Lady By The Pool

Lately I've taken to write my screenplays by the pool. Since I've been going into work real early, I've been able to have afternoons to dick around.

It's a secluded spot I usually go to hide out. It's great since it's behind a gate down a path and away from the street. Most crackheads of Van Nuys will never see it. I set myself up on one of the tables. Laptop, script pages, and a smoking pipe to finish the total pretentious image. I'll oftentimes listen to music. Air is a great band to listen to while writing because it's ethereal and the words are so innocuously stupid. You ignore it as background noise.

Anyways, I'm usually expecting the place to be empty. It's so off the beaten path, you wouldn't know it existed UNLESS you lived there. I saw at the edge of the pool, some swimming gear. Fins, snorkel, etc...Very strange. I ignore it, go to my table and get ready. I start to re-write an old script.

From the corner of my eye I spot a woman coming by. Now, this is no new thing. My place is full of women. Angry, angry cat women. I instinctively scrunch lower into my chair, hoping my 15" monitor would hide my 30" head. Well, wouldn't you know it.
Her: "Hey, you writing?"
Me (thinking "no bitch, I'm watching porn"): Yes. Yes I am.
Her: "You a screenwriter?"
Me: "Nah. I'm just re-writing an old project I had from my school days. Ya know, keepin' the brain busy."

This is when she perks: "Oh really...my friends and I are about to write a thing about yoga. He's a trainer in Hawaii, and I have another friend in Dallas that's about to come out and we're going to put something together. I've been told to do one minute Youtube clips"

"Oh," I feign interest "that's a great idea. Get some internet exposure. My real job is in post-production." ('Cause yoga comedies are the rage).

She brightens: "No WAY! Cool. I've been asking around about post."
I cringe. NO ONE asks about post.
she rambles "oh yeah, like working on iMovie"
I take a puff from my pipe: "I tend to work with Final Cut."
Her: "Oh yeah, I heard of that. It's a really hard program."
Me: "if you know iMovie, it'll be the same concept."
"Anyway," she continues "my friends are really funny. The one guy in Dallas, if you saw him, he's not much to look at, but once you put him in front of a camera, something about him, just lights up."
"well..." I'm thinking to myself, why the fuck am I engaging this one "I started out as a cinematographer. Usually people with big features translates well."
Why didn't I just shoot myself in the fucking face?
She followed it up with "Oh really?! Wow, I've got to talk to you about cinematography."
Bitch, my brain works in one cycle. It should dawn on you that I'm a jack of all trades and if I'm sitting in some remote poolside in Van Nuys, I'm obvious not the best at any of it. Probably get better advice talking to a taco vendor down the street.

So, the rest gets weird. She basically invited me to "look at the layout of her apartment." Which, I kept informing her, I've seen when I was shopping and it was vacant. It was within view of the pool. Eech. Needless to say, she was at an age where pornos in the valley started with meeting someone poolside and ended with a fuckfest. I'm not saying I am the vision of Letters to Penthouse embodied. It's just, we're surrounded by miserable cat ladies. The half-retarded leaf blower guy who speaks two words of English and looks like a midget version of Sloth could've pulled this tail.

Me?...I just wanna write. At that moment, writing seemed A LOT more enticing than the swamp witch. In fact, I just went to the lounger and took a nap. I think she got the hint. She disappeared. Annette from Seattle.