When I visit New York City it’s like seeing a boyfriend you sleep with occasionally and each time you see each other you pick up right where you left off.  This trip it was crowded and smelly, as usual, and exciting and vivacious, and there was some crazy car bomb parked a few blocks from my apartment: people and cities rarely ever really change.  I went to New York to see my doctor, because I have not found a good neurologist in LA yet, but the doctor’s appointment was almost an afterthought to seeing friends and cousins and going to a Yankee Game.  Nobody in that city seemed to care that I am trying to clean up my act and live a better life: I wasn’t treated any better, given any special sidewalk space or a reprieve from a long line.  That’s what I love about New York: it’s a narcissistic city and completely self-absorbed, just like all the men I date.  I’m uncomfortable with affection, have serious intimacy issues, and I feel completely at home being abused by this city.  As I walked down the streets feeling slightly ill the other day, the buildings spun around me and I swayed and wobbled, and almost fell about ten times: nobody even noticed.  It reminded me of growing up as the middle child of a huge family, when I was sick my Mom would say, “You’ll live.” And maybe give me a can of ginger ale.  For a nurse with eight small children, she did not have the gentlest of bedside manners.

Back in Los Angeles, I have moved to the beach.  Now that I’m living in a spacious ocean chalet I’m wondering why I didn’t make this move a while ago, but I suppose I felt comfortable suffering in my crime-ridden Korea Town studio. I don’t even know what to do with all this new space, it looks like I am squatting, but I finally feel like I belong out here: if I start making any kind of money as a writer there is an imminent danger I might actually be a carefree, happy Beachcombing California Girl.  My Old Boss who is now my New Boss was nice about me taking off to New York for a few days, but now that I am back he has tasked me with coming up with new ideas for television shows because the show we are working on has been tanking in the ratings.  I was hired to assist the writers on the show but my Boss has been using me more and more to assist him: his real assistant is a cocky, good-looking kid who thinks he is too cool to do menial tasks for my Boss.  Even with my luxurious new Oceanside apartment and my recent coast-to-coast jaunt, I am not too cool for grunt work, and Hollywood will always make me feel like I am cheating on New York – my flippant, cool boyfriend — with some guy who surfs and sleeps until noon.

D-GIRL was a development girl in Hollywood and New York City for many years. While finding projects for actors, directors and producers to make into movies, she amassed a number of salacious tales of questionable morality that became an internet column entitled “D-Girl Diary.” She left show business to become a full-time writer in 2001.

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