Yoga folks is scary, yo.

So, I'm out getting lunch for the writers. Nine times out of 10, restaurants will be running behind on my order. It's usually a biggish order, since some people like to piggy back on our order (THEM: "OOOOOH! You're going to that place? I love that place! Since you're going there already, could I just..." ME: "Sigh. Sure."). So, I make sure to tell the restaurants I'm going to get there a good fifteen minutes before I'm actually going to get there. Which gives them PLENTY of time to make the food.

Aside: Don't get me wrong. I love love love my job. I'm not a clock-watcher. I don't tend to count the days 'til the weekend. But this week, I've just been really tired and run down and can't seem to catch up on sleep. And finding out on Wednesday morning that it wasn't, in fact, Friday morning, as I thought it was when I woke up, was heartbreaking.

So, it's been a long week. And I'll admit I didn't see the sign that the parking area was for the Yoga place until The Incident. I just parked in a spot and headed to the restaurant down the way. Where I waited for 20 minutes (even after the 15 minute padding) to even see the food where I could then double-check everything was right, which always takes a good five-10 minutes. I'm carrying the food out of the place and heading toward the parking area, when I see it.

A note on my car. I can see, even from my distance, that it looks angrily written. In Sharpie. I get closer, and see that it's from the Yoga folks whose parking lot I've parked in. And that they are threatening to tow me. Or something. I don't actually get to read the whole thing, because the owner comes RACING out in her cotton/spandex mix and starts yelling at me for parking there. Apparently they have a class, and her students need a place to park.

We're talking about ONE PARKING SPOT.

But, I apologize profusely. I mention something about the food being late. Which brings on a new bout of screaming. I just apologize again and head back to the restaurant to collect the remainder of my food.

When I come out this next time, there are a couple of Yoga students next to my car. They're all holding their yoga mats (all in bright, non-soothing colors). They're all in their yoga gear. They look like a yoga gang. 4 rlz. They're all yelling at me. I apologize again. Indicating my food, and saying the restaurant was late and...

IT WAS ONE PARKING SPOT.

But apparently, these three women had to find street parking. They apparently had NOT done the math.

One. Fucking. Parking. Spot.

But seriously guys, I thought I was going to get a beat down. With a purple (or orange) yoga mat.

Finally, I got fed up with their drama and pushed past them. To them I said,

"Hope you gals have a great class and you find some fucking zen; you clearly need it."

After I sped off, I was feeling pretty zen myself. Apparently mouthing off to Beverly HIlls' housewives has a calming effect on me.

Call time.

Right. Okay. So, I'm pretty tired today. You know why? Some fucking production down the street was noisy as hell last night and woke me up WELL before my alarm was due to go off.

I sat there in bed, listening to the trucks and the gennies and the fucking assholes outside yelling about the trucks and the gennies and where to park and...

And it's hot outside these days. And I have no AC, so I have to keep my windows open or boil. Y'know?

So, yeah. I'm laying there. Stewing. Thinking about how many fucking notices I get warning about various productions in the area. And how I never call to complain about all the noise they make and... I decided I deserved some compensation. It's been a long week getting to this long weekend. So, I stumbled to my living room where I found the filming notice. And I grabbed the phone and was about to dial when I noticed something strange.

My show's locations manager was listed as the contact.

In my dazed state, I couldn't figure out why. I figure she probably works on a bunch of productions (I'm pretty bright when I'm woken up).

Um. In case you haven't guessed by now,

My own fucking show woke me up. And I almost complained.

Sigh.

Playground fever.

So. The Anonymous Production Assistant has thrown down the gauntlet. He's telling all you folks not to read my blog. He keeps telling you this. And you keep ignoring him. Good on you, mates. Because, seriously, it's totally clear this is his way of pulling on my pigtails. And I'm not going to sink to his level.

Instead, I'm going to cry and go tell the teacher.

In other news, I'm catching up on last season's shows. I'm FINALLY catching up on FRINGE. And considering speccing it. I've always been pretty bummed that I showed up late to the whole "Wanting To Be A TV Writer" thing. Seriously, why did no one tell me I could do this?! But, had I known what I wanted to be when I grew up, I TOTALLY would have specced an X-FILES. And now, I can. Granted, it's a slightly watered down version, but yeah. So I'm cooking up some shit in my brain and looking forward to finally writing again.

In answer to LadyUranus' question:

"So, looking through your archives, I have a quick question-- did the internship lead directly to the job? I had a sweet internship, but it seems to have lead to nothing, and I'm wondering how to leverage it."

There were a number of factors -- which, I believe had mainly to do with networking my ass off and getting some really great contacts. See, I'm not entirely positive I was a shoo-in for the job. I'd had little experience -- gaining more by the minute under the tutelage of some really fucking awesome people. Honestly, I have no idea HOW I got the job, so I'm only going by assumptions here. It, I think, mainly came through recommendations, which is why I mentioned the networking. From people working on the show to people who'd worked with people who were working on the show. But, I really really don't know if this was the case.

I'm truly sorry I can't be much help in how you can go about leveraging your own position. Good luck!

To ImportantHollywoodAgent:

They even make good coffee!