But with a baby you don't get schwag.

My hilarious friend and kinda famous online writer, Wendi Aarons, is coming to town to speak at BlogHer this weekend. I’m excited to see her speak and know she’ll blow the crowd away. If you’re going, make sure to check the community keynote and join me in shouting, “Amen Sistah!” at the top of your lungs when she’s finished. She’ll like that.

Wendi and I bonded years ago when we worked in Hollywood as assistants to some legitimately powerful film execs. She was a seasoned film school type, and I was a scattered rookie. She took me under her wing, and within no time I was schooled in critical skills like untraceably passing highly reliable yet snarky actor gossip, booking personal film screenings for my friends and charging it to the studio, and redirecting expensive agency schwag to my home address. It wasn’t all glamour, though. My boss was, well… she was brilliant, but… a handful. And as I was thinking about Wendi’s visit and remembering old times it occurred to me that being an assistant to a studio exec in la la land was actually very good early training for motherhood. For example:

• Much like my baby, my boss had little respect for my personal life. If on a Sunday evening she needed the answer to a simple question like, “Do you know if my car needs to be washed?” why shouldn’t she call?
• I worried about her diet. She needed to be fed on time. And was an extremely picky eater. No tomatoes. No no no! Tuna with EXTRAAAAA mayo. EEEEXTRA.
• I was proud of her when she succeeded. I recall her calling me from the car excited that she made it to an appointment across the city without needing to have me on the phone feeding her directions. I think I even clapped for her.
• I worried about my boss’ self-esteem constantly. If she wasn’t feeling confident and happy, it was tantrum city. This was especially hard to juggle because I couldn’t keep track of what was important to her. At times everything freaked her out. Audrey has the same problem. But she’s teething. And my boss was just, well, LIVING.
• I made her doctor’s appointments and kept track of what the doctor said at each visit. I think I was even overheard once reminding her to pee before a screening started.
• At some point, I memorized my boss’ social security number. I don’t even know Audrey’s yet. (Wow. That one even just shocked me as I typed it.)
• I often wondered by indulging her, am I spoiling her, or just soothing her so I can get some fucking relief?

So when Wendi sees me I fully expect her to say, “You haven’t changed a bit.” Not because I haven’t aged, but because when we last worked together, I wasn’t sleeping much either.