To blog or not to blog

I started this blog February 4th, 2005 when my awesome Mom started hers. She wrote poetically about her daily struggles recovering from cancer, and I wrote about blundering through caregiving, dating, film school, and my own recovery post head injury from a car accident with a drunk driver in 1995. 

You'll notice there are years of daily posts here. Then an attempt at being less confessional. Then a reincarnation as a lifestyle blog that points out impersonal trinkets. Followed by a sprawling capitalist mess shilling for you and the bizarro world of horror-lovers to view my poor misunderstood feature film that very few people grok. Outside of 70s-cinema lovin' Hollywood intellectual bohemians, the actual Masters of Horror, and some really nice fundamental Christians (When I go niche, I go DEEP NICHE baby. Oh wait, you're NOT supposed to go that niche? You're supposed to find 1000 True Fans, not 100 True Fans? Well fuck me with a chainsaw!).

No no, I swear I'm not doing one of those narcissistic posts where I say I'm never going to blog again as a Tinkerbell clap trap to make you all dance like monkeys to bring me back to life (Though *if* I were a Narcissist (which Dr. Olcese says I can't be since I'm capable of asking that question), you all know I came by it naturally through half my designer genes, n'est-ce pas?).

See??? THAT is why I need to start blogging again. The above paragraphs? CRAPTASTIC writing. I was the most productive and gooder at ze ol' clackety ckack when I was putting in my WGA-prescribed Stream of Consciousness Hour a Day right here at my stupid lil blog. And that discipline naturally overflowed into writing the (unproduced) feature screenplay PISTOLERAS that I still think could save thousands of kids from sex slavery. So that cause and effect alone is cause enough to pause and think deep thoughts with Jack Handey on a daily basis.

But the negatives are like whoa. Violent soul-ripping out of your body junk. Some of it from innocuous stuff that exposes your friends' neuroses. Some of it so deserved that I'll be coming back reincarnated as a snail next life (the first year of true confessional blogging has a steep learning curve that will cost you family members and lifetime friends).

Dealing with feeling the petty envy of watching blogging friends get book deals and paying jobs and Hollywood careers and big blog audiences that financially sustained them. Getting to a Taoist point of not caring about not having that and just focusing on the joy of creating. Wondering then if I'm talking to myself, why exactly am I bothering? The tree is still falling. For whom am I recording the fall? Alien ancestors? And why did I have so many pictures of myself up on my own blog? Ewwww. How desperate am I? You guys are right. I hate me, too.

Getting a readership and having that first high of validation and communication with peers. The fall when they turned. Followed by driving most of the readers away when the snarky wannabe screenwriters kept attacking the underdog, exhausted caregivers. Zeus I can't abide bullies.

Then there's the really evil stuff. My close friends would snort at me typing "I try to focus on the positive", but unfortunately guess what? When you open up a vein and publish your fucking diary on the web, your close friends aren't the ones who come daily to lap up the blood. Nope. It's the two stalkers with autoerotomania escalating towards violence. That cunt hiding behind the mask of feminism who actually has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and IS going to die alone and broke.

Meeting heroes in the film industry as colleagues and learning they really think women are only good for putting their dicks in. Not finding a place as a writer in the boys club of the comic world. Losing boyfriends by not writing or writing about them.

Or the biggest kick in the gut: discovering the pervasive Female on Female Violence that is the real reason women don't have equality in Hollywood, and by extension the world. My close friends REALLY want me to make a documentary about my interesting thoughts about mean girls and the Cavewoman inside us all and how we're the problem not the solution. To which I say, fuck you, YOU go make a documentary. I want to get PAID to do the Wild Thing. Grumble. I've got at least $250,000 I've invested in this hobby over the past 25 years. It would be nice to get ONE PAYCHECK. Just one. So my dead grandparents can stop thinking I'm an indulgent asshat.

Have I told you about how I stopped looking at the search words for how strangers found my blog because it made me want to throw up my spirit? Or how friends of mine have had their photos downloaded, then uploaded to the internet with cum on them? Or how my attempt to raise money for my lead actresses' prosthetic hand after a horrible accident turned into thousands of perverts coming HERE to jack off, then stealing her photos and posting them to a porn fetish website? I tried to buy her a hand and I broke her heart.

Like, what can I ever do to make up for any of that? Or forget it? And this is the nonpersonal stuff that's been going on in my life, not even getting into the "how'd I get so old and fat and yeah, I'm really really old and why am I still attracted to twenty-five year olds what's wrong with me" bullshit. No, this is the stuff I brought upon myself by trying to make a difference.

So yeah, I've been in a man-cave minus the man. There's definitely a feeling of "If I never TAKE a step, then I have a small carbon footprint...right??? It's not my childhood ambition of Avengers Assembling to save the world, but it also means I can't accidentally be on the VILLAINS' side, right??? I'm not fucking ULTRON'S pawn, at least. Right, universe? Hello? Universe, are you there...?

I didn't know what to do. So I threw down the gauntlet last week. I yelled at my mom. I'm not proud. The natural course of losing your way spiritually means I haven't been feeling her or talking to her. Ruminating on all the ways I could have been a better daughter. So last Friday I gave her the ol' "HEY. I know you're there. Why aren't you DOING anything? And what the fuck am I supposed to be doing, because I'm so far below the poverty line hitting it is my vision board GOAL for the year. And I don't know what the hell I'M supposed to be doing, and I think the universe is screaming give up and go live in the desert away from humans and stream Netflix movies all day. (Which is ALSO now evil and corporate; What The FUCK, Netflix??? Where's your indie street cred NOW, after you've singlehandedly brought down the film industry???).

So Barbara...Bitch TELL ME SOMETHING!" And she did. I got a Big Fishie. A big juicy undeniable one that involved my sister, my gradeschool best friend Jen, and some closeted activist Deep Throat old school Hollywood insiders. Barbara laid this Fishie in deep. There's personal nods going back twenty-seven years ago with Jen, twenty years ago with Brenda, and twelve years ago with Mom. A trio of ladies I couldn't love more, all of whom share a deep passion for the underdog. Each one of whom I shared memorable affinity moments with while watching the amazing film work by one person. A Hollywood figurehead who is the Fishie and may or may not have even been the fishmonger with the help of his awesome fishwife. Doesn't actually matter if I ever know how it went down or who delivered the fishie. I know there's someone out there trying to do good in this fucked up world who thinks I'm doing some good work and found me and my family because of this blog.

That is good enough for me. I got the message. "BLOG, BITCH." As you wish, mom.

Oh mom? I got your other message, too. The one that meant "Don't accept yesterday's high bid even though it could buy you groceries. You're keeping your last piece of Avengers art."

Holiday Gift Guide

For rich partners with communication issues. NSFW


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Hey men, want to get polled?

Who of you awesome married men knew on the first date or within the first month-ish that she was the woman for you? I need to hear your opinions...providing your experience will save me energy and heartbreak in the dating world and help me understand you magical XYs.

Thank you! Appreciate your sharing, you love heroes!


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Moby's Fight To Fund Women's Shelters

Moby's Fight To Fund Women's Shelters

Good Clean Love TM

In some effort to be hip and female-centric, the gift bag from the La Femme Film Festival last weekend included a lubricant sample and brochure subtitled "Making Love Sustainable." Every girl's dream!

OF COURSE the inside is filled with enough information about all the other dangerous cancer-causing lubricants on the market to make my pubic hair curl. I only wish I could toss out my cancer-causing Rabbit vibrator AGAIN!

So Good Clean Love lubricant claims that most personal lubricants are made with the same ingredients found in hydraulic brake fluid.

That's just for starters. There's four pages of this stuff that concludes with "the vast majority of both OTC and Adult intimacy and topical sexual enhancement products are made with ingredients invented for industrial uses, not for the most sensitive tissue in the body. Many women have allergic responses to these chemicals that create itching, burning and pain with intimacy."

Don't know if any of their claims are true, but thought I'd pass it on for you to check out for yourselves. My gynecologist is a mensch, a friend, one of the worlds best obgyns, and has been giving me oil changes for twenty years...I'll ask him next month when I'm due for a pit stop.

Thank GOD I get to report I've had sex this year. I couldn't take another long unhappy stare from Dr. H. I do think he's come to terms with the prospect of not delivering any babies for me, but man he hates it when I haven't had sex in a year. He's even qualified to say stuff like "your mom wouldn't like you being unhappy." Between him and that psychic who told me I was going to give myself cancer if I didn't start having sex regularly...like a single gal needs more voices in her head!

By the way, a little tip a girlfriend told me last year: if you get too wet to feel your man, use a condom the first and/or second time you have sex and it will help absorb your natural lubricant and you'll be able to enjoy sex. Then the third time don't use a condom, and you'll be coming together.


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Um...oops

So I know we all decided for my dating health I should never write about my lovelife here again but...I'm feeling like to close out that chapter of my life of attracting dark men like my father, and to give you the bookend insight to my life...I should do ONE more LONG ass post.

What do you think?

Plantar Fasciitis exercises

For those of you who suffer as I do.

Light recipes from Red Mountain Spa

Ooooh don't these feel yummy?

GRILLED VEGETABLES AND QUINOA SALAD

1 cup quinoa, uncooked (use a mix of red, yellow, and black for color)
2 cups vegetable stock or water
1 cup grilled vegetables (see recipe)
1 tbsp grated cotija or Parmesan cheese
kosher salt and black pepper to taste

Grilled Vegetables:
1 medium zucchini, cut lengthwise
1 medium yellow squash, cut lengthwise
3 roma tomatoes, cut lenghtwise
1/4 cup marinade for grilled vegetables
1 tbsp garlic cloves, roasted
1 tbsp. shallots, roasted

Marinade:
1/4 cup olive oil
1/8 tsp dried basil
1/8 tsp dried oregano
1/8 tsp fresh thyme
1/8 tsp fresh rosemary, chopped
1 tsp chopped garlic

Vegetables: Combine all marinade ingredients in a large bowl. Cut the zucchini squash and tomatoes and add to the marinade, mixing to coat thoroughly. Roast the garlic and shallots 8-10 minutes at 350 degrees, let cool, then chop coarsely. Grill the squash and tomatoes on the grill or in the broiler, let cool, then cut into 1-inch pieces. Quinoa: Rinse grain in cold water to remove resin, strain.Combine with stock or water in pot. Simmer over medium heat for about 20 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed and the grains begin to split. Remove from pot and let cool. To serve: Combine quinoa, vegetables and cheese in large bowl. Season with salt and pepper.


FIRE GRILLED CHICKEN WITH PEACH RELISH

4 4-oz. boneless, skinless chicken breasts (free range)
1 cup achiote orange marinade (see recipe)
4 tbsp diced fresh peach
4 tsp red pepper, diced
4 tsp red onion, minced
1 tsp fresh cilantro or basil, rinsed and chopped
1/2 tsp raspberry vinegar

Achiote Orange Marinade
1 tbsp achiote (annatto) paste
1/2 cup + 2 tbsp orange juice
3 tbsp fresh lime juice
2 tbsp olive oil

Combine all marinade ingredients in a large bowl. Add chicken and marinate in refrigerator for 1 hour. In a small bowl, combine peaches, red peppers, cilantro, red onions and rspberry vinegar: refrigerate until needed. Pre-heat grill, drain excess marinade from chicken and grill until done. Set aside to rest. Pre-heat saute pan, spray lightly with cooking spray or olive oil and when the pan justs begins to smoke, saute the peach relish for approximately 1 minute. Serve chicken with relish spooned on top.


GUAYMAS ROCK SHRIMP SCAMPI WITH SOBA NOODLES

8 oz. soba noodles, cooked
12 oz. rock shrimp (70/90 count per pound)
1/4 cup poblano chile, roasted, peeled and diced (also available in jars)
1 tbsp chopped fresh garlic
1 tbsp cilantro, rinsed and chopped
2 tbsp sundried tomatoes, julienned
juice from 2 fresh limes
2 tbsp olive oil
1/3 cup tequila

Cook noodles according the package directions. Drain, toss with a few drops of oil and a pinch of the chopped cilantro and set aside. Pre-heat saute pan and add olive oil to coat bottom. When oil just begins to smoke, add rock shrimp, and saute until they begin to brown, add sundried toamtoes, cilantro, and poblanos. Saute another minute. Add lime juice to saute pan and allow to reduce for 30 seconds. Add tequila and reduce for another 30-45 seconds. Serve with the noodles.

Celebrity Rehab Sober House

I'd be lying if I said I understood. Totally not my world. I'm thankful these aren't my issues, but god knows I've been through tough times and illnesses that required rehab...and I pretty much don't get what the hell they're doing here. It seems very lackadaisical. It's like week 2 and half of the people have relapsed and been immediately allowed back into the house without consequence.

I just don't get the "program" they're working here, with rules that they can choose to break whenever they want. I don't know. I don't know. It's pretty obvious why only 1 in 10 stays sober. It seems to me they should be paying for structure, like they were in a school. Lights out at 11, up at 8 to exercise, take turns cooking meals, daily therapy and group sessions...get back into structure and learning how to lead normal lives instead of indulging the narcissist drama queen actor sides of these addicts.