From the Blog

What I Won’t Write About


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I’ve made what I think is a wise decision not to write about work. Past or present. As much as I would desperately like to. Work can be a never-disappointing source of would-be blog fodder. Especially in the movie business. When I was interviewing for work up here in Portland, I said that my experience in Hollywood was good “personality training.” It was not always, but quite frequently, exactly like being waterboarded.

Thankfully, I like my current job. All the people I work with are very nice. My boss is a sweetie pie. The work isn’t super strenuous. I’m happy to be taking a breather after the crazy year I’ve had.

I also think I won’t write too much about coworkers or roommates or living situations, except when a story really needs to be told. Like here and here.

Okay, but maybe one more roommatey story?

I used to attend a loosely organized weekly artists’ group dubbed “artThink.” Len started it, I think. We’d get together at a cafe on Tuesday nights with sketch pads, laptops and for me, yarn and a crochet hook. We would have any where from 2 or 3 or 10 people show up on a fairly regular basis.

One of the nights, I decided we should meet at my house, because it was “raining.” And that means it’s SUCH A HASSLE to go OUTSIDE or TRAVEL in the RAIN in LOS ANGELES. Can you hear the whining in my voice? RAIN! In LA!

I had a fireplace at my house. And wine. So we gathered a somewhat large group in the living room at my house lit the fire, and ended up talking less about art and more about other interesting stuff.

And it was interesting, but really, I don’t recall much of what we talked about because I was drinking wine. There are other people who were there who might remember this better than I do. But I recall that one of the more opinionated members of our artThink group argued that women could rule the world. I don’t remember the exact wording, but the basic idea was that women could always get whatever they wanted. Because we have boobs.

I had previously been unaware of this. Because I have boobs. And while I had always considered myself sheltered and healthy, I don’t think I could say I “ruled the world.” Because of my boobs. It’s not like the Franklin Mint sees me and unlocks the vault.

So this boobs-rule-the-world concept was intriguing. I shared a house with two other woman and we immediately started a “Boob Job Fund” jar and left it on the fireplace mantel. Because, you know, who doesn’t want things? Or rule the world with our chests?

Visitors to our house generously contributed. Unfortunately for me, I was deemed “least in need,” so I was last in line for the Boob Fund Jar. I did borrow some boob money for parking (I always put it back later.)

So as much as I would love to write about some of my crazy bosses and other experiences, I won’t. However, I am perfectly willing to have the word “boobs” on my blog 3 dozen times.

Comments

  1. If “boobs” was in the title too, you’d get a million hits.

  2. …but if you don’t write about work or roommates or co-workers, what will you write about? Those are the everyday stories of your life that can be the most interesting. I mean, sure, everyone has something mind-blowing to say about politics and art and such, but seriously, sometimes the mundane is the most interesting. Its your take on it that makes it worthwhile. Just my worthless $0.02

  3. I’d love to write about work or bosses or roommates. But I’m trying to protect the innocent, I guess. And myself. I also need to have content for my eventual book. After which, I will likely have no friends. ;-)

  4. So she resorted to writing about BOOBS!

    BOOBS! BOOBS! BOOBS!

    Hi dad!!

  5. Shrewd marketing decision, my friend. You see, I don’t give two and half shits about your boss, your co-workers, or your roommates. That’s what sitcoms are for. But you know what I can’t get on the sitcoms? Boobs.

    Boobs! On a silver platter,
    Boobs! On a bed of lettuce,
    Boobs! Where my love lies waiting,
    Silently for meeeeee……

  6. Rob, Simon and Garfunkel are going to have your ass arrested.

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