Why do I love country music?

I could just cut to the chase and say, "Because I just do." But there has to be some obvious reason that my car stereo has been tuned to the local country station more often than not these days.

Perhaps the biggest reason is that, to me, country music is representative of home. I can be listening to a song, stuck in traffic on the 405, but my mind will be in the front seat of a minivan after having picked my little brother up at baseball practice. Or sitting in the back seat, my Bible in my lap, on the way to church on Sunday morning. (My eyes are always on the road -- so do not fret, dear L.A. drivers.)

The songs are about the simple life, a life I don't feel I can truly live out here. I see my mom in the kitchen in a pair of sweats and the house shoes we bought her the previous Christmas. Or I see my dad on the couch, dozing his way through part of the Sunday afternoon football game. (Food coma!!) I'm in my brother's pickup, blasting Randy Rogers as we navigate Loop 289 in Lubbock. Or setting the table for dinner, making sure the paper napkins are folded symmetrically underneath the silverware. I'm rocking in the wooden rocker in the living room with my cat in my lap. Or sitting down to a piece of pie and a game of canasta with my grandparents.

Country music makes me realize how I want to be loved -- how much I want to be loved. It makes me realize how much I want to love in return. How much I want to have a go at being half the mother my mama and stepmom are.

Country reminds me of everything I have, which is especially important during the times when I'm lamenting my have-nots. It reminds me that I'm blessed. To have such an amazing and loving family. To have such strong and true friends. To have a roof over my head. Something to eat in the fridge.

Country takes me home, even when I can't go myself. So tonight I sit here in the rocker in my L.A. bedroom and listen to a country song. Mentally, I drive down Oakes and then 19th and then Armstrong until I get where I'm going.

Until I get back home.

** (Note...this is not to disparage L.A. or anything -- sometimes I just get a little homesick.)

Baby, don't you cry, gonna make a pie, all my love for you in the middle of my heart.

I saw the absolute sweetest movie in forever this afternoon. And it only set me back $3! Or, well, Allison -- note to self, pay her back tomorrow night. I can't even describe it. The movie got to me so much that I couldn't figure out what to say about it on the drive home. Just an all out good movie. And I have such a soft spot for Andy Griffith. His character reminds me of my friend Dr. Scott. (Except Dr. Scott is a bit less crotchity.)

It's a travesty that there's no soundtrack released for the movie. I've taken to downloading the most recent album from Quincy Coleman on iTunes. She did a couple of songs in the movie. I'm glad I did -- this album is fantastic. Also, this movie is sadly not showing anywhere around my family, so they won't get to see it. If it's already at the cheapie theatre here, I doubt it'll even hit the first-runs in West Texas. But that means it won't be long until it's on DVD.

(And for anyone trying to figure out what to get me for Christmas -- HEY in 45 minutes it will only be six months away! -- this is a great idea.)

On another note, I may be going to visit my sister in Maryland this weekend. How's that for a last minute trip? She's working on a farm near Hagerstown, so I might just hop on a JetBlue flight to D.C. and spend a couple of days hanging out with her and riding horses and innertubing down the Shenandoah. If I can come up with the moola, that is.

But back to Waitress. I think one of the things that really got me about this movie is that that is the kind of story I want to tell. And it made me seriously think about my pilot idea and how it could really work as that kind of feature. (Minus a couple of storylines, that is.) Or not. We'll see how it goes.

Have a great week, everyone!

Hey there, Cupcake!

Today, I threw two pennies in a fountain. Just because. It was a beautiful day here in Los Angeles and I was on my way to Clementine to pick up my salad. I walked down the sidewalk, my little kitten heels clicking as I went. Rosie Thomas provided a sort of soundtrack on my fifteen minute walk, and I found myself smiling. Sighing and smiling and looking up at the palm trees and blue skies and buildings towering up above. I can't even begin to remember the last time that happened.

I don't know if it's necessarily because I'm happy here in this place in my life, but I couldn't help but appreciate that blue sky and that pretty music and the pretty blue fountain I dropped two pennies in. So I smiled and I sighed and I clutched my big bag closer under my arm as I crossed Santa Monica Boulevard.

At the fountain, a man smiled at me and asked if I made a wish. I kind of did, I guess, but I really didn't know what to wish for. It was more like a wish for "good things." I'm kind of like one of the main characters in the script I'm working on (yay original material!) -- sometimes I just want God to make my decision for me. What would my good things include?

A trip home over my five-day weekend for 4th of July, but that's not happening because tickets are too expensive. A call from the producer I met a month or so ago at the Museum of Television and Radio. My first baking order. Something other than ambivalence from the opposite sex. (That's a post in and of itself!)

I had a really good weekend. My mom and stepdad came to L.A. for their anniversary and for Father's Day. We spent the entire weekend at Disneyland -- even stayed at the resort. I don't know whether it's because I was with my family (where I am traditionally more "myself"), or the fact that I've been on medication on a regular schedule, or the therapy I've been in, but I felt like a normal functioning human being for 95% of the trip. It was really a relief. I love my family so much and it's always so hard to let them go at the airport. If I moved home, it would totally be all about being closer to my family.

And on that note, the script I was just printing at work finished. Three-hole-punch and brass brads, here I come!