I was asleep. I woke up. Here I am.
I've done lots of girlcotts in my time. One of the more dramatic ones was at the Emmy Awards one year. I was nominated, along with the movie I wrote. The movie won, the director won, the co-star won, a number of other wins, but in one of those stupid "huh?" moments, the writer didn't win. Although I was disappointed, I actually could have lived with that. (I've posted about this before, but my fellow losers in the category were Neil Simon and Robert Bolt, so I was in excellent company.) But I couldn't live with what I conceived as the height of rudeness. Which is where the girlcotting came in. -- When the movie won for best of the year, the producer went up and thanked everybody from the caterer up, but left out the writer (me)! I was so livid that I got up - a seat filler immediately joined my husband - went into the lobby and never returned for the rest of the show. Refused to go back in, despite entrities. Paced around the lobby with smoke coming out my ears.
Now that I look back on it, it was a silly thing to do, but there you go. I was mad as hell and I wasn't going to take it any more. End of story. (Except that the producer and I are now working together agian for the first time in ten years and all is forgiven.)
I'm going to try to end the girlcott of my bed now and get back to sleep.