24-Jul-2006

Saturday afternoon I headed over to Ballsy Gal's for a barbecue.  Or, at least, what passes for a barbecue in L.A. (aka hamburgers and hot dogs - not that I have a problem with either of those choices).  Ballsy Gal cornered me immediately to ask what was going on with the Faux Agents.

Me:  Well, I think they're dragging their heels a bit.  Not making their intentions clear. 

Ballsy Gal:  That is bullshit.  What are we, in middle school?

Me:  Always.

Ballsy Gal:  I don't like it.  Not one bit.  I'm sending you to my agent.

And guess who her agent happens to be?  That's right.  It's the Unnamed Asshole (the Irish Asian's words, not mine) from the Bosses' agency.  And guess whose main competition he happens to be?  That's right.  The Faux Agents.  This could get interesting... Hollywood males are no different from males in any other part of the country.  They never want anyone until someone else does. 

Business being disposed of, Ballsy Gal proceeded to fawn over the artichoke dip I'd made, and then we turned to our next favorite subject:  boys.  I know, I know... we're two young professionals trying to make it in a tough industry, but put us in a room together for longer than fifteen minutes and we'll immediately switch gears from writing to recipes to lust, love, or any combination of the two.  Ballsy Gal is from Kansas, see, and she was living with her boyfriend of three years when she went back home for a visit.  That's where she met a boy from high school who knocked her socks off.  It wasn't anything stated, and nothing happened, but she says she knew as soon as she'd exchanged two words with Homeboy that she had to come back here and dump her boyfriend.  Fast forward a year, a few trips home, and Ballsy Gal's Homeboy is finally moving out here, and I finally got to meet him, and, just like her, he is absolutely lovely.  I find that kind of courage amazing - I think I have it, in that I don't tend to be scared of normal things.  Like, it's no problem for me to pack up and move across the country in four days (that's how I moved out here, after all, praying that the Tennis Pro had gotten my email that I needed to live with him for a while), but stick me on Web MD and I'll turn into a quaking pit of despair.  With E boli.  And don't even get me started on elevators... or gas station bathrooms with flimsy locks.  I'm shuddering just thinking about it.  I suppose courage is all relative.  But what's life without naively taking the big risks?