Don’t you just love it when you send someone your opus, your baby, your heart and soul, and they take 11 months to read it only to reject it?
Uh huh.
After returning from my trip to Rome and New York, I found a curious envelope waiting in my mailbox. It looked like one of those SASEs that I’d sent out with my query for La La Girl nearly a year ago. But how could that be? Would it really take a year for someone to read a query letter and a couple of chapters?
Apparently so.
Now, I’m not upset that my manuscript was rejected. Frankly, La La Girl has undergone some major changes since that query was sent out, and I know that it’s a much stronger story today than it was then. What irritates me is that it took this agent almost an entire year to say “no thanks.” Sheesh!
As you probably know, a partial of La La Girl is currently in the hands of an agent I met recently, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that she at least likes what she’s got enough to ask for the entire manuscript. And I have a sneaking suspicion that it won’t take her a year to get back to me.
I’m holding out hope for it because, honestly, every time I see one of those envelopes in my mailbox, my heart stops for a few seconds. And that’s probably not a good thing…
Ciao!
Friday, September 29, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Hot and Wet!
First, let me qualify that title. I’m talking about the weather in Rome, which was hot…and…wet. What you need to understand is that I’m from Los Angeles where it’s mild and dry most of the year. And even though I own two umbrellas, both of which were bought while traveling in foreign cities, I still neglected to bring one with me to Rome. So, now I have three umbrellas. One from Paris, one from New York, and now one from Rome.
Ok. Let me back up a bit. I was in Rome for a week or so doing some research for an upcoming story, and also having some fun along the way. That fun, though, was accompanied by a sweltering dose of humidity. Humidity and I don’t get along. In fact, my skin revolted on me. After a couple of days in the hot, moist climate in Rome, I broke out into what my high school classmates commonly referred to as “pizza face.” Zits from hell sprouted up all over my cheeks, chin, nose and even my chest. It was disgusting!
And then it rained….
If you have read, “A Taste of Italy,” (and if not, why not? It's free for god's sake - just email me) then you surely understand how rain can almost ruin a vacation. Or, lead you to the love of your life. In this case, though, it did neither. Luckily, it only rained on 2 of my 7 days in Rome, so I can’t say that it ruined my fun. However, it did nearly destroy a pair of suede shoes! And, you know, gazing at the Trevi fountain while gallons of dirty wash from flooded streets passes over your feet…well, it leaves a lot to be desired. Like a pair of galoshes.
Nonetheless, I managed to survive the heat, the humidity and the rain to return to Los Angeles where blue skies prevail. My skin has cleared up, my shoes have dried out, and my new umbrella is tucked neatly away in my closet where it will surely remain the next time I visit a rainy city, and I’ll add another umbrella to my collection.
Ciao!
Ok. Let me back up a bit. I was in Rome for a week or so doing some research for an upcoming story, and also having some fun along the way. That fun, though, was accompanied by a sweltering dose of humidity. Humidity and I don’t get along. In fact, my skin revolted on me. After a couple of days in the hot, moist climate in Rome, I broke out into what my high school classmates commonly referred to as “pizza face.” Zits from hell sprouted up all over my cheeks, chin, nose and even my chest. It was disgusting!
And then it rained….
If you have read, “A Taste of Italy,” (and if not, why not? It's free for god's sake - just email me) then you surely understand how rain can almost ruin a vacation. Or, lead you to the love of your life. In this case, though, it did neither. Luckily, it only rained on 2 of my 7 days in Rome, so I can’t say that it ruined my fun. However, it did nearly destroy a pair of suede shoes! And, you know, gazing at the Trevi fountain while gallons of dirty wash from flooded streets passes over your feet…well, it leaves a lot to be desired. Like a pair of galoshes.
Nonetheless, I managed to survive the heat, the humidity and the rain to return to Los Angeles where blue skies prevail. My skin has cleared up, my shoes have dried out, and my new umbrella is tucked neatly away in my closet where it will surely remain the next time I visit a rainy city, and I’ll add another umbrella to my collection.
Ciao!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Whatever happened to "welcome back?"
Today is my first day back to work after two glorious weeks of vacation, and let’s just say that I’ve had warmer welcomes. Opening the door to my office at the unholy hour of 7:30am, I found that everything that once resided on the floor was now piled quite precariously on top of my desk. What the hell? Were they looking for a report and thought that it just might be hiding under the crate of water I keep under my desk. Were they doing a random drug search? Did they unleash a pack of bomb-sniffing dogs in there only to discover a box of Slimfast snack bars in my bottom drawer? Was this their way of telling me to hit the road?
No, they’d cleaned the carpets, which isn’t a bad thing, but don’t you think that they could have at least handled things with a little more care? For example, one of my plants was toppled over and the leaves were bent backward. A picture frame was knocked over, and a bottle of hand sanitizer was squished under a pile of books, oozing goo all over a fax marked “urgent” that was dated a week and a half ago.
So, I spent the next half hour cleaning up this mess and putting everything back in its place. When I finally got around to turning on my computer, I discovered that my email in box was over the limit and the email administrator had blocked my email – for the last 10 days. So, who knows what I’ve missed?
Of course, after absorbing all the wreckage, I decide that the only thing to do is blog. I haven’t given a single thought to my job in the past two weeks. Why start now?
Ciao!
No, they’d cleaned the carpets, which isn’t a bad thing, but don’t you think that they could have at least handled things with a little more care? For example, one of my plants was toppled over and the leaves were bent backward. A picture frame was knocked over, and a bottle of hand sanitizer was squished under a pile of books, oozing goo all over a fax marked “urgent” that was dated a week and a half ago.
So, I spent the next half hour cleaning up this mess and putting everything back in its place. When I finally got around to turning on my computer, I discovered that my email in box was over the limit and the email administrator had blocked my email – for the last 10 days. So, who knows what I’ve missed?
Of course, after absorbing all the wreckage, I decide that the only thing to do is blog. I haven’t given a single thought to my job in the past two weeks. Why start now?
Ciao!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Vacanza
Okay, so I know I haven't posted anything interesting in over a week, but I'm on vacation damn it! I was in Rome for one glorious week where I didn't have to think about anything but how to say "your place or mine" in Italian. Heaven! Yes, those Romans are a very passionate people - and not in the least worried about PDA. Those Romans were all over each other - on the bus, in the piazza, in the Vatican even! Wow! They've inspired me to start kissing in public. Now I just gotta find a guy to kiss in public...
Currently, I'm in New Jersey hanging out with a political poetess. We'll be hitting the wine bars in the City and perhaps getting into a bit of trouble...maybe even doing some kissing in public (with guys - not each other!).
Once I get back to LA, I promise to post another story for your reading pleasure. In the meantime, maybe you can find some hot guy to kiss in public. It's okay. Lucie says so.
Ciao!
Currently, I'm in New Jersey hanging out with a political poetess. We'll be hitting the wine bars in the City and perhaps getting into a bit of trouble...maybe even doing some kissing in public (with guys - not each other!).
Once I get back to LA, I promise to post another story for your reading pleasure. In the meantime, maybe you can find some hot guy to kiss in public. It's okay. Lucie says so.
Ciao!
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Pick On Someone Your Own Age!
Okay, ladies. I wrote this little piece about 5 years ago, but I think it deserves another read as it seems to have a timeless quality. I'm sure you will be able to relate. Enjoy....
I don't think there has ever been a time in our history when women have not had to suffer the cat calls, cheesy pick-up lines and come ons forced upon us by hordes of unenlightened men. However, this young woman has had enough!
As a relatively attractive young woman leading a life filled with friends, fun and creative fulfillment, I don't find myself wanting for very much. Oh, of course, there is the ever elusive seven figure income, the villa in Tuscany and the body of Salma Hayek to go with sun drenched beach holidays romping around with Johnny Depp that I never get to take; but, basically, I'm happy. That is until, while innocently sucking down an iced coffee and perusing a vegetarian magazine as I waited for several of my friends to whisk me off to a wine tasting party, I was hit on by a man no less than 15 years my senior.
It is not simply that this man disturbed my few precious moments of peaceful relaxation, but that he would not recognize the subtle hints that I was sincerely not interested in his company. One would think that sitting in a bookstore reading a magazine and sipping a coffee would be a relatively pick-up-free activity. Much to my amazement, this man was not keen enough to realize that a woman with her nose buried in a magazine about vegetarian cuisine might not be looking for a date. However, the story doesn't end there. As polite as I was, I soon understood that he was not going to leave me alone. From innocently asking me if I worked in the neighborhood (because he surely knows me from somewhere) he sauntered into the "you're really gorgeous, you know that?" routine. He proceeded to tell me that he worked at GM where he had a corner office, as if that was going to impress me any more than his shorts, socks and sandals ensemble. Growing very frustrated with his presence in my personal space, he then asked me out for a date. At this point I was truly annoyed. No longer willing to humor him, I told him flat out that I was not interested. What followed was a first in my life. He actually said that I should take what I can get because I'm not that beautiful. This from a man who only 3 minutes prior told me that I was really gorgeous. At that moment, I was in such a state of shock that I could think of nothing other to say than, "you're being really rude now, so why don't you run along."
Now, I consider myself to be an enlightened woman. I'm not one to resort to name calling when confronted with an unpleasant person. I'm far too educated and self-respecting a woman to do such a thing as to lower myself to making base comments about another person simply because they've upset me. However, five minutes after this vile, potential pedophile scooted off to surely pick up the latest edition of Modern Maturity, did a hundred wonderfully cruel retorts come to mind. The truth is that I honestly could not care less about what this man thinks of me, but not being able to sling the insults at him left me feeling beaten and violated. After discussing my experience with a close friend, I discovered that she too has had similar experiences with men old enough to be her father or even her grandfather hitting on her and then insulting her when she turns them down. And this is a friend of mine who was scouted on the street by a modeling agent in London.
I am appalled at the state of male egomania in the world. I don't hit on teenage boys, and I would appreciate not being hit on by middle aged men. Especially those who are so obviously in need of some serious style counseling. I don't believe that any self-respecting woman would ever be so desperate as to succumb to the banal blabbering of any man so pathetically self obsessed as to use his "corner office" as a come on. This is not 1954 and women are not impressed by the size of a man's bank account, or the size of his shoes. It all comes down to a matter of taste. Men, if you're going to approach a woman who obviously isn't looking for any company, you had better be prepared to offer something more stimulating to talk about than your job. Or, you should at least look like Brad Pitt. I may be enlightened, but that doesn't mean I'm any more receptive to being hit on by anyone less than fabulous!
I don't think there has ever been a time in our history when women have not had to suffer the cat calls, cheesy pick-up lines and come ons forced upon us by hordes of unenlightened men. However, this young woman has had enough!
As a relatively attractive young woman leading a life filled with friends, fun and creative fulfillment, I don't find myself wanting for very much. Oh, of course, there is the ever elusive seven figure income, the villa in Tuscany and the body of Salma Hayek to go with sun drenched beach holidays romping around with Johnny Depp that I never get to take; but, basically, I'm happy. That is until, while innocently sucking down an iced coffee and perusing a vegetarian magazine as I waited for several of my friends to whisk me off to a wine tasting party, I was hit on by a man no less than 15 years my senior.
It is not simply that this man disturbed my few precious moments of peaceful relaxation, but that he would not recognize the subtle hints that I was sincerely not interested in his company. One would think that sitting in a bookstore reading a magazine and sipping a coffee would be a relatively pick-up-free activity. Much to my amazement, this man was not keen enough to realize that a woman with her nose buried in a magazine about vegetarian cuisine might not be looking for a date. However, the story doesn't end there. As polite as I was, I soon understood that he was not going to leave me alone. From innocently asking me if I worked in the neighborhood (because he surely knows me from somewhere) he sauntered into the "you're really gorgeous, you know that?" routine. He proceeded to tell me that he worked at GM where he had a corner office, as if that was going to impress me any more than his shorts, socks and sandals ensemble. Growing very frustrated with his presence in my personal space, he then asked me out for a date. At this point I was truly annoyed. No longer willing to humor him, I told him flat out that I was not interested. What followed was a first in my life. He actually said that I should take what I can get because I'm not that beautiful. This from a man who only 3 minutes prior told me that I was really gorgeous. At that moment, I was in such a state of shock that I could think of nothing other to say than, "you're being really rude now, so why don't you run along."
Now, I consider myself to be an enlightened woman. I'm not one to resort to name calling when confronted with an unpleasant person. I'm far too educated and self-respecting a woman to do such a thing as to lower myself to making base comments about another person simply because they've upset me. However, five minutes after this vile, potential pedophile scooted off to surely pick up the latest edition of Modern Maturity, did a hundred wonderfully cruel retorts come to mind. The truth is that I honestly could not care less about what this man thinks of me, but not being able to sling the insults at him left me feeling beaten and violated. After discussing my experience with a close friend, I discovered that she too has had similar experiences with men old enough to be her father or even her grandfather hitting on her and then insulting her when she turns them down. And this is a friend of mine who was scouted on the street by a modeling agent in London.
I am appalled at the state of male egomania in the world. I don't hit on teenage boys, and I would appreciate not being hit on by middle aged men. Especially those who are so obviously in need of some serious style counseling. I don't believe that any self-respecting woman would ever be so desperate as to succumb to the banal blabbering of any man so pathetically self obsessed as to use his "corner office" as a come on. This is not 1954 and women are not impressed by the size of a man's bank account, or the size of his shoes. It all comes down to a matter of taste. Men, if you're going to approach a woman who obviously isn't looking for any company, you had better be prepared to offer something more stimulating to talk about than your job. Or, you should at least look like Brad Pitt. I may be enlightened, but that doesn't mean I'm any more receptive to being hit on by anyone less than fabulous!
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
My Alpha Male
So, those who know me know that I simply adore Johnny Depp. He’s sexy, sensitive, funny and amazingly talented. But an Alpha Male he is not. Every once in a while you just want a guy who’s macho, rough and tumble, exciting. Know what I mean? For me, that guy is epitomized by Jason Statham. I had the pleasure of viewing him for a solid hour and a half Saturday night in his latest mindless macho bullshit movie, “Crank.” It was fun, and he was hot, and we even got a few bootie shots, as well.
So, if any of you ladies out there enjoy a dose of Alpha Male every so often, I suggest checking out Jason in his latest flick. But bring a couple of big guys to flank you while watching it (as I did), because you just might be tempted to hurl yourself at the screen while he’s standing on the back of a motorcycle with his hospital gown flapping in the wind and his oh-so-nice butt proudly on display.
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