November 13, 2008

I am finishing up a polish* on my current script so I can give it back to Manager-Guy, so Manager-Guy can go “This is TERRIBLE” or “This is like PRINTING MONEY, Elana! Here’s a dog and a fruit basket and a card that can be redeemed with any of the major studios for the right to pen the war movie of your choice.”**

There’s a phrase in Dutch, “De laatste loodjes wegen het zwaarst” (I said it out loud to Julie last night, and she got the MY GOD IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE GARGLING expression English speakers usually get when they hear a long run of Dutch for the first time.) – it means something like “The last bits are the hardest, the heaviest to carry”, and that’s how this feels. Like I’m really… very close, at this point, ALMOST THERE, and instead of just breezing across the finish line I’m off to the sidelines, CRYING. BECAUSE IT IS HARD. Good lord.

So I went to Canter’s. By myself. With my script. To pummel those last little bits into shape. I felt like bad diner food would make my work easier, basically.

And MAN, was that a good choice- I only got about half the changes I needed to make done, because seated next to me was the BEST BLIND DATE EVER.


He: late 30s, mildly douchey in that LA way where it’s like “Haha, I’m sarcastic and not into your bullshit!” but really he spent 57 minutes getting his hair to do that.

Her: early 30s, attractive in that hard-edged, wears-too-much-makeup, LA way. Is simultaneously extremely impressed with herself and desperate to make the guy want her.

So they come in, they sit down. The girl immediately starts going “Do they have blintzes here? DO THEY HAVE BLINTZES HERE? Excuse me! (grabs passing busboy) Do you have blintzes?”

The busboy looks around. Uh, lady, you’re in Canter’s. YES, THEY HAVE BLINTZES, MY GOD.

“Because, omigod, I love blintzes. Do you have blintzes with like a sauce of fresh strawberries?”

The busboy looks around. AGAIN, you’re in Canter’s. NO, they don’t have a sauce of fresh strawberries.

The girl pouts.

And starts singing.

“Hey,” she says to the guy. “I love to dance. Want to see me dance?”

And to my amazed delight, she stood up next to the table and performed a SALSA DANCE FOR HIM.


At this point, I started texting my friends. After the dancing came the part where she mentioned that she spoke French, and then when he indicated mild interest in this, she started rattling away. In French. About how she was the kind of girl who liked nice people. For like three minutes, WAY beyond the amount of time I believe was required to impress upon this man that she was HOT AND SEXY AND EXOTIC AND FRENCH-SPEAKING.

Right about this time she also explained that she was “Very into chivalrous behavior, and so never ever went Dutch, or paid for someone’s dinner”, BUT, you’ll be happy to know that she’s “An amazing chef. Amazing.” who just the night before had made a “Completely amazing meal. What’s amazing is that I cook really fast. It’s amazing. It takes me like twenty minutes. My friend wants to do a reality show about me cooking and being amazing.”

She also explained that she loved her Mercedes, and didn’t understand why people drove Priuses, because they were totally not luxurious, like, AT ALL. The guy said that he wasn’t really into cars. This was her cue to talk about how totally amazing and expensive and luxurious her car was for another ten minutes.

Then they had to decide what kind of food they wanted to get. The guy got a turkey sandwich. The girl, throughout the course of the dinner, ordered five or six separate things. “Oh my God, this soup is bad. It tastes like sock water! Ugh. Oooh, maybe I’ll have a salad! Oh, this salad is really bad! This place is terrible. There are so many better diners in better neighborhoods! My knife is dirty. Sir! Sir! Wow, he totally gave me attitude. What is wrong with these people. I’m going to have a fruit salad. Oh! I’ll have some fries. Sir! Sir! Um… can you BELIEVE he just blew me off like that?”


Other wildly amazing things included:

*”My boobs are growing! None of my bras fit anymore and they, like, push all my shirts open.” (One of my friends’ text response was “Why doesn’t she just blow him! It would be more subtle.”)

*”Oh my God, so I went to the set and they totally thought that I was the star of the show because I look just like her only I’m taller and htoter, so they totally miked me and then I had to be all “Hee! I’m not the star, guys!” It was so hilarious.”

*”You look so much like my friend. Hang on, I’m going to call him right now! *makes call* Hey! So I’m on this J-Date with this guy who totally looks just like you! I’m going to take his picture and send it to you. No– don’t pose like that. Ugh. That’s horrible. Sit like this. No, don’t smile.”

*”Eating is very, very sexual for me.”

You may wonder, as did my friends, if the guy seemed like he was having a good time. It was IMPOSSIBLE TO TELL. I mean, if I had been having dinner with this girl, I would have slapped her and then stuck her with the bill, but… men are so hard to understand in these situations! I’m guessing he was sitting there hoping she’d say more about how eating was sexual and that would lead to shenanigans. Or thinking about sports and trying to nod at the right spots as she talked about what an amazing chef she was. And hoping she was the kind of girl who performed sexual favors to get a man to like her. But WHO KNOWS! Maybe he thought she was delightful, the kind of girl a guy could marry and take home to mom.

I left before they did, but it was hard. I really wanted to know how they ended up.

My Internet Friend the Anonymous Production Assistant emailed me the other day to go “Uh, I don’t know what happened but all of a sudden I can see your shared items in Google Reader. Also, you read really weird stuff.”

Embarrassing! Naomi and I ordinarily have our Google Readers set to just share our shared items with each other, because! Mostly we share blog posts on sewing or whatever, and who else but your Heterosexual Life Partner will be interested in that?

Or, okay… I SAY “blog posts on sewing or whatever”, but really, here’s why I might seem sort of odd to the untrained eye. My recent shared posts do include SOME posts on sewing, but also some posts on things like “Six found dead under freeway!” and “Here is a picture of a horse dressed like Rick James… bitch.” and me complaining that robbers who knocked over a 99 Cent store were thinking TOO SMALL and so doomed to failure.

I don’t know what happened to the Reader, but I immediately switched it back. NOBODY NEEDS TO SEE THE MURKY INSIDE OF MY BRAIN.

*Man… I can’t call it a rewrite. First, the changes are minimal. Second, if I call it a rewrite I might DIE, etc. So, “polish” it is. THANK YOU FOR LETTING MY DELUSIONS PASS UNHARMED.
**Door number two! DOOR NUMBER TWO!


3 Responses to “BEST J-DATE EVER.”

  1. Skreee Says:

    Hilarious. You are just hilarious. That is all.

  2. Nathan Says:

    He was totally thinking he’d get laid…at her place…so he could leave.

  3. chaia Says:

    Oh my god. This was even better than the texts.

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