Dear Dave, Dear Allie

Dear Allie,

2008-10-24T13:59:00.001-07:00

It's your grandpa writing to you. How are you, sweetheart? Are you eating? Do you like your job? How is New York? I used to go to Coney Island all the time in the 1920's!

Okay, okay. Actually, this is not your grandpa, but it IS old man Dave, and old man Dave went on a hike yesterday that did a number on his back (an old fashioned ragtime number, of course). My back hurts!!! Allie, when I said I needed a change of pace, this is not what I meant! I went to the chiropractor this morning and he did a lot of things to me that made Rice Krispies noises. Then I stood up, still sore, but able to move a little better. I then came home, made some grunting noises, and took up residence on the couch. Now I feel a little better, I'm propped up in a computer chair, pillow behind my lower back, hoping that I feel good enough to practice with the Misfits/Ramones cover band I sort of joined to play a Halloween party. Yeah, that is a true thing I typed.

A girl I went to High School with tagged me in two pictures and put them on phazeboog. I'm so weirded out by them, even though they look like me. I can't place the situation, but I know that it was in my friend Natan's house. My friend Jake is holding what looks like a kitten, but I dont know who it belonged to. Natan's family never had a pet, and a kitten isnt the kind of thing you'd bring to a party, although, there it is, on the couch that I sat on 1-3 times a week from freshman to junior year (Natan finished High School in CA).

The interesting thing was that It didn't make me feel old. Things that make me feel old are creaky bones, not having the energy or the urge to drink all night, the few gray hairs that are hiding in the mountain that sits on top of my dumb head, having a doctor tell me to watch what I eat because "you hit a wall around 25," etc.

AHHH! Pain! okay I just took 2 more xtra strength Advil. MY chiro was siked that I was hiking when I hurt myself, and not from sitting on a couch "watching too many movies." I also replaced the Salonpas patches* that I had from 2 years ago, the last time I hurt my back. And THAT made me feel old, because I remember calling in sick to work to my OLD job, driving my OLD car to the chiropractor, and talking to my OLD girlfriend, who gave me some OLD sympathy. For real, toward the end, she never had a sympathetic bone in her body, except for when-

-NEVERMIND! Let's call it a day with that stupid OLD joke I shouldn't have started making. You're it, AC! Time to lie down. Write back to your gramps when you get a chance.

Yours in sickness and sometimes health,
Dave

*

Dear Dave,

2008-10-09T12:05:00.000-07:00

Fuckin' a, I just ate an egg salad sandwich for lunch. Why? Why would I do such a thing to myself? I usually reserve anything with eggs for when I'm hungover, and today I was chipper after a sober night of Project Runway* and half of There Will Be Blood. There was no cause for buying that $3.50 egg salad and forcing my insides to feel like they're chipping off like the lead paint from a window frame at The Empire.

(Note: Do not try falling asleep to There Will Be Blood or There Will Be Nightmares of rabid ice cream trucks spewing earthquake oil from their jagged mouths.)

What's that you ask? How do I FEEL today? Well, TODAY I FEEL a mix of crazy and bad. I feel like the egg salad of October, all brisk and whatnot but secretly full of shit that you don't want inside of you. What? Anyway, I'm pretty sure all of this is an indication of the impending P, but it doesn't make it easier to feel less anxious. You see I found out about a recent opening for an amazing, perfect job that I have been dreaming of since I was ten. After submitting all of the required papers, I have been spending every day very nervous and out of sorts. I can't carry on normal conversations with people, I am not enthused by my current job, and last night I puked up some Pirate's Booty because I couldn't get rid of the nervous feeling in my tummy.

Ah, puking and crying over anxiety. I'm a real headcase. BUT WHO CARES!

So, I heard through the Internet wires that you are being cut from your commercial. It is such bullshit that they don't see how money your face is. It's Jewish! How much more money could there be in a face? Not a lot, unless the face is Donald Trump's and he is poking around that Honda hybrid with the golden wiener he's got dangling from his forehead! FUCK THAT!

But you know, D, I know your day will come. For sure I know this, for you are a mix of synthetic and real gems in a sea of just regular plastic gems made of recycled TP. And that is gross.

What else. Nothing really. Just trying to get by day by day with the imminent future around and all that. And how about that debate on Tuesday? Fuckin' hilarious.

Gotta go kinda.
Love,
Allie

*For the record, think PR is a retarded show. But I like seeing what they make. Who wouldn't? It's like a composite of 30 hours of arts and crafts. I just hate when I have to hear them speak to one another. I honestly couldn't care less!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!ugh.

Dear Allie,

2008-10-02T11:13:00.000-07:00

It's probably too early to get nostalgic for June, but...remember June? Remember when we thought of a conceit for a blog, and it was an advice column for JUST you and me? Well that didn't last long. I guess it's shifted into more of a public email thread, which is totally fine. I don't particularly want advice at the moment, nor am I qualified to give it.

I've been in fix-it mode lately, both personal repair as well as home repair. We had roaches in a few cabinets in our kitchen, and I went on the warpath the other day. I cleared the cabinets, cleaned them thoroughly, and then blasted them with Raid until the bottle was empty. I think it's kind of cathartic to solve a problem like that when your personal life is in need of repair. You can't do anything immediate about a lack of focus or a disastrous breakup, but you CAN eradicate vermin from your kitchen and restore balance to the place where you make your sandwiches.

I am, as always, really excited to visit the east coast again. I think that if I don't come back at least once, preferably twice a year, I go start to go a little nuts. It's good to check in with where I came from, and also with all the good people I don't normally have the pleasure of seeing. It was cloudy, rainy, and about 60 degrees here yesterday, after a week of heat wave insanity. It was mind bogglingly hot. The internet told me it was 99 degrees out. I couldn't believe it, but I've gotten used to how unpredictable the weather is out here. Yesterday made me really nostalgic for east coast Fall, with it's brisk all-you-need-is-a-hoodie temperatures and moody skies. Of course, it's going to be 86 degrees on Tuesday, so go figure.

I'm sore. I played baseball yesterday for Mike Humphrey's birthday and I thought I'd be fine. Afterward I felt great, and after a shower I felt even better. And then this morning I feel like I've been hit by the out of shape truck (*send this truck to 5 of your bffs and pass it on!). It hurts to sneeze, and also my butt is sore. From running? Crouching? Some gross butt sex joke that I've avoiding? Whoops, too late.

Yesterday I went to a friend's apartment for a bit of a party. It was pretty fun, and she's one of my favorite people. She got me my most recent job, so I'm sort of indebted to her. However, I chose going there over another party because her roommate has a ferret. I wish it was a more compelling reason, but i think I need to be true to myself on this one. Murphy, her perfectly named ferret, is the perfect addition to any day. He can bring a smile to my face just by virtue of the fact that he exists. He's long, like a living scarf, and he has a really tiny head that is probably his best feature. I think it's easier to immediately love Murphy because there's not a lot to him. He's simple in his appeal. You pick him up, and you see that he is quite floppy. Check. You put him on a table and realize he's pretty clumsy. Check. He hides his food pellets under the TV so he can have easy access to them later. CHECKMATE.

I'm the master of my own destiny, Allie! I have to grab the brass ring and pull myself up to the shore like a mixed metaphor flapping in the breeze. It feels pretty good, if I do say so myself. I've been sort of echoing this sentiment that my dad said to me (in a dream) about a year ago. I don't remember the context, but the phrasing stuck with me. It was one of the few things I've written down immediately after waking up. He said, "Everyone's an idiot, and nobody knows anything."

WORD UP LIKE A FURRED PUP,
dave.

PS: my gut says DJ Facebawk but my heart says DJ Marc By Marc FUCK YOU

Dear Dave,

2008-10-02T09:35:00.000-07:00

So shit has been mad stoopid lately. Ranging from work-related to social disease-related, the past two weeks have been a sort of culmination of my social and psychological progress since I was 14. The kind of shit I've pulled these past two weeks, and the way I was treated by related parties, is grossly remniscent of very first semi-serious jerk boyfriend when I was 16. To cut a long and uncomfortable story short, I am still confusing what it should mean to work with someone and to play with someone; What it means to date someone my age and to try to understand someone who's lived a bit longer. Also, how gross is it when people use the word "play" for "makeout rape?" Gross and totally rude.

Sidenote: The Beirut Lon Gisland EP is still so fucking good. Seriously, really, honestly. Seriously. GOOD. When I listen to it I am specifically reminded of when I first moved to New York. I was walking through Central Park for the first time and had gotten majorly lost, but after a few moments of walking around the park mazery, the fact that I was lost became sort of inconsequential. Something about the sound of the horns in those few songs can calm me down at any moment, though make me nostalgic simultaneously. Here's a great single for your ears:

Elephant Gun - Beirut

[Ed note: Is it just me or is this blog getting more "EMO" (read: "gay"/serious) or whatever the F? At least a lot of it remains untrue. On my part.]

What else. What else. I miss you and love you and hope all is well. I can't wait for you to come back for the holidays so we can start off 2009 in each other's drunken, belligerent arms. As in, I will catch you when you fall after I punch you out because we got into a tiff about our opinions of each other's latest hoodie purchases and you caled mine "a DJ faggot's excuse for apparel." RUDE.

In related news, I've been trying to think of what my DJ name should be. I don't actually have any plans to become a DJ or begin DJ'ing whatsoever, but I thought it would be smart to invest in a DJ name and lock in the MySpace extension. You know, just in case. Think of it as preparation for the Y2K of my dignity and self-respect.

Some handles off the top of my head:

a) DJ Allie Comptondential
b) DJ DeeGay
c) DJ Facebawk
d) DJ Marc by Marc FUCK YOU.

Eh?

Love Actually, For Reals,
Allie

2008-09-06T19:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Allie,

I write this with the passion of a thousand McCain-spiders, the sharpness of a Palin hair-bun/glasses combo, and the fury of a Lancaster, CA wind.

Today, I shot a Honda commercial in lovely (disgusting) Lancaster California (purgatory), and I met all sorts of interesting people (2 or 3), and ate exotic food (Sushi made by a nice Mexican man out of a craft services truck, way too much pineapple). The content of the commercial was really silly, and fun to shoot. I'd tell you, but I think I'd rather wait for it to be on TV. It's ridiculous. If it gets canceled, or if I'm edited out of it, I'll tell you what happens in it. until then, keep your eyes glued to your idiot box. And when you're done looking at your vagina, watch some TV.

I met Molly, a 19 yr. old model actress who grew up in a mobile home in Florida and toured with bands like MXPX making tour DVDs starting at age 14. She plays the dulcimer and wants to get a looping pedal for it so she can play other instruments with it at the same time when she plays live. Now ask me about the unnattractive girl that was there. That's right, I don't know anything about her! I hate myself.

I met Andrew, an actor I recognized from a Verizon commercial. He was very nice, and despite admitting to liking Family Guy, had a pretty good sense of humor. When I casually asked where he was from, he launched into a terrifying story about fleeing Indonesia with his mom and sister because of the rioting/violence again Christians and the Chinese. He plays the guitar and sings, and seemed really interested in Downers Grove. We exchanged email addresses!

Will Macc has the greatest name/afro in the universe.

Sam went to HS in Providence, RI and knows a girl I went to High School with. He also went to Elementary/Middle school with Armen.

BLABLABLA there is a lot of sitting around on commercials. There is a lot of nothing and small talk and trying to read (I did!) and sleeping (I didn't!). You get to know people "well" and you eat food all day. Also, (today at least), you sweat. It's awful, I don't like it, and I feel like I am contributing nothing to society, but holy shit does it pay well.

ALSO, I ate well all day. I ate fruit and salad and drank a ton of water and generally stayed away from junk food, only to throw it away by eating Jack in the Box on the way home. I hate that! I think i feel guiltier after eating fast food than I do after an intense night of binge drinking. At least whiskey is whiskey, and it's not trying to be anything besides hard fucking liquor. Jack in the Box wants you to think it's food. It's not. It's shit. I am shit when I get lazy and eat from a place that doesn't require me to leave my car. I was all, "I've been working all day, I've driven over 120 miles, might as well shovel some lard into my food hole!" Welp, I call bullshit on myself. I joined a gym because I wanted to feel better about myself. Running on a treadmill makes me feel good, french fries make me feel dirty. Although, I guess both are fun ways to feel.*

I miss you, I wish you didn't want to cry (but trust me, I get it), I want to see you, I feel uncomfortable for other people every day of my life, I still haven't washed the makeup off my face, I'd rather go to sleep than attend 1 of 3 birthday parties tonight, and I have a stomach ache.

You are great, you are grand, you are wonderful. Don't be a stranger to the new post button, this blog needs you.

lv,dv

*there is no emoticon for the intense retardation of that statement.

Dear Dave,

2008-09-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

It's 11:30 a.m. and I have been up for 3 hours, yet I still don't feel all there. I don't want to blame it on an addiction to caffeine, but ... ah, fuck it! I need some fucking coffee. Putting the proverbial pen down while I make that happen ....

So I'm back. It just took me about a half an hour to get to my favorite coffee place and back. Normally I would just go next door to Dean and Deluca's if I needed a fix, but I was feeling particularly in need of something comforting. So I made the trek to Gimme Coffe (http://www.gimmecoffe.com—only in New York does every small-time coffee shop have its own web site). When I ordered my drink, I forgot to ask for non-fat milk, so this is full-fatty fat drink time for me. And hey, whaddya know, it's a way better experience than non-fat skinny skin drink time! FUCK YEAH!

Wandering around SoHo afterward with my iced café au lait (French for "Asshole = mouth"), I tried to collect my thoughts and figure out what was getting to me today. Was it the uncharacteristically humid September day? The unusual number of street punks out for a Friday morning? Or maybe it was the dream I had about Palin and McCain at opposite podiums in a debate (against each other?) where McCain suddenly turned into a thousand baby spiders. (I'm pretty sure that could make anyone's next day confusing.)

I just couldn't figure out what was wrong. I tried to think of someone to call, but was worried people would be sleeping, at work, or not the right person to speak with. What would I say to them anyway? That I feel like I was going to burst into tears for no reason whatsoever? That the man walking just the slightest bit awkwardly balancing a tray iced coffees in front of me a minute ago had made me superbly uncomfortable? Did I really need to spread my neuroses around more than this here blog?

How are these rhetoric questions working for you, by the way?

Anyway, I realized that I just wanted somewhere to put all of these feelings. I should tell you that I got intensely drunk this past Saturday at a white party in honor of the summer ending and ended up crying to a mutual friend of ours about...well, nothing. It was essentially the same crying I almost relented to on the streets of this most-intense city in America.

I wish I could say more. I just paused again to go grab a sandwich and ended up getting mozzarella, which was a) too much and b) sickening, mostly because I hear that in southern Italy,—in the Buffalo Mozzarella capitol of the world—the cheese has been contaminated with high levels of dioxin form a garbage issue nearby. Dioxin, by the way, is what causes most cancers.

Don't know what else to say here. Wish I could want to be funny right now, but today fucking sucks and all I can manage to want is to go home.

Hope all is well with you. And fuck that bitch you know, you know? Girls are retarded, and I can say that as someone with 23 years of retarded experience. Also, I tried to make Jello Jigglers the other day in these rocket ship-shaped popsicles my roommate has but they didn't work. What's your favorite jello flavor? Mine is cherry.

Dear Allie,

2008-07-07T22:41:00.000-07:00

It has been weeks and weeks since my last post. I'm sorry, but I've sort of been in panic mode too. I guess if we're both in that mode, we won't be much help to each other. Right? I mean, right? I'm in Wyoming. I traveled several states to be with you here today. If i say I'm an oil man, it's because I'm referencing There Will Be Blood.

I'm here in Rodeoville to help my friend make a documentary about her urge/struggle to tell stories. You see, I'm in advice mode here too! I feel obligated to live up to my reputation, which has been granted to me by the blogosphere via this advice-tastic blog. but i'm not really being totally coherent, because i am drinking beer.

Allie, if i could grant you any of my wisdom, it would be to drink a little bit. not during the day, and not too too too too too too much, but a bit. it makes you nice and funny and it makes a lot of people look pretty. or handsome if that's your thing (it's not, but you know, rite?).

I'm now making several paragraphs strictly because i can. i love it! drinking 3 beers makes me think that i can make as many paragraphs as i want! my friend's dad is watching the Soup, and i realize that dad's like it. my dad watches it. some girl i took improv class with is cameo-ing on it, because she interns/works there. wow! anyways, i'm really just doing this as an excuse to write to you, because i miss you. i fought the urge to call you today because i thought it'd be too late. maybe i will later in the week. there really is a rodeo. i'll take a picture with a clown for you? a rodeo clown?

okay, sorry!

Dave

Dear Dave,

2008-06-13T07:59:00.000-07:00

Holy shit, it's been a full week since you've written me. i'm so sorry.

I just had a panic attack. A full-on panic attack thanks to this article. A sudden sense of imminent doom washed over me, and it brought me back to a distinct feeling I had when I was about 8 years old. I was lying in bed one night, trying to fall asleep, when I suddenly realized: O ne day, my parents will be gone. One day, my sister will be gone. And then finally, one day, I will be gone.

The idea of death being scary seems legitimate at first if not immediately irrational after. Why be afraid of the end of something? Are we afraid of the end of dinner? Are we afraid of the end of a day? What if one night we fall asleep, only to never awake? Is that really something to fear if we are not to know we never woke up?

What a seedy, annoying attempt to be deep here. I just felt like getting out that dear god, I just had a major panic attack about dying, like a little baby! It's like I think I'm going to die before I have a chance to accomplish all of these goals I've set. Isn't that ridiculous? I already fear being a failure! THE ONLY THING WE HAVE TO FEAR IS FEAR ITSELF. BE THE MAX SILVESTRI YOU WISH TO SEE IN THE WORLD.

I'm sorry this was so morose and unfunny. How are things going with the breakup bullshit? Any big freakouts since we last spoke? And do you have any words of wisdom to thwart future panic attacks about this?

Lub!

Allie C.

Dear Allie,

2008-06-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

I might never know what true pain is, but it seems like you’re already there, what with your S.T.D.I. I’m not a doctor, but I know that if something itches, you scratch it. Does that help? Good. Might want to get some antibiotics, but in the meantime, try soothing the burn with a nice tuna steak. It’ll alleviate some of the pain while you wait in line at the free clinic. and when you get home, come on! Who doesn't like a nice tuna steak now and then?

As far as you not remembering what my gf’s name is, that’s totally chill. It’s not like you met her or anything. Except you did. Many times. I guess that’s what happens when your favorite drink is called a mind eraser, huh? I know the Kahlua makes it taste like “grown up chocolate milk,”* but it may also be slowly destroying your hippocampus. Not only is that part of the brain relevant to what I just said, it also makes me think of big silly looking animals going to college. Two birds, one stone!

RE: your critique of my last email: THANK YOU! I mean, I was sort of in soul baring mode, so I wasn’t really writing with your enjoyment in mind. Sure, my proverbial world was falling apart (ed. Note: uh-oh, too serious), but the least I could do is amp up the entertainment value. Perhaps I should go back and re-write the email to include a youtube link to the sneezing panda video. OMG, LOLZORS! In this media obsessed world, everything’s getting smaller: Ipods, cars, (ed note: wait for it….) attention spans (ed note: nailed it!). I guess it’s my job as a writer and a friend to you to really put the pedal to the metal. I mean, I’m a comedian for crying out loud. Sorry, forget I said crying. Pretend I said SKATING! Gnarly barks! In closing, I guess I’ll say this: do 3 advil, a Monster energy drink, and a generic Vicodin constitute a “lethal drug cocktail?” I’m just worried about my health, that’s all.

Keep it Fresh,
D-train

*-Allie, 4th of July ‘05

Dear Dave,

2008-06-05T14:45:00.001-07:00

Oh no, you broke up with—wait, what was her name...um ...

Shit, listen, I know what your girlfriend's name is. I don't know where it is in my brain, locked away, but I know it, I've learned it. I've learned it like someone learns the name of the most important renaissance artists, and even though you don't remember their names on the test you can at least describe what they did that was so monumental. And well, you know, "your girlfriend" definitely seems to have made quite an impact. On you. But not really on my memory.

I'll put your advice about booking a show to use tonight. Thanks for the words o' wisdom-o.

Listen, I wasn't going to say anything but ... when I wrote you that first e-mail, I was thinking that you would respond seriously but, you know, still keep it light-hearted. I don't want us to get into some horribly philosophical way of thinking where we take ourselves too seriously and then twenty years ago look back on these things and think, "we didn't know what true pain was!" I mean, it could be as small as breaking up your paragraphs ... all that text is hard on my eyes and, well, I don't mean to be insensitive but ... it kind of dragged for a bit there when you were talking about her "crying" and stuff. Jesus, I really wish I could remember her name! Ridiculous!

And about your hair: Just get rid of it. I'm sure your girlfriend would say—ah, well, you know.

In other news, there's an ice cream truck outside my window right now and I'm pretty sure it's the I.R.S staking out my apartment. I still haven't paid some medical bills from the gynecologist. By the way, can you tell me the difference between an S.T.D. and an S.T.I.? Seriously.

Love, Sex, and Videotape Puffs,
Al

Dear Allie,

2008-06-05T13:27:00.000-07:00

Your timing is pretty astounding. It’s funny that you should take me up on my offer to talk about things whenever you need. I was just talking to a close friend about how being someone to turn to has sort of cost me my relationship with my girlfriend. I’ll spare you the details, but we broke up last night. Yesterday afternoon I started getting that weird feeling that comes when calls don’t get returned (and when they do they’re brief and procedural) and people just don’t “connect.” Keep in mind that I’d been feeling this way for only about a week, ever since I picked her up from the airport last Thursday. She’d gone back home to shoot footage for a personal documentary about growing up there, high school stories, etc. The format and approach seemed really cool, and I was sorry that I couldn’t go with her. The past 5 days have been rough though. She’s about to graduate college and is getting that pulled-in-every direction thing that I felt so strongly post college that I moved to LA with almost no hesitation or planning.

Long story short, when we met up last night around 11, it was clear that we were headed toward a “talk.” We sat in my car and said thing after thing to each other. She claimed that she wasn’t feeling this pre-graduation thing that I kept assuming, it was just, everything. The kind of answer that doesn’t really make sense until you start asking the kind of questions that never lead to anything good. And I asked. And she answered.

To make a shortened story even shorter, I’ll skip to the part that your email reminded me of. At one point, through tears, she said, “You’re the most stable person in my life.” Part of me doesn’t want that job, you know? I want to be the one who needs comforting, or one whose spontaneity really throws a wrench into the gears. I wanna throw the wrench, goddamnit! Sometimes it’s NOT going to be okay, and sometimes my shoulders are sore from stress and they don’t want to be cried on. Not that this was the sum total of the parts of our relationship, but without taking a step back, that’s what it was feeling like behind the steering wheel last night.

HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean that it’s not a total pleasure to talk to you about what’s going on in your delicious brain. Lord knows you’ve been there for me, and the least I can do is try to continue to return the favor. I think you can address your issues with wanting to KNOW yourself, wanting to be a writer in New York without falling victim to cliché/opposition, and starting a quiz night at a bar in one fell swoop. ARE YOU READY?

Okay, so in my humble little tiny opinion, everything you do for yourself and your career can (and should, usually) be connected. You want to be noticed for your writing, and you want to know yourself deeply, AND you want to be at the center of a popular event that people would come to. I truly think that you will unlock something in yourself if you embrace you inner performer, who I KNOW is lurking somewhere inside you. Making a short film, hosting a weekly show where you read questions, or even just talking to bookers and comics, it all comes back to performance. Go up to a booker at a bar and just ask them. Your love for pub trivia is funny, and you are well spoken, and you’ll come off as exactly that: funny and well spoken. It also helps to pair up with someone who has some pull at the venue and/or someone who’s booked shows before. Maybe someone you’ve met/want to meet at a show likes trivia enough to book a show with you. If it goes well, you’ll have a show, and people will go, and you’ll meet them, and they’ll be interesting, and some of them will be writer’s and publishers and they’ll invite you on retreats in the Catskills and you’ll drink wine and write and laugh! Go forth and let your love for hard questions and hard cider (ed note: regretting not deleting that) shine through!

Now that that’s out of the way, it’s getting crazy hot out here. Should I bite the bullet and cut off all my hair?

Love and Basketball,
Dave

Dear Dave,

2008-06-05T10:42:00.001-07:00

Hey-o Dave-o! How do you like this old-fashioned "real" e-mail thing I'm trying? How is el gay? How is being a gay? Jay-kay!

Let me just get to the point. I wanted to get in touch because hey, remember that time we were at that bar on the Lower East Side, and we had had like, one million beers, and I had just gotten hit on in the bathroom and was ranting about how I can't do anything in peace? And then I went on that rant about how challenging it is here trying to "make it" in New York as a writer or anything, and it was just a generally in-depth conversation about myself and my life, and who I am as a person, and how I will never know what I ACTUALLY look like like, because I'm inside my own head and stuff and will never know my best angle, and how I'm so jealous that everyone else knows this but I can't ask because like, who is going to tell me the truth about that kind of thing, and how do I trust someone who might tell me the truth but doesn't know what THEIR best angle is, you know? And then you said that I could come to you whenever I needed anything?

Well listen, I thought I'd take you up on that, because things here haven't gotten any less difficult, and I really need advice from someone who knows me well. Someone I can trust. Someone who is you.

So anyway, I want to get into the hot Quiz Night circuit here in New York but I don't know the first thing about talking to bar managers about booking space. Since you have a lot of experience with hosting/booking variety shows, I was hoping you could help me out.

Okay I should probably get back to job-searching now. Hope the acting thing is happening. Or something!

Luvs and Huggies,
Allie