Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

Getting Itchy Around Other People's Career Success, A Possum Update, and Asking Scott for Sex : )

Oh man I feel awful tonight. I have hives, or whatever a little raised patch of itchy bumps is, that keeps popping up and moving around to different places on my body; my thigh, my face, my calf, my wrists, then back to my face, my chin... It's so weird. I'm guessing it's because I'm having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics I've been self medicating myself with. I know I should take a Benadryl but I'm so sensitive to medication that just one will knock me out for the rest of the night and part of tomorrow, no thanks.

I get like this sometimes -- unwilling to relinquish my right to determine the state of my own health and take the necessary steps to improve it, by doing the obvious and going to a, duh, doctor, anybody? As if I know more about the workings of the human body, to say nothing of medicating it, than someone who has spent years and years going to medical school, interning, and working for ages to build up a practice. I want to diagnose myself, look my symptoms up on the Internet and play the role of my own doctor -- not always, just when I feel crappy and don't want to deal with the hassle of driving to a medial building where I'll have to pay a small fortune for the right to drive down and down into some deep basement looking for a tiny parking spot I'll barely be able to squeeze into, then spend way too much time waiting in a dull nondescript waiting room, for my dull, nondescript doctor to come in, do the same things she always does, and then tell me to take the same antibiotic she always tells me to take. Argh.

Anyway, I have an abscessed tooth, it's had one treatment and I'm going back tomorrow. I called the dentist/endontist a couple of weeks ago to say something wasn't feeling right, but he was swamped, and being unwilling to call this an emergency and jump the line, I waited. I waited, and then got kind of worried when everything started throbbing and bleeding, so I thought, "Ahhh, I know, I'll just take this extra little series of antibiotics I've had stashed here for just this sort of emergency."

Now that I'm breaking out in hives, itching, and well, feeling really crappy, I'm getting that this has all been a very, very bad plan and I promise to be a good little patient once this is all cleared up somehow tomorrow. Please cross your fingers for this poor little tooth. I can't afford to lose another, I'm already missing two, and every time I hear John and Ken on the radio make cracks about people who are missing teeth, I feel like a serious hick gal.

One of the last episodes of Friends is on. My old high school friend Lynne's husband Greg is the set designer. (I'm not even going to try to guess at where the commas should have gone in that sentence.) I'm funny about friends who become super successful in the film and TV industry. I give them a very wide berth because I don't ever want to put them in the terrible position of finding me on my knees with my arms wrapped around their knees begging for a job. I'm funny that way. Although I don't mind doing it to people I don't know well or care that much about. That's how I got my SAG card, I threw myself on the mercy of a producer/aquaintance at a party at Chateau Marmont, of all places, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, saying something along the lines of, "Please, you've got to put me in your movie, I have to join SAG by my thirtieth birthday or I'll kill myself." So, he did. But you wouldn't catch me calling Tim Robbins or any of my other famous former friends and begging them for a job. Or maybe you will someday, who knows, I might just get that desperate.

I was all set off and jittery just listening to Jimmy Kaviezel on a radio interview today, and I've never even met him. Just the fact that he's my ex, (sniff, sniff), sister-in-law, Tiffany's, first cousin, and she was always phoning in the latest news of his career rise whenever I'd tell her anything about my own makes even Tiffany off limits for me. I just can't trust my own desperation. My career trajectory took a sharp nose dive a few years ago when my agent folded, my ex split with a stripper, leaving me in the middle of this house remodel, followed shortly afterwards by my Mom's spinal fusion surgery, my Father's death, my Mother's lung cancer, and all of the many dramas we've lived through in between. I'll find my way back somehow; I need to get a handle on what I'm going to end up weighing and what I'm going to look like before I get new headshots and try to figure out how to market and pitch myself. Bla bla bla, have I bored the hell out of you yet?

The baby possums are doing well. We have three now. Two of them are fat and sassy, with these big fuzzy bellies that just defy you to kiss them, and the third is a bit scrawny, but melts my heart when he curls his tail around my little finger while I feed him. I love how they open their pointy little snout mouths to hiss and kind of growl at me. I really do, plus I take advantage of this by shoving baby food in their funny mouths every time they open them.

On another topic, (have I ever stuck to one topic here)? I love escapist, disaster movies. You know the kind, the ones where giant asteroids are hurtling towards earth, enormous waves are going to take out the East or West Coast, or some terrible disease has been unleashed on an unsuspecting populace and zombies are wandering the streets. Anything where people are faced with disaster on an epic scale. Consequently I've been enjoying the 3D posters, (I collect anything 3D or lenticular so they caught my eye the second they were released), for The Day After Tomorrow and now they're running trailers for the movie and I'm liking them. I love the picture of these great big frozen waves of water destroying New York. (I know, thinking I might enjoy anything like this happening to New York after 9/11 seems sacrosanct in some way, forgive me.) Sunday brings the promise of a giant 10.5 California earthquake TV movie, yum.

Maybe I like these kinds of things because they take me out of my own stressful but somewhat weird and boring life. Or maybe they make me feel like, "Hey, at least things aren't THIS bad!" Kinda like the way I feel when I go to a 12 Step Meeting and someone tells a truly terrible story that makes me weep for their troubles but then I catch myself feeling guilty for thinking, "and, I thought I had it bad, look at this guy, wow!"

I've finally triumphed over some nasty spyware popups that were driving me mad. Beau let Rosa's son borrow my computer to look up some game cheats when we were in the desert and ever since then I've had nothing but troubles. I ran Popupstopper and Adaware but nothing I did would keep them away, then finally I looked through my programs and found this long string of these weird Internet Explorer Fix programs. I looked them up on the Net and saw that other people were writing about having the same problems with their computer's slowed down, the same pop ups, and the same string of these IE Fix programs. It too me hours to delete all of them, and they made it as hard for me to do as they could, but everything seems okay now, yeay. No more loaning computers to teenagers. I say this but I always give in.

The poor cats are driving me mad tonight, Beau too. I just don't feel well and anything or anyone who wants to sit on me, or make sucking noises around me, is in the line of fire. I had to tell Beau, as gently as I could, that I don't feel well, and would he please forgive me if I needed to be alone for a little while? I'm trying to explain the same thing to the cats as they take turns crawling up onto my lap, but they're not exactly feeling me on this, so I have to keep lifting them up and pushing them away, and it makes me feel really mean and guilty, especially because they are so sweetly pathetic about the way they keep creeping back up, sigh.

I miss Scott. We had one really incredible night at his house last week, and then it's been kind of hit and miss since then. My therapist was so cute today. (She's always cute, seriously, she collects Pez dispensers, Marshmallow Peeps, snow globes, and turned one bathroom into an underwater wonderland, the other bathroom into a hippy planet of some kind, and her dining room into a diner. I gave her a bowling ball for it. I don't know how anyone could fail to be charmed by her, she's truly a one of a kinder.) Responding to my panicky, anxious, overwhelmed state, she told me to take the week off, and then we assembled a list of things I should do to pamper myself, sex being one of them, and just to be sure I gets myself some of that action, she actually wrote a little note to Scott that, while adorable, I would hardly have to give to him to get him to go along with this plan of action. Nevertheless I thought you might find it amusing;

Dear Scott,

Please have lots of sex with Jacqui.
It would make her feel real good.
You too --

I love your face,

Uh oh, I put Twinkle, (Sparkle's brother, who isn't doing so well), in my dressing room so he'd have plenty of space to eat his dinner, without all of the other kitties trying to muscle in on it, and he's been yowling at me for a while. The sudden quiet makes me think he may have discovered the baby possums. I'm on this...

Yeah, everyone is fine. I was going to copy an article I read that really pissed me off about a fifteen year old high school boy who got a visit from the Secret Service and was disciplined by his school when his art teacher turned his anti-Bush artwork in to the authorities. So let's see, we're fighting for the right to have the freedom to express ourselves in any way we like, fighting against oppression or censorship of any kind, but a high school art student can't make anti-George Bush posters without getting a visit from the Secret Service. Unhunh, yup, and just in case that didn't horrify you, how about this updated list, (names and photographs,) of the US and Coalition forces who have died in the war in Iraq.

Weary overwhelmed hugs,


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