I’m back from my east coast excursion. My brother is all freshly graduated and off to Cape Cod for an internship. I’m back here, drinking Starbucks like it’s my job. I missed you all and I missed this blog. Did you miss me? I kind of hope that you did. Oh who am I kidding, I really hope you did.

I hate flying from LA/to LA because everyone waiting in the terminal is on their mobile phone blabbering about their industry jobs. “She requested that we get the costume designer from ‘The L Word'”, “I worked on that project”, “She was a menace on set”, “He almost got it but he was too auburn”, “My foot hurts”, etc. No one cares about your job. You are not a special snowflake. You are one of thousands working on some project. And if you really were that important, you wouldn’t be flying Jet Blue.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get it, man,” says the heavily tattooed man sitting beside me at the gate, the “it” of course being THE role in something. “They said they were looking for someone younger.”

Guess what, buddy? They’re ALWAYS looking for someone younger. I guarantee you if they got Justin Bieber in for a meeting, as soon as he left they would be saying, “He’s great but it’s too bad we can’t get the Justin Bieber from two years ago.”

This almighty “They” will decide what happens to you. In this industry it is all about “They.” “They wanted a name”, “They need to reschedule”, “They aren’t taking on any new clients”, and so on and so forth until we’re all dead. They don’t care. If Hollywood was burning down and they could only save three things, they would save Tom Hanks and two cans of Diet Coke. Welcome to Los Angeles.

I wanted to get on my phone and talk about something ridiculous too. “We need more bees,” I would say. “There aren’t enough bees.”

There was a gorgeous (and frankly, rude) couple flying with me. The woman was blonde and looked like Sienna Miller. And even though she was obviously pregnant, she was still thinner than I was.

This is my city though. I’m not moving. I was born and raised here. Sometimes I like to flee to New York but I’m not ready to live there full time yet, though I did while I was in college and I loved it. But every now and then I would think about how cramped everything is and I would get nervous. I would pass furniture stores in the village the size of my bedroom at home in LA and I would think, “How do they get all that furniture in there?” and then, “How do they get it into those walk-up apartments?” Remember in Annie Hall when Alvy is worried that the universe is expanding and his parents are shouting at him not to worry about it? “What has the universe got to do with it? You’re here in Brooklyn! Brooklyn is not expanding!” his mother snaps. Why should I worry about how people get furniture into their apartment when it has nothing to do with me? But every once in a while the sheer density of Manhattan hits me and I feel a little trapped.

Los Angeles comes with a different trapped feeling. But I do love it here. I think perhaps I will stick to being a writer. Because if you’re a writer you can get really, really fat and no one will care. Until your publicist does. Oh LA, you’re great, don’t ever change, just keep getting younger.

I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman — K-OS

I really think I just hate everybody.

If you’re going to invite people to your housewarming and your housewarming is outside in 50 degree weather, you literally fail at having a housewarming, for your guests are neither in your house nor are they warm.

I mean that’s just simple logic.

That artichoke dip was good though, so thank you for that.

Can everyone just stop asking me what I do for a living? I know you’re not personally invested. No one is thinking, “Hi, nice to meet you, please tell me what it is you do, for upon meeting you I have decided to write your biography.” We ask to make a contest out of it. Oh, you make whistles for a nonprofit organization? I work for Sharon Fucking Stone. My anecdotes are better than yours. I win.

I don’t work for Sharon Stone. But I used to tell people that I was her personal assistant because it made for great small talk. No one actually gives a shit what you do for a living, so it’s not like I felt bad about lying. Especially because that’s a great lie that I could work with. I bet I know what being Sharon Stone’s assistant would be like. I would say, “I’m Sharon Stone’s personal assistant,” and give a smile that says something like, “Boy is she a handful, that Hollywood Legend, what are you gonna do, this town, right?” They would say something like, “Oh boy/really/wow” and I would say, “Yeah, today I had to pick up her favorite Diptyque candles down in Brentwood and they gave me the wrong ones. You can only imagine what that was like.” And they would chuckle and say, “Yeah, I bet.” Tell me that’s not an eerily accurate description of what Sharon Stone’s personal assistant does. I love Sharon Stone. I really do. No disrespect. She had to work with Michael Douglas. I think for that she should just automatically be given a Golden Globe. I think anyone who comes into personal contact with Michael Douglas should be at least nominated for a Golden Globe.

Perhaps I’m coming down too hard on people. Small talk is what we’re used to. We think we’re supposed to ask people what they do for a living. I would much rather know which member of The Babysitter’s Club was their favorite. Or if they’ve eaten at any good restaurants lately. Anything but what they do for a living. Because unless you’re about to tell me that you’re casting a film and you want to give me a line (and you’ll actually give me an imdb credit unlike that last film I was in that promised me one and then didn’t) then I don’t care. And you don’t care what I do. And that’s OK. That’s wonderful.

Are we really going to see each other again anyway? Actually the curse of living in LA, aside from Earthquakes (and getting mugged by Ludacris in Westwood Village because according to “Crash” that is very real and happens all the time) is that you are constantly running into the same people. And you have that heartstopping moment of, “Do I know this person? Do they know me? Do we pretend to know each other? Or do we actually know each other?”

And after you meet someone and hit it off, should you facebook them? Or did you simply mistake their beer buzz for a genuine interest in you? Once I met a friend of a friend and thought we would become best GFs. I thought we would be telling people at future parties, “When we met, we hit it off like a house on fire,” and laugh. I’ve always wanted to use that expression out loud. It hasn’t happened yet. And when it does happen, I really want it to mean something. My point is though that I didn’t become best GFs with that person; instead we are in facebook friend limbo. We know each other and we would probably, maybe recognize each other if we saw each other in person but beyond that there’s nothing there. And that’s a shame.

I’m pretty amazed that people still invite to places. Most of the time I have a good time and all of the time I keep my quiet hatred to myself. It’s just what people do.

Oh except for when I then go on my blog and complain. But come on. You’re going to have your housewarming outside? In January? Really? I know it’s Los Angeles but it actually gets chilly this time of year after sundown. I don’t care that you have a firepit. That doesn’t help at all. The goggles, they do nothing.

Really though please do continue to invite me to your parties, at heart I’m a nice person and I think that’s what’s important.