"Thinking is for boys!"

August 18, 2004
Lakewood, Colorado
Laura Bush: "Women are making important decisions about the future of America, and it all started with our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers who fought for their rights to be heard. And I think we need to take an example to heart -- their example to heart and make our voices heard as well."

July 7, 2004
Des Moines, Iowa
Question: "There will be a presidential debate. There will likely be a vice presidential debate. Do you think there should be a First Lady --"
Laura Bush: "No, I don't. (Laughter.) Thank you very much for mentioning it. I just don't think that's actually necessary. Right now, we have a contest. It's the Family Circle cookie contest going on. So I'm glad we don't have to debate."

(Quotes found at GeorgeWBush.com.)

 

FORTUNE
Insider's City Guide: Sony Pictures's Amy Pascal on L.A.
The chairman of Sony Pictures Entertainment's Motion Picture Group has lived in L.A. all her life.

"The best roast chicken is at Zankou Chicken [5065 West Sunset Boulevard, 323-665-7842]. It's a little Armenian place in a strip mall in a really funky part of town—in deep, dark Hollywood, the part where most people don't roam. But it has the greatest chicken ever. And I've had roast chicken everywhere, including restaurants all over Paris. It's so spicy. Make sure you order it with extra garlic sauce—whipped sauce in those little paper cups. The chicken comes in a plastic basket with pita bread and the best hummus.'

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okay. where to start with this. first of all, i have to say that i do agree with our good friend amy pascal about zankou. it's great. and, for the record, i have a lot of respect for the career she's managed to build for herself in hollywood.

that said, could this asshole be any more ridiculous?!?! (to give you a visual, here's a photo of her looking drunk and clinging to drew barrymore... a photo deserving of a whole separate entry, but right now we're talking about her "review" of zankou.)

i love how she so clearly believes that a trip to sunset & normandie equals "slummin' it." madame aimee pascal belongs in the great cities of the world: London! Paris! Milan! the thought of her soiling her manolo blahniks on the seamy streets of hollywood -- [quick, someone pass me a tissue!!]. i can barely type right now i hate her so much. "deep, dark Hollywood" -- what does that mean?!?! "the part where most people don't roam" -- "most people"?!?! what about the people who fucking LIVE in hollywood, madame pascal?!?! clearly she means "most rich westsiders like me," but i just LOVE that she neglects to make that qualification. come on... who out there honestly thinks this woman doesn't dispatch the maid to get the fucking chicken? and i also love how quaint she finds "those little paper cups." go back to campanile, beeyatch.

i really do honestly hate her right now. the second part of the review was for urth [barf] caffe. i couldn't even read that one, although i noticed that she managed to name-drop "jake gyllenhaal and kirsten dunst" in there somewhere. CLASSY!!

 

i finished the preliminary application today (which includes the essay i've been bitching about for weeks).

now i just have to get my two letters of recommendation. once usc gets the application, they claim that it will only take them two weeks to give an answer. if i make it past that round then i have to fill out another application and do an interview.

i wanted to apply for summer '05, but today the coordinator of the program told me that the summer courses are generally considered too intense for people who haven't taken science recently. so i guess we're looking at fall 2005.

 

and today i choose, instead, to continue having a nice relaxing weekend. i got promoted last week. one of the producers told me "everyone loves you. you're doing a great job." which i took to mean that i could stop busting my ass and start spending my days doing personal stuff.

i'm sitting here at my desk trying to create the illusion that i'm working on a television show. but actually i'm working on my usc application essay. i can finally see my way through this fucking thing; the current draft still sucks, but it sucks in a whole new, exciting way.

this essay is going to be finished today.

 

In an interview with The New York Times, Bush said for the first time that he made a "miscalculation of what the conditions would be" after U.S. troops went to Iraq and toppled Saddam's regime in May 2003. The insurgency, he maintained, was the unintended result of a "swift victory" that led to Iraqi troops disappearing into the cities and mounting a rebellion.

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in an interview with myself, i said for the first time that president bush is making a "miscalculation of what the conditions will be" on election day.

FUCK YOU, DUMBASS.

 

last night i dreamed that i was a patient at cedars sinai. i don't remember what the problem was -- just that a doctor handed me two six-inch screws and told me i had to insert them into myself. there was a small hole in my lower right rib and one in my lower stomach.

i went to a quiet area near a window. i couldn't seem to get the threads lined up right (yeah, there were threads inside of me). as i fumbled through several failed attempts, two women came to look out the window right next to me. i cheated to the left a little so they couldn't see my freakish screws. i was ashamed because i didn't know how to do it. and also because what kind of person needs to insert screws into himself?!?!

then i glanced up and saw that one of the women was former human being oprah winfrey.

i couldn't let oprah see my screws!!! i got the stomach screw threaded and was working away at it excitedly when she saw me. "boy -- what you doin'?" she asked in her signature i'm-really-just-a-poor-country-girl speak. i was so embarrassed. i just wanted her to go away and quit looking at me.

my analyst thinks that oprah represents someone who has freed herself from a history of abuse and that i feel that there is something fundamentally flawed and shameful about me.

my immediate reaction was: why would i dream about this bitch?

(seriously, you gotta read that. she really has turned into a total asshole).

 

these are the only parts i haven't finished... but they're pretty important. and i can't seem to figure out how to come up with answers that make me feel confident i'll be accepted.

"If you have been out of school for more than one year, please briefly describe what you have been doing. If you have an extensive employment record, you may attach your resumé."

okay. PROBLEM. let's see... i worked at a talent agency for five months (until one of the agents threatened to kill me and i swallowed a bottle of advil in a pathetic -- yet successful -- attempt to get out of working for him.) i worked for a film director for five months who tasked me with fabricating a document for his divorce proceedings and then fired me because he thought (incorrectly) that i told his girlfriend that he was fucking the makeup girl. i worked for a screenwriter for eleven months who depended on me to remind her when she should insert a new estring into her vagina. now i work on a reality t.v. show.

if that doesn't scream "future physician" i don't know what does.

"On a separate page, please tell us why you wish to enter our Postbaccalaureate Premedical Program. Please limit your statement to one page."

everything i write sounds so fucking corny. corny and then defensive (because i get freaked out that they'll already be thinking of me as "reality tv guy").

I HATE THIS. SOMEONE SAVE ME.

 

i consider myself a former pothead because (1) i don't spend money on it, (2) i don't have it in my house, and (3) i don't smoke it every day.

that being said... i've gotten stoned several times in the past couple weeks. i've smoked two bowls at my friend's house while watching 'six feet under' and i've rolled two joints out of the stash she and i "found" in my former boss's daughter's bedroom.

last night's stoner session reminded me why i love being high. i was coming off of a bad day at work (a queeny coworker was rude to me) and i had a pretty massive headache and the beginnings of a cold.

what better remedy than a nice fat joint?

i rolled it while talking to my grandpa on the phone about my car problems. so happy talking to him... so happy knowing i'd be stoned soon. after i hung up, i went outside and smoked half the joint as i stood in front of the pool (i'm still house-sitting for the former boss). i had a beautiful view of downtown l.a.. the night was so warm and quiet. the perfect setting.

i went inside not quite sure that i'd really done the deed. 'i don't feel stoned,' i thought. so i turned on the t.v. and watched the first 10 minutes of 'the daily show.' john kerry was the guest, and just as he was coming on i hit 'pause' on the tivo and grabbed my car keys. sailing down through the hollywood hills (listening to my new favorite dolly album), i headed for the local in 'n out and ordered a super-tasty, super-fattening double-double. yeah... i had definitely done it. i was stoned. so stoned. so very deliciously stoned.

while i was sitting in the drive-through, my friend called my cell sounding all drunk and happy. she had just come out of a concert and was driving right past the in 'n out. she pulled into the parking lot and sat in my car listening to dolly with me as i ate my burger.

i drove back up to the house and watched kerry. and got really sad about the possibility that we might lose this thing. then i realized 'you're just stoned' and turned to the olympics. i watched the decathalon, ate half a jar of olives, and went to bed.

why can't we all just be stoned all the time?

 

there's no way karen hughes didn't write this... it has her particular brand of creepy dubya-worship written all over it.

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from the associated press:

"Bush's re-election campaign sent out an e-mail Tuesday with a message from Jenna and Barbara Bush...

'Our dad has qualities that are needed in a good president -- loyalty, humor (embarrassing as it sometimes may be), compassion, and, most importantly, integrity," the young women said. "We're not the only ones who see it. In fact, our friends -- from varying political backgrounds -- are supporting our dad in November.'

The sisters said the president has always been happy to be known as just their father. 'He made everyone feel welcome and comfortable in our house (except for the occasional boyfriend) and our friends got to know him as a really good guy,' they said."

 

8:40 this morning:
me: "can you install some new sparkplug wires for me? i have them right here."
my neighborhood mechanic: "yes, but i'll also need to change your spark plugs and check your timing belt and do a general tune-up."

WHY???????????? JUST DO WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO, MOTHERFUCKER.


9:30 this morning:
my sister: "have you talked to grandma m____ lately?"
me: "no."
my sister: "ugh. i called her this weekend and she said 'well i lived through the hurricane.'"
me: "she's in florida?!?"
my sister: "apparently. and when i told her i didn't realize she'd gone down there she said 'you would have known that if you called me more often."
me: "does she not know how to dial a fucking phone? she's never called me. ever. and every single time i call her it's a guilt trip about something. i'm tempted to call her and tell her i wanted to call sooner but satan wouldn't let me."

grandma loves to blame satan for everything that's wrong with the world. i used to think that this must make things easier for her -- always having someone to blame. but she still feels the need to make us feel guilty, which i don't understand. it's not my fault, grandma. it's fucking satan. i guess she sees herself as guilt-tripping us all the way to heaven's door.

thinking about my mechanic being satan's minion doesn't really make me feel any better, unfortunately.

but listening to air on the way to work helped a little.

 

I just talked to my grandparents for an hour on the phone. my grandpa has decided he desperately, desperately needs a paintball gun so he can shoot paint at those few "jumper" cows in his herd that keep jumping the fence and meandering around his yard. That way he'll know which cows he needs to take to the sale barn. he was very excited about this plan.

although it seems like an ingenious solution at first, i quickly realized that within a week he'll have an entire herd of bad jackson pollacks. because they're all getting into the yard. i also think that when one considers how poor my grandparents' eyesight has become one has to assume that the trees and the grass and the car and the house will also be covered with tacky splotches of fluorescent paint. and that my grandparents won't be able to see them. just like they can't see the holes in the fence that the (supposed "jumper") cows are walking through.

my granpdarents are 77. they don't need to have so many cows that they can't tell which ones are getting into their yard. right now they have sixty. i personally think three is plenty.

 

in analysis this morning my doctor actually made a comparison between my father and zeus. it was difficult to keep a straight face. the larger point she was making made sense, so i guess i'll give her a pass. i like to think of my father as kronos (the one who ate his kids). that's an analogy i can get behind. because he IS that big of an asshole -- and also then I'D be zeus and castrate and overthrow him.

i worked twelve hours yesterday, went home* at 9:00 and watched the olympics (from the neck down, michael phelps is perfection) and then went out to my ex-boyfriends club.

bad.

idea.

why would i go out to a club after a twelve-hour workday when i KNOW i have to get up at 6:30 for analysis? the only rational answer is "to get laid." but i wasn't even interested in getting laid last night. i'm missing someone. i don't think casual sex is a good idea. anyway... i chatted with the ex for a few minutes, had a gin & tonic and two beers and watched some very drunk trannies dance and sing. and met a sweet opera singer from north carolina who just moved here six weeks ago. poor guy -- that's quite an adjustment.

lots of coffee + 4-1/2 hours of sleep + getting up at 6:30 to talk about how crazy my dad is + emotional exhaustion + screenings of two "troubled" episodes of the show i'm working on is gonna = one longass friday.

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* i'm not staying at home right now. i'm house-sitting for my old boss. and i'm wearing a t-shirt today that i took out of the son's bedroom. i'll wash it and put it back eventually. is that wrong? it's not as wrong as the time i took a white prada shirt that belonged to the daughter's boyfriend and wore it to a gay bar. THAT was wrong. and quite dangerous.

 

it had been three years since my last test. and on saturday, hours after breaking up with a boy i really like, i got my results back. i was already on edge (for obvious reasons). when i saw the word "NEGATIVE" i immediately started to cry.

life is hard. thank god for scissor sisters. "better luck" totally saved me today.

 

i really, really, really, really need to start my USC application this weekend. really.

FYI: this is a great place to get context for the whole iraq situation.

maybe if i spent less time online and more time working on my essay i'd be a more successful person.

 

things the annoying queen who sits 15 feet from my desk has said today:

1. "my email address is ____iching@aol.com. and if you don't know what the 'i ching' is, look it up." then, when pressed, he said it was "a form of ancient chinese divination." which is amusing for two reasons: (1) that he's so impressed with himself for knowing about the i ching and (2) that he actually made that part of his email address.
2. "who's in charge of making the coffee? you?" he had the nerve to look at me when he said that.
3. "the production manager at my last job said, '___, you're regal.' i did NOT take that as a compliment. 'regal" is not exactly... fashionable right now" fashionable? he neglects to realize what my best friend saw immediately: the production manager thought you were a totally annoying queen.
4. "jamie keeps emailing me that shit, but I can't have those files on my computer. I'm an ACCOUNTANT!!" suspicious. and funny that he thinks accountants are held to some high standard of total squeaky-clean professionalism. i just assume ALL accountants have porn (or worse) on their computers. how else could they make it through every miserable, soul-numbing day of their sad, number-crunching lives?

most of those (everything but #2, actually) were funny and provided some good, bitchy IMs to my best friend. but he consistently annoys me with one truly obnoxious act: HE DIALS WHILE ON SPEAKERSPHONE. BOOOOOO. every three minutes he hits the speakerphone button and cranks up the volume so we can all hear things like this: "beep beep beep.... beep beep beep beep... ring.... ring.... ring.... 'Hello?'.... 'hey, it's me.'.... 'oh, hey. how are--" then he picks up the handset. THAT SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED.

unfortunately, there's no way to say that without sounding like I'M the bitchy queen here. i guess there's just not enough room for two self-important, arrogant homos in this office space. (Unless both of us are hot. which, i'm sorry to say, just isn't the case.)

ADDENDUM: as I type this, he is listening to his voicemail messages on speakerphone. "To erase, press seven. [BEEP]. Message erased." YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!

 

i sit in a little half-cubicle that's 10-12 feet from my company's "snack area." every two or three days a PA runs out and buys fruit, bread, lunch meat, soda, candy bars, soups, assorted nuts, gummy bears -- all kinds of stuff.

and people LOVE to congregate in this area. and complain. complain complain complain. usually within earshot of this poor underpaid PA. here are some of today's (totally fucking unwarranted) complaints:

-- "this is horrible. i don't LIKE seeing ALL THIS FOOD!!" "me neither." "this makes me mad."
-- "there's nothing to eat."
-- "where's the low-carb stuff? there's NOTHING low-carb here."
-- "there's not enough chocolate."

every once in a while i reach my limit and say "did you guys REQUEST anything?" blank stares. "there's a piece of paper on the fridge. you can write down what you want." but no one ever does. and when i suggest it they usually just see this as an invitation to tell me what, in their opinion, anyone with HALF A BRAIN would buy at the grocery store.

why must everyone be so high-maintenance?

 

last night i dreamt that my mom and my little sister and i were sitting in a cafe in paris when suddenly i looked up and saw my estranged father standing on a plaza outside. he was sightseeing, i think. he didn't seem to be looking for us.

i didn't say anything because my parents haven't talked in years and i was afraid it would be a nasty scene. but then my sister said "oh my god" and i looked outside again and there was my mom. hugging my dad. fifteen years after their divorce. hugging him like you'd hug an old friend. it was a beautiful picture, like the ending to a movie.

then i went outside and tried to talk to him. and i got what i always get from him: an awkward, nervous exchange of pleasantries. i shouldn't have said anything. i should have just woken up during the hug.