I was gonna do a blog about how fucked up I got last night and stuff like so many of the blogs I see here but I didn't get fucked up so it would be a lie.
My life is fairly boring, actually. Like most days, yesterday I traded some phone calls with people who aren't going to fund my movies and with people who need me to get my movies funded so they can have a better life; talked to my writing partner about how we might do some changes to a script that won't matter squat to the people who aren't going to be funding it; spent an hour with sheriffs and paramedics who responded to my son's latest emotional meltdown and made some chocolate chip cookes for him to take to school in support of his non-fiction book report about "The Search for the Perfect Chocolate Cookie."
I ate two of the cookies after we made them. They were great, but they didn't fuck me up although I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I wanted to throw an eighth of that awesome Blackberry Kush into the batter.
I also watched the season finale of "Damages," which has to be one of the most fucked-up shows ever, but I like it except for the insanely-beautiful from some angles Rose Byrne who is, hands down, the worst actress on the face of the planet but I'd probably spontaneously cum if she'd agree to be in any of my movies. That's gotta be fucked up. Am I that desperate? Whatever happened to standards?
Maybe boring isn't exactly the right word; anyway. One of the people I talked to *might* be able to help me put together a package that would work for one of the projects, and that was almost enough for soft wood but *might* leaves a lot of room for what usually happens. And how fucked up is that?
My life is fairly boring, actually. Like most days, yesterday I traded some phone calls with people who aren't going to fund my movies and with people who need me to get my movies funded so they can have a better life; talked to my writing partner about how we might do some changes to a script that won't matter squat to the people who aren't going to be funding it; spent an hour with sheriffs and paramedics who responded to my son's latest emotional meltdown and made some chocolate chip cookes for him to take to school in support of his non-fiction book report about "The Search for the Perfect Chocolate Cookie."
I ate two of the cookies after we made them. They were great, but they didn't fuck me up although I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I wanted to throw an eighth of that awesome Blackberry Kush into the batter.
I also watched the season finale of "Damages," which has to be one of the most fucked-up shows ever, but I like it except for the insanely-beautiful from some angles Rose Byrne who is, hands down, the worst actress on the face of the planet but I'd probably spontaneously cum if she'd agree to be in any of my movies. That's gotta be fucked up. Am I that desperate? Whatever happened to standards?
Maybe boring isn't exactly the right word; anyway. One of the people I talked to *might* be able to help me put together a package that would work for one of the projects, and that was almost enough for soft wood but *might* leaves a lot of room for what usually happens. And how fucked up is that?