And now for some reader mail (and also questions randomly thrown at me by people I know, but who refuse to send these questions to my email).
- Why don’t you write more consistently?
I’m lazy. Also, I’m not allowed to write about work (day job has a specific policy, and I choose not to write about my secondary work often). That pretty much eliminates 90% of my life right now. The other 10% is spent sleeping or wishing I was sleeping. For instance, right now I’m prepping for a conference call AND wishing I was sleeping (in fact, I might actually be sleeping, and this is just a waking nightmare). Please be amazed at my kick-ass multitasking skills.
- Do you ever overhear conversations that make it into your writing?
I’m shocked! Shocked that people would think I listen to other people’s conversations. I never do that. But if I did do that, the answer would be, “Yes, if they irritate me.” It would be tough to rank the ones that irritate me the most. Obviously, actually overhearing a plot to kill, maim or wax someone would leave me a bit disconcerted. Luckily, I really only hear things like that a couple of times a week, so I feel good about ignoring them. I only like hearing wild praise about myself, so I’d get a little bent if I overheard anything that bursts my little ego bubble—that would definitely inspire a diatribe or two. The only thing that will actually make me slap you is overhearing the “NY is so much more real than LA” conversation (with runner up being “San Francisco is so much more real than LA”—which I heard on Sunday). I like to point out whenever possible that planes fly to both destinations, and you should feel free to be on one of them as soon as possible (diatribe pending).
- Why don’t you just try online dating and be done with it?
Did you just ask me out?
- Didn’t you say there was a plan to turn this blog into a movie? Where’s the movie?
There are no plans to turn the blog into a movie. Apparently, there are actually standards out there, and the anal bleaching scene was a deal breaker. Also, we couldn’t convince a studio that my 5 ½ readers (don’t ask) constituted a fan base.
- You must see famous people all the time in LA. Why don’t you write about them?
I do see them. They have lawyers. Enough said.
No seriously, I do encounter “the famous”, and, on rare occasion, I actually recognize them. From time to time, I will tweet about seeing someone, but for the most part the grocery buying or shirt browsing isn’t enough to get me inspired to run home and write about it—though I have strict orders to tell Pen the minute I run into Timothy Olyphant again.
- Is your love for Clooney over? You don’t mention him anymore.
I don’t mention my shoes anymore either, it doesn’t mean I don’t still have strong affection for them. Rest assured, my appreciation of “the Clooney” remains strong, though it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen him, and I might need an in-person refresher on exactly why.
- I don’t get it. How hard is it to get a date?
Let me guess—you are blonde and 24, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
- I was excited to see you start writing again. Then you stopped. Wtf?
I was waiting for information on my soul mate kit to arrive. Now that it has, get ready to party. And by party, I mean get ready for endless rants on my part about how it doesn’t, couldn’t and won’t work without me actually giving it a chance. That’s how I roll.
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