Second Draft

The second draft is kicking my ass so hard.

I'm so tired, and only on page 81 of the goddamn draft.

Plus, I'm working on articles and substitute teaching stuff.

If I owe you an E-Mail/Phone Call/Hour Of Sweet, Sweet Loving, I promise you'll get one by this weekend. Or I'll... I don't know. Something funny.

Something else funny,
- LV

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A Quick Update, In Which I Say Stuff That's Not That Interesting To Anyone But Me

Well, I finally got a haircut [loyal blog-readers know I vowed not to cut my hair until I had finished my novel]. My hair was totally inspired by Selma Blair's in Hellboy II: The Golden Army. I even brought in pictures to show the girl what I wanted. And at the risk of sounding like an awful egomaniac, I think it looks really great. I love my hair. I keep hugging it.

Here's a picture [of Selma Blair, although I may post a picture of myself once I take one] of my hair inspiration.



Back to less visual, hair-related information:
* I'm researching an article for my kick-ass friend Kay Jay's magazine, which is coming along nicely [the research bit; haven't started the actual writing yet]
* I'm typing up my novel/working on a second draft. The joke title is in serious danger of becoming the real title, simply because I can't think of anything better.
* I'm also working on ideas for another magazine, but I have to pitch them in a way that doesn't make me sound like a moron.
* I'm looking at grad school classes at NYU.
* I'm signing up to become a substitute teacher. Make whatever jokes you will - I think I'll actually be really good at it.
* Dunkin Donuts is totally better than Starbucks. I'm just saying.

That's really it. I love being busy. Look! I'm a productive member of society! Huzzah!
- LV

PS I love Sarah Palin. Because she is absolutely fucking batshit insane, and may in fact be Satan in the flesh, with a FARGO-accent and a gun fetish that lends itself to too many obvious jokes, and goes against everything I believe in and hold dear, and yet people still seem to love her. She may be the craziest person in politics today. And as I keep telling people, if she and John "I Have Strong Moral Values But Really Only Want A Nap And Possibly A Diaper Change" McCain win the election, we will get exactly the type of leaders we deserve.

/End Political Rant

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Announcement

On September 6th, 2008, at 1:17 AM, Miss Elle Vee finished her book.

551 handwritten pages. I'm typing it up now, working on the second draft.

Applaud, peons.

I may, in fact, kick ass.
- LV

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If I Die From Chicken, I Will Be Very Embarrassed

I think my tandoori chicken was undercooked. I ate two pieces before I noticed that it was a little less... finished than I would have liked. I really don't want to die from chicken. It's one of the most humiliating deaths I can imagine. The mango chutney was delicious, however, and as far as I know the innocent mango has never taken a human life, except in self-defense.

In other news, I'm waiting for my parents to get home while the dog shrieks and looks at me with wide, pathetic eyes, asking silently for something which he could not put into words even if he was capable of speech. Then he starts nipping me and trying to love my leg, even though he's been 'altered,' and all my sympathy goes right out the window.

At the moment he's pushing the computer away from me with his paws. It would be cute if I wasn't typing.

OK, I can take a hint. Time for a walk.

But first, and the real reason I posted this [not my chicken paranoia] is because I am on page 528 of my book, and hope to be finished sometime tomorrow. I think that's pretty damn awesome.

DAMN DOG!
- LV

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The Dog Is Sleeping. Quick, Let's Run.

The advantage to being alone is that I can blast my music as loudly as I want. So yay for that.

I love my daily coffee: a medium nonfat iced caramel swirl latte from Dunkin Donuts. The only problem with ordering a long-labeled drink is that more often then not I return home to realize my latte is lacking in caramel swirl, and then there is much sadness in the world of LV.

I'm trying to finish The Knife Thrower. I don't like it. At all. I'm struggling. I really just want to give up and admit failure, but I have a mental block against forsaking books - even bad ones. And it might not be bad. It might be wonderful. I just don't care, and want it to go away. Then again, I keep whipping through Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, so maybe my taste in literature is just diminishing as I get older.

No job joy, although I've spent the better part of the morning drafting a letter to a contact my goddess-like aunt gave me. The problem with these letters, as I think I've said before, is that just below the surface of any nice words I write, the real message is this:

'Listen, I am smart, funny, and talented, and I will work my ass off for you. So give me a goddamn job, because my parents are seriously beginning to see me as a liability, and I hate being broke and unemployed, and if you don't give me the job I'll fill your life with misery and woe. Resume is attached. Thanks for your time!"

It's just so frustrating; I know what I'm good at, and I should be able to get a job doing it. I don't even expect a decent paycheck at this point! A discount coffee card would make me extremely happy! Or a hug. OK, that's a lie; I do want a paycheck. I'm just realistic, and would be totally content with modest compensation for my work. And I have no patience for the ass-kissing bit. Now that I have confidence, I've lost that cringing sweetness that usually kept me from saying what I was thinking. This could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what's running through my twisted mind.

I sent my dad a draft of the E-Mail, as he is perhaps the expert on making nice with strangers [my dad has a fan club. I'm only half-kidding] and I'm waiting for him to reword it into something kind and polite and charming. He has powers.

Johnny Cash kicked ass.

OK, the dog is awake and barking now. Must go deal with him. He probably wants me to rub his belly. I spend more time catering to this dog than anything else in my life.
- LV

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The Suburbs Are Terrifying

I don't care what anyone says, the suburbs are far more frightening than the city. Come on, all the best horror movies take place in the quiet, idyllic land of suburbia. Halloween, Blue Velvet [not technically a horror movie, but I dare you to imagine a freakier film], The Poughkeepsie Tapes, Scream, It... OK, not all great horror movies, but still, the majority. I mean, what horror movies take place in cities? Cloverfield? [Waits patiently for someone to start lecturing her about the countless scary city-based movies out there].

I'm just saying: when your dog starts howling at nothing in the dark night, and you're all alone in a house, and you're a wussy girl who panics easily, it's a stressful experience.

I am running on a fantastically low level of sleep at the moment. Johnny Depp could show up asking for directions, and I'd probably mace him, lock myself in the closet, and cry like the lunatic I am.

That being said, I maintain that when the zombie apocalypse occurs, I am totally prepared. That's about the only time you want to be in the suburbs. After all, suburbs have malls.

OK, off to fortify myself, set every alarm in the house, and spend the next nine hours jumping at every noise, all while trying to write.

At this point, I'm pretty sure the dog barks just to fuck with me. He'll get his. Mark my words.
- LV

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This Is A Whiny Post. Consider Yourself Warned.

Below you will find a rundown of last night.

The Set-Up: I am housesitting by myself, with only my dog as company. I spent most of yesterday asleep with a killer sinus infection, and got nothing at all done, despite my grandiose plans for the day.

9:30 P.M.: Walk dog, going slowly because pulsing headache makes moving difficult. Dog goes on lawn of neighbor who hates us.

10:00 P.M.: Back in house, dog suddenly starts barking and growling at the door. Grab house phone and cell phone, ready to call 911 if need be. I pick up both phones, mind you, because horror-movie logic dictates that one of them probably will not work. I also have planned out escape routes, depending on where the attacker is coming from.

10:10 P.M.: Determine dog was growling at neighbor's stupid cat. Feel appropriately idiotic.

11:00 P.M.: Decide to go to bed, since I have to walk the dog at 7:00 A.M. This way I'll be able to get sufficient sleep, and maybe my hideous headache will abate a little. Set alarm, check all locks, and basically act like the zombie apocalypse has come and I am fortifying myself in for the long haul.

11:30 P.M.: Friend Emme calls. I forgot to call her yesterday, because I was busy being unconscious and dreaming of Edward Norton. So I pick up, figuring a few minutes of chatting will be good.

12:10 A.M.: Finally end phone conversation. Am now so tired I don't know my own name, but I do remember it's my amazing friend Kay Jay's birthday [HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!]. Send her a text and settle down for sleep.

12:30 A.M.: Hunter freaks out, starts growling and barking at the door to the bedroom [which is locked]. I freeze, listening for anything that might be upsetting him. Even me, paranoid as I am, cannot hear anything. He continues to bark for another half an hour at NOTHING. Headache grows worse.

1:00 A.M.: Hunter abruptly stops barking and collapses into a deep sleep. Jerk.

2:30 A.M.: Another barking fit.

3:48 A.M.: Another barking fit.

4:39 A.M.: A serious barking fit, complete with howling like he's auditioning to be the goddamn Hound of Baskerville in the new Sherlock Holmes movie. I'm near tears by this point. I just want SLEEP. DEAR GOD.

6:30 A.M.: Hunter wakes me up by nudging me with his nose, because he needs to go for his morning walk. I am sleep deprived, unable to even coherently speak, and got barely a few hours of sleep. I want my family to come back from California, not because I miss them [it's nice to have a little break from the nagging], but so that someone else can deal with the dog's severe and crippling emotional problems. I need SLEEP.

So yeah. And now I have to write all the E-Mails I would have written yesterday if I weren't in pain, and my sinus headache is barely reined in by a heavy dose of Tylenol, and I swore to myself I'd spend the day writing. Even though typing this blog post took a horrifyingly long time, and isn't exactly strenuous. Also need to look at NYU class book thing. Bleargh. Even words are failing me now!

Oh, and I need to read an essay my neighbor gave me yesterday. And call people. And do stuff. So I apologize in advance if anyone who interacts with me today finds me especially weird and twitchy. Blame it on my dog who, while adorable and very sweet, is the most annoying animal on the planet, and is currently nipping me because I'm not scratching him correctly. I mean come ON.

OK, time to do stuff.
- LV

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