Eat, Pray, LA

The first rule of LA is: you do not talk about LA.

That's a play on a quote from a movie I never saw. Only because I don't think Brad Pitt plays as good of a Tyler as I do.

Really, I've just been terrified somebody would take the time to Google me in the three weeks it takes them to tell me I didn't get the job, so I kept my mouth shut. But aside from a few LinkedIn views, I don't think anybody's knocking on the door of my skeleton-filled closet.

So I'm not a publicist's assistant. So I'm not working for Disney (although they're still within their three week rejection window.) At least I've met some cool people. Hey, I met that guy who wrote Easy A. It's the only DVD I've purchased in the past decade. Unfortunately, I thought everybody was joking when they said he was the guy who wrote Easy A. I thought that was a really funny joke, but now I'm full of fangirl regret. I didn't even know it was actually his birthday.

I should be more perceptive at parties.

I also had lunch at Paramount Studios with the girl who buys groceries for Blacklist. There's something very humbling for all parties involved when a man is admiring the life of a girl who describes her job as, "I buy groceries for the writers at Blacklist." And you - as a normal nobody - have no idea how important and coveted that job is. She'll be a big name in no time.

Hollywood.

What I've learned from meeting all of these celebrities is that there is more to life than what our work is. In the moment, what we're doing feels consuming, important, appropriately Paramount. Years, months, even just hours later, the groceries are consumed, the DVDs reduced price, and the studio lots left. Celebrities and writers are just as excited to leave work as the rest of America.

It's everything else, like the amazing salad I made and the annoying texts my mom sends me about flu shots and the birthday parties full of incomplete six packs (I swear I'll bring a better gift next time) that really matter. We do so much more than what we do. You know? At least, that's what I think.

And maybe that's why my boyfriend rolled his eyes when I tried to give career advice, and maybe that's why my YouTube videos only get 45 views, and maybe that's why I can only afford Captain Crunch for dinner. But I still think I'm pretty cool, pretty OK.

I'm also totally still banking on being famous though, so, take this with a grain of delusional salt.

Wanna be my agent,

TJB: Making It

MANuscript

Do you know what's really hard?

Dating.

See? You knew that. That's something you know.

I used to subscribe to the Sex and the City mentality that we all have two great loves (Season 5, Episode 1, Anchors Away, F*ck You Charlotte). I had even pinpointed who those two people were, which - as I'm sure you can imagine - made the following relationships all very fulfilling and successful. 

But that episode was 2002. Throw in an unlimited data plan, six dating websites, an increase in the frequency and convenience of public transportation and HOLY HELL you can really go through them.

My first boyfriend was afraid to swallow pills. He battled his anxiety with venti quad Americanos and raspberry white mochas from Starbucks.

My second boyfriend used to lift me up and pretend we were in The Lion King  opening sequence. I was Simba, he was Rafiki. It wasn't as cute as it sounds. At least not after the 5th time.

My third boyfriend once snorted Prozac off of the bar at my friend's birthday party. He claimed I overreacted because he had a prescription for it, so it was no big deal.

My fourth boyfriend was a dancer. Enough said.

My fifth boyfriend couldn't eat pork. For religious reasons, sure, but it made ordering pizza really difficult. It was doomed from day one.

I'm sure there are people I'm leaving out who considered themselves my boyfriends, but including them isn't going to make either of us look better now. You're welcome.

If you can guess which of the two listed I had considered my two great loves, then you've thought far too much into this and I'm sad for you. The point is, there's a strange feeling that sinks in when you realize you're not hung up on somebody anymore. You're the melancholy meadowlark, sad to be let out of the cage until you realize you're free to discover new kinks and better ways to be tied down.

I took it from a bird reference to a BDSM reference. Dad is going to be really proud.

All 2014 has brought me so far is an increase in my student loan payments and a date where I called the boy a wrong name three times. So, I'm getting hung up on the pen and not the penis. It's time to get back to that book deal.

(My mom said to write something uplifting. I'm counting the dick jokes.)

More penis puns please,

TJB: Making It