PERSON OF LA 7: The West Hollywood Groupie

Los Angeles is home to many gay men and women. However, there is a unique breed of gays and fag hags who frequent the mecca of the Los Angeles known as West Hollywood. These are the West Hollywood Groupies, who are gay men and their women, who exclusively frequent going out on the town multiple nights of the week to WeHo’s Santa Monica strip, roaming from gay bar to gay bar to gay bar.

If you’ve lived in Hollywood, you’ve done it before: been to The Abbey and walked over to Here then left for Rage, stopped at Cactus Cantina, and then don’t remember anything beyond that. You woke up the next morning stinking of cigarettes, a little greasy, and with a headache. But, on the brightside, you only spent $20!

The attraction to WeHo is that it is a sort of 365/24/7 Spring Break for gay men, women, and their corresponding peoples. For the West Hollywood Groupie, this is like a dream come true. These men and women (mostly men) find it liberating. They usually came out of the closet later than you would imagine and are making up for lost time by buying $3 margaritas every other night and frequenting wet boxer nights and drag shows. They typically aren’t the svelte West Hollywood gays who have washboard abs, are in their twenties, and have tans: they are the slightly older, slightly chubby, slightly balding guys (and gals) who are the 21st century, non-heteronormative answer to a bar fly.

Now, there is nothing wrong with going to WeHo occasionally—but exclusively and multiple times a week? And with your boyfriend because that is "going out"? Give it a rest and be creative, guys. Also, the market is so saturated there, everyone knows who you are, that you roll with the same group all the time, and have very little going for you besides the new blood (who oftentimes are discerned from their getting very drunk very fast or their being super uncomfortable with the atmosphere) and Tuesday and Thursday’s drink specials.

There is nothing wrong with having your “place” and your own little Cheers but WeHo can be downright skanky. The West Hollywood Groupies are oftentimes the reason it can be that way, as they are on the prowl, hunting or just "watching." If you are an outsider, they definitely make you know it, because you can feel their eyes rubbing up against the back of your legs.

We don’t want to dissuade you from going to West Hollywood, we just want to give you a kind warning before you get a semi-kind—mostly aggressive—tap on the ass. In any event, we recommend bars in Thai Town, Silverlake, and even Echo Park. You may even want to try The Valley for more fun gay bars.


Always bring a friend when going on these outings to West Hollywood: the WHG can definitely spot new blood and will do their damnedst to get you liq’d up and loosey goosey. It’s always good to have a friend at your back.

WORTH THE HYPE? Runyon Canyon

The Gist: Runyon Canyon is a series of nice hiking trails and paths that go through the Hollywood Hills. They do not run near the Hollywood sign, but are directly above Hollywood Blvd. This is a very popular spot to hike for younger Los Angelenos and those who want to go hiking with a group. It’s definitely a very social scene, where you can experience Los Angeles’ outdoor beauty whilst being in the middle of it all.

Pros: You are in the middle of Hollywood—literally. You get to the top and are looking down La Brea. It’s a pretty captivating view. There are frequently celebrities who hike this canyon. Also, many people with adorable dogs. When you are done hiking, you can also easily walk down to Cantaloop or Pinkberry to get a refresher. (And, for all ya'll in the gay community, this is the canyon of choice. Holllllla!!)

Cons: It’s right in the middle of Hollywood: there is no fucking parking. It is hard to find and usually mobbed. You don’t really feel like you’ve “escaped” the city, since it is so close. The hike is okay and it can be super saturated by locals who all know that this is the hot, cool canyon.

Verdict: NOT WORTH IT. Go to Bronson Canyon or Ferndell: they are nearby and have a little more of true outdoor feel to them. There are always less people, more parking, and better views. They’re also closer to the Hollywood sign and have countless different paths to take. Also, check out Trails when at Ferndell.

PERSON OF LA 6: The American Apparel Employee

Now, people in Hollywood dream big. However, the biggest dreams belong to that of the American Apparel employee. They have such high hopes and desires. They want to be actors and models and writers and doctors (yes, doctors). Some even go on to pursue these dreams. Most, to be quite frank, don’t.

It isn’t because they lack the will or drive or motivation: it is because they are a slave to the trends. To their credit, American Apparel is still “cool,” as it is on the decline from being the cat’s meow since it is infiltrating the suburbs and betrays its own roots of being nonchalant, elitist, and fundamental. The company’s stock has devolved from clever referentials to cheaply made high-end knock offs that are highly expensive. No one is buying their bullshit anymore.

Anyway, there are three types of employees at the store: the Here-For-A-Days, the Going Nowheres, and the Nevergonnaleaves. The Here-For-A-Days are just that: they work there for a day, week, maybe even a month and quit. That is because they are in between jobs and want cheap clothes, realize that the job has nothing remotely upwardly mobile, and that the lightning Dov Charney caught in a bottle is quickly fizzling out. They usually go on to jobs that aren’t quite this slave labor intensive after they took the advice from a sassy, job-hating manager who said “Fuck this job: you have bigger shit to take care of!”

The Going Nowheres work at the Apparel for a while and always talk about wanting to quit and about how they are doing “well” at modeling and/or acting. The truth is, yes, they do want to quit and, no, they aren’t doing any acting or modeling (and by “acting or modeling” they mean “No, I haven’t been in an American Apparel ad yet”). They will leave (eventually), but they aren’t going to be doing bigger or better things: they’re going to do more of the same. These people always want sugar on their tongues and the next fix. They don’t really see the future: they see the now. And, now, it is all about clothes and being trendy.

The Nevergonnaleaves are those job-hating managers and giddy sales floor people and those grumpy backroom stock who have been there for months and months and months: they aren’t leaving any time soon. They’re entranced by the clothes, keep dreaming of what they could be doing, and lose track of time. They know they could be doing better and want to do better but are just stuck. They have a love/hate relationship with the company and, eventually, will quit when they’ve been pushed too far. They are the ones to feel sorry for. They are in the direst of straits.

All in all, the American Apparel employees aren’t bad people: their dream just got caught up in a trance that is now a sunken reality. Like any retail or F&B employee, they want to be current but they also want a life. At some point, they have to draw a line. Because American Apparel is so hot and it is created and manufactured in Los Angeles, it is very hard to quit. The company is like a bad drug habit: bad pay and shitty hours, but you get freeeeee clothesssss and you are coooooooooool.

Our Father who art Dov Charney: Let our people go.


These people have it pretty rough. They’ve grown cynical from having their egos and realities bruised. They need to break those shackles and be free. Escape consumerist trends. Work at Fred Segal, kids.


WORTH THE HYPE? The Arclight Hollywood

The Gist: Word on the street in Los Angeles is that Arclight is “the movie buff’s type of theatre.” They goal at Arclight is to provide the best possible movie watching experience possible, without providing any sexual favors. They serve booze, they have a gift shop, they have events—they even have real ushers who will seat you, should you not be able to read your ticket and find your own reserved seat. There are only two Arclight locations at the moment and there doesn't seem to be any plans for any others at the moment. Arclight strives to steal away yuppie viewers from Laemmle's or Landmark and seems to be very successful at the job. Next time you want to go see a movie with all the hassle of seeing a movie at any old theatre, but crave a 20% increase in luxurious atmosphere, check out Arclight Hollywood!

Pros: Okay, it’s pretty much all pros. We tried to stay even keeled in the Gist, everything about this place is great. You can reserve a seat ahead, you can grab a cocktail or meal (not snack) at their in house restaurant and bar, there is always memorabilia used in the films they are showcasing on display, and you always get that extra personal touch through the ushers, who give a brief intro to the movie as well as do anything to help make your movie watching experience even better. Plus, does the word Cinerama mean anything to you?

Cons: Well, of course, people are first going to whine about the price: “$12—that’s so absurd! Who wants to pay that much for a movie!” Considering that’s how much it costs to see a movie anywhere you go, $12 isn’t that that bad. The biggest con, though, is the reserved seating. Seems like a great idea, but when you want to see a movie alone, you cannot just pick a seat by yourself, alone in a corner. No: Arclight’s computers make it mandatory for you to sit next to someone, as to provide the best viewing experience (while setting you up for a reminder that no one wanted to go see Moon with you last Saturday afternoon). The place is always frequently packed and has turned into quite a scene. Saturdays and Sundays are like hot lava.

Verdict: WORTH IT. There isn’t any reason why you should be seeing movies anywhere else in Los Angeles. This is where God himself would see a movie.


PERSON OF LA 5: The Worldly Frat Boy

Prepare to be perplexed: this one is a modern anomaly.

The Worldly Frat Boy is a very common type of Person of LA. Obviously, these are men. They range from recent college graduates who are agent’s assistants to fortysomething executive producers in television. They all went to middle-of-the-road schools or party schools and were actual fraternity boys. They don’t hang their Sig Ep paddle in their office, but you will catch them talking to an old bud on the phone talking about the last ASU baseball game. Many times, where they work is inundated with at least four other guys from their school’s frat (all of them from different generations). They all help each other out.

The aforementioned is what the average American views the standard for frat boy behavior to be. The thing that sets apart LA’s own Worldly Frat Boy from your common keg tapping, beer bellied, good old boy is that these guys try their hardest to maintain a fa├žade of empathy, feigning intellectualism. They feel the pressures of Los Angeles weighing down on their small town upbringing and conservative college’s teaching: they feel they have to be “current.”

The best example of this is the recent fight in Los Angeles against Prop 8 and the gay community’s civil rights campaign. Let’s think: how would a frat boy—who was the bullying oaf in elementary school, who called the arty kid a “faggot” in the halls—react to such a movement? If you guessed, “Try their hardest to get Prop 8 repealed,” you would be correct! These guys make it a point to be overly politically correct and savvy on this issue as to seem “on top of things,” so their front of intellectualism will not be destroyed. They were the guys at your 2008 election party who—after Obama won—announced to the crowd, “This was a historic victory, but we have to see what happens with Prop 8. Anyone want some more beer?”

These guys were the first in the office to mention Natasha Richardson’s passing away and noting, “Who the hell was she? This death is probably the most famous thing to happen to her!” These men are a product of Variety.com and the LA Times. They have subscriptions to The New Yorker, but only read the comics. When you go to their houses, it’s decorated as if a La-Z-Boy catalogue fucked an Ikea model. Do not be surprised if the music of choice in the household is Maroon 5 or Jason Mraz (to stay “sensitive”). There will also be a non-sensical vanity purchase somewhere in the house, like a monogrammed pool table or muraled ping-pong table.

The Worldly Frat Boy only shops at Whole Foods with his Small Town Airhead (entry coming soon) girlfriend or wife, because they only eat “organic” and “healthy” foods (they’re also too nervous to go the market alone, since the West Hollywood location is full of gay men). They listen to left-of-center music that aren’t left-of-center anymore: they’re just now getting into Modest Mouse, the Postal Service, Feist, etc.—they wear their listening to this as an all access pass to things current. They saw The Hangover and told friends they DIDN’T like it, they only drink Pelligrino (but refer to it as “bubbly water”), and joined the Academy just for the screeners.

The Worldly Frat Boy is an all too common form of man that stems from the more common Douche (entry coming soon). And, from perusing Facebook and tapping the national pulse, it seems the World Frat Boy is catching on, since it is such a great mask to hide any 20 – 50 year old man’s embedded homophobia, racism, sexism, etc.: because they are worldly and “current,” they care.


These guys are just really, really annoying. They can be tolerated, but are best handled in mixed company. A one-on-one with a WFB is asking for an altercation. And, if you work for one, you’re going to lose brain cells. There is no doubt about that.


PERSON OF LA 4: The Fame Hungry Youth

We all know Miley Cyrus, the Jonas Brothers, Taylor Swift, Selena Gomez, blah, blah, and blah. These tween stars are the current “it” stars and, for every decade, a new and refashioned tween pop outfit is created for mass consumption. However, it is important to note that for every Miley and Joe Jonas, there are at least 1,271 other thirteen to twenty year olds trying to pursue the same goal: tween pop stardom.

Now, the automatic response is to blame an obsessive stage mother or father, which once was an easy answer to who and what made these tween stars. Currently, in the age of YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and Perez Hilton, celebrity has become a language that many are DYING to speak. Most of the people dying to speak it are under twenty—a lot of them live in Los Angeles, where such aspirations can become reality. These children are driven, obsessed, and fame hungry: they are their own stage parent.

These “children,” if you will, no longer attend proper school, spend their days and nights on film sets and recording studios, are constantly on the go, and eagerly await for the time when they will be chased by paparazzi whilst exiting their new, bright white Maserati. They talk about the SATs and going to prom and boyfriends/girlfriends as excitedly as any other teenager, but are plagued by such a vapidity that their view of these events is devalued, having morphed into another option they can tell their parent on set “No, I’d rather be filming.” It is neither sad nor cool: it represents a lost youth and loss of innocence that cannot be reclaimed.

Okay: it actually is a little sad.

These children aren’t terrible and can’t really help it: they are a product of technology, easy access, and the twenty-first century. In their mind, in this moment, it is all about trying to get that starring role or land that record contract or anything else in the business. Their goals of fame are right around the corner and they subconsciously can tell that their time is ticking: the doorway to child stardom is closing, while the door to twentysomething-wannabe is opening.

For them it isn’t about money: it is all about fame. Their jaded (albeit very honest and helpful) elders in the industry will tell them, “Are you sure this is what you want? One day you’re going to wish you didn’t have this fame.” They will reply that they really do want it and that they are excited for it to come. And, many years later (likely their early twenties), this revelation will set in: what happened to my youth?

In a world where popularity in school has reached a global scale, these fame-obsessed youth aren’t to be helped or hated: they are going to do this whether or not you care. You will run into them at the Beverly Center or on Melrose or Hollywood & Highland and know them when you see them: the glaze over their eyes is their future.


Now, these children aren’t that bad or that terrible: it’s just so sad. It’s like watching a beautiful flower wilt and not being able to get it water. And, when you do get to give it water, the flower’s already dead, asking if the paps have arrived to get shots of its corpse.

PERSON(S) OF LA 3: The Church of Perez Hilton

Let’s open this entry with a disclaimer: the writers of this blog do not ascribe or follow The Church of Perez Hilton. We like to keep at arms distance from things too innately Los Angeles.

To greater America, Perez Hilton is a one-man freak show/faggot genius. He has single-handedly reshaped how the world views blogs and how the world views celebrities. He has turned the idea of paparazzi on its head as well as the idea of bottom feeding for fortune. And, he’s done a fine job turning a common Mexican surname into a badge of cultural witticism. You go girl!

In Los Angeles, Perez Hilton is a demigod of sorts. He is a power just as great—if not greater than—Scientology. It is very common for dinner table conversation or tea with a friend to kick off with the “OH MY GAW DID YOU READ PEREZ TODAY.” If you did read Perez, you and your friends will laugh, guffaw, and pat each other on the ass. If you didn’t read Perez, be prepared for the backlash: you are going to be viewed as a crazy person and likely looked down upon by your friends. Just a kind warning, dear reader.

The reason why Perez has such a grip of Los Angelenos kitty cats and cucumbers is because he’s nationally topical and geographically topical, making Los Angelenos feel directly connected to his writings. When Perez posts about a free Mika concert at The Echo (or wherever—this is all hearsay. And, Mika sucks.), expect to get at least five text messages about “PEREZ SAID FREE MIKA CONCERT WE HAVE TO GO!! LOL!!”

Now, we are recessionistas—we understand the value of free concerts, events, etc. However, going to a free Perez endorsed event is asking for trouble. Since most of the city reads the blog with the fervency of a rabid Alexa Chung fan, you are likely to incur swarms of people, zero parking, and hidden fees. It just isn’t worth it.

However, Perez has done some good. As a gay Los Angeleno, he has fought the good fight and has crusaded against Prop 8. He’s listed walks and protests and ways that locals can get into the action. He has pushed gay rights into the minds of Middle America and will probably go down in the history books as the lingering fart of an annoying gay activist. He is even responsible for making Carrie Prejean a superstar.

Yes, this is all well and good and has helped the chosen people. However, most civic minded and intellectual gays have condoned his spirit—but not his actions. He has taken the “MOMMY I WANT MY BLANKETTTT” (well, “MAMA YO QUIERO MI MANTAAAA”) form of protest to heart. He has done a good part of spreading the fight to younger generations but has become a blemish on the gay community’s moisturized and chiseled face. His “whine until you win” activism has made him the face that many Middle Americans view as all gay men. He has become the epitome of why they hate gays: they are annoying, flamboyant, sedentary, and vicious bitches.

Now, let’s digress from politics and move into dealing with followers of the Church of Perez Hilton. Since there are so many followers in Los Angeles, it’s not a good idea to give yourself away as a non-reader unless you want to be greeted by chastisement. However, there is something to be said about the person who stands up and aligns him or herself with the Church of Michael K. of Dlisted.com or Followers of Pink Is the New Blog or even Brothers and Sisters of Scandalist.com: these people are cultural warriors, expanding their minds to other bitchy bloggers.

When caught in the “Did you read Perez?” trap, you have three options:

1. “No, I don’t read Perez Hilton”—this is followed by a barrage of “WHAT YOU DON’T READ PEREZ??” and “WHO ARE YOU??” and likely a bludgeon to the head with a wine bottle.

2. “No, I didn’t catch Perez. Today. What did he say?”—whether your statement is fact or fiction, this is always a good avoid. Remember: lying that you didn’t have a chance to get online is a good exit from anything.

3. “Yes, I ‘did’ read Perez today.”—this is the highest recommended response, by pretending to have read it. The churchgoer is going to divulge the information whether or not you actually read it, so just say yes, let them spill the cultural beans, and then agree with them/match their excitement. (And, nine times out of ten, you probably heard about this cultural tidbit well before it hit Perez because you read better blogs. This option is fool proof.)

Perez Hilton’s site is a lot of good, a lot of bad, and a lot of STFU. Please read with caution. And, if you have an addiction and would like to wean yourself off of it, we can make an entry on how to quit Perez. It won’t be that hard for you (we quit BestWeekEver.tv—it was remarkably eas).


These people are generally harmless and sometimes go unnoticed. Some are more fervent for others. However, they can all be duped into thinking you are a follower as well. Never forget that information.


HOLLYWOOD CONVERSATIONS: A Conversation with Three Assistants

Conversation based on actual conversation.

ASSISTANT 1: I don’t know how much longer I can take it here. I don’t.

ASSISTANT 2: You can do it, man. Don’t beat yourself up: things are going to work out soon.

ASSISTANT 3: What are you talking about? What’s your problem, man?

ASSISTANT 1: Ya know, I just can’t deal with this job. All this unnecessary stress, no time for myself, I’m just creatively stunted, I have no friends as a result—it just sucks.

ASSISTANT 3: Well, you have us. And, it isn’t really that bad. I think it’s great.

ASSISTANT 2: Really? You think it’s great practically sucking someone’s dick everyday and wiping your boss’ ass, because he’s forgotten how to?

ASSISTANT 3: Yeah, I love it here. I love my job and think it’s a great place to be. You guys have to remember: it is a recession. We should be lucky to have jobs.

ASSISTANT 2: Fuck the recession: I moved to Los Angeles to be a rock star. And what have I got? Coffee and tea for a bunch of TV execs, none of which care, remember, or will help me out with my music career.

ASSISTANT: 3: That’s not true—I’m sure someone here would be more than willing to help out.

ASSISANT 1: No, I highly doubt that.

ASSISTANT 3: Why is that?

ASSISTANT 1: Remember that time I was taking classes at Upright Citizen’s Brigade every Saturday and I had to skip three classes because of “shooting,” a.k.a. buying lunch for my boss and sitting around set all day?

ASSISTANT 3: Wow. Bummer, man.

ASSISTANT 2: See, you must not want to do anything with your life. How can you be so laxed about this place?

ASSISTANT 3: I like it. I think it’s the perfect place to be. I want to be a producer one day, so its great for me.

ASSISTANT 1 & 3: What?

ASSISTANT 3: Yeah, I like working here. I think it’ll be great for me to work up the ladder here.

ASSISTANT 2: I don’t think I can take this anymore.

ASSISTANT 1: You’re just one of them.

ASSISTANT 3: No, I’m not!

ASSISTANT 1: Yes, you are. You just want to be some higher up who only cares about his money and selling shit and lying to people. You make me sick.

ASSISTANT 2: Yeah, man: good luck to you.

ASSISTANT 3: When I’m in my mid-thirties, making over $200K a year doing little work, with my sweet house, hot wife, maybe a kid (probably not), and a stable job—you guys enjoy your jobs waiting tables and attempting to “make it.”


ASSISTANT 1: Wow. Jerk.

ASSISTANT 2: Fuck face.


ASSISTANT 3: Pussies.



PERSON OF LA 2: The Celebrastalker

Los Angeles, California is a land of milk and honey. It is a wonderland of different sights and sounds, full of different people with interesting occupations. It’s like any cool city for young twentysomethings and trendsetters to roam—except we have celebrities.

That’s right, mother fuckers: when I go food shopping, I am more likely to spot Zachary Quinto buying a pack of Malboro Lights than I am to find a pack of double stuffed Oreo cookies. Celebrities are everywhere in Los Angeles (except where poor people are because poor people are just plain gross).

For some people, the allure of celebrity and the celebrity lifestyle is what attracts them to the city. For others, it is the celebrity themselves.

Now, don’t get me wrong: everyone enjoys a good celebrity sighting. As for the Celebrastalker, they are in a league of his or her own.

This type of person can be found in any class or caste or social grouping and they thrive off of celebrity sightings. They won’t go up to celebrities or talk to celebrities but will most definitely gawk, follow, and chat close to them, in order to steal away their attention. They will also make it a point to name drop celebrities they’ve seen and attempt to figure out the psychology of celebrities.

These people usually come from suburban upbringings, having been raised by a television. The younger ones live in the Hollywood area and frequent the “celebrity” scenes, in order to scope even the vaguest of reality stars. The older ones usually live in the Valley or by the beach. However, as stated before, there is no set agenda to these people, thus making their whereabouts unknown.

The Celebrastalkers take many shapes and forms. I’ve met a Celebrastalker who was an environmental lawyer, one who was an Anthropologie sales employee, and even a development executive at a television production company.

And, you won’t know they are one until you casually speak about a celebrity. And, when you do, be prepared for the Celebrastalker floodgate to be opened.

“Oh, I’ve seen her in person. Did you know that she is even prettier in person? It was at a party two weeks ago—Eva Mendes and Jessica Alba were also there—and she looked GORRRRRGEOUS. Also, Danny Masterson was there. (Wait—you don’t know who he is?) Anyway, I always wonder why they won’t speak to us. Why do they have to segregate themselves? They aren’t special or anything. I just think it would be cool if they stopped hanging in their own groups and commingled with people like us. Know what I mean?”

Such verbal ejaculations should be taken as a warning: these persons are unstable, will cut you in order to get closer to a celebrity, and—God forbid you are close to a celebrity—will brand you as a “friend of a celebrity.”


Yes, these people are very toxic. They are like those aliens from the movie Aliens: you don't notice them at first, but when the alien pops out of their chest and tries to attack you, it's time to distance yourself.

PERSON OF LA 1: The “Busy”

Everyone in Hollywood is busy. Some work three different jobs as to stay afloat in this town, some hold such high level jobs that they are just never not busy, some are supporting a family or children and are depended on, and some are just perpetually “busy.” At some point, these busy people untangle themselves from their convoluted web of work and make it out to play and be a normal human being.

However, the “Busy” are an exception to this rule.

This group of people—known as “The Busy”—consists of people who are just a mess. They are the type who hold low-level office jobs (usually an assistant of some sort or low level manager) and are always just “so busy.” Truly, they do work long hours, but not as long as they claim to work. And, their exhaustive boss usually isn’t that exhaustive—just annoying and frustrating.

The “Busy” are a group marked by their discontent from their own lives. They usually function with friends and coworkers in a positive vain. However, if you pay close attention, you can tell these persons are acting: their positivity is a thinly painted gloss of “Pretend to Care,” neatly covering their negative demeanor. They are usually very, very dry and would taste better with a lot of salt.

Obviously, the reason they behave in this manner stems from their job. These people are (or, were) smart, creative, and determined, but were handed great entry level jobs that ended up being their biggest nightmare. And, now, they are plagued by the question “Why did I take this job?” and “How can I quit?” They feel tra[[ed (or just don’t have the balls to quit their jobs). They take this frustration out on everyone they interact with by passive-aggressive means—never actually calling themselves out for creating their own demise.

This passive-aggression manifests itself when the “Busy” is actually out, being social with friends. Here are some examples of interactions with the “Busy”:

FRIEND: “I saw UP recently—talk about a great film. I cried so hard!”

“BUSY”: “Oh, that must be nice to see a movie. I think the last time I saw one was at work, when my boss let me borrow the Milk screener. I think I cried.”

FRIEND: “Oh. Well, um, you should try to see UP if you can…”

“BUSY”: “I won’t be able to. I have to spend my time off doing things I can’t do while at work. Like cash my paycheck.”

FRIEND: “Oh, that sucks—that really—“

“BUSY”: “Yeah. I know. This is my life.”

AUNT OF “BUSY”: “I’m glad you made it over for dinner tonight—I know you sometimes have to be on shoots over the weekend—“

“BUSY”: “Yeah, this is my first day off in three weeks.”

AUNT OF “BUSY”: “I hope you’re getting paid overtime—“

“BUSY”: “Nope: get paid on a weekly flat rate. Doesn’t matter how much I work.”


“BUSY”: “Could be worse, though: I could have to babysit my boss’ son at work again. And then have to make his wife a Mother’s Day gift on set.”

UNCLE OF “BUSY”: “Why don’t you just get a new job?”

“BUSY”: “Well, you know, I’m just trying to—see—it’s about paying your dues.”

UNCLE OF “BUSY”: “You’ve had this job for two years—I think you can move on.”


“BUSY”: “I guess, but you really don’t get it. You haven’t met my boss.”


AUNT OF “BUSY”: “Your boss?”

“BUSY”: “I just got a BBM. I may have to go soon.”

“BUSY”: “Sorry I’m late: I brought some leftover hummus and three slices of cake leftover from dinner at work. But, I stopped by a liquor store and picked up a bottle of Pinor Noir.”

PARTY HOST: “Oh, don’t worry about it! You didn’t have to bring anything—I know you just came from work.”


PARTY HOST: “Wow, more work? You just left!”

“BUSY”: “No, I was just on the Facebook. But, I just got an e-mail, so, one sec.”


PARTY HOST: “Everything okay?”

“BUSY”: “Yeah, I think so: my boss is just antagonizing from afar. Don’t be surprised if I have to leave. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this.”


PARTY HOST: “I suppose. I have enough trouble keeping up with my own two little people, versus one antagonizing boss—let alone my own boss. But, I guess people deal with stress differently!”



PARTY HOST: “Oh, that must be another guest!”

The “Busy” is, mostly, a terror to hang out with. When inviting a “Busy” out, be prepared to have a wet blanket placed on top of the glowing flame of plans you made. And, when texting or e-mailing or attempting any planning with the “Busy,” expect false promises to be made and a last minute flake-outs, such as “Oh, I’m still busy with work” or “I should be free in an hour” (but never hear from them).

These people are, usually, liars and need to be medicated. If you know a “Busy,” please do your best to get them help.

These people are virtually harmless. Annoying and shitty friends, yes, but they're just in a rut. They'll eventually eventually snap out of it (once you talk them ointo getting a new job).