Well, I just flew in from L.A., and boy are my arms tired.
No, seriously. I drank heavily the entire flight and challenged everyone in first class to an arm wrestling match; my biceps are exhausted.
This was actually a really scary trip for me. I mean, let’s be honest. I’m not thin. I’m not trendy. L.A. is both those things, and also, there’s no bread anywhere, and it smells kinda like smoke and pee, but in a really fun way. Maybe that’s just my sensitivity to those smells, as you can’t smoke anywhere here, and it’s too fucking cold outside to pee, plus it throws off the deer.
But, after a quick pep talk in the handicap stall of the gate D16 public restroom, I emerged confident-ish, promised myself to not be intimidated and to come from a place of yes.
Yes, I’ll ride that fucking donkey.
Meeting the producers, Greg Grunberg and Brad Savage was the scariest part. We were to meet at brunch on the top of some hill somewhere, and I was so nervous getting ready, I just started sweating everywhere, like… everywhere. So, I ended up sitting on the air vent in my underwear eating a pre-brunch pop tart, watching GMA and working on my non-Ohio/General American accent. Which means less “y’all” and “pop” and not ending my sentences with prepositions.
Thankfully, as I walked up to the restaurant in my denim shirt dress and cowboy boots, Rod Stewart was there fighting with his one son that was on that reality show with Tori Spelling’s brother. He wanted his dad to buy him a house, but Rod wasn’t having it, so thankfully, that coupled with the sheer awkwardness of Rod’s tiny pants diffused the situation and I walked up to the gang totally not nervous at all.
Even as I fished a dollop of cream cheese out of my bra just as Jon Voight walked up to our table to say good morning, not even a twinge of anxiety.
Our Have Boobs Will Travel chariot. My parents drove one of these when I was in junior high. At the time I thought they were ruining my life. Now, I just realize they were bad asses.
Greg Grunberg acts irritated that I gave him the bow job face in the rear view mirror, but secretly, I bet he thinks it’s adorable.
Keili and I after hair and make-up, immediately before doing green screen work wherein we learned, some people have a natural instinct to hug (Alice), others have an instinct to make every situation look like she’s having anal sex (me).
Being force fed In-n-Out fries, animal style. There are worse ways to die.
Hanging out with the Band From TV guys. Fun fact, the dad from 7th Heaven? He was in this movie in the 90’s called The Babysitter’s Seduction. I never wished I liked kids enough to babysit so much in my life, like, ever. I have a crush.
I don’t know that I owe you an explanation for this.
That was kinda the tone for the whole trip. Me being myself on camera; making random celebrities all over Southern California feel weird. Like Michael Bay. Who I met while being hoisted up into a Firetruck, wearing a hat, by a gaggle of firemen.
If you were to ask me a year ago what my dream job would be, the answer would always have been to write a sitcom. I wouldn’t even have to star in it, it was always the writers of the comedy I was enamored with, after all.
But, I don’t know. Seeing someone like me, with big hips and thighs, who has a double chin when she laughs too hard, who never eats a hamburger just for show and remains unapologetic for her cursing or her flirting, regardless of her size… I think I want to see more of that. We don’t always have to be the funny best friend, you know.
Follow the rest of my trip on Instagram.