"Dear Diary,
Today we milked that damned cow. Again."
Running time - 1:40:26
So we wait and we wait. We wait for the tax return check. We wait to hear from IFP. So much breath holding. Is that a chick movie title? "Waiting to Exhale?"
Oh yeah. Whitney Houston. How accidentally semi-topical of me.
Oh wait. The tax return is here. I should have bitched about it earlier. Now we wait til April 10th to hear about IFP. Which is seventeen whole entire days.
Back Deck Kitty needs to learn how to defend her territory. Also, that other cat has way too much hair.
Do people actually wear tennis bracelets when they play tennis?
Conference call from L.A. last Saturday, one from Beverly Hills today.
Who knew contract bridge players could be so annoying? Throngs and throngs of them. It's like working on a low rent cruise ship or maybe a hotel in the Poconos. Also, there's really no need to carbo load before a card tournament. Think about it.
I'm dreading this producer screening tonight. I fear all that will come out of it is more people to interview. 83 is certainly enough. Just let me finish this movie this fucking year. Please. Don't let me end up like Rod, with so much unfinished.
Sure, I'll move to San Francisco. Maybe I've been here too long. Spring fever makes me want to run away.
This song makes sad, but I love it.
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