Confessions

I must mention that my friend Claire thought up the name, "Dr. Strangemom" for this blog. It's not that I didn't want you to know; I just never seem to find a way to weave it into my posts. And I feel bad about it every time I talk to Claire. Or as I am falling asleep. And, as you know, although the motto of my family is, "the important thing is that you feel bad", I want to cross this off my list.

Claire.

Hmm, I don't feel totally cleansed. Maybe it's time for a few more confessions. Let's see....

I didn't make up the word "tanorexic" although I do not correct people when they presume I did. I think my sister first coined the term, but then again Karen swears that she invented the expression, "no way, Jose" so her credibility is pretty much shot, don't you think? And, really, how does one prove something like that? She should have written the words out on a piece of paper and then sent it to herself, Certified Mail.

That is called the Poor People's Copyright. And, from what I hear, it's practically worthless. I heard that from the lady at the Writer's Guild but then again, she had a little something to gain by scaring me. My friend Jacky and I had just written our first spec script ("Kate and Allie") and knowing for certain we were on the precipice of stellar success, we raced to the Guild to register it, lest, I don't know, Larry David or Gelbart or someone stole our hiLARious plot of Allie accidentally getting locked into a closet while dressing for a blind date, and having to conduct the entire date from inside the closet.

I will give you a moment to catch your breath and wipe the laughter tears from your eyes.

So there we are, Jacky and Ann, game faces on, dressed in our "we are not housewives from the Valley" ensembles, walking through the doors of the Writer's Guild as if we did it every day. We were feeling slightly kickass already, having just finished a meeting with an assistant to an assistant to a junior agent at William Morris, and we are talking Beverly fucking Hills, baby. We did not, could not, know then that nothing notable would come of that meeting other than it turned out to be the first day I got my period again after having my second baby; this, I discovered on the toilet of the Writer's Guild bathroom and, having nothing in my purse for this surprise, was forced to pull a sort of Menstrual MacGyver and fashion a pad out of toilet paper, a loose thread off my skirt, the business card of the William Morris agent and two Mentos wrappers.

As it turned out, it was the only thing that fucking business card was ever good for.

I waddled out of the bathroom and we found our way to the registration desk. Now, when I am nervous, I tend to lose track of details like names, directions, and instructions to register sitcom spec scripts.

The instructions at the desk read that members of the Guild pay $20.00 to register a 30-minute sitcom script, and non-members pay $40.00. There was some small writing beneath that, but I just perused it. Jacky took out her checkbook.

"Wait!" I yelled. The entire room waited.

"Why don't we just JOIN the Guild today?" I asked Jacky. "It makes sense if we are going to be registering a lot of scripts, right?"  You know, like opening up a Macy's charge to get 10% off your first purchase.

Jacky distanced herself as far from me as a person can who is sharing my chair.

"Honey," the Guild lady said to me. She spoke slowly and succinctly with hand gestures, like I was underwater. And really, really stupid. "Honey, you can't just join the Guild. You have to earn your way into it. By being a real writer." Then she stood up and pointed to the small writing. Her fingernails made a click, click, click on the sign, which, now that I paid better attention, described the complex rubric to gain entree into the Guild. Basically, someone has to actually buy your script. Hunh.

Well. If Macy's ran their business that way, there wouldn't be a line for the day after Thanksgiving sale, I can tell you that much. In other words, when it came to joining the Writer's Guild, no way, Jose. (copyright, my sister Karen, 1986)

We slunk our way back to the Valley. I should have just used the Certified Mail way.

Or I could have just asked Claire. She's been a bona fide Guild member since way back.

Comments

[Lunaea]

You must immediately copyright the term "Menstrual MacGyver."

[Claire]

I'm only a guild member by marriage. But that does allow me to whip out a card in medical situations. I may have coined the name "Dr. Strangemom," Ann, but only because you inspire me. You are my muse. Who knew muses ate bagels and could make sanitary napkins out of William Morris business cards? (That might have become a collector's item now that they've changed their name to WME, you know. But not so much with the menstrual blood on it . . . Or more so? I can't decide)

[John Doe]

Does WME stand for "Weapons of Mass Entertainment"?