My brain says "buzz."

Do you ever feel like you have white noise in your brain? That's how I feel lately. I hate it. White noise in my brain and butterflies in my tummy. I just want to relax and feel normal again.

That's not to say that I'm feeling bad. At least not all the time. Things are going pretty well for me of late. Work is going amazingly well. My bosses are fantastic (seriously...I am SO BLESSED) and I feel like I'm making a contribution to the company. It's nice to feel appreciated. If people like the evil gynecologist I used to work for would realize that they would get more productivity out of employees by actually saying nice things to them, we'd have a pretty productive society. Well, that and if we initiated mandatory siesta. Ha!

There's part of me that wants to go to graduate school, but I haven't the foggiest idea what I'd major in. I just miss learning. So, I think I'm going to take a couple of classes this fall -- one to replace a sub-par grade from my undergrad, and one that might be helpful with my current career. (The "current career" one is eligible for tuition reimbursement, too, so yay!)

In other news, I tried out Yahoo! Personals and eHarmony. Eh. I canceled both memberships. They were too nervewracking and just... I met one nice guy, but I'm not really interested in pursuing anything romantic with him. The whole online dating thing just feels so inorganic. And IRL, the guys I like never seem to like me back (or they don't say anything if they do). If this means I'm single for the rest of my life, I guess that's what this means. Heck, I already have a cat living on my back deck -- just start calling me the Crazy Cat Lady!

And I'm trying to be at peace about that. Really.

Sigh. I really am a chick-lit cliche.

Dear Me...

Some friends of mine have been participating in a journaling tool in which they write ten things they'd tell the 16-Year-Old version of themselves. I wasn't exactly motivated to participate, but a friend of mine from high school was in L.A. for a day this past week, and our visit got me to thinking. Some of the things are serious and some are funny, but without further adieu, I present "Conversations With a Sixteen-Year-Old Amanda"...

(For ease of reading, 28-year-old Amanda will be identified as 28, while 16-year-old Amanda will be identified as -- you guessed it -- 16.)

28: Hey Amanda, you know that guy from high school that you like? The one who gives you the tummy butterflies whenever he pays attention to you or rests his arm on the pew behind you in church?
16: Oh yeah, Jimmy*? He's so cute and nice and --
28: -- and you need to just forget about him. It's never going to happen.
16: Just because you're the version of me twelve years in the future doesn't mean anything!
28: ...
16: Nana says that one of these days all of the boys in high school who like the cheerleader girls are going to want the nice girls. I'm a nice girl.
28: Sweetie, please. Save yourself the heartbreak and embarassment. Don't buy him a birthday present.
16: But --
28: -- But nothing. Go home. Watch As the World Turns. Mike and Rosanna are SO CUTE. And make sure you label the tape properly so that you can find their whole Montana adventure later on in life when you need a pick-me-up.
16: Oooookay...
28: Oh, and one more thing... In about 8 years, you're going to meet this other guy in a book store. Ignore him. When Katy asks you to go and look at horse books, politely tell the guy goodbye before you fall for him.
16: I'm gonna meet a guy in a bookstore?
28: Yeah. And you're going to be walking on air for weeks until you realize that it's the same situation with Jimmy. You're "that girl." And that is not a fun thing to be. Okay?
16: 'Kay. So if you're here from the future, can you tell me if Ross and Rachel end up together?
28: All in good time, my love. All in good time.


28: Don't give Brian a ride home from that scrimmage.
16: What scrimmage?
28: The Lake View vs. Central one. Senior year.
16: LAKE VIEW AND CENTRAL ARE ACTUALLY GOING TO PLAY ONE ANOTHER?!?! Who wins??
28: It's a SCRIMMAGE, not a game. I don't remember who won -- I think it was a tie. But that's not the point... There's going to be this guy who in a fantastic display of chivalry will save you from being run over by a play. Later on that night, he's going to ask you for a ride home. Don't do it. Get in Marlena and head home to 24th Street.
16: A guy actually gets chivalrous about me?
28: Yes. And that's the only time. Trust me. Do not go home with him. You will save yourself a weekend of tears. You won't scare your mother to death. And there won't be any need for you to hide from him at school or screen your phone calls.
16: What happened?
28: Forgive me if I don't want to talk about it. But taking him home could potentially ruin your life. It will save you years of therapy and anxiety.
16: I don't get it.
28: You will. In time.

28: Tell everyone you love that you love them. One day very soon one of them will be gone and it will be one of your biggest regrets that you didn't tell them that enough.
16: Who dies?
28: I can't tell you that.
16: Why not? If you tell me, I'll tell that person all the time how much they mean to me. I promise.
28: I can't tell you. I'm sorry.
16: Can you tell me...when?
28: Um, I guess. Round about the start of your junior year of high school. That's all I can say.
16: ...
28: It'll be okay. I promise. Do me a favor...
16: What?
28: Give Big Kitty a kiss for me.
16: Okay.

28: I know church may seem boring and overly hellfire-and-brimstone at times, but pay attention. Soak it in.
16: But, the pastor is so negative lately. It's much more fun to flirt with --
28: -- Ahem. We've discussed this.
16: Alright, but did you know that I learned what 69 meant last week?
28: And this has to do with church how? Ooooooh --
16: Eric* taught me. On a bulletin.
28: I certainly hope you destroyed that bulletin.
16: It was his. I don't know what he did with it.
28: Oy.

28: Spend some time with Daisy dog. Promise me.
16: Well, I go out and feed her when it's my turn.
28: That doesn't exactly count.
16: I don't have the time.
28: Don't give me that crap. I was your age once. Actually, I was YOU once. Actually I still am you, but WHATEVER. How about taking some of that time you spend chatting about As the World Turns on AOL and spending some time with the dog you've had since you were six?!
16: Man, I turned into a b-word!
28: Just do it for goodness sakes... She loves you. Even though there've been times you haven't given her reason to.
16: I know...

28: One day very soon, those braces are going to come off.
16: HALLELUJIAH!!
28: And Doug L. is going to tell you you look pretty.
16: Really??
28: Yep.
16: I can't wait!
28: Just keep an eye on your retainer. When Mrs. Lowe passes out candy during the beginning of pre-cal class your junior year, don't be so brilliant as to wrap your retainer in the wrapper. You'll accidentally throw it away. And mama is going to be PISSED. (Yes, I said the word "pissed," wipe the shock off your face.) And she's going to make you dig through the trash can in pre-cal.
16: No taking out of the retainer. Good to know.

28: Go to prom. Even if you don't have a date.
16: But it's lame to go to prom without a date.
28: No it's not. Katy's going to go without a date.
16: Don't talk to me about her. She's such a freaking slob. Yesterday, she yelled at me for putting her stuff into "piles" in our room --
28: Hey, lay off. One of these days, she's going to be your best friend. But anyway, go to prom. Use that as an excuse to make Mom, Craig, Dad, and Nancy buy you a pretty dress. Use it as an excuse to let Shari do your makeup. Use it as an excuses to let Gayla do your hair all pretty. And for goodness sakes, use it as an excuse to get your first pedicure. Trust me when I tell you that they are HEAVENLY.
16: But what if I don't have a date?
28: You know what? Sometimes you are just a little too much of a follow-the-rules goodie-two-shoes.
16: Bite me. Or you. Or whatever.

28: Don't cry over the cancelation of 'My So-Called Life.'
16: I can't help it. It was such a good show. Jordan Catalano is so hot.
28: Jordan Catalano was a dick. What did I say about the shock face?? It's not like I've turned into a potty mouth, I just don't cringe when I cuss on occasion.
16: Oh he was not. Through it all, he loved Angela.
28: (laughing my butt off)
16: WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT??
28: Love. IN HIGH SCHOOL.
16: Apparently, I become a cynic, too. There is such a thing, you know. Mom and I think I'm going to live at home until I get married. I'm a nice girl and I don't think it'll be too long.
28: Yeah, whatever. That's a whole 'nother story that I don't really feel like getting into. But anyway, they're going to release My So-Called Life on DVD.
16: DVD?
28: Trust me, they are AWESOME. They're like this CD that you can watch movies on. They'll have the entire season of the show out. And besides, the people who created that show will eventually create another show that you are just going to love. You are going to relate to it and it will make you cry and miss, well, being you. And by you I mean the 16-year-old me.
16: What show is it?
28: Can't tell you. For, uh, copyright reasons? But, yeah, there's this popular book out about football...
16: "Friday Night Lights." It's about Permian. I hate MOJO.
28: Lalallalalalala...

28: Hug Mom and Craig and Dad and Nancy and EVERYONE. As much as possible.
16: I already do hug people a lot.
28: Do it even more. And don't get all butt-hurt when Craig calls you "Mama's Little Tit." He's just teasing you out of love.
16: Whatever.
28: At least do the hugging. There'll come a point where you're living a long way away from home and all you want is a hug and you can't get one without riding for three hours on a plane.
16: You mean I'm not going to live at home until I get married?? Or wait -- what if I'm married and we're living a long way away?! I bet it's New York. I AM SO MOVING TO NEW YORK!! --
28: We're not discussing this. And no I'm not going to tell you where you're going to live. You have to figure that out yourself. Just love your parents and your family. Every chance you get. Do you have a kleenex? I think I need a moment...

28: Watch what you eat for lunch.
16: I'M NOT FAT.
28: Well now you're not. Not really, anyway. Just trust me when I tell you that it's not exactly a good idea to have Town & Country for lunch on Monday, Sonic on Tuesday, Taco Bell on Wednesday, Long John Silver on Thursday, and Franco's on Friday.
16: But that's the point of having off-campus lunch privileges!
28: No, it's really not. Go home and eat leftovers or something. And don't drink too many cokes.
16: I think you need to shut up now.
28: Don't talk to me like that. Just listen. Just wait until Steph gets married and you feel like a whale in your bridesmaid dress.
16: Steph gets married??? When???
28: Forget I said that, but let me just... Fine. I'll show you the picture. Let's just hope there's no freaky Back to the Future thing going on and I start missing body parts. Here. That's you on the left.
16: ...
28: Are you okay?
16: Yeah, I, uh... I get it.
28: Good. And I thank you for at least getting it.

28: One last thing --
16: -- Nuh uh! The rules were only ten things --
28: Oh SHUT UP. I am older than you. And I know your dreams and I can and will crush them at will, okay?? Okay, maybe that's not a good idea, but whatever. CREDIT CARDS ARE THE DEVIL. Say it with me.
16: I'm not saying that.
28: Yes you are. Unless you really want to be paying off credit cards in your mid-twenties when you could be, I don't know, vacationing somewhere AWESOME. It sucks. So, SAY IT!
16: Fine. Credit cards are the devil.
28: Just be responsible with them and it will all be okay. 'Kay?
16: 'Kay.
28: Just keep being nice, okay? Be nice. Be loving. And enjoy life. Enjoy the little things. Scratch Big Kitty's ears. Take Daisy for a walk. Help Mom with dinner. Watch football with Craig. Don't yell at Katy. Well, don't yell at Katy too much. Talk to Dad and Nancy on the phone often. Give MawMaw a kiss. Listen to Poppy recite your poem with a smile. Just...enjoy it. Cherish it. Remember it all.
16: You sound like a Nora Ephron movie.
28: Really?? Thanks. That's really sweet. You'll understand why when you're my age. Or your age, considering I'm you and all. Oh whatever. Can we watch Friends now?

* Names changed to protect the innocent. The not-so-innocent? I didn't care enough to disguise your name. Punk.

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!

My name is Mickey.

Anyone who really knows me knows that I've recently been suffering from severe anxiety issues and mild-to-severe depression. Going to sleep at night and having a restful night's sleep is often difficult. Last night, however, I had a truly amazing experience.

When I was a senior in college, I was convinced that a ghost lived in my dorm room. He or she was always benevolent and I only sensed him or her at night. I'd be lying in my bed and I would feel the sensation of someone sitting gently at the foot of my bed. I don't know how to describe it -- the covers would move a certain way and the mattress would dip slightly. Wow. I haven't really thought about my Gaston ghost in a very long time...

Last night before I went to bed, I prayed and asked God for a good night's sleep. I asked Him for peace and for patience. I asked Him for a sign that I'm still supposed to be in Los Angeles, and not near the family I miss so dearly. Shortly after I climbed into bed -- calm as can be -- I felt the familiar dipping of my mattress and shifting of my sheets. And at that moment, I was overcome with thoughts and memories of my Poppy -- things he would say to me. I knew it then -- my ghost was none other than my Poppy. I couldn't see him -- oh how I wanted to -- but I knew he was there. I cried and I cried and I cried and I could hear his voice in my head telling me that it would be okay. I was taken back to sitting in his lap in his recliner, and the way he smelled like cigarettes and Brut aftershave. I remembered "Gilly! Gilly! Gilly!" and how he used to tease me about how when I got my drivers license, I'd break down somewhere between San Angelo and Abilene and have to call him to come and pick me up. And, most of all, I remembered "Mickey's Lament," the poem he wrote for me when I was a baby -- one of the last things I ever remember him saying to me before he was put in the hospital all those years ago. That was the most comforting thing of all.

He was there. And then other people stopped by, too, but only briefly to wave. My Uncle Billy and my friend Betty Fuller. She said, "Hi, Amanda Mouse." Again, it's not like I could see them with my eyes -- my heart and my brain just knew they were there. All I know is that I'm not really that interested in dying at the moment, but I can't wait to get to Heaven.

But yeah... Now I have to wonder... Was my Gaston ghost really my Poppy coming to sit with me on some of those tough nights? Who knows...

A parent's love. Denny's style.

I've spent a lot of time recently being introspective. Actually, I've spent a lot of time recently over-thinking things and freaking myself out to the point of an anxiety problem. One of the things I've thought about is if I'll ever have children. I've also worried that if I have children, I'll be a horrible mother. Lately, kids have just gotten on my nerves. There's a reason I actively avoid Target on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. There's a reason I call Target "Birth Control Central."

Despite the protests from my friends and family that it's "different" when the kid is yours, or the fact that the minute the child emerges from your womb, a love like no other overtakes you, I worry about it. Because worrying is my M.O. these days. Tonight, however, I think I got a lesson. God knew what I needed to see and He showed it to me.

My parents divorced when I was six years old. There are moments that I remember very clearly about this time of my life -- I remember the feel of their bedsheets when they broke the news to my brother, sister, and me. I remember the Mickey Mouse bubble gum dispenser my grandparents bought us to make us feel better. And I remember the absolute despair I felt whenever I was separated from my mother. (My father got custody of us.) I loved my daddy to death, but I couldn't bear being separated from my mama. I remember one particular Christmas when my mom and stepdad came to watch me sing a solo in the Christmas pageant at church. For some reason, they started to leave before I felt that I had had an adequate goodbye. As that old Chevy Malibu crossed the parking lot to leave, I remember sobbing and running as fast as my legs could carry me so that they would stop.

I remember being the child of divorce and it is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. That's not to say that I regret anything that happened -- my life is truly wonderful now. But the hurt in my heart that came whenever my mom dropped us off -- or vice versa once I moved to San Angelo and started visiting my dad -- was truly killer (and still is).

Fast forward to tonight. My roommate Allison, our friend Lauren, and I went to San Diego for the afternoon. We crossed over into Tijuana for a few minutes, and then stopped at Mission Beach before heading back to Los Angeles. Exhausted and hungry, we stopped at a Denny's in Carlsbad. It was dark and depressing and there were crying children, which only made me want to cry because I was getting pretty tired and cranky myself. Once our food was served, a young couple and their little boy entered. The boy looked to be around four years old. I heard the mother urge him to be in a better mood "for Daddy," who apparently had not yet arrived. I figured it out -- this was either a simple visit for "Daddy" or it was an "exchange" for visitation.

A few minutes later, I see the child's face light up. He has seen his Daddy in the parking lot. He works to free himself of the high chair he was in and his mother walks him to the front door before returning by herself. In walks this man -- the epitome of "toughness" with his arms covered in tattoos and a beard and earrings -- carrying his child in what was one of the most beautiful displays of parent-child love I have ever seen. The once-semi-rowdy child had his face buried in his dad's neck, while the father held his child close, his eyes closed in the simple relief and joy of having the boy in his arms.

I've been that little boy, but I've never seen what it must have been like to be my Daddy or my Mama. It was a surreal experience to say the least, and even a few hours later, it still makes me want to cry. When we left, the little boy was still sitting quietly in his father's lap. I'm not sure whether he left with his dad or whether he went back with his mom, but I'm glad I wasn't there to find out. Because if it involved leaving his daddy again, I wouldn't have been able to watch without breaking down. That pain never goes away. It may get better and lessen over time, but it's nearly impossible not to relive it. (I can't watch a certain scene in Hope Floats for that very reason.)

On a happier note, I get to see my Daddy in five days!