Traveling Sisterhood of the Pants

C - Carrie Hakes. I don't think I've featured her yet here, but she's one of my most favorite people. And her alter ego, The Bear, has to be one of the best things on this planet, I kid you not. Miss you, Bear...
L - A desolate Earth, ravaged by nuclear war, full of CYLON skeletons?!? Say wha?!
O - Mad Men on Blu-ray. Now the best show on TV is in HD. Boo ya...
S - Watching, and rewatching (on a loop, mind you) the genius that is Episode 210 from 30 Rock... Keep an eye on Tracy Morgan during the episode's climactic musical number... A-mazing...
A - Pole dancing on the tram to The Getty.
T - When life hands you lemons, throw 'em out and find an edible fruit...

I officially have a new Favorite Thing (along with sweater capes, naturally): my week-old nephew, Casen. He's finally home from the NICU, and he's as sleepy as ever, which makes him slightly boring, but strangely fascinating. He hasn't quite figured his body out, so he maneuvers awkwardly, hands everywhere (including his signature "Push up my gigantic cheeks" move. Killer), and he does this all whilst sleeping rather soundly. It's even entertaining to see him make his "Yep, I'm pooping" face. I even find his cry entertaining; he quivers his bottom lip when he gets really into, which is both sad, and rather awesome. Thankfully, his cry is about as cute as they come, never getting louder than average adult conversation volume, so it's not much of a bother. Overall, I give him two thumbs up; one thumbs up for utter adorable-ness (an important attribute for a one-week old, a breed most often plagued by under-developed features, and a penchant for the mundane), and the other thumb for compatibility with me, his soon to be most spoilish of uncles. He doesn't pitch a fit when I hold him. Instead he sighs and whimpers, and then proceeds to poo on me pants (true story). The funny thing is, I didn't change my pants after it happened... *sigh*.... It must be love.

In other news, I put immense strain on my groin muscles whilst trying to engage my flabby doughboy exterior in some intense rigeur. I can barely stand, let alone put my pants on ('twas quite the treat this morning...) So, for the next couple of days, I'll probably walk like an 80 year old man with bad knees and a replaced hip, all in the name of chiseled abs and winning biceps.

I'm getting into my writing. I have three major projects I'm currently engaged in, and all of them excite me terribly. I received this wonderful writing guide from Eric A., a Blog-O-Friend, and it's worked wonders for my lazy tendencies, helping me to jump the hump, as they say, and get into it, and by it, I mean imagining my movies in my head. I'd say that's the biggest hurdle writer's have to escape: we have movies, books, plays, etc. playing in our head almost all the time, and they're wonderful, as they are usually the ideal versions of our own ideas. But, we're selfish creatures, so we horde them for ourselves until we funnel them through our laptops, hoping they come out looking at least a fifth like our Ideal. But, this is where writer's block sets in-- the moment we realize it was better left in our brains... It's a humbling experience to see your half-assed (sorry, but there's no other word for it...) idea coming to pathetic life in your Final Draft document, knowing darn well that this draft you're sweating over will never see the light of day, nor should it. It's maddening, and you have to be completely mental to want to do this for a living. Awesome, but still mental...

So, now that I've insulted both myself and my friends, I bid you adieu for the time being. 24 is paused right now on my TiVo, and it's time I took a look-see at this new season. Apparently it's supposed to be good, but I have yet to see that come to fruition... But, holy cow was Battlestar good last night. Yowza...