Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Dad had a big pitch meeting here at the house and we were forced to stay up way past "Minky Time" (10PM) so that "actors" and "producers" and "managers" could posture around our dining room table and come up with a decent pitch for NBC tomorrow.

NO one gave me any food.

Dad and Last Comic Standing's Gary Gulman are trying to get a series on the air about a neurotic relationship between a Peter Pan and a "likeable" woman (likeable meaning unlike my mom). According to the meeting that wouldn't end, they are going to use stories from Mom and Dad's real life and are going to pose as a "dynamic duo" tomorrow, making it impossible for the NBC minions to pass because of their sheer hilarity and the certainty that the hit-making duo will win back the cable audience for network TV.

Am I supposed to be impressed that a big star (Gary Gulman's head almost reached the lights in the ceiling, he's taller than a Borzoi) is sitting next to me? Am I supposed to jump up and down? He didn't give me anything, no Brie, no dates with mascarpone, no brazil nuts, not a look, no nothing.

While I tried to sleep, Gary Gulman, the comedic genius who ignored me for about 5 hours straight, told a story about how he doesn't want to tell his mother about his girlfriend yet. Hilarious.

Mom looked shocked.

Then the Last Comic Standing heartthrob sat on MY giant dog bed, eating dates. No thank you, not a pat on the head, nothing. And he marked the bathroom! I don't know how I will pee on top of his pee, he's so tall.

Listen, I'm all for Dad running a show, because Mom will be happy that Dad will make more dough to buy more e-bay stuff and bigger yards and all but these pitch meetings ruin a perfectly good night.

I'm very annoyed.


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