I’ve been trying to write an entry, but there really hasn’t been time. You see, in addition to the house and wedding stuff, I got a job helping to craft a pilot for Oxygen and now I’m in an office all day. I don’t really know how much I can talk about the job until it’s over in a few weeks, so for now just know that it’s totally crazy because my office is the exact same room that was the Beat the Geeks green room two years ago.
So now it’s like: do you want a wedding journal, a writing journal, a house-buying journal, or one where I don’t post at all because I’m so busy? It’s been that last one lately for a number of reasons. People call and say, “I know you’re busy, but…” which is normally something only Mom says to me with that perfect pitch that makes me feel guilty for living in the Pacific time zone. But now my friends are doing it, which leads me to believe that I am stupid-busy. Erin told me I’m having the busiest year of my life. She’s right, and not just because she’s my agent and is supposed to give me pep talks (She followed the statement with “I know you can do it, Pam! Go, Pam, go!”).
If this year goes as planned, on January 1st, 2005 I’ll have a husband, a house, a script, a book, and possibly a television show. And then: I’ll sleep for a hundred years.
If Rory Were A Tree, She’d Be An Adultery — Wait until you see Rory’s “Turn Down Service.” Wait, there’s more. We hear Rory’s got an express checkout. Hey, we thought this was a motel, but it’s clearly a hotel. Pwing! I said a hotel. Pwing! Is this thing on? Is it turned on? Because if it’s turned on and married, Rory’s gonna have sex with it. Am I right, or am I right? People. Lock up your husbands. Rory’s got an almost-full pack of condoms and a summer full of opportunity. Rory’s ordering her eggs over easy, is what we’re saying. She likes her toast with butter or jam — you know, whatever spreads the easiest. Hey. We’re not saying Rory’s a husband-stealing skank, but Claire Danes just called Rory up to ask for tips.
Hey, I had a dream last night where Jess and I were breaking up in the front seat of my car, and we were crying and kissing and it was strangely… sexy.
DEAR GOD. WHAT HAVE I BECOME?