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The last handful of days have been an arm load of crazy.

My bestie Teeter, (Teeter, Teeter) recently in brand new LoVE and on tour with Bon Jovi (JBJ) rolled into town, and by town I mean Anaheim.

It did not take a lot of wordsuading to convince her to get the hell out of Anaheim and away from the sad, angry cronies hauling JBJ’s washer and dryer around America (DO NOT WASH TICO’S SHIRTS!) and making Teet’s life 89.6% miserable. So together, we ripped up Los Angeles and specifically the Cha Cha lounge on a packed Thursday night. Teeter kept telling people, and by people I mean boys, that we were from Chattsworth and I told one group of guys that I was a wee girl of 24 only to have them not believe me because they thought I was EVEN YOUNGER. I also got to re-meet a gal pal (who I had met thru Teeter ages ago and hadn’t seen since her last visit for no good reason why cause she’s awesome) who believes herself to be on the verge of dating Scott Speedman, whose celebrity is in question, but is most likely solidly in the B-tier. We had ridiculous amounts of fun, spent a lot of time and money in the photo booth, the dude who I told was 24, who actually WAS 24, never called me, and the next day we sat in traffic for the two hours and forty-five minutes it took us to get to the Honda Center and Teeter’s two solid hours of work.

Teeter is in charge of a JBJ contest where people can spend $2 to text message a number for a chance to win a 3 song vantage point on the side of the stage. Mere feet away from the very well pickled JBJ, his “High Volume Mullet,” and his bedazzled vest as shirtwear. If I had known that my sister-in-law was in the audience, we could’ve just chosen her, but sadly these dots were not connected till much too late and other ladies won*. Apparently, a typical JBJ audience is comprised of women pushing 40 and wearing their tightest jeans and fanciest tops. They also generally weigh in at around 250 pounds. It was a fascinating night spent mainly in craft services and in the swank Hilton suite in Orange, CA. *The O.C’s Luckiest Ladies

Goodbyes with Teeter were only medium-sized painful cause she (and the band, if they can find their way) will be back on Wednesday for us to see what the Staples Center has for us to eat. I then hoof’d it to my brand new $125/50 minutes Beverly Hills therapist who seemed like a much better match than that last guy, even though he was great but mainly expensive. She told me that my wires are all a jumble, and that she can help me un-cross them…but I’m gonna have to talk about the stuff that makes me the most uncomfortable, that it’s gonna be hard, and i get to pay a lot of money to do it. She also asked me, on the way out the door, to please not date anyone this week. Not a problem.

I never made it to the Downtown Art Walk or the WGA screening of Whore-ton and His Whoo or Wine Club (Zinfandel Night) but had a quick wardrobe change and was off to the horrible fucking Sunset Strip to a birthday party where I had to pay twenty US Dollars to park my car to attend a bar that had a DJ with a live drummer. Is there anyplace worse in LA than the Sunset Strip? I think I’d rather drive back to Anaheim in rush hour than go there again. By the time that place got full we left and went to another different place that wasn’t on the horrible strip but had a horrible name like LIFE and stayed until the lights went on and the JBJ stopped. Seriously, they played one. I drove my friend home, drove me home and then drove around the internet like an idiot instead of going straight to the also made-up place in my dreams.

Getting out of bed the next morning in order to make it to my pre-meetng meeting made me want to cry, but I did not, thanks to a) me being out of tears and a2) my No More Tears ‘08 Campain of Happy Times. So, six hours and several cups of coffee later, I am now running Writer’s Lab West, the NYU Alum group, and am up for a seat on the Council. What can I say, I was tired and weak and said yes…and I can always quit.

Then it was straight to the UCB where I tried to stay awake in the dark theater (more coffee ahoy!) whilst a group of sad angry middle-aged men made a lot of shit jokes. literally. And then, it was back to the Cha Cha for a welcome to LA party for some dude I don’t know but welcomed anyways. To bring this saga full circle, who was standing outside close talking and smoking with a lady…none other than star of Television and Film, Scott Speedman. I quickly texted my pal to break the news that he was there with who might just be his ugly sister. She was sad, but after declining my offer to put the hurt on him, and advising her to never ever date or vote for actors, I decided I really wanted to ask him, in a totally platonic way, to take pictures with me in the photo booth. Wouldn’t it be so funny to have those pictures, RIGHT HERE. Well, I pussied out. I had two chances and I just couldn’t figure out how to approach him without seeming like an asshole, stalker, or straight up lunatic. Not sure why I cared, but instead I started my new fun hobby of getting random dudes to take pictures with me and without their shirts. Do enjoy while I take an 18 hour nap:

There should be a picture here of me holding an Emmy, crying tears of joy even. Not because I won one (yet) but because this past Wednesday, my Hippy Wednesday Ladies Creativity Writers Group had a special edition at the resort-like Malibu home of one of our illustrious ladies. It was an Emotional Farewell Fiesta to one of our favorite members before she ups and moves to Boulder, CO where I have promised to someday take her on a Mork & Mindy driving tour. To get off my own track for a second, let me describe the group and how it works lest you deem my name for it unfair. A group of ladies gather together every Wednesday from 11-2 (fully clothed) at our fearless leader’s home that she used to have to share but now gets all to her own. We do not bring writing for critique but instead, someone volunteers each week to lead us through a “creativity exercise.” This can and has been anything this person can devise. There are no rules. And shoes are not required. But, before we do this, we meditate. Together. Then we get creative. Then we go around The Circle one-by-one and read our creation to the group aloud. And then, we “manifest.” Together. One time this ended in a “laying of the hands” where in order to reach a member, spiritually, we all gathered around her and laid a hand on her. To those of you who know me from New York, welcome to my new world. I have met many a writer who would rather take the math portion of the SAT again than do this, and at one time, that might’ve been me– but I do love this crazy group and am quite thankful to be a part of it. So, this past Wednesday instead of doin’ what I just described in vivid detail, we had a party and, behind the gate, in the house, near the tons and tons of food stuffs that were specially prepared to meet my complex set of dietary needs, were a handful of Emmys. I promised myself that I would take a picture of me, holding that sucker, that I would even break my No More Tears Policy and work some up to make it look real. It was going to be funny to have! And also inspiring to have in a “The Secret” style way! And then I fucking forgot. I walked out of there, with that horrible nagging feeling that I was forgetting something because I was forgetting something. And it didn’t hit me till very very late the next evening, somewhere in-between crawling from my bed to the bathroom and collapsing on the tile floor with my pants around my ankles. Turns out at least four of us were “touched” that day (fifth pending confirmation)…but by something poisonous we put in our mouths. And that nagging feeling I had was really just my intestinal battle lines being drawn.

ed. note: Tally of Women Down now stands at eight. and why god why does Pedialyte taste like Jolly Rancher Sauce?

Last night after momma wach suggested I be put on a “mild anti-depressant” she and I were discussing the fact that our new neighbor is a VP of drama development at CBS.
I told her I thought that it’s too bad that he’s not in comedy.
To which she asked if I was feeling particularly funny these days.
I should mention that I was crying at the time.
So I choked out a, “no.”
“Well why don’t you write a drama right now then?”
“Cause they’re not funny.”
This made me laugh. but i was still crying so then I choked a little.

Today, I’m FIIIiiiiiine but crying again so I decided to multi-task.
If I’m already gonna get my face all wet, I might as well save time and cry in the shower.
So now I know, first hand, where rape showers (ever seen a movie where someone gets raped? they ALWAYS cut away from the actual mis-deed to the girl scrubbing herself raw [the worse the rape the scratchier the scrubber: bar of soap = SM rape, washcloth or those liquid soap poof things = Med rape, loofah = LG rape] in the shower, hysterical. This is what I call a Rape Shower.) are born.
You can barely even tell that you’re crying in there, it’s nice and hot (I don’t know about you but my body feels like an ice pop when I cry), and it cleans away any evidence.
Later, I met up with SB where she nicely suggested/recommended adding some Wellbutrin to my life. An anti-depressant.
That’s makes two! All I need is one more so on Thursday I will meet with my brand new first time ever $250/hour shrink who will likely third the motion and pass it into effect.

So thank you to #1 mama jo wachner, for telling me to consider writing drama instead of picking a new career.   

I don’t understand ‘Forgiveness.’ That is not to say that I don’t do it…I just don’t get it, conceptually.

I spent pretty much all night last night reading the wikipedia entry on this word, or notion, or process and I’ma share with you my Mr. Toad style wild ride from confused blog to drunk sinning confused blog in hell.

I’m gonna use the make-believe for this one.

Imagine please, that Jean Luc, terrified at the prospect of meeting his girlfriend Magdalena’s parents (Henri and Genevieve), has them turned into Down Syndrome kittens instead (still named Henri and Genevieve). Several months after Magdalena accepted the fact that they’d never learn how to use a litterbox, Jean Luc decides he isn’t really ready to commit to Magdalena anyway and fesses up.

Maybe Jean Luc apologizes. Or doesn’t apologize, it doesn’t even matter.

Because Magdalena now has to burn his stuff, cry into a trough of profiteroles, seek professional help or do whatever it is she needs to do in order to accept Jean Luc’s dickery, let it go, and go forth with life as an unwounded happy-like orphan lady.

I’m with me up till here. I get that it’s bad for Magdalena to stay the victim, to be angry and resentful.

The part that I don’t get is how forgiveness affects Jean Luc, or is this just a connotion? If Jean Luc asks Magdalena for forgiveness, he isn’t asking her to heal herself. He is asking for his speciest behavior to be excused, for them to be “friends” and or for things to get naked again, right?

Magdalena can forgive Jean Luc for felintarding her parents. But that is not to say that what Jean Luc did has been erased, it’s just to say that it’s not a source of pain for her anymore. So what then, would make Magdalena, who happens to find parenticide unacceptable, and doesn’t even like cats, special needs or otherwise, even if she was adopted, even if her parents hated jews and she was one, now knowing that he is capable of such craptastic behavior, want to be involved with J.L. in any capacity?
Is there some notion that forgiveness means you’re willing to like the victimizer still, or again, or or be willing to form a new relationship instead of cutting them out of your life?! I lost me.

There are some people that have photographic memories. I call them assholes.
I am the opposite. My retention was depleted by Milton Bradley’s “Memory” game, TV theme song lyrics, and useless even for trivia knowledge (do you know what the word Cahuenga means?).

That said, I double majored in Dramatic Writing and Philosophy (or, as my mom called it, “Unemployment”) and even though gathousands of american dollars were thrown that way, I can remember that I liked Kant, hated metaphysics, and developed funny doodles about unicorns and fagots (look that word up if you think that was a hate word crime) but if you asked me why…well please don’t ask me why.

Lately, (like, since yesterday) I’ve been thinking about what the difference is between Character and Personality. Specifically, do they or can they change? And I know that I studied this when I was like 19, but I can’t remember to take my socks off before getting into bed most nights, so clearly, I turned to my friend, the internet for re-remembering.

I’d like to share with “you” what Johnny Knuckles has to say about it cause I think it’s pretty effin’ brills. Who are you Mr. Knuckles, I’m not sure you answered all my questions, but I think I’m in love:

(ok, i am a webtard and can’t figure out how to re-post his blog post here so either click on the link above or read it x+paste style here)

Personality vs Character
Many of you groin-grabbing fucktards– wait, hold on. Let Knuckles start again. Just noticed an alarming lack of epithets on this site lately and panicked.

Alright, today’s sermon from Father Knuckles is the confusion between personality and character. It’s important to know the difference between the two. Especially during times of war and when you’re dating.

Personality traits are individual, subjective and vary widely.

Character traits are constant, objective and timeless.

Character traits include honesty, trust, respect, responsibility, leadership, loyalty and courage. One’s character can be objectively judged. Character is defined as right or wrong. Character, despite its detractors, can be taught. However educators are bypassing the difficulty of teaching character and have gone directly to self-esteem, the reward of strong character. But without character, self-esteem is a hollow concept.

And while character traits are universal, each individual has the choice to accept or reject them. One of character’s best features is that you can do them without conviction and the end result is the same. For instance, a coward can recognize he’s a coward yet still perform an act of bravery and no one will fault him acting out of character.

Personality is subjective. It includes your sense of humor (or lack of), whether you’re outgoing or shy, friendly or stoic, your interests, passions, and the list goes on. While some people have well-developed personalities, their character sucks and you eventually avoid them even though “they’re a lot of fun.”

Taking the historical big-picture long view, personality is neither right nor wrong. Some people will like any particular personality and others won’t. (You’re thinking Knuckles is trying to justify his crappy personality. But you would be wrong. Knuckles is a pantload of fun.) And while someone’s basic personality never changes, it can be improved with exposure to the arts, people, travel, reading, hobbies, and pilgrimages to the holy site of this blog.

To sum:

Clinton has personality.
Bush has character.
Kerry has neither.

Bless you and fuck off, er, go forth and multiply.

Father Knuckles

seriously love him. but to bring this full question mark (there’s no way it’s sensical enough to be a circle), if you have a photographic memory could you ever not be an asshole? I seem to remember my philosophy professor saying that one of the two was unchanging. it was either personality… or character. what what?
-mama knuckles

(my The Secret style attempt.)

But what does that mean, really, when you live in Los Angeles whose seasons are Flood, Drought, Fire, and Earthquake?

It means a couple things:

#1. Instead of being hot during the day and cool at night, it’s hot during the day and warm at night.

This will soon be followed by hot during the day and hot still at night.

#1#2. Everyone is dumping everyone.

Spring Fever, the second stage of this process, will hit next. But before everyone starts throwing the Eff to everyone, in public too no less, the veil of winter depression and darkness and Seasonal Affective Disorder lifts and is replaced with Toxic Self Interest*. Suddenly people think they should trade up. “You deserve better” and “But I still want to be friends” and “We’ve grown apart” are very much in bloom right now.
Rest assured tho, that before the summer dust settles, everyone will be right back in relationship jail (new and hopefully improved!). Because once you’ve seen someone at their personal sweatiest, Sunday brunch’d three times with your shared puppy (who is ugly and therefore cute, lookin’ at you chihuahua, pug and boston terrier) and agreed to see that shitty summer blockbuster, now with extra CGI, just so you can bask in someone else’s cold air, your shared cell has been slammed shut…until next spring.

*term coined by Quinn Heraty, genius.

So you (who exactly, I’m not sure) may have noticed that this site has undergone a make-under. SB has decided to take her funny elsewhere, and with it went half the words, all the pretty and most of the heart of this site. But not to worry…you…I hate self promotion enough for ten women! nay, all women! no, all non-actors! So while I half-try to learn HTML or whatever nerd language is required to wrangle my english onto “your” contuter screens please add The Sunapee Manatee to your blog roll or whatever you call it and leave her nice comments n things.

It actually broke down to like, .003 cents per word, but still! I got to go to the Battlestar Galactica offices and have lunch with one of my heroes and interview the president of the Writer’s Guild! My first article as the new TV Writer Writer for www.mediabistro.com hit computer screens today.
Breaking in to TV Writing

TV writers dish on how they got their start writing for the small screen

By Andrea Wachner - October 22, 2007

Most people who’ve ever watched television think they can write for it. Most
people who’ve never watched television think they can write for it. The guy
who just sold me my television thinks he has a screenplay. From their
overstuffed couches, viewers assume that being able to predict the next line
of dialogue before it’s spoken entitles them to be in the My Name is Earl
writers’ room, when what it actually signals is just how hard the task
really is — so hard that experienced writers often fail. “A lot of people
think TV is a thing you do from your home in your spare time,” says Jane
Espenson, a writer on Battlestar Galactica. “It seems like a career you can
get into if you’ve already got a job. But it’s not.”

How can you get in? According to my research, there are four ways, no ways,
and also an infinite number of ever-changing ways to get work writing for
television, and being a good writer is only half the battle. Maybe less.
Getting a job writing for television can be harder than dating, and just as
serendipitous. So whenever I meet someone who’s been successful in
TV-writing, I get them to tell me how. While there is no equivalent to JDate
for hungry writers, stories I’ve heard of how people got their start run the
gamut from infuriating to inspiring.

you can read the rest of the article here.

California is OCD over Chicken.** The Food Pyramid, which you might remember as the Four Food Groups, of Los Angeles are: Chicken, Tacos, Thai food, and Sushi.

My exciting new blog-hobby is to keep a list of the names of all the chicken-centric food serving establishments I see, most of which are in the Literalz! style of naming, and many of which include the word California. How fun!

Yes, I am vegan.

1. Koo-Koo-Roo

2. El Pollo Loco

3. KFC

4. Star Chicken

5. California Chicken Cafe

6. Zankou Chicken

7. The Chicken Lady

8. Musical Chicken Grill

9. Popeye’s

10. Roscoe’s House of Chicken & Waffles

11. Honey’s Kettle Fried Chicken

12. Roro’s Chicken

13. Kyochon Chicken

14. Birds Rotisserie Chicken Cafe & Bar

15. Pioneer Chicken

16. Pollo A La Brasa Western

17. El Pollo Inka

18. Bill’s Chicken

19. Alwazir Chicken

20. Dinah’s Fried Chicken

21. Louisiana Fried Chicken

22. Amber’s Chicken & Donuts

23. Cal Roasters

24. Charo Chicken

25. Chick’n Chow

26. Chicken Dijon

27. Chicken On Fire (PERSONAL FAVE!)

28. Flame Chicken

29. Juan Pollo

30. Los Pollos

31. Pollo Campero

32. Pollo Grill

33. Pollo Land

34. Reddi Chick

35. Chick Fil A

36. Rotisserie Chicken

37. Rotisserie Chicken Cafe

38. California Rotisserie Chicken Cafe.

39. Spin Rotisserie Chicken

40. Big Chicken

Ok I made up #38, but I’m sure it exists somewhere and I just haven’t seen it yet.

more TK, I’m guessing.

**There’s your one (1!) good thing about LA, SB. You loooove bird boob.

crack open another browser and ask it nicely to take you to supervegan.com
m’words are up there for the first time and they feel awkward and uncomfortable without lots of eyes on them. They are the exact opposite of me.

Here, so easy for you:
http://supervegan.com/blog/entry.php?id=725

Read on as I take on Dunkin Donuts, Dodger Stadium, and fine vegan footwear.

In addition, have invented a new word– disgulicious. It is an adjective to describe a food item’s being simultaneously disgusting and delicious. Or disgustingly delicious. It’s possible, I swear! Here is an example.

(please note: this post is 5 posts consolidated by sb into one supervegan superpost. no animals were harmed in the condensing of these posts.)