So last Tuesday, I met my screenwriting Tutor "E" at a coffeehouse in Cincinnati. He's won a couple of scriptwriting awards and his stories have been optioned (but lapsed). He's a young, I'm guessing hispanic, guy with intense eyes -- but that may be from the glasses. We're supposed to start with a "premise" and meet with a group once a month at Borders Northgate Mall to take our story to its end. I showed him my "premise", which is a short story I wrote for my Pikes Peak community college class in creative writing a couple of years ago about a woman who abandons her kid at a Wendy's.

"Your story is very visual. 'her eyes look instinctively toward her house' -- that's very visual." Said E. He read my story by keeping his middle finger down on the line, with his pinky and thumb spread, like a ruler or placeholder. A couple of times his finger-ruler stopped and he would sit back, as if thinking. At the first mention of Wendy's, he sat back and said: "Unless you're looking for a product endorsement, *never* use a product name. And with this kind of story, I don't think you'll get a product endorsement from Wendy's." (Uh, what do you mean? I thought Dave Thomas was *adopted*.)

He gave me some screenwriting tools to remember, like definitions for things like POV and OC and VO, and also the website for a hollywood scripts clearance center. Yesterday, I clicked around www.script-o-rama.com and printed out the scripts for two of my favorites: American Beauty and Fight Club.

I read all of the American Beauty script last night, and I gotta say, it was (*sob*) beautiful. I only saw the movie once, but it left an impression. And this script brought it all back and wow, if I could write like that!

After I paid a quick visit to an ATM to transfer cash, I stopped by the Pipeline to see what's what; they had a full parking lot and youngies falling in. Most were going upstairs to dance but there was a $3 cover, so I stayed downstairs. I pretty quickly picked up a fairly young guy in town on business. He was 6'-6", an electrical engineer, and I thought pretty cute. He had a great body, and boy was he excited to be with me! He didn't like to kiss, but he liked to touch and, after everything was over, I noticed his wedding ring. (Well, that's his deal; not mine.) It was nice to be with someone who enjoyed himself and vocalized it.

Speaking of the things people throw away... Last night I spent some time cleaning out e-mails on my yahoo account.

I had saved the e-mails from two guys I dated this last Spring. Yup, me, I was "dating" for awhile. It was the first time in a few years actually, and I think (think!) I made a valiant attempt. I answered C's ad on-line last December; I met M in the backroom of a bar in January. I dated C more in the "traditional" sense until he called me up on July 4th to tell me he didn't love me; and things just sort of frittered away in May with M. OK, blog alongs, I don't give a crap how selfish or childish I come off, but looking through these e-mails, man, *both* these guys really really f&%$#g irritate me!!

Who did I like better? Well, I have to admit I liked M better. We always had a good laugh and a good conversation and yup, I thought things were pretty good in the sack, too. Things started going sour when M told me that he thought I was forcing him to make a "dating decision" and that he thought I liked him more than he liked me. So, I backed off -- way off, I thought. Should I prove to him I like him LESS than he likes me? Another time, he said "Why do you always put me on the defensive?" when we were having a conversation. You know, this isn't the first time I've heard that from someone, and I just don't know what to think -- ! And while we've hung out a few times since the end of May AND he got my gig at the opera, I don't know if we'll see each other even as friends anymore. I ran into him a coupla weeks ago at The Serp -- the night I ran into the guy who hadn't eaten all day so he could drink beer: Yes, it was kind of awkward. I had canceled our tentative plans for "Geighties Night" last week, but he hasn't yet called me back when I called a coupla days ago to see if he wanted to go to the movies. I have a friend at work, KL, who dated one guy for about a year and who called her up and said "Admit it, you love me." and she said, "I don't." I have the feeling that same thing would happen to me if I attempted a similar conversation with M. So, I won't call him again. (And I think that is sad.)

As for C -- bachelor #2. I'm sure if you put C and M next to each other, most folks would say that C was the better catch. He was better looking, had his own house, his own business, a sterile house that fell out of the IKEA catalog, a friendly dog that got along very well with Grace (after the initial fight for domination). But.... boy was he wound tight... and reading the above, I think "sterile" would be a good over-all description. I don't think he was too self-aware. For example, he asked me: "When was the last time you cleaned your bathroom?" referring to the black mold on some of the grout and caulking. Guilty As Charged! But.... his tub could have used a good scrubbing, too. Another example, he made a huge deal that whoever he dated had to have a good relationship with their family (apparently, unlike his ex). Well, I have a great relationship with my family, and while I'm not saying that tons of photos lying about is any indication of that, his house was devoid of any personal touch -- he had nothing personal displayed. He criticized the way I treated Grace, and apparently his dog learned all these terrible habits from her after we visited. What I'm *really* irritated with is that I decided to keep dating.. and that he broke up with ME before I broke up with HIM...! Hey, at age 40, you take the good with the bad, and none of these items were all so earth-shattering. He had friends, he was doing things... and if I could accept his quirks, then it was worth risking he could accept mine! I asked him what folks would say was his worst attribute, and he struggled for an answer which was "I don't know how to fight." And maybe that's true: I think he had a bit (a lot!) of anger hiding just beneath the surface that came out in his quirky ways.

I've asked people what they think my worst attribute is. I'm inflexible and unwilling to compromise. It's My Way or the Highway. I've spent a lot of time considering this, obsessing over it. I guess I'm expressive -- but I also think I'm respectful of others' opinions and gosh, I think I'm genuinely interested in hearing what other folks have to say. When you read those new-age, self-help Looking For Mr. Right Find the Boyfriend Within blcch, they're always talking about the ability to compromise as necessary to a relationship. I've really worried over whether I've lost that ability (if I ever had it to begin with, yikes!). Based on my recent experiences, part of me rebels: if someone I'm dating has an opinion, then they need to pipe up!

I have decided in the last week or so that my real problem is elsewhere -- it's Trust -- and it is far scarier to deal with that issue than it is to be alone, so I'll be alone.

On an unrelated note, I conducted a meeting with a cast of thousands on our G project today. I was told the meeting went well, and the discussion has generated a lot of e-mail action with folks completing the tasks I had delegated. But at the meeting's beginning, a few folks were sniggering into their hands. I asked CR why, and she said that "people who hadn't been in a meeting with you before aren't used to you." What the hell is that supposed to mean? (Translation: I act like a big fag.) Well, that's nothing new, and I'm well aware that I can be "animated" or some other colorful euphamism when I'm public speaking. Maybe being faggy was the real problem or block when I was dating, too. Certainly, C told me that he had a problem with too much "gayness". Whatever. Into the trash bin went their e-mails. So, I'll be a big fag and grow old alone, not trusting very many people. So Sue Me.

I don't think there's much furniture in my apartment that I've actually purchased. Other than the antique upright piano I bought from Justo's church, a chest of drawers I bought in Rochester, a couple of Arts and Crafts chairs, and the old Vitanola I've had since I was, like, 12, I think everything else has been found. So far, the biggest pay dirt for finding things has been this past year in the neighborhood I live in here in Cincinnati.

I live in Prospect Hill, which is an older neighborhood overlooking downtown -- It's listed on the National Register, and looks like most of the buildings are from the 1870s, but there's some earlier housing, maybe late Greek Revival, and my house is a duplex built in 1914.

It's a mixed neighborhood: I live across the street from public housing, and we're within walking distance of the riots at Over-the-Rhine. But, we also have ferocious white yuppies of the most insidious kind -- Saabs, cell phones, mocha lattes AND babies. We have sophisticated old preppies (think Nantucket meets New York), and vestiges of the gay population that apparently got it all started 15 years ago but have mostly moved on to redo other, uglier neighborhoods. We still have a high concentration of Lesbians Who Drive Land Rovers (or TT4s or Boxters) -- and, like Henry Ford, love any color as long as it is black.

When I walk Grace in the evening, we've been stopping at a little park that overlooks the downtown skyline -- the lights of Carew Tower, the "Dolly Partons" of Proctor & Gamble HQ, the halogen of the new stadiums. In the morning, what seems to stand out during the walks are entirely different views -- the early city's church steeples, narrow needles stabbing heaven, tarnished copper and gilt, clock faces and muddy chimes. There is also the Ruskin mass of Music Hall (memories of the Opera), and the surrounding hills -- most notably Mount Adams, where there is the art museum and some convent or something looking like it fell right out of the Italian hills.

Tomorrow is trash day in my neighborhood, and so the "night before" is usually a great adventure! While Grace goes nuts over all the smells, I go for the Big Tag items. The project folks are always moving or maybe getting evicted and so there's always tons of great kitschy stuff outside their apartments. The ferocious yuppies and old preppies (not to mention those Land Roving Lesbians) represent the best of American hyper-consumerism and so, likewise, are always throwing out cool things. I've furnished most of my apartment with these objets de trouves.

So in the past year, I've found a chrome and wicker high-style 1970s dining room chair, a chest of drawers, a 6-foot-high 5-panel screen with a basket weave pattern, and a side table. A couple of weeks ago, I painted the chest and the screen off-white, and I purchased some sleek aluminum knobs for the drawer pulls. It looks great, and wow, Amy Daczycyn and all those other Frugal folks would be jealous I bet! Maybe you read my earlier Blogaboo about having financial problems and thought I ran up a bill at Pottery Barn or Williams Sonoma, filling my home with accent lighting and puffy pillows? Nooooooooo! (No doubt I'll investigate and ponder the source of my money troubles with another Blogentry.)

Tonight, I found a King-sized bed headboard in the alley -- the ugliest French Provincial 1960s kind -- it has two high-peaked backs, like a camel, with that trendy 1960s/1970s "cane" trimming with wicker insets. I don't have a headboard, so as soon as I put Grace inside, I went and hoisted it back without a moment to spare. Its original finish was semi-antiqued white/gold with green hints, and covered with nicotine grime and cigarette burns. I say "was", because while it was still light out, I painted it with one of the paint returns I bought for the duplex, an oil ("alkyd") off-white. I think I'm going to paint over it with latex paint, a light green, which should crackle when it meets the oil base and make the whole thing look cool.

I'm sure the producers for Martha Stewart Living or Queer Eye for the Straight Guy are getting a busy signal trying to reach me. *sigh*

Over the weekend, my friend here, Dave, mentioned that he had a series of friends whom, if he didn't make the effort, they would lose touch. Well, that got me thinking, and I'm going to try and make the effort at reaching out to old friends whom I haven't talked to in awhile. Yesterday, I sent e-mails to an old boyfriend who now lives in Delaware, and to my best friend from law school who (I'm ashamed to say this) works in Colorado for the same company I do and so there is no good reason for the months that have passed without talking.

Last night, on the hour long drive back from work, I called my best friend from when I lived in Rochester in the late 80s: Bump. He was self-conscious about his last name at first, but I don't know if he is so much anymore. As soon as I knew that was his name, I always called him Bump. I met him in 1989 -- I've known him fourteen years now. When I called, he knew who it was as soon as I said hello.

Anyways, we got caught up. Or maybe I should say I got caught up, Bump did most of the talking. I heard about his ex-boyfriend Ronnie, who has slowly deteriorated in his mental health to the point where he was jailed for eight days after losing his temper and acting out by pitching a rock through his sister's glass door. In the last nine months, Ronnie also started hallucinating about people following him, or taking pictures of him, or being up on his roof -- and when he started up about the roof people a few days after his release, a friend who was with him at the time called the cops again. They said they were tired of seeing his name come up on their call monitor and that he needed help -- so into the psych ward went he. I told Bump I thought that was the best thing. He agreed, but he's also stressed out about it: He talked about Government agencies that could care less -- hospitals, jails, psych wards. Worse than the withdrawal from all the meds, though, is the fact that New York just passed a law prohibiting smoking. For Ronnie and Bump, this is the last straw!

I also got the scoop on one of my ex-boyfriends, DC. Bump and DC weren't talking for a long time, it was over something petty. I think DC laid into Bump for not voting in the last election and Bump had said "what for?" They've just started talking again, but it's not a walk in the rose garden. Bump's car is in the shop right now for a new water pump, and DC won't even help pick up or drop off to Bump's work or help with a few chores. (Somewhere, I have DC's number, and I feel like giving him a piece of my mind. What a bunch of high-maintenance babies! ---Except, that would be going against the intent of reaching out and touching old friends, etc., wouldn't it?) Because of the amount of smoking, DC has had some pretty nasty bouts with cancer recently, including chemo. It's so strange for me because I still think of us all in our 20s.

Bump's also discovered X. He's been "rolling hard", he says. (At one point I had been curious to try, but I never have, and right now, I don't know if I care I ever do.) Even after a few months, he said the highs are getting less intense, and he's left feeling disappointment. (Kinda like showing up for work -- not!) I reminisced about the first time I met him, he was wearing one of those wife-beater shirts, jeans and black tennis-shoes. We were the hot items at this neighborhood bar ---sniff sniff. Well, that was then and this is now.

As we were talking, I made tentative plans to visit in October. I'm definitely looking forward to it!

Stay tuned as I get caught up with more of my old friends!

On an unrelated note, our company has been hit by this virus / worm that's been publicized this past week. It's pretty insidious, it slowly attached itself to various programs of our company, and yesterday I noticed that all the on-line screens slowly deteriorated, as if something was literally eating the graphics away. I can hear people in the conference room behind us discussing its impact on a server. I've been amazed that a company as technologically advanced as ours couldn't catch something like this to begin with.

Well, I've been a diligent little employee in the last week and finished all my training (remember Blog Post #1?), scheduled a couple of meetings on the G project build, and cornered a few intractibles to woo them over a spat regarding ownership and cost centers.

Later.

Sometimes a group of us get together on Fridays to eat at an Indian Restaurant. One of the routines we follow is to read "Real Astrology" in the alternative Dayton rag. The last two weeks, the forecasts for my sign (Sagitarius) have involved dreams: 2 weeks ago I soon will have a dream that could change my life; and last Friday's -- "Feed Your Dreams".

I have had a recurring dream for awhile, for the last couple of years at least. I am driving my car, my stick-shift Honda Civic -- I can feel the heat of summer day, the brightness of the sun in my eyes, and I can hear the radio -- sometimes it's at night, and I can smell the sweetness of grass and moist air. Sometimes I'm speeding down a highway, sometimes slower on a back road, sometimes I'm stopped in city traffic at a light. And maybe for a moment I'm distracted -- grabbing sunglasses out of the glove compartment, or changing a CD or my cel phone is ringing, or I'm trying to settle down papers blowing around because the windows or the sunroof are open. I look up in time to catch the wide-eyed surprise of the person I'm about to hit. Maybe it's a child on a bicycle; maybe it's a woman crossing the street. In one, it was an older man who looked a lot like my father. Sometimes I am going fast and the person slides toward me, unable to move from my path. Sometimes I've taken my foot off the brake at a stop and when I look up, there they are staring at me, shocked, registering what is about to happen. Sometimes it's not a person -- it's the flash of a massive grey bridge pylon or steel road fencing. I usually wake up with the heavy sound of contact.

The recent version of this dream is on a highway bridge, one of those modern engineering feats -- white and high up with a dangerously low balustrade. It is night, I hear the hum of the road and the steady, reassuring klump of the dividers they put in for heat expansion between sections of the concrete. There is a slight cross wind you can feel shaking the car a bit as you are driving. As I cruise along cresting a gradual incline, suddenly I see the road ahead ends abruptly because it has been shorn away -- my headlights catch the surprisingly smooth end of this side; and a nano-second later, they light the jagged edge in the distance where the bridge takes up again, bits of concrete dangling by exposed reinforced rods like comouflage netting. Sometimes there is another car or maybe a truck, and simultaneous to the moment that I notice the end of the bridge, they notice it, too and there is a quick pump noise as they hit their brakes, the panic of brilliant red lights and shrieking metal and an alarming lurch as the car or truck shoots sideways and backwards just missing me past me behind me. My mind races -- hit the brakes/flip the steering wheel/shift into reverse. But I freeze, I can do nothing. In all versions I freeze and keep on gliding, unable or unwilling to do a thing.

I had this dream last weekend. I don't think this is what the astrology forecasts had in mind. Any dream analysts out there?