I recently signed up for a 100-hour pastry arts/baking program at a not-top-level culinary school here in NYC.
This is my idea of being practical, as I can't work as a copy editor/proofeader/manuscript reader at a faux smut palace forever. Most recently, I was rejected from a super cool playwrighting workshop, and further, have gotten no response to my latest dream job submission for work on The Daily Show.
It's the new year. I can't get anyone to read, much less consider, my latest piece of dramatic writing, DONKEY DILEMMA; my best hope at this point still finds the play somewhere in a slush pile (albeit at a high level theater) for at least three more months. I had a fling over the holidays which turned into a quasi-disaster, and my totally tween daughter is dissing me tonight for basically...existing!
Alas, somehow, someway, I'm going to integrate learning how to bake delicious treats into my writing—thus The Irreverent Family Cookbook—and figure out how to get something going, for fuck's sake!
P.S. I miss George Carlin, and my ex-boyfriend.
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