Awkwardly Social

Allie is in denial about the seriousness of our problem. (That’s all I’m saying, because I love her and I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her about it yet.)

Umm… this is a little embarassing. So I’m just going to go ahead and say it. Quickly, like pulling off a bandaid. Went and saw Spanglish last night. And, equally embarassing is the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Cloris Leachman, Tea Leoni, Adam Sandler and the newcomer to the American screen, Paz Vega all handed in amazing performances. And the kids! Oh, the kids were awesome, especially Sarah Steele. Look. I cried. It was sweet. But I do warn you, I have seen Beaches more times than I’d like to admit [and Steel Magnolias, Dirty Dancing, Top Gun, etc.]. And must I remind you about the romance novels I read and soap operas I watched in elementary school? These things added up mean I have a high tolerance for cheese. There are certainly problems with it, [inner film school nerd can always find something…even if it’s a soft CU or bad transition] the framing device doesn’t really work and the ending leaves you wanting a bit more closure, but all in all, I recommend. With reservations.

Tonight! So Jen, her boyfriend, Louie and I were trying to figure out what to do for New Year’s Eve. And since Jen’s boyfriend isn’t really a ‘bar person’ and Louie has to work the next day we were all a bit flummoxed. So I floated the idea of watching Season 3 of Alias. Because A. I’m selfish and everything is about me and B. I know this group of people loves the Alias. You should have seen the collective eyes light up. So that’s what we’re doing. Jen, boyfriend, and Louie are pre-selecting episodes to watch because we just don’t have 14 hours of time. I’m cooking Chicken and Dumplings (because my boyfriend requested it, and I think that it’s adorable that he likes a big ol’ Blye family traditional recipe) and we’re going to go to one of the local dives and have a little bar time smashed in there. So that’s what we’re doing.

Be safe tonight!

Monday - I will post a big ass long list of things I want to accomplish in 2005. It’s big. And long.

I haven’t talked about the thing that happened because I’m unable to fully comprehend the whole thing. I’m also trying to keep myself at a distance, after my news over-dose that occured when we attacked Iraq, I’ve not been able to stomach reporters. And Tom Brokaw’s gone, so what’s the point?

Anyway, the friendly folks at UNICEF, asked me to pass this along to five people, and since I haven’t had a request like that since that chain e-mail about that Royal Crown Prince from Ethiopia who was separated from his money and wanted me to send him some, I figured this was actually legit.

Yesterday, after my shower, I was putzing around in the bathroom (the only room we run a heater in) and I smelled something. Something very bad. Sort of a “skunk had committed suicide with a shotgun and did it against the outside wall connecting to the bathroom three days ago” kind of smell. Being a country girl who has lived around skunks most of her life, I know what a dead rotting skunk smells like. In fact, as all good country girls do, I have a story about that.

Homecoming 1994

I was on our senior class homecoming committee, because in a class of 88 people, wherein 50% are stoners, 30% are pregnant or hoping to be pregnant, the remaining 20% gets ‘nominated’ to be on the homecoming committee. And when I say ‘nominated’ I mean, the faculty tells you that you aren’t allowed to not have a homecoming float and big ass poster, if you don’t do one, you will be suspended for lack of school spirit. Since I had already been suspended that year, and still sort of had a fear of ‘permanent records’ I was forced to work on the float and the big ass poster. I have no idea what the theme was anymore, but I remember it involved a lot of crepe paper and paper mache. When you are on the homecoming committee, you get to ride the float in the homecoming parade. yipee. woo hoo. What. The. Fuck. Ever. Had to ride the float.

So we’re riding the float through our rinky dink town, I’m dreaming of the moment when I can get off and go get drunk with the stoners, and we see Scab Boy. Scab Boy was one of those special kids who was in special ed, had no social skills, picked his scabs and made you watch him eat them. My group of friends allowed Scab Boy to sit by us at lunch because we found him entertaining. So anyway, I saw Scab Boy on the side of the road, screwing around with a road killed skunk. Then I saw one of the Juniors talking to Scab Boy. Then I saw, and this all happened in slow motion, Scab Boy pick up the bloated dead road killed skunk and heave it onto our float at Cassandra’s feet. (I think Scab Boy loved Cassandra.) The bloated dead road killed skunk then popped. And the smell. Oh the smell. It was a mix between rotting corpse and rotting skunk. And it was on Cassandra’s shoe. Needless to say, Scab Boy was dubbed, immediately after this incident, Skunk Boy. Then Chet Teeters (That’s really his name. I know, it’s awesome.) jumped off the float and beat the shit out of Skunk Boy. (I think Chet Teeters also loved Cassandra.) Chet Teeters is 6′4″ and a football player. Skunk Boy is 5′4″ and 90lbs soaking wet. Poor Skunk Boy.

So. I know what rotting dead skunk smells like when it pops. And that was the smell that was smelling up our apartment. I investigated the apartment to see if Skunk Boy had paid me a visit to California and left a rotting dead road killed skunk on my door step. No. He hadn’t. So I went to work and left Allie to deal with it.

I got home from work and it still smelled like rotting dead road killed skunk. I asked Allie if she could smell it. She said she could. How could she not? She also postulated that a family of skunks had made a home in our attic. Which is hilarious to me, because how the fuck would a skunk get into our attic? Allie believes that if a skunk wanted to, it could get into our attic. This is when I began to panic. If there was a skunk in our attic, how the fuck would we get it out? Because, A. I’m terrified of our attic and B. I don’t want to be in close quarters stumbling around in a skeleton ridden attic with a skunk that smells dead, rotting and road killed. Louie, the rational one of the three of us, said that it probably was in our ventilation system. Which, is also not a nice thought, but at least if that’s the case, I know I don’t have to go into the attic.

So. Now what the fuck do we do?

CUE CLIPS! WHERE ARE THE GODDAMNED YEAR IN REVIEW CLIPS!?! (I’m firing my TD.)

Here’s what the clips would look like if there were clips to cue.

INT. USC SOUND DEPARTMENT EQUIPMENT ROOM - DAY/NIGHT/DAWN/DUSK
[Tamara looking surly. Yelling at students. Hating her job. Loving her co-workers and boss. Eating from vending machine. Creates blog.]

INT./EXT. SHRINE AUDITORIUM - DAY
[Tamara in cap and gown. Looking hung over from the 10 margaritas she had the previous night. Walks right past niece, who cries because Auntie ignored her.]

INT. ONLINE ROOM ROBERT ZEMECKIS CENTER - DAY
[Tamara and Jen finally finish Tamara’s movie, despite Josh trying to sabatoge Tamara’s online time.]

INT. TAMARA AND ALLIE’S APARTMENT - DAY/NIGHT/DAWN/DUSK
[Tamara sits on couch, mesmerized by the television. Only randomly moving to get more cheese dip/wine or go to the bathroom.]

INT. OFFICE - DAY
[Tamara gets a job. Is told by her boss that her voice is too high. Tamara continues to squeak through life.]

EXT./INT. JEN’S APARTMENT - DUSK
[Tamara meets Louie at Jen’s BBQ.]

EXT. DRAWING ROOM LOUNGE - NIGHT
[Louie kisses Tamara on the street.]

[clips ommitted due to FCC regulations.]

INT. TARA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
[Tara and Tamara drink wine and finish script. Pop open champagne. Get drunk.]

So that’s it. That’s my year. I got my Master’s degree. Finished my film. Got a job. Got a blog. Got a boyfriend. Finished a script (mostly - except for the re-write).

I feel pretty good about that.

I have really interesting things to say at 2AM when the rain has woken me up for the 10th time. Things like, “It’s still raining. It just rains and rains.” And, “It’s never going to stop, this rain. Did you know it’s still raining?” Or even worse, after I’ve said all of those things and wake up again at 4AM, I ask this scintillating question, “Is it raining?”

When it rains, I have the IQ of a dumb three year old.

Here’s the thing. The thing about the holidays. You never really realize how boring your life is until you invite your father to come spend Christmas with you and then you try to find things to do that he will like and won’t make you want to stab your eyes out but still seem kind of fun and like you’re doing stuff.

I kind of failed at that.

We went to the, wait for it…… Gene Autry museum in Griffith Park. (Imagine me trying not to break my head open on glass displays of saddles…it was that exciting.)

After that, I just really couldn’t get anything going. We did go see a couple of movies. Had a Star Wars marathon on Sunday. I cooked dinner and Louie met my dad. (Louie is like my total hero. Both parents like him. BOTH!)

But now I kind of ‘get’ why the holidays are so stressful for people who are hosting. Their lives are flipped upside down (they give up their beds, they wash everyone’s dishes, they prepare meals, they grocery shop) and they have to entertain the visitors.

So I want to say thank you to my mom, my dad, and my sister/brother-in-law and anyone else who has ever had me in their house and let me spend the night over holiday time. You are awesome. And I love you.

Next year - well, let’s just see if there is a next year.

You know how I said I wasn’t going to post today. Well. That was a lie. I’m addicted to you.

Dear Santa,

When I got honked at for waiting for a pedestrian to cross the street before making a right turn, I looked into my rear view mirror, flipped off the lady and shouted fuck you. We made eye contact. I think she felt bad, and that made me feel good.

I think that you should punish her, not me. I was waiting patiently for a pedestrian. She was being a stone cold impatient bitch and deserved to be ‘fuck you-ed’. I hope you agree. ‘Cause I really want a puppy. I promise I’ll feed it and walk it and you know, love it.

Love-
Tamara (more nice than naughty)

Dear Infertility Blogs-

Oh. My. God. You have filled the hole in my heart left by Another Drink?. I thank you. Cats thanks you. My sister thanks you. But I’m wondering, is it weird that I Iove reading infertility blogs?

Yours truly-
Tamara

Dear baby Jesus-

Now would be a good time for you to send your message about love and acceptance. Especially to those people trying to ban gay marriage. Seriously. I’m thinking like a web page, maybe a blog… Or a popular television show. You know, something that really will get their attention. I mean, I know you tried with the hurricanes this year, but you didn’t really follow that up with anything. You’re going to have to try harder. We have the internet now (which I thank you for) so we don’t really pay attention to anything ‘natural’. You’re really going to have to step it up a notch.

Oh. And also, if you could do something about the alarm clock across the alley that keeps going off all morning with no regard to my sleep schedule. That’d be great. Thanks.

T

Now, for reals this time, I gotta shake.

(See how I just took Christ right out of there…)

Hey guys, I’m going to be a lazy bastard tomorrow and not post. Only come in to work, check the voice mail and the regular mail and high tail it out o’ here for some Chicken and Waffles at Roscoe’s with my boyfriend. wOOt.

Have a safe and happy holiday.

Here’s hoping you get everything you want, even if it is considered unseemly to have a pony in a Los Angeles apartment. Fuck those guys, you totally deserve a tiny horse and I bet Santa will give it to you.

So as I was driving back from depositing Allie at the airport I was listening to classic rock. ROCK!! And Bohemian Rhapsody came on. You know, the Queen song. ‘Cause that’s ROCK! And I was belting out the random lyrics in that one section and they sang, ‘Scaramouche, scaramouche, when you do the Fandango‘, and all the questions of my life were answered. I almost drove off the road. Which would have been ill advised at that particular time, because I was on that huge overpass connecting the 105 to the 110.

I’ve been working a second job digitizing footage for the ‘In Memoriam’ segment of an awards show and Janet Leigh died this year. She was in this really random movie called Scaramouche back in the 50’s. [If you want to see a great sword fighting sequence (that doesn’t involve Janet Leigh) watch that movie.] So I decided that Queen was just singing out random movie titles for that one sentence. ‘Cause Fandango is the title of like 20 movies. (Ok, it’s 8, but still.) And then I came back to the office and looked up the lyrics and realized I still have no fucking clue what the fuck they were talking about. But it’s ROCK! ROOOOOOCCCCCKKKK!

Here are the answers to yesterday’s lyrics: Um… I think I made them harder than I meant to. Sorry.

1. Lala - Ashlee Simpson
2. Gloria - Laura Brannigan
3. I Sing the Body Electric - Fame soundtrack
4. I Walk the Line - Johnny Cash
5. Georgia - Ray Charles
6. Hello - Lionel Richie
7. Into Dust - Mazzy Star
8. We Like the Cars that Go Boom - cover - Le Tigre
9. Hit me Baby One more time - cover - Travis
10. Let Go - Frou frou (actually, I can’t remember, is it In the Waiting Line - Zero 7? whatever, none of you guys knew it anyway.)
11. Over and Over - Nelly feat. Tim McGraw

wow. I hope my sister likes it, it’s pretty cheesy.

If I was a kid, and Christmas was as close as it is, and I was acting like the big asshole I’m acting like today, I would have heard my mom or dad say, “Santa’s watching. You big asshole.”

[my mom and dad would have left the ‘you big asshole’ part out.]

I think I might need to restrict my phone and IM privileges. Punish myself as it were, for using the aforementioned to further my assholery. I’m grounding myself. I’m sending myself to my room.

[SLAM!]

I just slammed the door at myself.