There's one final paper that I'm worried about; it's the only bit of real work I have left to do this semester. (It is also the first bit of real work I've had to do this semester, which makes it all the more bewildering that I have to do it.) Everything else that is keeping me busy is drinking, partying and more of the same. Oh, my difficult life. Oh, woe is me.

Saturday is our publication party for the magazine, which I am looking forward to tremendously. (Margaritas, baby! Cinco de mayo! Woo!) But tomorrow, I have to go shopping to buy the stuff for the party, and on Saturday, I have to set up for the party. So there's that.

On Sunday, my friend Hannah is having another party. Then on Monday, I have class all day. So there's that on top, then. And Tuesday is the paper deadline. I have no idea when the hell I'm going to write this thing, in between sleeping off hangovers and acquiring new hangovers. None whatever.

Oh no, wait. I do have an idea. I will wait until the last minute and then pull something brilliant out of my ass, like I have done every other time I've had to write a paper in the entire course of my life.

So that's alright, then.

It's Bruce's birthday today; he's twenty five. I figured I'd better hurry up and finish the story of his visit before he turns twenty six.

My sister, Abby, who graduated with a film degree from UCSB, is making a digital short film. She asked Bruce and I to help her out by being casting directors for the auditions. We said sure, okay, whatever, not really knowing what to expect. Maybe some half assed casting thing in my parents living room or something.

Ha. That girl was so prepared and professional, it blew my mind.

She rented studio space (I have no idea how she did this) and placed an ad in Backstage West. She had piles upon piles of headshots, and called the actors back who had the experience she was looking for, and scheduled them at fifteen minute intervals to read for different parts. She had script treatments and notes and color coordinated folders and craft services and lighting and a camera crew.

She had clipboards, people. Clipboards.

And then all these actual actors came in. They checked in with Ash, and brought in their headshots, and "slated" their names for the camera, which I had never even heard of before. But you better believe my pro director little sister knew about it. I couldn't believe there were real actors in front of us, ready to do our bidding in these auditions.

So I sat in this overstuffed chair, wrote on my clipboard and tried to look judgmental and important. It was yet another of those times when I felt as though I was playing a grown up. It was crazy. But I totally got into it. If I don't end up being a trophy wife when I grow up, I think casting director is my next choice. It was so fun.

I'm not gonna give away the concept of Abby's film, but the auditions were improvised, character-based comedy. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at some of the funniest stuff. It's great to see an actor really deliver a great audition, but my favorites were the actors who just didn't quite get it.

One guy was supposed to pretend he was a butch rodeo guy, and then switch quickly into a flaming gay guy at the rodeo. Well, he just didn't grasp the concept at all. We dubbed him the Endless Rodeo guy. He pretended he was at a rodeo for like, five minutes, while we all leaned forward expectantly, waiting for him to switch into the flaming gay guy. But he kept doing his rodeo thing.

At one point Abby said, "Okay, and now, into the gay guy?" but the Endless Rodeo just continued. It was unintentionally funny. Finally, she just said, "Okay, thanks for coming, that was great." Yeah, if you define "great" as "completely missing the point."

Sadly, Bruce and I couldn't stay for the end of the auditions. We had tickets to see Mamma Mia!, which was my raison d'être for coming to Los Angeles in the first place. We had great seats, thanks to Phil the Cheating Bastard, who bought the tickets. Thanks, Phil.

This musical basically consists of a bunch of ABBA songs, changed very slightly and strung together by some dialogue and an extremely clever story. It is charming, touching and hilarious. The second lead actor was too Elvis-esque, but the cast was uniformly excellent other than that. And they did most of my favorite ABBA songs, including Gimme Gimme Gimme and Waterloo.

The only problem was that our audience consisted of a bunch of old people who didn't want to dance in the aisles at the end of the show. I can't recommend it highly enough. Especially if you like ABBA music, it's a blast.

I then had to drive Bruce back to Corona, which is better known as Butt Fuck Egypt. Luckily, Tim agreed to drive with me and keep me company. So we went to go pick Tim up. I was ecstatic to see him; I bounced gleefully.

After dropping Bruce off in BFE, I went back to Tim's house. We watched a couple of DVDs, sort of, and sampled the contents of his liquor cabinet. We had some expensive old scotch (I don't much like scotch, I have discovered) some of his homemade beer (surprisingly good), sake named momo something (good name), and Georgia moonshine that actually came in a mason jar. Also something called grappa, which is made of the grape skins that ferment on the bottom of the wine tanks.

I endorse neither moonshine nor grappa, as they both taste like rubbing alcohol with added ass flavoring.

Eventually, we had to go to sleep, and then when I woke up, he had to go to work. That part sucked. I am looking forward to seeing Tim for a longer visit in June. In fact, I plan to hang out his apartment until I get enough of him. In other words, I may not make it back to school in the fall.

On Monday, I had an uneventful 400 mile drive home. I floored it and went 85 the whole way so I could make it to my collab class, which I did, right on time. I only stopped once (desperate for fuel, bathroom & food). It was the last day that we would be writing a group poem. I wasn't gonna miss that if I could help it.

I am so sad to see the semester, and the year, coming to an end.

I love school, even more than I thought I would when I decided to move here. I love hanging out at the bar, playing pool and sipping beer, knowing that we'll be doing it all again the next day. I love workshopping my poems with the girls at our local cafe. I love sitting around at our editorial board meetings, eating bagels and doing nothing. I love conflicts over poetry. I love creation.

I love turning in a piece of poetry that I know is good. I love standing in front of a crowd and reading a poem that is good. I love hearing applause and compliments. I love knowing that I am improving as a poet. I love being surrounded by intelligent people who love the same thing that I do. I love being respected and admired, especially for my writing. I love the friends I've made here, oh god, so much I cannot even tell you.

Every day that I have to go to school, I sit in my car with the radio blasting and look forward to the day. I drive across the Bay Bridge, look at the San Francisco skyline and think, "Holy living fuck. I am the luckiest girl in the world."

And one year of that feeling is almost gone.

Sniff.

"ME
Excuse me, sir. Does the Mediterranean have waves?"