happy houseiversary

Didn’t sleep very much last night. Woke up early, took a bath, and then watched an episode of House. This is very fitting, as one year ago today, we moved into our own little house.

Our own little house has been very good to us as well. The last one we often called “The Lucky House,” because our careers advanced and our relationship advanced and many big things happened to us during our two years there. But in the twelve short months we’ve been living in the little house on the hill, we’ve already gone past the luck of The Lucky House. We’ve landed dream jobs, written books, and got a bit married. Looks like the movers didn’t forget anything from the last place.

The little house on the hill has been overrun with ants lately, as all of Los Angeles does for one hot month every summer. Maybe it’s just the East Side. I don’t know. But they’re ants who love water and puke, and not much else. They hang out around water pipes and faucets, and love it when hairball hits carpeting. All of stee’s battling has been paying off, and we’re seeing significantly fewer ant loiterers. Of course, this might be because we’ve had a break in the heat. The ants aren’t as dehydrated and don’t need to squat in our tub.

This morning, right now, this is the closest I’ve come to my old routine in quite a while. I’m at our neighborhood coffee shop (Dan — the swipe cards are awesome! Everything’s cheaper! Don’t tell everybody how to get here so we can still get a table on Saturday afternoons!). Stee’s sitting across from me and we’re eating bagels, drinking coffee, listening to iPods while answering email. Before I had an office (with a couch!), this was my office. I’ve missed the bagels and the wireless almost as much as the co-worker. (“Today” just started on the iPod. That’s a little shout-out to those of you who were at our wedding.)

The other day one of the studio executives asked me if I’ve been blogging about the television show. I immediately panicked, worried that I’d written something that was going to get me fired. “I haven’t read it in a little while,” she said.

“I try not to write about work,” I said. “I’ll write about it in the grand scheme, but it’s not like I go home and write so-and-so said this.”

Having said all of that, we had our first full-episode taping the other night, and I really love my job.

Sometimes I’ll sit down at a meeting and one of the first questions I’m asked is about something I recently wrote on the blog. I always think of the audience for this thing as friends and faraway strangers, people in cubicles wasting time, students procrastinating from studying. I don’t usually think of it as the place where someone who’s about to meet me would go to study me for five minutes so that when I walk in they know a little bit about who they’re dealing with.

I’ve already had to go through my archives once to delete all references to a certain starlet I was maybe going to work with, just to make sure I don’t look like an asshole in front of the potential new boss. It’s weird to have to delete stuff from your diary that’s not your diary, but is totally your dumb words out there waiting to bite you on the ass.

The iPod just changed to “in the back seat,” because it likes making me sad in the mornings. It doesn’t feel like summertime lately. It’s been hazy and cool in the mornings, and rather cold at night. It’s overcast right now, and with the coffee and my hoodie and the music, it feels like the end of the year instead of the middle.

See? Boring! Hello, new person. Welcome to my minutia.

Shit, I just forgot what I was going to write about. What was it? It was really interesting, I’m sure, because I’m crazy-fun and exciting.

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