MCWBT

Yesterday morning, I got up, made tea, went through my normal routine; News, Email, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr… and I found a post that really upset me. Just knotted my gut. It was completely irrational; nothing I had any business reacting to, but telling myself to be rational wasn’t working. I was utterly distracted, and felt the MCWBT looming, so I decided to get out of the house.

I’ve lost over 30 pounds in the last few months, and I needed a pair of shorts that don’t look like I stole them off a homeless corpse, so I hit the 5 south (I’ve been in the Valley a lot lately, so south seemed “new”) figuring I’d run into a mall or a Target or something… and I got completely lost. Not on the freeway; outside the labyrinthine snottihood of the Westside, I rarely get lost in L.A. I just let my mind wander, and the fucker went right off the reservation. By the time I reigned it it, I saw a sign saying “Disneyland Blvd. 1 Mile.”

I have a year pass I bought with Alice that hardly ever gets used, a year pass with free parking and no blackout dates, and I hadn’t seen any of the new stuff in DCA, so I figured, what the hell? 

I wasn’t a huge fan of Cars, or Cars 2. The latter is absolutely Pixar’s weakest film, and the former is just a lift of Doc Hollywood. But the new Cars Land at DCA is kinda friggin’ awesome. They built the entire town of Radiator Springs with Ornament Valley standing in the background, and the “characters” — life-size versions of Mater and Lightning McQueen — actually drive. I wandered and got on the new Radiator Springs Racers ride pretty quickly (Disney has a new “single rider” line at most attractions that makes going to Disneyland by yourself pretty sweet) and couldn’t help thinking how much my grandfather would have loved the whole thing.

After an hour or so, my head was clear. I stayed until about 7, had a churro, rode some rides (including the monorail; I’m kind of a WED Engineering Imagineering geek, and I hadn’t been on the Mark VII yet), and felt great by the time I headed home.

I had plans to see TQO, but she’s going through some stuff of her own, and was feeling kind of down, so, against my better judgement, I accepted an invite to Vega’s place, apparently just to irritate her. She was mildly irritated I didn’t take her to Disneyland (I can’t really imagine; she’s too high maintenance for theme parks… yes, you are). She was genuinely irritated that I’m not taking her to ComicCon on my spare badge (I’m going for the day tomorrow, then giving my badges to 50 Baht & Alice for the weekend). She was seriously irritated that my gut-wrench in the morning wasn’t over her, and that I refused to tell her who or what had caused it.

No, I’m not telling you, either.

When the irritation slowed from a downpour to a light sprinkle, we had some amazing sex, followed by a hurricane-force torrent of irritation when I didn’t sleep over and went back to my own bed.

Today is all work and catching up and editing for x3sixty. Tomorrow is ComicCon, and I’m sure there will be a tale from that.

Tonight was the first production meeting for Cowboys & Engines, a short you’ll be hearing a lot more about over the coming weeks. This is a mainstream piece produced by my friend Charles Mead and another fellow who shall remain anonymous for the moment; written & directed by me, and worked on by most of my close friends in some capacity. I’m incredibly excited. I think this will be something we can all be extremely proud of when it’s finished; something we can show at festivals and around town; something that might open doors for all of us.

I was supposed to get together with TQO after the meeting (her idea, much to my surprise) but she had a scene today and was exhausted. Instead, I went to Alcove with LL and got red velvet cake. And no, that isn’t a euphemism for anything.

I’m also excited that my place is really coming together, and beginning to look like a living space. I’ve been busting ass for the last couple weeks, and it’s paying off. Every time the MCWBT tries to take me down, I just go pick a spot to work on and by the time I’m done, it’s gone. Now, if only my mother would stop calling to tell me about friends she’s just discovered are dead. It’s like she just now figured out we’re all mortal… jeez…

All in all, I needed this night. I had lunch with Alice Saturday, which was great. Ink had to cancel at the last minute the night before, and I was a little cranky, so it was good to see a friend and just shoot the shit. Then, Saturday night, all hell broke loose.

I’ve been shutting Vega down over the past week because I feel (yes, I know you’re reading this… everyone say “hi” to Vega) that she’s gotten too hooked on me too quickly. After the experiences I had post-Alabama, I’m trying to be  extremely careful of the emotional states of women I’m banging. Vega is 30, so she should know better, but the fact is, she has fallen right into a domestic pattern I find really uncomfortable. She wants to cook for me… wants me to stay over… wants me to bring my laundry

To me, we went from “casual” to “serious” at a speed that raises some questions about Einstein’s theory of general relativity. And while I’ve bitched — at length, I know, so fuck off — in this blog about tiring of being alone, this is just the wrong thing at the wrong time. Vega is great; she’s smart, experienced, funny, and making every effort to be incredibly dirty… but that’s the problem. I can tell she’s making an effort. I don’t want a woman to ask me to piss in her mouth to make me happy, I want her to ask me to piss in her mouth because it makes her clit hard.

So, Saturday night I canceled my Sunday date with Vega. And I was honest about the reasons.

Note to self: Never do that again.

To say she went ballistic is an understatement. Hell, “understatement” is an understatement. She refused to take “no” for an answer. From around 7 pm Saturday night until 1 am Monday morning, we fought. We fought over who could claim the disinterested high ground; over who is more emotionally damaged; over who has greater fear of intimacy; over who is less stable; even over who is the bigger pervert (c’mon. Really?)

If you’re imagining we were calling each other these things, you’re reading it backwards. It was a completely retarded, emotional bigger dick contest. If I claimed to be a psychological wreck, she would try to top me. If she identified as a sociopath, I would be right there to take the hill. It was one of the strangest, stupidest, most exhausting arguments I’ve ever been a party to, and it went on for hours. To make matters worse, the conflict was a cross-platform, multimedia event on an epic scale. We covered texting, phone calls, e-mail, IM chats, Facebook & Twitter.

After a Sunday afternoon lull during which I thought we’d agreed to disagree and let it go, Vega decided to come over. I told her no fucking way, and she was at my door 40 minutes later anyway. Not raging or crazy or out of control, just wanting to get dinner and make nice. So we did, and, naturally (Guys? Right?) it was a trap. A few not-so-subtle rejoinders, and we were off to the races once again. Finally, at 1 am, as a kind of peace accord (a la détente) I gave in and we fucked for two hours.

And, yes, it was awesome. We did several things she’d never done before (see the earlier paragraph for a hint), and she didn’t try to stay. Still, I know she wanted me to ask her to stay. I haven’t heard from her at all today. We’ll see where this goes.

The worst part in all of it was the realization — a real eureka moment, complete with lighting bolt — that I have been Vega. Not long ago, I was in a similar situation, in reverse; I was the one wanting, but not wanted. As I sat through Vega talking and pleading and reasoning… vacillating between conciliatory and angry and jealous and cold… I understood that I had done the exact same things, over the space of months rather than hours, to the girl that wouldn’t have me and I was suddenly viciously, mercilessly ashamed.

I was such a tool. Such an annoying, needy, wheedling dick. I’m moving on, so I think the worst of it is over, but just typing this now and thinking about it, I’m cringing and my stomach is in knots. Why — how — she still talks to me is a wonder. Women are simply more tolerant of egregious behavior in men. If they weren’t, there wouldn’t be a species.

Life progresses. Today has been the first time in several days that the MCWBT tried to reassert control. Luckily, I’ve been alone, so I allowed myself to mope  slightly (nothing major), while getting on with work. I think by tomorrow, I’ll have washed it off. I spent the day organizing and pulling boxes out of the area that will become my dungeon.

It’s strictly chemical, and I know it; I have no cause to complain. I finally got together for some mildly perverted R&R with TQO, and it was awesome. I’m hoping we make it a regular occurrence, though she’s been mentioning some guy (not me) she’s getting sloppy over on Twitter, so it might not happen.

There’s the potential that I’ll be meeting an interesting, attractive, and far too young for me (this is a theme; TQO is 19) girl from Florida whom I’ve been talking to since last year. She’s coming to L.A. next week, and we’re going to have lunch, and probably a fantastic rutting session afterwards. I’m also hoping to see Blue, and Brave, this weekend.

It looks like I’ve got directing work coming up before the end of the year, so the hustling is paying off. I’ve got four companies I’m potentially worming my way into. Nothing I can talk about yet, but my Tragic 8-Ball says things are looking up. Tomorrow will be my last day working as the DP on Paul Thomas’ most recent feature for New Sensations. I’ve known PT forever, but this is the first time we’ve ever worked together in any capacity, and I have to say, I get it. The man is genuinely talented, and he really knows how to keep things fresh and get the most from his actors. My respect is genuine, and the work is refreshing.

This shoot is also remarkable in that one of the extras, a gorgeous, heavily-tattooed girl who mostly does BDSM scenes, gave me her number and while texting today decided we should really get together and play.

Suddenly, I’m much more invested in getting the dungeon put together…

A funny thing happened on the way to my blog… I realized I feel pretty goddamned good. Part of it is getting a job that I’ve been very late in finishing for some friends off my plate and my conscience. Part is that my efforts at diversifying, trying to get out from under the near-exclusive banner of the director I’ve been inhabiting for the past 18 months, are working. And part of it, I admit, is that I’ve started to feel like I have a few more years of hunting attractive, interesting prey in me after all.

Go fuck yourself, MCWBT.

The improving attitude is partly just willpower (hey, I gotta give myself occasional credit). I’ve lost almost 30 pounds from simply deciding to eat less and sticking to it. I figure I can apply that same force of will to my own shitty outlook. Plus, I’ve been able to settle a few outstanding emotional debts lately. Not all of them the way I would have hoped, but at least I got closure.

Surprisingly, I’m not letting it make me crazy. Between work, trying to unpack, and the occasional date, I’m keeping busy.

On the first score, I’m chasing directing gigs at various companies, shooting a lot for x3sixty, a new venture owned by Paul Fishbein, the man who hired me to run AVN, and working as a DP for various other directors. It looks like the horror movie I shot in November might premiere at the Toronto Film Festival, which would be amazing. I have a bite on directing another horror film. I’m doing prep on my mysterious steampunk short I’ve mentioned here a few times. I’m even getting paid to finish editing The Money Shot, a web series I directed over a decade ago.

So work is good. The new place is very slowly coming together (having work precludes having time to unpack). At least most of the toys, and the TV & surround sound are set up (because, y’know, I’m 12).

As for the dates, it’s been interesting. I got a call I never expected from a girl I hadn’t seen in years who was in town and wanted to get together. I’ve been seeing Blue about once a week, which is great (though we still have that top/top issue). I’m speaking to Red again, just casually, and since I have no interest, I’m sure she’ll be chasing. Next week I have a date that could be a complete waste of time, and I’ve been flirting and sending filthy stories to an interesting girl I’m gonna call The Quiet One (y’know, the ones you have to watch out for). That could turn out to be a fascinating distraction.

Today should have been a good day. I actually slept last night. I had the time I needed to finish a trailer I’m cutting for a friend’s short film (said trailer is woefully tardy). I have a date with a smokin’ hot girl to see Prometheus tonight (okay, it’s a platonic date, but still, I get to go in the company of a smokin’ hot chick).

Around noon I got the call that I got cast in a micro-budget horror film. It’s only three days for me, and the movie might never, ever see the light of day (this script is bad), but it’s a gig.

Hell, I’m not even broke. I mean, I’m far from flush; I’m waiting on checks, rent’s late, etc., but I have work, the cats & I can eat, and there’s more work on the horizon. And to top it all off, I seem to be winning the battle against the  Midlife-Crisis-Whiny-Bitch Thing (Which shall, henceforth, be referred to as The MCWBT). All in all, this shoulda been a great day.

And then… well, see the previous post.

So, shoulda been a great day, but, it’s amazing how niggling little things can really nettle you. They dig in and burrow and fester. First thing this morning I discovered — on Twitter, of all places — that I had been quietly un-invited from going on an outing I was really looking forward to. Just writing it seems ridiculous, but it really stung, much more than it should have.

Of course, after that, everything annoyed me at a scale exceeding its proportion. I ended up having to drive to Culver City, then the Valley, which blew my workday to shit. The whole time I was thinking I should call and cancel the horror gig because it’s a stupid waste of time. That’s when I wasn’t wondering how much, if any, intent was behind my being ditched from said event, and should I just announce the insult to my oh-so-delicate sensibilities, or suck it up and get over it. Etc. Etc.

Once I decided on the latter course, I began to deflate and cool off. So, I’m gonna work on that trailer for the next few hours, go on my date, try not to talk to the friend who either forgot me or bumped me from said event, ignore The MCWBT and have a great time.

Hopefully, the movie won’t suck, but I’ll certainly let you know.

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