scene from a bachelorette party

[scripty]
ALEX
So, um, pamie. How are you holding up? …You know, with the whole Johnny Depp thing.

PAMIE
What? WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED?

ALEX
Oh. I thought you would have known. His kid is sick.

PAMIE
Really? Which one?

ALEX
I… well, I didn’t know he had more than one.

PAMIE
HE HAS TWO.

ALEX
Okay. The one with the weird name.

PAMIE
Lily Rose? What’s wrong?

ALEX
I guess she got a cut? And it got infected?

PAMIE
Is it staph or sepsis?

ALEX
Um…

PAMIE
STAPH OR SEPSIS?

ALEX
Jesus! I don’t know. Ask Katey. She probably knows.
[/scripty]

[Katey is the only person I’ve ever known whose dedication to All Things Depp rivals mine.]

[scripty]
PAMIE
Katey! Katey! How’s Lily Rose?

KATEY
She’s fine. She’s okay.

PAMIE
Good. Hey, do you know about the movie that’s so good that I haven’t been able to sleep since I found out about it?

KATEY
I can’t wait to find out.

PAMIE
It doesn’t exist yet, but when I tell you about it, you’re never going to sleep again.

KATEY
Tell me.

PAMIE
Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie are doing Wuthering Heights.

[A moment of silence as four women lose their breath.]

KATEY
That’s…

PAMIE
I know. I know!

KATEY
Oh. Oh, my God.

LIZ
I just… God, I want to fuck that movie so hard.

PAMIE
I know! I want that movie inside of me.

KATEY
I so need that movie in me.

PAMIE
Right now. In me. Right here. I want that movie on my face. I want that movie screaming my name.

LIZ
Oh, my God. That is a seriously hot movie.

PAMIE
Even if it sucks, it’s going to be SO AWESOME.

LIZ
I want to bend that movie over and just… oh, man!

KATEY
Why isn’t everybody talking about this all the time?

JESSICA
You know what would make that movie better? If they switched the roles. If Angelina Jolie played Heathcliff–

PAMIE
Oh, Jessica. Oh, my God. That’s the best idea of all time!

JESSICA
Because she’s so masculine and hot, and Johnny would be so feminine as Cathy! So hot!

PAMIE
I can’t handle how hot this is! Call them! Call them now and make it happen! It’s the best idea ever!

JESSICA
Post it on pamie.com! Get it out there in the universe!

LIZ
Use the power of The Secret! Make it happen!

PAMIE
Okay!
[/scripty]

maintenance

Yesterday I made a list of people I needed to call to schedule appointments. At the top of the list: allergist. Mom called yesterday morning and said, “Have you seen the wheat doctor yet? I really want you to be able to eat bread again.” I think the next time I come to town, she’d like to be able to serve “normal food” again. It’s very difficult to eat like a proper Polish girl without pierogies. Also, I don’t like life as much without pierogies. Continue reading

i can now, officially, raise the roof

The very nature of a blog is self-serving, self-aggrandizing, self-important and selfish. I know that I write these thoughts down to entertain you while keeping a diary for myself, as I seem physically incapable of writing unless there’s a prospect of an audience. But some days, I do wonder what it means that I write all of this shit down. Particularly now, when I’m about to tell you about a rash. Continue reading

Me, Me, Me, Blah, Blah, Blah

Sometimes the week gets away from me, in terms of this website. When that happens, when a huge week goes by and I haven’t been writing about it, the thought of trying to catch up can seem quite daunting. I’m having one of those weeks when I wonder why we have this relationship, you and I, where I talk about what’s going on and you sometimes write back to tell me you agree or don’t agree or hate me or think I’m funny, or that one guy who constantly asks me to send him pictures of my calves. Continue reading

The good, the bad and the unknown.

Working on this television show is teaching me how to add more specifics to my writing. When I write here, or a recap, or even a script Liz and I will eventually perform, there’s a tendency to write in shorthand, to deliver enough information that someone “gets it,” and then move on. Here I’m learning what happens if you leave things up to interpretation, the confusion that can happen when a script goes through ten different hands before it’s heard out loud again. There’s no room for imagination. Everything will actually exist and there are a thousand decisions to make. If the writer doesn’t specify, there will be notes, questions, and the possibility of something getting cut because it’ll take too long to interpret.

[scripty]
Liz is in the kitchen. She stands by a table, eating food.

LIZ
Chinese food is so messy.
[/scripty]

Is the kitchen in a house, apartment or office? What kind of table? Can it be a counter? Is the food in a bowl, on a plate, in a container? Is she eating Chinese food, or just talking about it because she can’t eat it because it’s too messy? Continue reading

pre-production

We have spent the past week in pre-production at the Oxygen show.

Pre-production means the producers are planning out the shooting schedule, while we rewrite the script over and over again until it satisfies the network, the budget and the cast (in that order). This is when it gets more intense, and a bit frustrating. This is when you have to, as the comedy saying goes, “eat your babies.” Gone is your hilarious joke about chick lit — too “smart.” Gone is your clever dig at tearjerkers — they don’t “get it.” Another segment gets changed entirely, as the location was impossible to rent affordably. Jokes are rewritten, made “broader” and softer, and less “political.” You are told to lose the subtlety. Sometimes we marvel at what does get in. Jokes we thought were too raunchy or silly, sketches that we threw out there because someone needed to say something at that moment — some of this stuff was in Plan D. Now we’re writing the script backwards, trying to fit the same joke or the same social commentary around a budgetary restriction, and it can be very difficult. It can be extremely frustrating. You know how to make the joke work one way, the best way, but you can’t do that, so you’ve got to sneak it in or illustrate it in another fashion. Continue reading

She cut it.  She drained

She cut it.  She drained it.  She took a culture.  She cleaned it.  She put me on antibiotics.  She doesn’t think this is the same infection, the really bad one I had.  This is some kind of smaller infection, an ingrown hair gone evil. 
 
“You’ll definitely have a better weekend now,” she said.
 
She warned me that the needle filled with the numbing agent would hurt and then burn.  It was nothing compared to what I went through a few weeks ago.  Watching someone cut into your skin, seeing them put instruments inside of you that squeeze and tug — but not feel anything?  That’s weird.
 
The numbing agent has since totally worn off, and I’m now feeling it, but it’s still better than the pain I was going through last night.
 
Thanks for sending along your kind words.  I’m fine.  It’s just another reminder to take it easy this weekend.  Good thing writing doesn’t require sudden movements.

325 donations.

eleven and a half hours until my doctor’s appointment.
 
This ER rerun i’ve never seen before which seems like I was supposed to stay home tonight and update book donations.  We’re at 325.  And the letters from the librarians, as you can see, have been coming in all week.  It’s one of my favorite things about the book drive, hearing about the delivery guy and all of those boxes.  But that means we only got less than thirty donations over the past week.  There’s only nine days left to donate in order to be eligible for the book contest.
 
Words aren’t making as much sense right now, and the pain has subsided.  People love to talk about how to take Vicodin the right way, how you have to chase the dragon a little, taking the next one right before the pain sets in.  I think I got it right this time.  For the first time in twenty-four hours I’m not in pain. 
 
I’m dreading seeing the surgeon tomorrow.  I like her a lot, and she looks like Reba MacIntyre.  On Monday when she said I was all healed (did I already tell this story?  I’ve made a million posts tonight), I asked her what do I do if another one formed.  She got all serious and said, “Call me immediately and come in.  We’ll cut it open and see what’s going on.”
 
I’m hoping that’s some kind of surgeon figure of speech.
 
My producers on Why Girls Are Weird were nominated for a slew of Emmys today for their HBO movie.  I had a great time ordering them flowers. 
 
“What’s the occasion?” the florist asked.
“They got nominated for Emmys!” I cheered.
“That’s so exciting!” she said.  “What a fun reason to send flowers!”
 
Then we tried to figure out the most worthy bouquet.  It’s an honor just to be Emmy nominee-adjacent.