I should have sold those pictures of the Famous Actress and her new boyfriend, she made me go to the photo shop and take them off the machine herself because the guy was married, and after a very public breakup, the tabloids were dying to see who she would date next.  If I had sold them, I wouldn’t have to work and could just sit home all day contemplating life and pinning butterflies to cardboard.  And since I ended up leaving her company under duress anyway, it wouldn’t have made a difference.  But I didn’t sell them, so I sit in my little office on the Universal Lot, listening to the Studio Tour tram go by my window.  At least this tour is in English, when I worked for the Comedy Director the tour that passed by my window was in Spanish so I had to listen to “Es la Cabesa de Mary Tyler Moore” every fifteen minutes because apparently my office was in Mary’s old dressing room.   

This time I can hear the tour guide talking about Will Smith, whose company is next door, and it’s distractingly soothing.  We are actually busy right now because my boss is prepping a new movie to direct, and he has assigned me the illustrious task of researching the main character, a chef.  I know a little bit about chefs because my best friend the East Coast Sarah used to date a very famous and very hot chef; she was a waitress in his restaurant in NYC and they had an illicit and seedy affair, which culminated in East Coast Sarah getting drunk one night, dressing up like a schoolgirl for him, and passing out on Third Avenue in crotchless panties, much to the dismay of her family who had to pick her up from the Emergency Room that way. I only met the guy once, he was alarmingly attractive but it’s hard for a girl to get excited about a guy when he has to use a pseudonym to call your best friend.

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Tomorrow read the full-on… D-Girl Diary.

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