Girl Detective...Still on Vacation

Hello all,

It's still "summer vacation" where I am. The upfronts are this week, so TV people are crazed, but as long as your enterprising girl detective finds a new case in the next month, she doesn't need to panic. No need to panic at all. Just keep repeating to yourself. No need to panic, no need to panic....

Oh, hi! You're still there. As I was saying, still "summer vacation"! And despite knowing that I need to ween myself from my twin addictions of caffeine and gossip, I have found myself powerless against them. Especially when mixed together. I'm sure they discuss the complementary makes-each-more-potent nature at the 12-step meeting, to which, like Amy Winehouse, I refuse to go. No, no, no!

Point is, my addictions have taught me a few things this week.

There's a Starbucks near my home. I realize this is true of everyone in America, and soon, the world, but outside my particular Starbucks, there is a homeless woman who does Pilates. And then asks for change to get a latte. A bobo hobo. I have to admire her absolute refusal to admit that she is no longer a yuppie.

She also reminds me of another woman whom I didn't know directly, yet affected me greatly. I used to have a temp job recording the histories of crack addicts who called a drug helpline for treatment. I transcribed these histories for nine hours a day in a windowless room; it was a little grim. One day I typed in the story of a woman with slight mental retardation who had been raised in foster care. She had been abused, became an addict, and was soon on the street turning tricks. She lived with her boyfriend/pimp, who would use her as collateral for his gambling debts to his friends. One night she protested that she didn't want to sleep with his friends anymore after he lost at poker, and he broke her jaw. He broke a lot of things, and finally one night she'd called this helpline.

Now the thing I took away from that was that a mildly retarded crack whore had a live-in boyfriend. Whereas the guys I was dating were all, "Well... define 'going out'." And now Pilates girl. It is unnerving when you have to start wondering if the homeless and drug-addicted have it more together than you. And yet, sometimes you have to stare that truth down.

The second thing I learned this week is that if I've ever wondered what it would be like to be raped, but not wanted to actually go through the experience to find out, I could just go to Urth Cafee and order a coffee and a small salad. $18.95. Apparently it's organic GOLD that they're using. On the upside, no homeless people outside working on their core and making you feel guilty about not working out.

And finally....my idea that will make us millions and improve the world, if I can just get them to sign on for it:

Did everyone else know that Lauren Graham and Connie Britton used to be roommates? How did I not know that? That would've been one AWESOME apartment of brainy sexiness and really fabulous hair. I imagine their place being like one of those salons in the old Salon Selectives commercials -- you'd go over in your ponytail and sweats for 10 minutes to see if you could borrow a cute top, and you'd stay through sangria and pedicures and agent talk and guy talk and finally four hours later you'd leave with bouncy, shiny hair, the perfect clubbing top, and a renewed determination to stop dating dumb actor guys.

In fact, I think they should go back to being roommates and open a boarding house for young aspiring starlets, like in Stagedoor. First occupant: Lindsay Lohan. Followed quickly by Britney. (Because as much as I want Drew Barrymore to open up her Flower Magic School for Wayward Starlets, she clearly doesn't want to or she would've already. I've certainly suggested it loudly in public places from Beachwood to Fairfax enough times that I'm sure it's gotten back to her by now.)

"Look at us," Connie and Lauren would explain in their brainy, funny, sexy yet caring way.. "We don't go to Hyde, blow 20 rails, date mercenary creeps, and trust all the wrong people and look at us! We're happy, we're doing great work, and have you noticed our killer bouncy hair that is not shaved off lying on the ground around us waiting to be scooped up by a low-rent Burbank beautician so she can sell it on ebay? Everyone in the world understands that we are amazing and sexy without our mothers cozying up to the paparazzi to tell them so. How do we do it? Let us teach you how." And then they'd bake cookies.

Ooh, cookies. A cookie would go really well with this coffee. Must go investigate. Ciao.