CALL INT: A SMALL APARTMENT LEAH is moving restlessly around her apartment, idly picking things up and moving them around. Every now and then, though, she pulls out her phone and checks the screen. LEAH He still hasn t called. Awesome. Isn t there some kind of cliché sitcom rule about waiting three days? What kind of stupid crap is that? Like, if he calls earlier than that I m going to think he s desperate or something? What if I just think he actually wants to talk to me? (Pauses to check phone again) I guess technically it hasn t been three days, because it was like 2 A.M. when I left, but still. (Shakes her head and laughs in a selfdeprecating way) Okay, I just heard myself say that out loud? And now I m thinking there s definitely something wrong with me. I could call him, I guess. It s 2015, that s something I m allowed to do. I just don t want to seem desperate. I d like to know he s interested in me. But maybe he d like the same thing? I dunno. (Checks phone again and sighs) I should just go out. This isn t the 80s--I don t have to be shut in my apartment in order to stare at my phone (MORE)
(CONT.) all night. But I probably won t, because I ve spent my whole life waiting for everything to come to me, and it never does. (Finally stops pacing and sits down) I don t know why I do that, except that it s not just this, or my job, or that I never travelled. I can remember when I was just a kid and we all played kick-the-can in the street. I was the one kid who would never go for it. I d just sit there in my hiding place, not really sure if I wanted to be found and caught or never found, ever. I just knew I didn t want to try for it and fail. You know, I think I was just waiting for the right time, for the right signal. Sometimes they d forget about me and start another game without me. But I was just sitting there, knotted up and breathless, crouched behind the bushes, waiting for the call, waiting for someone to shout Olly-olly-oxenfree!
CAT INT: A PATCH OF SUN ON THE ARMREST OF A COMFY COUCH MILO THE CAT is lounging in the sunshine, taking a very contented nap. His owner walks in and he raises his head sleepily. MILO Don t look at me like that. I can always tell when you humans are having a bad day. Like it s my fault for sleeping. Do I give you a hard time for only sleeping eight hours? Or for sleeping when you should be feeding me? No. So leave me alone. (The owner walks over and pets Milo) Well, I guess if you re going to pet me (Nuzzles the hand of the owner, who then pets him near the tail. His whole backside automatically lifts) Noooooo--not the butt! Curse you, human, I was in such a comfortable pos- -ooh, that does feel nice, though. All right, that s good. Getting bored now. Okay. Okay. Okay, that s enough. (Bites the hand and then slinks off) Man, it s like you don t know what you re doing. Petting is not about you, sir, you hairless pink popsicle. Now bring me food! Hey! Food, I tell you! Not that dry garbage, bring me something wet that makes the whole house smell like tuna! (MORE)
(CONT.) (Follows his master toward the kitchen, baffled when he doesn t get his way) I cannot fathom the inane stupidity of humanity. It s like they don t understand basic commands. Did I say to go get ice cream to stuff in your fat face? No. It s like when I meow and you meow back at me--i m trying to speak to you in a language you understand, not get you to try and repeat it! I ve seen your kind do the same nonsense babbling repetition with babies. Maybe you don t understand how communication works. If you did, maybe you d get that I want to be petted on the head but not picked up or touched on the belly. It s not like it s that hard to remember. Morons. I m surrounded by morons. Sometimes it s almost like you think you re in charge or something.
MAKE UP INT. A BEDROOM JOYCE, a middle-aged woman, is standing in front of her full length mirror, narrating her actions as she gets ready in the morning. She is wearing a nightgown and her hair is wet. JOYCE (Like an announcer) Here we have the specimen, one Joyce Harmon, forty-five, in her natural habitat. Note the coin-purse tummy and the lack of support for back, breasts, and arches. Hard to believe this beauty once competed in the 200-meter dash in the 1988 Olympics. (Does a slow spin) If I could draw your eye to the leg area, you will note that the calves still look phenomenal and are unmarred by the cellulite encroaching on the thighs. Ah yes, but what we re all asking ourselves is: How does she do it? (Picks up an eyeliner pencil and begins to darken her eyes) Well, folks, we start with what Joyce s mother called Cleopatra eyes, but a bit softer at the edges, because, as everyone knows, Joyce s mother was married four times to three men, and one can t help but wonder if the smoky 60s look was actually responsible, as Maybelline would have us believe. Joyce once said she d never be anything like her mother, but the aging process seems (MORE)
(CONT.) to have disagreed with her there, wouldn t ya say? (Takes an eyelash curler to her lashes) Now, Joyce s last girlfriend was amazing at this particular event, what we call Curling. Never pinched her lids or anything. Carol had beautiful lashes, thick and dark around those green, Irish eyes. Boy, was she a good time, amirite, folks? (Sets down the curler and starts to apply mascara. Still speaking to herself, but quieter, more thoughtful now) She loved heavy makeup, by god. Loved to wear it, loved to see it. Didn t even care that she woke up with raccoon eyes or that her morning routine lasted two hours, like a crazy person. And why bother that much at this age? Who s looking anymore? This whole thing isn t doing Joyce any good anyway. (Sets down the mascara and really looks at herself, only one eye done. Dropping the announcer voice) I am terrible at this. God. What s the point? I thought it d be the four marriage syndrome that got me, but I couldn t even manage one. And now here I am, fool body and fool mind and a face that can t make up its mind. Maybe if I called Carol, maybe if I just told her (Stops and shakes herself out of it. Laughs at her reflection) Well, make-up isn t going to do this any good. (MORE)
(CONT.) (In her announcer voice, as she reaches for the makeup remover wipes) Sorry, folks. That s all the time we have for this game. Tune in next time to see Joyce lose her mind over a bathing suit.