other people on board. We're working on figuring out how to film in Michigan. How to put together a budget. How to get people interested in our project. How to raise money. How to do it all so that in JULY (yep, July!) we can spend a week making a TV show. A TV show I assure you all you'll be able to hold in your hands on DVD and watch on your TVs and computers. How cool is that?

So I'm excited. And terrified. Did I mentioned terrified, yes, it's true. I am. But I am so much more excited. I can't wait for what's next. I can't wait for tomorrow. Sunday I spent the day listening to podcasts and talking about TV with a friend. By Monday I was making TV. Life is crazy some times.

So yes, I'm making a pilot in July. Yes, I'm still going to Europe and going to Michigan as planned. And yes, I can't wait to go on this journey with all of you!

And....ACTION!

How Lena Dunham inspired me to wear a tank top to WeHo today

Yesterday is was freaking hot outside. Yes, I know in the east it's still winter with snowstorms and subzero temperatures to prove it, but here in Los Angeles we topped 88 degrees yesterday. Which is fantastic if you are at the beach or have air conditioning in your house. But not if you live somewhere with no insulation and no AC. So by the time the sun went down last night, we were sweating. Inside. Literally. Sweating in my cotton nightgown when I went to bed. It's cooler today but it's still summer here.

And so, when I got dressed this morning, I thought about wearing one of my favorite tank tops. It's green and blue stripes with grey piping on the edges. It's from Old Navy and cost $7 and it makes me happy. I had my hair in pigtail braids and I wanted to wear it and jean shorts. But I was afraid I'd look ridiculous. The stripes are horizontal and it's just a tank top. No sleeves. Shorts, no pants. Did I mention it's almost 80 again today? And I was going to sit on my friend's porch and sip tea and talk shop? But my friend lives in WeHo (West Hollywood - a very nice area of town) and what if I had to stop somewhere? What if I, god forbid, went to the hospital in my stripey tank top and jean shorts? I'd die. (Well, hopefully not really...)

And then I thought about last night's episode of GIRLS. Lena Dunham's character wears the most ridiculous clothes in the show. She dresses in tiny little shorts and half shirts and no bra and onesies and dresses that are small and cute and not really for her body type. And her character (and let's be real, Lena) does it all with this amazing zest. She does it with such afterthought of body and forethought of clothing. She wears what she likes. Not what she "should" wear because frankly, who made up the rules. This is what I imagine her saying right before she says, "and anyways, fuck the rules."

So I was thinking about GIRLS and how last night Hannah (Lena's character) was wearing all these clothes that I wouldn't ever dream of wearing and yet no one commented on them, no one seemed to care about them, and nothing bad happened. She was just fucking wearing the clothes. It wasn't a big deal at all. And I imagine Hannah wears those clothes because Hannah likes those clothes, they make her happy.

And so, long story longer, I wore the striped tank top and jean shorts. To West Hollywood. And I survived. And no one commented and nothing happened and life went on. And I was happy. I was happy because I was in comfy cute clothes and I was letting my skin out to feel the sun and I was able to kick off my flip flops and curl my legs under me.

I want to be more like Hannah, more like Lena. I want to wear whatever I want because I like it. I want to be more accepting of what my body looks like and not feel like I have to hide it. Yesterday I dressed up for church and had a cute little skirt on I am not always sure about. But I got compliments on it and it further reminded me to just do it. Just be who I am. Don't shrink. Don't try to be less than I am. I have to let myself shine. Let myself run. Let myself show. I have to. Because my body is often my voice. It is my presence and my place in this world. And it likes to wear striped tank tops. So thank you, Lena. Thank you, Hannah.

Easter 1979

Me & the Easter Bunny, circa 1979.
"Amazing you would like the bunny, but only stand by Santa!" said Mom.

Grandpa Cows

Most of my favorite memories of my Grandpa Cows were just normal days growing up in Howell. For instance, the day in these pictures. This day that was the opening of the Arbor Drugs. It wasn't a special day. It was just a regular day. A day that for some reason ended up with me and Grandpa at a drug store getting our pictures taken with a clown. And those pictures would end up sitting in frames in my grandma's living room for years. I love that.

You never knew what was going to happen when you spent time with grandpa. You might end up eating all the leftover popcorn at the theater out of a garbage bag while watching SPEED when you were a little too young. Or you might end up in the garden or down at the donut shop or taking a ride just to take a ride. So many days he'd ride his bike down our driveway just to say hi or pull his truck up next to the house to work on some project. It was something I took for granted, that grandpa would always be just around the corner. We'd pass him in town, spotting his red truck from down the block, or run into him at the hardware. He was always there. 

Today would have been my Grandpa Boutell's 80th birthday. A celebration I'm sure would have been marked with cards, phone calls, and gifts of some of his favorites: jerky, flavored popcorn, candy, smoked salmon. Years ago a birthday would've been marked with a soft-sided package of pipe tobacco wrapped and topped with a bow (the gift Angela and I always signed our names to in the early years). There would have been grandma's cake and definitely ice cream (I think that's where I get my habit from -- he had a bowl almost every night). There would have been loud conversation all around that grandpa would interject in once in a while but mostly? He'd just sit back and take it all in. He had four sons, countless grandchildren and yet never seemed to be flapped by anything. Never seemed bothered or annoyed (well, sometimes I saw it creep on his face when grandma would get on him - and I can still hear his "Okay!", it was the only word I heard him use when he got angry but it was the tone that said it all) or angry. In all my years I don't think he ever said a cross word to me.

I am heartbroken that grandpa isn't here to celebrate his birthday this year, just as I'm heartbroken grandma is gone too. I wish I could call them up on the phone this morning and talk to grandpa for about 2 minutes, hear him say, "Okay babe, here's grandma" and smile as he passed me off to grandma who would then talk my arm off. Instead, I sit here, looking at the little silver genie bottle clock he gave me when I graduated college. It was just a gift from him, not from him and grandma. It was something he got at a church rummage sale. The clock no longer works though I've tried to put a new battery in it for years. But it still sits on my desk, just where grandpa wanted it. When he handed it to me he didn't have to explain, I knew how proud he was of me and what I would go on to do behind a desk. I have no idea if he ever read anything I ever wrote and it doesn't matter at all. I can assure you grandma told him all about it over and over again. But it's those gestures that stay with me. The clock, the money tucked into my pocket for a dresser for my first apartment, the picnic basket he found and cleaned up for Ang and me that still sits in my closet.

I sit here this morning, tears drowning out the sound of my fingers on the keyboard, and even though I am incredibly sad, more than that I am oh so blessed. To have had this man in my life for 35 years. To have had such a role model, such an incredible heart to look up to. To see someone who worked for and provided for his family, who loved me as his own even though I wasn't, who never once broke my heart. Happy Birthday, Grandpa Cows. I miss you. I love you.