LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): All that energy has to be good for something — and you should think of exactly the right project! You may want to track down an ex, redecorate your home or convince your boss to give you a raise. Anything is possible!
Laura’s Log:
Turned out Millie broke her hip. I stopped by last night, but she was asleep and I didn’t want to wake her. I doubt one sleeps well with massive hip pain. Take the sleep when you can get it. I left my small bouquet with a note. Sadly, there was no other sign of visitors.
I returned after work today with more flowers, a crossword puzzle book and the latest issue of “Hello!” magazine. Figured she might be a Prince William follower. Millie was awake and alert when I arrived. Yesterday’s flowers were joined by an orchid plant. Glad to know she’d had other company.
“Hi, dear,” she said. She flashed her set of tiny, crooked teeth, showing she wasn’t in undue pain. A relief. (Hospitals make me squeamish. I was thrilled she had a private room. Last thing I wanted to fixate on was someone’s IV bag.)
“How are you?” I asked as I made room for the latest gifts on her bedside table.
“Well, I’m afraid they’re going to have to call someone up to take my place for the rest of the playoffs. Between you and me, I think the Sedins will do just fine without me.” A sense of humor is always a good sign. “By the way,” she added, “you just missed your friend.”
“My friend?”
“Why, Ken! The nice gentleman with the cocoa.”
“Oh, we’re not really friends. We barely—”
“Now just because I’m an old lady doesn’t mean I’m a prude. You can talk about sex with me, honey.” More humor, I hoped.
“Really, Millie, we don’t—”
“He’s smitten with you. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I know these things. I set my best friend up Gladys with her future husband. He turned out to be a schmuck, but it was love for awhile. That’s something.”
“Nice.”
“He says he doesn’t think you’re going to call him. Now why in heavens not, honey? Are you in a relationship?”
I couldn’t lie to an old lady. I shook my head.
“Then, for heaven’s sake, call the man. He’s got a little extra padding, but honey they all do eventually. I always say it’s just more to love. And he’s such a sweet man. Now I don’t want you making visits to see me if it means you’re neglecting your sex life. If you come see me again—and I really hope you do, dear—you’d better have good news on the sex front.”
Gramma Millie had an inclination for saying sex a lot. Perhaps she could find a horny older gentleman in the wing and talk the doc into a Viagra prescription. Anything to shift the attention away from me.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
NO CALL FROM LAURA. JUST AS I EXPECTED. (SO WHY DOES IT STING?) I STOPPED BY VGH WITH A PLANT FOR MILLIE, THE LADY WHO TOOK A FALL YESTERDAY. I WANTED TO SEE SHE WAS OKAY, BUT—HERE’S WHERE I SHOW HOW PATHETIC I AM—I WAS ALSO HOPING I’D RUN INTO LAURA AGAIN. SEEMS WE DO THAT A LOT.
NOT THIS TIME. I LINGERED AS MILLIE WENT ON AND ON ABOUT A NEIGHBOR ABOVE HER (AT HOME, NOT THE HOSPITAL) WHO ALWAYS HAD LOUD SEX. MILLIE DIDN’T RAISE IT AS A COMPLAINT. I GOT THE SENSE SHE LIKED TO TALK A LITTLE SMUT. JUST WISH IT WASN’T IN MY COMPANY. I LIKE TO THINK OF LITTLE OLD LADIES MAKING TEA AND KNITTING BOOTIES FOR FREEZING ORPHANS IN THE ARCTIC.
I SHOULD’VE BEEN CONTENT TO HEAR ABOUT THE NEIGHBOR BECAUSE, AFTER THAT STORY RAN ITS COURSE, SHE GRILLED ME. “SO, KEN, ARE YOU A LOUD ONE?”
“HUH?” SHE WASN’T ASKING WHAT I THOUGHT SHE WAS ASKING. WAS SHE?
“DO YOU SCREAM AND YELL DIRTY THINGS WHEN YOU’RE GOING AT IT IN BED?” SHE WAS.
“UH, WELL,…I GENERALLY SLEEP ALONE.”
SEEMS I DISAPPOINTED HER. I WONDERED IF SHE COULD PAY TO WATCH PORN AT THE HOSPITAL. (BUT THEN SHE MIGHT GET ANOTHER INJURY.) SHE STARED AT ME, MAKING ME UNCOMFORTABLE. “I THINK YOU SHOULD HAVE SEX WITH LAURA. SHE LEFT ME THE LOVELIEST NOTE, YOU KNOW.”
“UH, MILLIE, THAT DOESN’T EXACTLY LAY THE GROUNDWORK FOR LAURA AND ME GETTING INVOLVED.”
ANOTHER LONG STARE. THEN A SMILE. “YOU’VE TAKEN A SHINE TO HER, HAVEN’T YOU? NOW LET ME GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE…”
ON AND ON SHE RAMBLED. THIS TIME, I LISTENED. HEY, YOU NEVER KNOW.
Showing posts with label Sedins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sedins. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
PAST IS PRESENT
January 31, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): If you really want something, figure out how to frame the question before you ask. Try to indulge your social urges a little more today -- if that’s possible! You may meet someone new who sets you in a new direction or rediscover an old flame who’s dying to see you again.
Laura’s Log:
Family brunch at Mom & Dad’s. Of course, Mom doesn’t get the fact that “brunch” allows you to sleep in. (“What do you need to sleep in for?” she shot back when I complained about the 8:30 start time. “You’ve got all this time on your hands now. Best thing for you is to be out of your apartment pronto and doing things. In fact, Dr. Phil says—”)
Lucy and Carl(a) were no-shows. Mom had made the mistake of saying she’d gone to The Bay and bought each of us a pair of those cute red Canada Olympic mitts. At the mention of the Olympics, they were compelled to boycott brunch. Mom was terribly upset, but I tried to explain that’s how their brains were wired. They needed their daily protest in order to find purpose.
Apparently, Estelle and Curtis showed up half an hour early. (“For the first time ever, Sven and Gretel were ready in a snap. Once everyone’s zipped, snapped and bundled, you just go.”) Made my twenty-minute late entrance more glaring. Mom tried to guilt me—“The waffles are hardening in all the wrong places”—but Marella’s stumbling in at 9:15 diverted all the etiquette lecturing and the more generalized “you-just-don’t-love-me” diatribe. One minute after her arrival, Marella stormed out to the back deck, Mom yelling “You lawyers…” to her back.
I decided to join Marella. We hadn’t talked much since New Year’s. She was always working. Well, not always, apparently. Lighting up a cigarette—“You’re smoking again?!” “Shut up!”—she confessed, “I only got home an hour ago. Had an intense fuck with a guy I met at Rosie’s last night. Monty. Or Marty. Maybe it was Dwayne. Anyway, you gotta try it. The energy at that pub was pretty somber, but then when the Canucks came back in the third, every guy in the place was eager to celebrate. I had my pick. You should come with me next time.”
The thought of selecting a one-nighter alongside my sister was too far removed from The Waltons for me. “See you inside,” I said, escaping one awkward moment for another. Mom was unbuttoning and rebuttoning Dad’s shirt in the kitchen in front of the rest of us. “Honestly, you’re sixty-three and you don’t know how to button a shirt. Where was your mind? You can’t go getting Alzheimer’s. We turfed those aluminum pots years ago.” Dad just stood there looking no different than three-year-old Gretel, getting (s)mothered. Sometimes I hate Mom for how she treats him; other times, like that moment, I hate him for allowing it.
When we all settled for brunch, after another five-minute delay for Curtis to change Sven’s loaded diaper—How is it that Curtis is that perfect a daddy? Estelle’s got him whipped more than Mom has Dad.—Mom enjoyed two mouthfuls of her quiche before spilling the big news that quite possibly was the excuse for the entire get-together. “Guess who’s getting a divorce?” she beamed. None of us had the time to process her gleeful grin, much less guess. “Harvey Burns! Isn’t that wonderful, Laura?”
Harvey. My boyfriend from UBC and two years beyond. “The one that got away,” as Mom regularly referred to him. Nothing I ever said could taint that status. A successful banker with a condo overlooking English Bay and a Mercedes, he was great on paper, but a bore who couldn’t contribute to any conversation that drifted too far from a connection to The Wall Street Journal, “The Rachael Ray Show” or mountain biking. Yes, that’s right. Rachael Ray.
“Mavis Benson ran into Harvey’s mother—you remember Doris, don’t you, Laura?”
“Mom,—”
“Oh, of course you do. What am I saying? She was practically your mother-in-law. Well, it turns out that Harvey’s wife put on eighty pounds after the wedding and started blowing all Harvey’s money gambling at The River Rock and everything went bust.”
“Mom…”
“After only two years. I say it just shows he’s still in love with you, Laura. And how could he not be?”
She continued to rattle on, even as Gretel threw waffle bits at Mom. (No doubt, poor Gretel’s way of saying Make it stop.) I had to take a stand and get Mom to butt out. I had no choice but to say, “Marella’s started smoking again!”
I have a grapefruit-sized bruise on my right arm, thanks to Marella’s horrified reaction, but it was worth it. Can’t have my big sis getting lung cancer, can I?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
WHAT A GAME LAST NIGHT! ALL WEEK I’D BEEN SENDING SNARKY EMAILS TO FRIENDS IN TORONTO, LETTING THEM KNOW THE LEAFS WERE GOING DOWN. AND THEN LUONGO DIDN’T SHOW UP FOR THE FIRST PERIOD. STILL ON PACIFIC TIME? GOD, THOSE SEDINS AND BURR ARE AMAZING! HOW RIGHTEOUS TO HAVE BURROWS RULE THE NIGHT IN CBC CENTRALE! JUST WISH RON MacLEAN HADN’T BEEN FARMED OUT TO STRATFORD. NEEDED TO SEE HIM EAT SOME HUMBLE PIE.
MARTY & I WENT TO ROSIE’S ON ROBSON FOR THE GAME. GREAT ATMOSPHERE. MARTY, OF COURSE, ONLY STUCK AROUND FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER THE GAME. HOOKED UP W/SOME LAWYER, OLDER THAN HIS NORMAL CONQUEST. THERE’LL BE A STORY THERE. SHE WAS DRESSED TO SCORE IN A LOW-CUT THING THAT MADE IT LOOK LIKE HER BREASTS WLD POP OUT ANY SECOND. CAN’T IMAGINE THE RIDE HOME!
ME, I STUCK AROUND FOR SOME OF THE OILERS-FLAMES. GOT A SENSE THAT THERE WERE WOMEN LINGERING…AND NOT FOR ANOTHER DOSE OF HOCKEY. WHAT’S WRONG W/ME? WHY CAN’T I JUST BANG SOMEONE? SAD THING IS, I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG W/ME. I’D BE THINKING ABOUT CLARA THE WHOLE TIME.
THINK I NEED TO SEE ABOUT GETTING 2 SESSIONS A WEEK W/THE THERAPIST.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): If you really want something, figure out how to frame the question before you ask. Try to indulge your social urges a little more today -- if that’s possible! You may meet someone new who sets you in a new direction or rediscover an old flame who’s dying to see you again.
Laura’s Log:
Family brunch at Mom & Dad’s. Of course, Mom doesn’t get the fact that “brunch” allows you to sleep in. (“What do you need to sleep in for?” she shot back when I complained about the 8:30 start time. “You’ve got all this time on your hands now. Best thing for you is to be out of your apartment pronto and doing things. In fact, Dr. Phil says—”)
Lucy and Carl(a) were no-shows. Mom had made the mistake of saying she’d gone to The Bay and bought each of us a pair of those cute red Canada Olympic mitts. At the mention of the Olympics, they were compelled to boycott brunch. Mom was terribly upset, but I tried to explain that’s how their brains were wired. They needed their daily protest in order to find purpose.
Apparently, Estelle and Curtis showed up half an hour early. (“For the first time ever, Sven and Gretel were ready in a snap. Once everyone’s zipped, snapped and bundled, you just go.”) Made my twenty-minute late entrance more glaring. Mom tried to guilt me—“The waffles are hardening in all the wrong places”—but Marella’s stumbling in at 9:15 diverted all the etiquette lecturing and the more generalized “you-just-don’t-love-me” diatribe. One minute after her arrival, Marella stormed out to the back deck, Mom yelling “You lawyers…” to her back.
I decided to join Marella. We hadn’t talked much since New Year’s. She was always working. Well, not always, apparently. Lighting up a cigarette—“You’re smoking again?!” “Shut up!”—she confessed, “I only got home an hour ago. Had an intense fuck with a guy I met at Rosie’s last night. Monty. Or Marty. Maybe it was Dwayne. Anyway, you gotta try it. The energy at that pub was pretty somber, but then when the Canucks came back in the third, every guy in the place was eager to celebrate. I had my pick. You should come with me next time.”
The thought of selecting a one-nighter alongside my sister was too far removed from The Waltons for me. “See you inside,” I said, escaping one awkward moment for another. Mom was unbuttoning and rebuttoning Dad’s shirt in the kitchen in front of the rest of us. “Honestly, you’re sixty-three and you don’t know how to button a shirt. Where was your mind? You can’t go getting Alzheimer’s. We turfed those aluminum pots years ago.” Dad just stood there looking no different than three-year-old Gretel, getting (s)mothered. Sometimes I hate Mom for how she treats him; other times, like that moment, I hate him for allowing it.
When we all settled for brunch, after another five-minute delay for Curtis to change Sven’s loaded diaper—How is it that Curtis is that perfect a daddy? Estelle’s got him whipped more than Mom has Dad.—Mom enjoyed two mouthfuls of her quiche before spilling the big news that quite possibly was the excuse for the entire get-together. “Guess who’s getting a divorce?” she beamed. None of us had the time to process her gleeful grin, much less guess. “Harvey Burns! Isn’t that wonderful, Laura?”
Harvey. My boyfriend from UBC and two years beyond. “The one that got away,” as Mom regularly referred to him. Nothing I ever said could taint that status. A successful banker with a condo overlooking English Bay and a Mercedes, he was great on paper, but a bore who couldn’t contribute to any conversation that drifted too far from a connection to The Wall Street Journal, “The Rachael Ray Show” or mountain biking. Yes, that’s right. Rachael Ray.
“Mavis Benson ran into Harvey’s mother—you remember Doris, don’t you, Laura?”
“Mom,—”
“Oh, of course you do. What am I saying? She was practically your mother-in-law. Well, it turns out that Harvey’s wife put on eighty pounds after the wedding and started blowing all Harvey’s money gambling at The River Rock and everything went bust.”
“Mom…”
“After only two years. I say it just shows he’s still in love with you, Laura. And how could he not be?”
She continued to rattle on, even as Gretel threw waffle bits at Mom. (No doubt, poor Gretel’s way of saying Make it stop.) I had to take a stand and get Mom to butt out. I had no choice but to say, “Marella’s started smoking again!”
I have a grapefruit-sized bruise on my right arm, thanks to Marella’s horrified reaction, but it was worth it. Can’t have my big sis getting lung cancer, can I?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
WHAT A GAME LAST NIGHT! ALL WEEK I’D BEEN SENDING SNARKY EMAILS TO FRIENDS IN TORONTO, LETTING THEM KNOW THE LEAFS WERE GOING DOWN. AND THEN LUONGO DIDN’T SHOW UP FOR THE FIRST PERIOD. STILL ON PACIFIC TIME? GOD, THOSE SEDINS AND BURR ARE AMAZING! HOW RIGHTEOUS TO HAVE BURROWS RULE THE NIGHT IN CBC CENTRALE! JUST WISH RON MacLEAN HADN’T BEEN FARMED OUT TO STRATFORD. NEEDED TO SEE HIM EAT SOME HUMBLE PIE.
MARTY & I WENT TO ROSIE’S ON ROBSON FOR THE GAME. GREAT ATMOSPHERE. MARTY, OF COURSE, ONLY STUCK AROUND FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER THE GAME. HOOKED UP W/SOME LAWYER, OLDER THAN HIS NORMAL CONQUEST. THERE’LL BE A STORY THERE. SHE WAS DRESSED TO SCORE IN A LOW-CUT THING THAT MADE IT LOOK LIKE HER BREASTS WLD POP OUT ANY SECOND. CAN’T IMAGINE THE RIDE HOME!
ME, I STUCK AROUND FOR SOME OF THE OILERS-FLAMES. GOT A SENSE THAT THERE WERE WOMEN LINGERING…AND NOT FOR ANOTHER DOSE OF HOCKEY. WHAT’S WRONG W/ME? WHY CAN’T I JUST BANG SOMEONE? SAD THING IS, I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG W/ME. I’D BE THINKING ABOUT CLARA THE WHOLE TIME.
THINK I NEED TO SEE ABOUT GETTING 2 SESSIONS A WEEK W/THE THERAPIST.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
TULIPS AND THE SEDINS MAKE IT ALL GOOD
January 21, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE: Build alliances, both at work and socially. Your network can expand amazingly now.
Laura’s Log:
Tupper’s no worse for wear. Mom wasn’t happy dogsitting yesterday, but I couldn’t leave him alone. “So you’re dropping him off so he’ll barf all over my carpets? I should think it would be good for Tupper to puke repeatedly on that worn down rug in your apartment. That landlord needs to replace the carpeting anyway. There are diseases lurching in the surfaces, you know. Dr. Oz says—”
Normally it’s rude to walk out mid-sentence on someone—especially when they’re caring for your sick dog—but Mom doesn’t pause on the period. You have to create your moment. Brought her a bright batch of tulips when I picked up the dog at day’s end and all was forgiven. “Oh, they’re just lovely, dear. You really shouldn’t have. You should be saving up your money for a condo so that you can get out of that—”
Wonderful to start the day off back in the normal routine. Cute guy was not working at Starbucks again today. Did he quit? Did he get discovered and flown to Hollywood? Two-movie career starring opposite that hot new actress with all the buzz, What’s Her Name, and then back again. I’ll still be ordering my lattés, but hate having to hold off on the eye candy. It’s the simple pleasures…
Ann-Marie approached me first thing at work. “We’re building a case against Ernesto,” she solemnly declared over the whir of the photocopier. “What sexual advances has he made on you?”
“Actually, none.”
“No, seriously,” she persisted. “It’s OK. You can tell. It’s all in confidence right now. HR is creating a file and the company’s lawyers are on it. His sex-dominant reign is going to fall apart in the next week or two.”
“He’s done nothing, I swear.”
“Oh, come on. He hits on everyone.” Hmm, not on me. Should I be insulted that I’m NOT being sexually harassed? “Don’t you get dragged in on weekends?”
“Yes. Most recently, this past Sunday.”
“And you actually worked?”
“Yes. Worked. Ernesto was demanding, but not sexually.”
“You know, it’s not wise to fall for your boss.” And then she stormed off, slightly panicked, feeling as though she’d confided in the boss’ confidante.
It took the rest of the day to try to convince Ann-Marie I wasn’t sleeping with Ernesto. She still thinks I’m the office whore. Turns out everyone thinks I’m screwing the boss. I have this legendary sex life that’s complete fiction.
With Ernesto. Eww.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
I’M ALIVE. CAN’T BELIEVE NO BARF BAGS ON FLOAT PLANE. STEREOTYPE SHATTERED—NOT ALL FAT PEOPLE ARE JOLLY. ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU TOSS YOUR COOKIES (BANANA MUFFIN, ACTUALLY) ON THE PRECIOUS BABY. APOLOGIZED PROFUSELY, BUT I SWEAR THEY WANTED TO EJECT ME W/O A PARACHUTE.
VICTORIA PLAYED ALOOF DURING MTG. MAYBE LINGERING VOMIT BREATH KEPT HER @ BAY. HAVE TO BE SOME PERKS RIDING IN FLOAT PLANE. AFTERNOON MTG COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME—BUT THEN MOST ARE. @ LEAST DAY ENDED W/CANUCKS WINNING. CAN’T BELIEVE THEY EVEN LET OILERS MAKE A GAME OF IT. TGFS (THANK GOD FOR SEDINS)!
LUNCH W/THE BOSS TODAY. THINKING OF ASKING FOR RAISE. HE TALKS BIG ON RECESSION BUT I STUMBLED ON THE FINANCIALS WHEN POPPED IN ON WEEKEND. (OK, HAD TO PICK THE LOCK ON HIS FILING CABINET.) MORE BOOM THAN BUST. ALWAYS TOUCHY SUBJECT. RUMOR IS THAT WHEN LYDIA ASKED FOR RAISE LAST SUMMER, HE FIRED HER BY END OF THE WEEK.
DINNER TONITE W/GIL @ SALTLIK [SIC]. HE’S PUSHING TO GET ME TO INVEST IN HIS NEXT FILM. SUPPOSEDLY MEG RYAN IS INTERESTED BUT WHEN WAS HER LAST HIT? STILL, IF I GET THE AXE, I MAY NEED ANOTHER CAREER PATH.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE: Build alliances, both at work and socially. Your network can expand amazingly now.
Laura’s Log:
Tupper’s no worse for wear. Mom wasn’t happy dogsitting yesterday, but I couldn’t leave him alone. “So you’re dropping him off so he’ll barf all over my carpets? I should think it would be good for Tupper to puke repeatedly on that worn down rug in your apartment. That landlord needs to replace the carpeting anyway. There are diseases lurching in the surfaces, you know. Dr. Oz says—”
Normally it’s rude to walk out mid-sentence on someone—especially when they’re caring for your sick dog—but Mom doesn’t pause on the period. You have to create your moment. Brought her a bright batch of tulips when I picked up the dog at day’s end and all was forgiven. “Oh, they’re just lovely, dear. You really shouldn’t have. You should be saving up your money for a condo so that you can get out of that—”
Wonderful to start the day off back in the normal routine. Cute guy was not working at Starbucks again today. Did he quit? Did he get discovered and flown to Hollywood? Two-movie career starring opposite that hot new actress with all the buzz, What’s Her Name, and then back again. I’ll still be ordering my lattés, but hate having to hold off on the eye candy. It’s the simple pleasures…
Ann-Marie approached me first thing at work. “We’re building a case against Ernesto,” she solemnly declared over the whir of the photocopier. “What sexual advances has he made on you?”
“Actually, none.”
“No, seriously,” she persisted. “It’s OK. You can tell. It’s all in confidence right now. HR is creating a file and the company’s lawyers are on it. His sex-dominant reign is going to fall apart in the next week or two.”
“He’s done nothing, I swear.”
“Oh, come on. He hits on everyone.” Hmm, not on me. Should I be insulted that I’m NOT being sexually harassed? “Don’t you get dragged in on weekends?”
“Yes. Most recently, this past Sunday.”
“And you actually worked?”
“Yes. Worked. Ernesto was demanding, but not sexually.”
“You know, it’s not wise to fall for your boss.” And then she stormed off, slightly panicked, feeling as though she’d confided in the boss’ confidante.
It took the rest of the day to try to convince Ann-Marie I wasn’t sleeping with Ernesto. She still thinks I’m the office whore. Turns out everyone thinks I’m screwing the boss. I have this legendary sex life that’s complete fiction.
With Ernesto. Eww.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
I’M ALIVE. CAN’T BELIEVE NO BARF BAGS ON FLOAT PLANE. STEREOTYPE SHATTERED—NOT ALL FAT PEOPLE ARE JOLLY. ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU TOSS YOUR COOKIES (BANANA MUFFIN, ACTUALLY) ON THE PRECIOUS BABY. APOLOGIZED PROFUSELY, BUT I SWEAR THEY WANTED TO EJECT ME W/O A PARACHUTE.
VICTORIA PLAYED ALOOF DURING MTG. MAYBE LINGERING VOMIT BREATH KEPT HER @ BAY. HAVE TO BE SOME PERKS RIDING IN FLOAT PLANE. AFTERNOON MTG COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME—BUT THEN MOST ARE. @ LEAST DAY ENDED W/CANUCKS WINNING. CAN’T BELIEVE THEY EVEN LET OILERS MAKE A GAME OF IT. TGFS (THANK GOD FOR SEDINS)!
LUNCH W/THE BOSS TODAY. THINKING OF ASKING FOR RAISE. HE TALKS BIG ON RECESSION BUT I STUMBLED ON THE FINANCIALS WHEN POPPED IN ON WEEKEND. (OK, HAD TO PICK THE LOCK ON HIS FILING CABINET.) MORE BOOM THAN BUST. ALWAYS TOUCHY SUBJECT. RUMOR IS THAT WHEN LYDIA ASKED FOR RAISE LAST SUMMER, HE FIRED HER BY END OF THE WEEK.
DINNER TONITE W/GIL @ SALTLIK [SIC]. HE’S PUSHING TO GET ME TO INVEST IN HIS NEXT FILM. SUPPOSEDLY MEG RYAN IS INTERESTED BUT WHEN WAS HER LAST HIT? STILL, IF I GET THE AXE, I MAY NEED ANOTHER CAREER PATH.
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