King of Carrot Flowers

It has been one surreal fucking weekend. Every so often, I force myself outside of my comfort zone just to see what happens. But in this funny way, altogether, I think I've had the best time I've had in a long while.

Friday night, I capped off a crazy week of writing by baking a ginormous cookie with J-squad and watching "The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers". Which will probably be the name of my memoir.

Saturday night, I made myself try that speed-dating thing—which was akin to jumping out of an airplane for me. Afterwards, me and some friends went and [CENSORED ANECDOTE]... and the night actually ended on an up-note.

Sunday, I met up with some really old school friends who I hadn't really seen since my own ill-fated wedding. My friend Stevie got married way back in October and finally got around to having his wedding reception, which was this crazy, catered BBQ affair in Long Island.

I'd forgotten how loaded Stevie's dad is. They had valet parking, and this big tent set up with plasma screens playing a continuous loop of pictures. The food was amazing, and they had this woman spinning cotton candy, and live musicians... I didn't really know anyone, but I was chilling with my old friend Ruthie and her husband Bodie, and their three-legged dog, "Uncle Pete". (Incidentally, the second three-legged dog I've met named Pete. Is it some sort of sick inside-joke among dog-owners?)

Felt good to interact with such an eclectic range of people this weekend, after being cooped up writing for such an intense stretch of time.

I found out that screenwriter Tony Gilroy owns a townhouse pretty close to where I live. Through some circuitous bit of circumstance, my friend James was hanging out there recently. Helen Mirren happened to be staying at the house—and James had no idea who she was—and he just popped his head into her room and said, "Hey, we're ordering Chinese food, you want anything?"

Helen Mirren politely declined his offer.

This anecdote is much funnier if you know James—who probably thought she was just some old lady who might like to eat some fucking Chinese food.

Anyway, I want to own my own townhouse in my neighborhood. Then Helen Mirren could have TWO places to stay.