It’s been exactly one year since I left my cushy job in South Bend, IN, to travel to sunny California to try to break into the industry. The following is a summary of what I’ve learned so far about the industry and LA: 

1. It’s becoming abundantly clear that I’m not going to have one of those THAT GUY! moments, in which some Hollywood exec notices me working out at the gym and asks me to screen test for his next blockbuster. At least not yet. I may look into changing gyms…
2. When people say that you have to pay your dues in Hollywood, it’s much more than a figurative statement. It’s unbelievable how little assistants get paid in this industry. Studios and Execs realize how coveted these roles are, so they’re able to pay food-service wages without any consequences. Unless you’re living in a 400 sq ft. studio, you almost have to get a second job to survive in this town!  
3. Groceries are insanely expensive here. I have set a Google alert to notify me when the price of butter drops below $5 per pound. And for the first time ever, I’ve actually started reading and collecting the coupons that print out on the bottom of my CVS receipts. 
4. This industry really is all about WHO you know and maintaining good relationships with everyone you meet. This makes talking about people behind their backs very challenging (but not impossible). 
5. Celebrity encounters can happen just about anywhere. A few weeks ago, I ran into BJ Novak (THE OFFICE) at the grocery store. I was deep into conversation on my cell phone, so the only information that had registered in my head was that someone I knew had walked into the store. Naturally, I walked over to say hello. When I got within 5 feet, it finally clicked (mostly because of the concerned expression on BJ’s face) that I knew him, but he didn’t know me. I awkwardly rerouted my cart at the last minute and hurried to the other side of the store. For any super fans looking to get on BJ’s good side, the dude definitely loves La Croix Sparkling Water! 
6. People in this industry love to ask what shows you watch.  Always have a list ready to go, and ensure that it’s tailored to only include critical darlings – people tend to cringe when you start rattling off shows like CELEBRITY APPRENTICE and BELOW DECK. Also, never, under any circumstances, confess to disliking BREAKING BAD. Nothing shuts down a conversation faster. 
7. Restaurants in LA hate soda fountains. At least that’s the only conclusion that I’ve been able to draw since most of my would-be favorite spots either don’t have Diet Coke on the menu or they sell individual cans for $3.00 each. For many, this wouldn’t be a problem, but for a full-blown Diet Coke addict like me, it’s a nightmare. Instead of relying on Yelp reviews when selecting a dining location, I now call restaurants and ask about their Diet Coke situation. 
8. LA movie theaters take themselves way too seriously. The other day, I arrived at a movie one minute after the previews had ended, and the usher wouldn’t let me into the theater. His key argument was that I wouldn’t know where my seat was located and that I would disturb the audience while  looking for it. I told him that I would have my friends (who were already in the theater) text me a diagram, but he insisted that if he let me in, he’d have to make an exception for everyone else. Keep in mind, I was the ONLY person standing there. I started to have a Britt McHenry moment, but my mom called in the nick of time and calmed me down. For the next two hours until my friends’ movie let out, I sat on the stairs five feet away from the power-tripping usher and shot him daggers while talking to my mom. 
9. People in LA love to hike, and they love to talk about hiking. Unfortunately, many of my out-of-town visitors don’t share the Californians’ same affinity for this pastime, so it’s frustrating when you Google “Things to do in California,” and various hiking trails occupy 50% of the results. 
10. Everyone out here is either in the industry or hoping to be in the industry. When people find out that I work at a lit agency, they immediately start pitching me script ideas even though I have absolutely no clout at my office. But if I ever rise to power, my hairdresser and Uber drivers can rest assured that I’ll come to them first for ideas. 
11. If you find an apartment that seems too good to be true, then it probably is. Before signing a lease, inquire whether or not any of the neighbors are registered sex offenders. Also, ask your friends what they know about the neighborhood. Note that certain sections of LA are very segregated and you could wind up being the only Catholic resident in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood. 
12. Apart from better weather, the social options in LA are not that different than the rest of the world. Growing up in Indiana, my classmates and I complained that there was never anything to do but go bowling and see movies. Since living in LA, I’ve gone bowling twice and I see at least one movie a week in the theater. One perk that I’ll hand LA is that stars often make appearances at the theater. When I saw BOYHOOD, we were treated to a Q&A with Ethan Hawke after the movie. Less impressive, when I saw THE DUFF last Friday, the film’s star, Robbie Amell, stood outside the theater posing for pictures with fans. My friends and I skipped the photo op and were grateful that the teen heartthrob’s presence had detracted from the concession stand lines.

In short, I am glad that I took this risk and feel that I’ve made tremendous progress in just one year. I’ve learned a great deal about the industry and I’m starting to finally forge my way down a career path that I hope will play to my strengths and interests. That being said, this is going to be a very long journey and I thank everyone for the support and encouragement. I often find myself exhausted and ready to throw in the towel, but it is my friends and family’s reassurance keeps me going! So THANK YOU! 

Everyone in this industry emphasizes what a small town it is and stresses the importance of not burning bridges. Since I had barely started to build any, I paid little attention to this advice. And that, my friends, is how I made my first adversary. I’ve still only made the one, but tick tock… 

For the past six months, I had worked for free as an assistant to a television literary manager. In return for my services, I gained exposure to the television industry and began making my first contacts. This income substitution kept me satisfied me for a short time, but by months four and five, I was jonesing for a paycheck.  My friends and family told me to jump ship, but I had agreed to six months and I intended to honor my commitment. 

Important to note is that whenever assistant gigs become available in LA, one can expect them to be filled within days. Thus, I did not begin the search for my next position until five months into my internship. At first, I applied to anything and everything that I found posted on various job boards, without getting a single bite. Feeling frustrated, I went in search of career advice from a Notre Dame alum who works at a boutique TV literary agency down the street.  Five minutes into our conversation, the agent, who I’ll call Alicia, suggested that I become her new assistant. Her assistant had been there two years and was getting ready to move on to something new. It sounded like a nice gig, but because the position wasn’t readily available, I told Alicia that I would continue my search until she could present a definitive job offer. 

That same day, someone from a well-respected studio, which I’ll refer to as WDW, called to inform me that a television executive was looking for an assistant. When I had first moved to LA, I had done a brief stint in the accounting department at WDW. It looked like those three mind-numbing months were about to finally pay off. I submitted a formal job application, and interviewed at WDW the following week. The executive, whom I’ll call Mark, was a fairly new exec at WDW. He had spent the previous fifteen years working as a literary agent. Mark and I instantly hit it off, and he gave me a script to take home, asking me to provide development notes. I turned the notes around rather quickly, but then everything was radio silent for the next week. 

During this time, my parents and friends had asked me to fly home to South Bend to attend the Notre Dame-Stanford football game. Feeling anxious about having to field questions regarding my job status in LA, I told my parents that I would only fly home if I had secured a full-time job. By Wednesday afternoon, I still hadn’t heard anything, so I phoned my parents to let them know that a visit wasn’t in the cards. Then, at 8:15 PM, Mark from WDW called to let me know that I had gotten the job. I was ecstatic! Not only had I secured a job with benefits, but I would also be working in development. This had always been my backup plan in the event writing didn’t pan out. I immediately called my mom to tell her the good news, and she subsequently booked me on the next day’s redeye to South Bend to celebrate.  

Two days later, I could be found drinking a vodka tonic in my parents’ kitchen while preparing some last-minute items for Saturday’s tailgate. At around 6:00 PM EST (3:00 PM PST), my cell phone rang and it was an unknown number from Beverly Hills. I foolishly answered, and it was Alicia from the literary agency. In my mad rush to pack my bags on Thursday afternoon, I had completely forgotten to call Alicia to update her on my employment status. She greeted me on the line saying, “Hey, it’s Alicia. Can you start on Monday?” I fumbled for the correct words to explain that I had just accepted a new job at WDW. I tried to soften the blow by saying how difficult the decision was, etc. Secretly, I was truly excited to be starting a creative job at WDW, instead of spending a year rolling calls at an agency. Alicia interpreted my hesitation on the phone as uncertainty, and began to pitch me on working for her instead of Mark, even offering to call Mark herself to get me out of my commitment to WDW. 

For the next thirty minutes, Alicia regaled me with all the benefits of working at her agency. She touched on everything from the family environment found within the agency, to the weekly grocery order that the agency purchased for its employees (anyone who knows me understands that mentioning free food is a brilliant negotiation tactic). I told her that I would think about it and managed to get her off the line.  Shortly after we hung up, I was inundated with calls from Alicia’s colleagues at the agency, encouraging me to withdraw from the WDW gig. 

Now I was truly conflicted. The main reason I had wanted to work at WDW was because the job would allow me to be more creative. On the other hand, I also realized how crucial it could be to have agency experience on one’s resume. Also, WDW had only recently entered the television market, and I was nervous about my options in the event things didn’t work out there. By the end of the day, I decided that I would honor my commitment to WDW and called Alicia to refuse her offer. When she answered, she quickly mentioned that she couldn’t speak very long, as she was at her husband’s childhood home attending her father-in-law’s funeral. Eek! I tried to ignore this information, and proceeded to explain my decision to decline her offer. Alicia said that she understood, but then made one last request. She asked me to discuss her job opportunity with Mark. She was convinced that Mark would encourage me to work at her agency, given his lengthy employment history at an agency.

When I hung up the phone, I was baffled and feeling a bit incredulous. Three days prior I was jobless, and I now had two respectable offers on the table. This sounds like a nice problem to have, but I was not feeling particularly thrilled. I had come home to celebrate a great opportunity with my family and friends, who were all drinking downstairs. Meanwhile, I was locked away in my childhood bedroom trying to make an eleventh hour decision that I hadn’t planned on making. I grabbed my vodka tonic and headed downstairs to seek counsel from my loved ones. After much deliberation, they agreed that I should at least mention the position to Mark, especially since Alicia kept suggesting she would call him herself. 

I tried reaching Mark at his office, but it was Yom Kippur weekend and the entire entertainment industry had gone home early. That comment sounds sensational but the industry really did shut down early. I couldn’t track down Mark’s cell phone number, so I spent the next thirty minutes composing the most non-threatening email imaginable. Since I was resolved to taking the position at WDW, I had just planned on writing a humdrum email to placate Alicia. The gist of my email was that I had been offered a job at a literary agency, but was very excited about coming to work for Mark and just wanted to let him know. After reading this email to about ten family members, I sent it to Mark. For the next hour, I waited with bated breath for his response. When it appeared that the response wasn’t forthcoming, I attempted to take my mind off the email by filling my body with vodka tonic. 

For the next two days, everything was silent on Mark’s end. I informed Alicia that I had sent the email, and she asked me to keep her updated. By Monday, I started to panic. My start date at WDW was still a week away, but I booked a flight to LA for Tuesday morning just to be safe. Mark eventually called me around 3:00 PM on Monday afternoon. The conversation started off pleasantly, but it quickly turned sour. Mark informed me that he took offense to my email, and his interpretation was that I was flaking out on the job because a better offer had come along. I tried to explain that that wasn’t my intention, but Mark interrupted and said, “Show that email to anyone and that’s the only way they’ll read it.” I wanted to say, “Listen, A-hole. I read the email to about 100 people over the course of the weekend and not one person found it insulting,” but I bit my tongue. Instead, I apologized and reiterated that he had misunderstood my intentions. He responded to my apology by saying, “I called you to inform you that I was going to continue my candidate search. Now that you’ve explained yourself, I’ll give it some thought and let you know my answer by the end of the day.” Ouch. Clearly Mark’s ego was bruised. I could only hope that my explanation had cleared up any of his misconceptions and that he still felt confident with his initial decision to offer me the job. 

I went for a run to clear my head, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what had transpired in three short days. I had begun the weekend with one full-time job, followed by two offers on the table, and now could only hope to have a job upon my return to LA. Also, the more that I thought about Mark’s reaction, the angrier I was becoming. I felt that I had done the noble thing by informing him about the other offer, but instead was being punished for my transparency. Still, I decided that if Mark didn’t withdraw the offer, I would accept it so that this mess would just go away. 

That night, as I waited by the phone for Mark’s call, I started to wonder if I was making the right decision. Mark’s overly sensitive reaction to my email was alarming, and I realized that it might be more advantageous to work for someone who was fighting to work with me (Alicia). It was going on midnight and I still hadn’t heard from Mark. Just then, I had an epiphany to check my email. Sure enough, Mark had emailed me an hour earlier with the following two sentences: “Unfortunately, my decision regarding the email below has not changed after further thought. I am sorry.” My kneejerk reaction was to tell him what a narcissistic A-hole he was being, but I took the boring high road and simply said, “I understand. I’m sorry that it didn’t work out.”

Once the initial shock of Mark’s terse email had diminished, I called Alicia to let her know that I would gladly accept the opportunity to work for her. At that point, my biggest fear was that I was going to fly back to LA the same way I arrived last February: unemployed. When I called Alicia, she didn’t answer. I left her a voicemail, followed by a text message, and then finally emailed her. Desperate much?! I waited for twenty excruciating minutes until I finally received a text from Alicia that said, “F*** yes! I just got your message. I’m so F***ing excited!” I was relieved. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this had been Alicia’s plan all along. Most people in the industry said that she “agented” me, but I didn’t care. I was just happy that I had a job. Even more, I was thrilled at my boss’ liberal use of the F-bomb!

As I flew back to LA on Monday night, I couldn’t help but feel upset about the manner in which I lost the WDW job. I tried to let it go, but I was worried about the repercussions that it would have on my business relationship with WDW. I had spent four months preparing their financial statements (something that I hated) so that I could build a good rapport with a studio. Now, due to one innocuous email, all of that work seemed to be coming undone. When one is hoping to be a television writer, it’s not a good tactic to piss off an executive at a television studio. My aunt called and gave me her usual spiel that “everything happens for a reason.” Though I usually roll my eyes at this mantra, this time I didn’t really have a choice but to hope that she was right! Besides, I’ve proven my resilience in the past, and hopefully, I’ll find a stronger and better bridge leading to my future success!  

Pyramid. Match Game. Password. These were some of my favorite television shows growing up. Of course, I was not alive when these shows originally aired, but thanks to the Game Show Network, I was able to watch them regularly throughout my childhood. I often turned my back to the television and played along, pretending that Betty White was feeding me the clues to the “password” instead of her on-screen teammate. And whenever Gene Rayburn started a “Dumb Donald” statement, I responded in unison with the audience by asking, “How dumb is he?” Admittedly, it was a little lame, but I always had fun and that’s all that matters. I loved these shows so much that in recent years, I made my colleagues at Notre Dame play modified versions of these classic games during our monthly All Staff meetings. I always hoped that I would one day get the chance to test out my skills on an actual game show, but I doubted that the opportunity would ever present itself. Well, now that I was living in LA, the odds were starting to stack in my favor.  

A few months ago, my friend, Kristen, emailed me and asked me to offer some career advice to her friend, Mike.  He had recently moved to LA to pursue acting and Kristen thought that I could give him a few pointers. It seems that Kristen had read my blog about the Groundlings, which led her to believe that I had moved to LA to become the next Brad Pitt.  It’s hard for people to see past my good looks sometimes, but I suppose that’s just my cross to bear. I clarified that I had come here to embark on a television career in writing and development, but added that I’d be happy to share what limited knowledge I had acquired thus far. At the very least, I figured that Mike could add my experiences to a list of things NOT to do. After exchanging a few emails, Mike told me about a casting opportunity that he had come across for a new game show called Celebrity Name Game. Perhaps this would finally be my chance at living out my childhood fantasy of being on a televised game show instead of playing along from my living room.

According to Google, Celebrity Name Game was created by Courteney Cox and David Arquette. It involved getting your partner and a celebrity teammate to guess names of famous pop culture figures. Mike was in need of a partner and this show seemed right up my alley. I may not know the name of the third president of the United States or understand Einstein’s mass-energy equivalence formula, but I do know celebrity names and the roles that they played in TV and film, i.e. the really important stuff. Also, the grand prize was $20K, and after four months of working for free for my literary manager, this seemed like a better way to make money than playing the weekly Powerball.

There was one minor problem with the casting prerequisites: the show was searching for teammates who were longtime friends. Since Mike and I were practically strangers, we weren’t exactly the model contestants whom the producers were targeting. Undeterred, we decided that we could embellish enough of a backstory to get us through the audition. The night before the audition, Mike and I brainstormed over the phone to concoct a story about how we knew each other.  We agreed to play up our Notre Dame connection, as his sister went to ND and lived in the dorm two buildings away from mine. To show our pride for the University, we decided to wear ND shirts to the audition (such Domers, I know). The t-shirt would also help me identify Mike, as I had never met him in person.

Going into the audition, I figured that it worked in my favor that Mike had never seen me in action on game night, as none of my real friends would ever invite me to play a game with them on national television. I have a bit of a checkered past when it comes to playing games.  To put it lightly, my family and friends don’t really appreciate the energy that I bring to the table.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a friendly round of charades after Thanksgiving dinner or a playful game of sand volleyball with my coworkers, I’m always focused on one thing and one thing only: winning. I realize that I behave like a complete lunatic, and I can sense others around me getting worried and annoyed, but I don’t know how to shut it down.  Thankfully, Mike hadn’t experienced this side of me.

When I arrived at the studio, the casting agents had us line up outside while they checked us in.  Mike hadn’t arrived yet, so I kept my eyes peeled for an individual wearing a Notre Dame shirt. Sure enough, he showed up right as the casting agent was taking down my information, so I had to act as though my old friend had just arrived. I think my fraternal greeting caught him off guard, but he quickly caught on to the fact that the casting agent was standing next to me. We proceeded to act like old chums until the agent had left our field of vision. It was a very strange first meeting, to say the least.

Once everyone was checked in, we were escorted inside and told to sit in any one of the six rows of seats.  Regrettably, Mike and I selected two seats right below the A/C vent, which seemed to be set to full blast.  Within minutes, my teeth were chattering and I was hunched over trying to stay warm. It wasn’t necessarily the best look when trying to convince a casting agent that you’re comfortable in front of a camera. While we waited for further instruction, I immediately started to scope out the competition. At first glance, the room appeared to be full of peculiar-looking characters who seemed a little rough around the edges. I know that I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but I had serious doubts that any of these fellow competitors were on summer break from Ivy League schools. Now if this had been Jeopardy or Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, I might have considered the caliber of my opponents an advantage. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take a refined citizen to yell out celebrity names, so I feared that these unsightly oddballs had the upper-hand because they would make for good television. There was one woman, in particular, who seemed to command the attention of the entire room.  She sat directly in front of me and reminded me of Loni Love from Chelsea Lately. Her uproarious laugh boomed across the room, and her over-the-top personality made me look like a wallflower. I had serious doubts that my waspy disposition was going to secure me a spot on the show over her theatrics.  I had no other choice but to rely on my boyish charm and classic good looks and to pray that the casting agents were as superficial as me.  

For the first round of the audition, the casting agents called us up row-by-row to a table in the corner of the room where we had to talk about ourselves for two minutes. The agents’ objective for this exercise was to discern how engaging we could be and determine how comfortable we were when put on the spot.  Fortunately for me, talking about myself just so happens to be my forte, so I had no problem with this challenge. At one point, the agent had to cut me off and asked me to let my partner say a few words.  Everything seemed to be going fine, but then the agent asked us how we knew each other and for how long. We spit out the answer that we had rehearsed (“We met about ten years ago during move-in day on ND’s campus…”), but to me, it sounded inauthentic. Also, there aren’t too many ND fans in LA, so I feared that our affiliation with the University might hurt us. The agent maintained a poker face during our entire conversation, so I was convinced that we had blown it with our backstory. After everyone had taken their turn at the table, the agents excused themselves to deliberate in the other room.

For the next fifteen minutes, my partner and I exchanged random personal facts and interests with each other, just in case we miraculously advanced to the next round and had to continue talking about our faux friendship. We attempted to keep this conversation under wraps, but it was hard to hear one another over the Loni Love lookalike. She continued to belly laugh every 30 seconds and was carrying on with her teammates about how great their table session had been. When the agents returned, they cut the group from 100 contestants down to about 40. Shockingly, my partner and I made the first cut. Even more shocking, the Loni Love lookalike did not. I didn’t think that anything would silence her, but this news seemed to do the trick. As she gathered her belongings to leave, I ruthlessly swiped her chair to escape the freezing air conditioning vent.

Once the first round of rejects exited the room, the casting agents passed out a sheet of paper marked 1 through 20 to give everyone a short quiz to gauge our current knowledge of pop culture.  Sadly, I knew almost every answer. The only two questions that I’m positive I missed had to do more with the academic world than they did with the entertainment world: 1) Name the main character from The Catcher in the Rye; 2) Which president was a peanut farmer in Georgia? How the hell should I know?! If that knowledge ever occupied a part of my brain, it was evicted years ago to clear up space for knowing the real-life names of the entire Brady Bunch cast and learning every word to the Jerry Maguire “Secret Garden” mix. And I’m totally okay with that. To my credit, when one of the casting agents made a Dennis Haskins joke, I was the first person to laugh and shout out “Mr. Belding!”

After we submitted our answers to the casting agents, they called each team up to the front of the room to do a trial run of the actual game while being filmed. An agent held up random names/words to one of the contestants while the other contestant attempted to guess the answer. Each player was given thirty seconds, and the team needed to get at least 3 words correct between the two of them in order to be considered for the next round. After a few mediocre auditions, a brother/sister team took the stage and I was convinced that they had spent hours practicing their shtick.   Their outfits were coordinated, and after each round, they exchanged a sibling handshake that was so queer I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.  Also, I’d like the record to show that they totally ripped the handshake off of the 1998 Parent Trap film. Unfortunately, I don’t think the casting agents had seen the Lindsay Lohan reboot, as they seemed totally enraptured with the siblings’ whole Donny and Marie routine. Before they returned to their seats, I overheard one of the agents ask them to go into the hallway to fill out additional paperwork.  At that point, I knew that any team that wasn’t asked into the hallway was history.

The next two contestants looked like they stepped straight out of The Big Bang Theory. I believe that they said they were engineers, and I noticed that the Sheldon Cooper doppelganger had completely sweated through his t-shirt. During his pre-interview, he made it a point to say that he didn’t know anything about pop culture, as he had only come at his roommate’s request. Boy was he telling the truth. The first name that went up was Demi Moore, and the poor kid just froze. His partner tried to guess names out of thin air, but it was useless.  After sixty painful seconds and no correct answers, they were told to return to their seats. The kid’s flop sweat had gotten out of control, and he looked like he had just been caught in a monsoon. I thought about telling him to go cool off under the A/C vent, but I decided to mind my own business. The next few groups that followed the lovable geeks did much better, each scoring about 4 or 5 correct answers. However, I noticed that only a couple of them were escorted into the other room for additional vetting. It appeared to me that the agents were basing their decision more on the entertainment value than the number of words that team had gotten correct.

It was down to the last three pairs, and Mike and I still hadn’t gone.  The next team called was comprised of a pair of insufferable twits who behaved like they were auditioning for The Rich Kids of Beverly Hills (I loathe that show). Similar to the Big Bang Theory contestants, this team struggled to get a single point. The only difference was that the clues that they were giving were extremely offensive. After using her one-time pass on J.D. Salinger (whose book, Catcher in the Rye, we had literally just discussed thirty minutes before), the clue-giver was shown the name Michael Chiklis. She began her clues by saying, “He’s really big and black. And he was in that movie with Tom Hanks.” She was clearly thinking of Michael Clarke Duncan. The casting agents intervened and said, “No, that’s not the right person.” The girl began to giggle and then said, “Oh I’m getting him confused with the OTHER black guy.” Now I don’t claim to be the most racially sensitive person in the room (see My Persian Immersion blog), but there were so many things wrong with that statement! First, Michael Chicklis isn’t black. And second, there are more than two African Americans in Hollywood. Fortunately, the other African American contestants in the room laughed, so it made the situation a little less uncomfortable. Needless to say, these two girls weren’t asked into the hallway.  

When it was finally our turn to go, I was amped, but I sensed my partner‘s nervousness. I was the first one to give clues, and the first word that I was shown was “T-Mobile.” Now I won’t pretend that I gave the most precise clues, but within seconds, my partner knew that I was trying to get him to guess a cell phone brand that had the words “T” and “Mobile” in it.  Unfortunately, he kept saying, “Mobile-T! Mobile-T!” Ruh roh. I kept yelling, “Reverse it!” but he stared blankly, and then started saying “T-Verizon.” He finally figured it out, but time was slipping away. He guessed the next word fairly quickly, so I wasn’t too worried.  When it was his turn to give clues, he totally blanked on the first name he was shown, which was Rosie O’Donnell.  The only clue that he could conjure up was, “She was in Blank Movie (I don’t remember the name he said) with Sylvester Stallone.” Now I’m not sure if such a movie even exists, but when I realized that my partner couldn’t offer any additional clues besides “Sly’s costar,” I made the decision to pass for him, and we ended up getting two more correct before our time had run out. The casting agents then told me the name that we had passed on, and I immediately turned to my teammate and started scolding him. Like a crazy person, I began yelling things like, “Betty from The Flintstones! Famous lesbian talk show host! The View! Donald Trump nemesis! Elisabeth Hasselbeck feud!” My competitive ways were getting the best of me, and I feared that my intensity had scared off the casting agents. When we returned to our seats, I waited anxiously to be tapped on the shoulder by an agent and taken into the hallway, but no such interaction occurred. Instead, we sat there, watching the last team go and feeling like Rosie O’Donnell had just cost us $20K.

Before the entire group was dismissed, the agents thanked everyone for coming out and then told us that even if we weren’t selected for Celebrity Name Game, we could still get cast in one of their other shows. As we began to walk out the door, the casting agents yelled for Mike and me to stay in the room. I couldn’t believe it! When we walked back in, they asked us if they could do more filming and go through another round of the game so that they could send the film to the producers for a final decision. This time, we were each given sixty seconds, and we totally knocked it out of the park. The agents didn’t seem entirely convinced, and so they had us do one more round and asked my partner to try and match my energy level. I thought this request was slightly unreasonable, as few people can/should try to match my enthusiasm when playing games. My partner, however, did a terrific job, and the agents finally appeared to be satisfied. According to them, the hard part was over, and now they just needed to get a few more interview snippets recorded about how long we had known each other and the extent of our friendship.  Crap. The awkwardness ensued, and I really believe that it came across in the film. The agents got very specific with their questions, asking us to describe how we watched football games and what we liked to do in our free time.  We seemed to give two totally opposite answers, which the agents even picked up on and asked us to come up with better answers. We eventually got something on film that the agents appeared to like, but I still felt like it was a bit of a disaster. 

The total audition time took over 3 hours, so I was in a hurry to get back to work.  Before I could leave, the casting office asked me to fill out a 6-page questionnaire.  One of the questions asked me what I would do with my winnings. I’m sure most people wrote “cure cancer” and “feed the poor.” I was too rushed to come up with anything selfless, so I answered honestly, saying, “Pay my bills for the next few months while I continue to pursue a career in television.” I’m an accountant and a realist, so I don’t have grandiose delusions about how far $20K can be stretched once it is split with a teammate and taxes are taken out.

There was another question about who my dream celebrity teammates would be. Again, I figured that I would answer this realistically. After all, I don’t think that Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep would consider taking a break from filming their Oscar-nominated movies to stop by the Celebrity Name Game. Therefore, I answered Lisa Kudrow (friends with Courteney Cox), Martin Short (a regular on Hollywood Game Night and also a huge ND fan), and Kelly Ripa. The last celebrity was more because my sister always says that she thinks Kelly and I would have great chemistry – and I happen to agree! I finished my paperwork about ten minutes quicker than my partner.  I looked over and he seemed to really be struggling with the celebrity teammate question. I finally said, “Dude this isn’t the Make a Wish Foundation. It’s probably not actually going to happen so just write down a damn name and let’s go.” The talent agent sitting next to him thought my comment was particularly funny and let out a nice chuckle. In response, I told the agent that he could hear more of that sharp wit if he were to cast me on the show!

It’s been over a month since our initial audition, so I’m fairly certain that the producers went in another direction. Regardless, I had an absolute blast with the entire process and I wouldn’t be opposed to auditioning again. In fact, I’ve decided that if I don’t find a full-time job soon, I might as well start auditioning for every game show that is filmed in LA. Pat and Vanna, I hope that your wheel is ready because this Hollywood Hoosier doesn't have any money to waste on buying vowels!

Slumlords, and pedophiles, and floods…OH MY! I have only lived in my Santa Monica apartment for six months, but it has been a grueling journey. Friends and family members who follow my blog have urged me to move, but I wanted to hold off until I got a full-time job. Also, I had figured that if my building’s managers would reimburse me for last month’s series of unfortunate events, then it would make staying in the cracked-out apartment a little more bearable. But as usual, things didn’t go as planned, so I am moving into a new apartment at the end of the month.

Two weeks had passed since I first sent the managers a written petition seeking a rent adjustment.  After ten unreturned phone calls and two additional letters, I finally tracked down the building manager last week. When he realized that it was me on the phone, he tersely responded, “I got your letter, but I’m not in a mood to negotiate so call me tomorrow if you want to talk.” He then hung up. Totally professional. As instructed, I called him the following afternoon and he told me that after giving it some thought, he had decided that he “wouldn’t pay a dime.” He insisted that I didn’t have a case, and when I tried to share my perspective, he interrupted with childish quips like, “I’m not listening” and “You’re talking to yourself.” The only time that he acknowledged hearing me was when I pointed out that my apartment had gone without hot water for five days. His response was, “Big deal! You don’t need hot water to take a shit.” Classy stuff. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere, so when he challenged me to take him to court, I accepted his proposition. He ended the call by saying, “I look forward to facing off with you in front of a judge.” Yeah, me too, jackass.

My entire life, people have told me that I would make a great lawyer (probably because I argue so much), so I’m actually looking forward to my courtroom debut. I admit that 99% of my legal knowledge comes from television shows, but they make winning look easy enough.  Also, I’ve been watching a lot of Ally McBeal reruns on Netflix lately, so I’m fairly well-versed in my courtroom lingo: Objection! Contempt! Bailiff! Subpoena! Magistrate! I’m not entirely sure what all of these words mean, or when to use them, but if I can string enough of them together to form a sentence, then I think it will send a message to the opposing counsel. Bam! And if that doesn’t work, I plan on dropping a briefcase on the courtroom floor like Mike Brady did in the classic Brady Bunch episode in which Mike proved that Mr. Duggan could turn his neck. OK, so maybe my degree in sitcoms isn’t going to help my case against my building managers, but that’s why I’ve surrounded myself with friends who are lawyers. Well, for this reason, and also to defend me against the hundreds of defamation lawsuits I’m expecting to receive once my first book of memoirs gets published. I expect that it will take a village to keep this Hollywood Hoosier out of legal trouble! But I digress. To prep me for my day in court, I have enlisted the legal help of Clare and Saurish, my two lawyer friends who recently wed in South Bend. Since I’m not allowed to take an actual attorney into Small Claims court with me, I’ve been trying to soak up as much legal expertise from them to prepare myself to go into battle with the slumlord. I pondered a Cyrano de Bergerac scenario, in which Saurish would coach me through a hidden earpiece, but eventually decided that plan probably works better in sitcoms than in real life. And I’m also afraid that if we got caught, Saurish would be disbarred.  (I told you that my legal vernacular was extensive.)

Once I determined that I was going to sue my building’s managers, I decided that it was finally time to move out of the building. When I informed my roommate of my plan to move out at the end of the month, he didn’t seem very surprised. He only asked that I find a new tenant to replace me on the lease, which seemed fair enough. I figured that I could unload it on some poor sap on Craigslist who was in search of cheap rent, despite the building’s conditions.

Before posting the ad on Craigslist, I began to have second thoughts about my decision to leave the apartment.  Yes, the managers were horrible and the neighbors sketchy, but the rent was dirt cheap and the location was excellent. Later that night, as I was trying to get some much needed sleep, I woke up to the smell of smoke. A few seconds later, I heard a ditzy girl’s voice say, “I think have an extinguisher, but I don’t know how to use it.” I wasn’t sure what was going on, but after five minutes, I heard the familiar sounds of sirens outside of my bedroom window. I peeked through the blinds and noticed two fire trucks and a police car parked right outside of our parking garage (which is directly below my bedroom). Unfazed, I tried to go back to bed, but the firemen’s voices kept me awake for the next hour. I decided that I should double-check whether or not the building was on fire, so I walked outside to inquire about the situation. The officer told me that someone had tried to light a car on fire in our parking garage, as well as a few other items. The firemen then asked me if I had noticed any suspicious characters roaming around the area. I frankly replied, “About everyone who lives in the building.” The officers laughed, and I sauntered back to my apartment, pretending not to worry about some maniac lighting cars on fire beneath my bedroom. As I nodded off, I decided that this incident validated my decision to move out of the apartment.

A few days later, I drafted the ad for a new tenant on Craigslist. I knew that posting, “Creepy Apartment Equipped with Crazies” wouldn’t produce the best candidates, so I kept it simple, only including the location and dimensions of the apartment. Within an hour, I had over twenty applicants. I started sorting through the applications, finding it difficult to narrow the pool for my roommate. To be honest, any applicant who passed the credit check and would reimburse my security deposit was good enough for me, but my roommate had stricter standards. Fair enough. I forwarded the responses onto him, and he finally settled on three tenants to interview.  I asked each to come by the apartment on Saturday, so my roommate, his girlfriend, and I could evaluate them together (power in numbers in case the Craigslist Killer arrived).   

I woke up early on Saturday morning to spruce the place up a bit before the “Open House.” I vacuumed, bought new room freshener plug-ins, and contemplated putting cookies out for the candidates. In short, I was determined to get some poor schmuck to take this apartment off my hands. When the first person arrived, I was actually taken aback by how normal he seemed. He played tennis and was from a cool town in Florida. I debated asking him if he wanted to go look for a nicer 2-bedroom apartment with me, but decided that my first goal was removing my name from the lease. I craftily escorted him through the apartment building, avoiding the decrepit back staircase and steering clear of any chance encounters with the neighbors.  When he asked about the other areas of the building (parking structure, laundry unit), I acknowledged their presence, but quickly changed the subject. He wondered why I leas moving, and I struggled to come up with an answer that wouldn’t send him running. I settled on, “Oh, I’m moving to a more central location for work, but I’m really going to miss the area.” That wasn’t entirely false, but it also wasn’t the whole truth.  The fact that he and my roommate seemed to really hit it off led me to believe our work here was done.  However, my roommate insisted that we meet the other two candidates so he could have options.

The next “option” was named Roberto. I don’t know any other way to state this other than just coming out with it: Roberto smelled. Now, it should be noted that I have a terrible sense of smell, so the fact that I could smell him from across the room indicated that he reeked. As I rushed Roberto through the apartment and toward the air fresheners, he asked if he could sit down on the couch. I fumbled for an answer but my roommate chimed in and said, “Yeah go ahead.” Roberto stayed for about five minutes and then I finally said, “Well, we’ll let you know.” Over the next three days, Roberto texted me numerous times to see if my roommate had made a decision. He hadn’t, but I wanted Roberto to lose my number, so I told him that my roommate’s best friend had decided to move in. Fortunately, I haven’t heard from Roberto since. The final candidate was named Nathan. I looked him up on Facebook, and he looked like a dorky computer nerd. Apparently he’s into Catfishing, as the Nathan that arrived at our apartment looked nothing like the Nathan from his Facebook profile picture. He arrived on an electric scooter wearing a bomber jacket, his lip was pierced, and he wore a sharktooth around his neck. I was apprehensive about bringing him up to the apartment, but my roommate wanted options. He ended up being a lot more normal than his appearance suggested, but the getup still seemed to be a flag.

After my roommate carefully weighed his options, he finally settled on the first visitor. What a surprise. I immediately sent the new tenant the paperwork to get my name off of the lease, and he said that he’d send me the security deposit shortly thereafter (I’ll be running that check to the bank as soon as it’s in my possession). We made tentative plans to play tennis, but I’m a bit nervous about becoming too friendly with him. I don’t want him finding my blog and uncovering the truth about the unit. I must admit to feeling slightly guilty about letting someone who is seemingly normal move into the building, but sometimes you just have to look out for your own welfare. It’s like when flight attendants instruct you to put your own oxygen mask on before assisting others. Well, it’s sort of like that. And to be fair, the new tenant never asked me if there was a registered sex offender living down the hall or whether gallons of water had been pouring through his bedroom wall just two months ago. Caveat emptor…hopefully he’ll learn to ask more detailed questions before his next move!

It has been 75 years since Dorothy first articulated this sentiment on the silver screen, but truer words have never been spoken.  This past weekend, I had the pleasure of traveling home to South Bend, IN, to attend a close friend’s wedding. This marked my first visit home since packing my bags and leaving for LA 4.5 months ago, and I was eager to see if the Bend had been able to survive in my absence. My sister and her boyfriend were flying home for the wedding, and my aunt and uncle from California happened to be staying at our house, as well. It was lining up to be quite the family reunion. Apart from spending quality time with my family, I had set two primary goals for my homecoming: (1) See as many friends as possible, and (2) Dine at as many of my favorite hot spots as my stomach could handle. To allow enough time to attain these lofty goals, I decided to start my weekend a little early and booked a fight home on Wednesday night’s Red Eye.

In typical Jamie fashion, I didn’t start packing for my trip until midnight on Tuesday. I hadn’t anticipated that it would be an issue, but I completely forgot that I had to haul the contents of a small bakery back home with me. A few months ago, the bride’s mother had asked me to bake Jiggsy’s Cookies to use as wedding favors for the reception, and without giving it much thought, I happily obliged. I eventually realized that making 180 decorated heart-shaped cookies would take at least a couple of days to produce, so I had gotten a head start by baking and freezing the cookies last weekend. I never actually formulated a plan for how I would transport the cookies to South Bend, so at 1:30 AM, I started brainstorming. I ultimately decided that the only solution was to carry them on the plane with me. After stuffing the 3 Tupperware containers into my carry-on, I realized that there wasn’t any extra space in my bag to pack additional items to entertain me while in-flight.  I am a fairly hyperactive person, and I usually require a bag full of books, magazines, snacks and games to get me through trips (much like the bags that moms pack for their toddlers when they to go church). Since it was going on 3:30 AM, I had hoped that I’d be so tired the next night that I’d miraculously sleep through the majority of the flight. It seemed unlikely, but a man can dream (that is, if he can fall asleep).  

I had planned to leave for the airport directly after work on Wednesday night, so I brought the cookies with me to store in the office freezer instead of leaving them in the warm car all afternoon. Someone at the office noticed me loading the containers into the freezer and asked if he could sample a cookie. I politely shot him down, but he thought that I was joking. The next thing I knew, he started to open one of the containers when I slapped it shut and said, “You can’t try one!” This came out much harsher than I had intended (think Gretchen Wieners yelling “You can’t sit with us!” in Mean Girls), and I was slightly embarrassed. I apologized and explained that the cookies were for a wedding, and he said he understood and wouldn’t try eating one again. Not taking any chances, I stayed alert all afternoon, and whenever I heard someone approach the refrigerator, I walked back there to make sure they weren’t eating the cookies. 

Before heading to the airport, I dropped by the MGM Happy Hour down the street from my office to meet up with a friend and also see some of my old co-workers. I figured that staying in touch with as many people in the entertainment industry would be good for networking, and what better way to travel than a little buzzed? When I arrived at the Happy Hour, most of the people that I used to know from my brief time at MGM weren’t present, so I tried to make some new friends/connections. I mingled around the bar and introduced myself to a few people, but everyone I met seemed to work in the film and television finance department.  I feigned interest in their jobs, but these weren’t exactly the people who could help me secure a creative position in the industry.  I surveyed the scene for fresh faces to chat up when a girl whom I had previously met back at MGM approached me. My only prior encounter with her had taken place a few months earlier when we dined at the same lunch table in the MGM break area.  My recollection of that meeting was that she had been rather abrasive and talked non-stop about herself (I’m used to being the center of attention so you can imagine my frustration).  Since my friend was busy talking to the finance bores, and I didn’t know anyone else at the Happy Hour, I decided to give the girl a second chance.  I actually started to enjoy her company, but then she made a jab about my age that instantly turned me off. I was telling her how nervous I was about embarking on a new career at an older age when my friend overheard and said, “He actually looks much younger than he is. Guess how old he is.” The boorish girl looked me up and down and then said, “Um…29?” My friend responded, “Yes, but if I hadn’t told you that he was older than he looked, how old would you have guessed?” Again, the girl answered, “29.” She then added, “He’s no spring chicken…I can see it around his eyes.” Cough cough, bitch! Perhaps colleagues like her is why I left the company.

After the Happy Hour had ended, I followed the group to the next bar when I finally realized the time. I excused myself and made my way back to my office to get my laptop and keys and then set off for the airport. For the first time in recent memory, I was actually on schedule to arrive at LAX with plenty of time to get through security. Then I realized that I had left the cookies in the office freezer. Woops! Apparently I’m starting to forget things in my old age.

When I finally pulled up to the airport, I only had a few minutes to spare until my bags could no longer be checked according to TSA guidelines.  Sadly, I had to have a skycap assist me with getting my bags from the shuttle to the counter. I usually take a lot of a grief from people about over-packing, and deservedly so, but this time, there was absolutely no way to downsize my number of bags – I had my garment bag for my suit, my roller board for my other clothes, my messenger bag for my laptop, and my carry-on for the cookies. By the time I lugged my 40-pound carry-on through security, there wasn’t enough time to eat dinner.  Instead, I ran into a Hudson News store and loaded up on my favorite snacks (2 Diet Cokes, bubblegum, Bugles, Peanut M&Ms, Popchips, and Cheetos). When I boarded the flight, I went to town on these snacks. Before we reached cruising altitude, I had eaten everything but the Popchips. I decided to leave them for breakfast and tried to get some much-needed sleep.  Unfortunately, I soon found out that my seat was broken and wouldn’t recline. There were no other empty seats on the plane, so I prepped myself for an all-nighter. I paged the flight attendant and bought a $2 headset to watch TV (by the way, those headsets hurt like a bitch and my ears were throbbing by the end of the flight). I also ordered a Boar’s Head dinner because I struggle to sit on planes without having something to snack on…in truth, I struggle sitting anywhere without munching on something. I don’t think that the passenger sitting next to me was my biggest fan, as she woke up from her nap every time I opened a new food container...which was every five minutes.

By the time I landed in South Bend, I was exhausted. Fortunately, the paparazzi didn’t pick up on the fact that the Hollywood Hoosier was homeward bound, so I made it through the Michiana Regional Airport without much hoopla. Although I was sleep deprived, I had a list of errands that I needed to run, so I dropped my mom off at work and got started. Driving in South Bend had never been so exhilarating…I was able to get all the way across town in 20 minutes (in Santa Monica, it usually takes me that long to get to the grocery store which is only .7 miles away from my apartment). After stopping at Dairy Queen to get a chocolate shake (travel goal #2), I decided to pay a visit to my old colleagues at Notre Dame. When I walked into the office, the first words out of their mouths were, “Wow you’re really skinny. Are you not eating?” As I’ve stated in previous blogs, these comments frustrate me because: (1) I’ve gained about 8 pounds since moving to California, and (2) It’s not really a compliment to tell a guy how skinny he is. I realize that I’m not lifting as frequently as I used to, but I’m far from a twig. However, if one more person comments on my weight, I might have to resort to drinking those Ensure shakes that I used to drink in high school. I’m pretty sure my grandmother also drank them, but I can attest to their power. Between junior and senior year of high school, those shakes propelled my body from a scrawny 17-year-old into a slightly less scrawny 18-year-old. Although I was only able to visit with my colleagues for about twenty minutes, I had a great time catching up with them.  It should be noted that they seemed much more excited to see me than when I used to come into the office every day.  Maybe everyone should consider working remotely? It might boost office morale!

My mom and I got home just in time to greet my sister and her boyfriend. After getting our suitcases situated, I got to work on the cookies while my mom took Jess and her boyfriend on a tour around campus. I spent most of the afternoon icing the cookies before taking a break to eat dinner at the club (goal #2). After dinner, we returned to our house and played some family ping pong (this makes us sound like the Cleavers, but we’re far from it). My sister’s boyfriend dethroned me as the reigning ping pong champion, and since I don’t handle defeat well, I excused myself from the group and returned to the sugar cookies. The cookies ended up taking a bit longer to ice than I had expected, so my sister bravely stepped up to the plate and helped me finish them in the wee hours. I have a reputation for liking things done a certain way, and if you don’t meet my expectations, I usually let you know. As the clock struck midnight and I still had about 120 cookies to ice on zero hours of sleep the previous night, my criteria for an icing assistant had lowered dramatically. That being said, my sister did a wonderful job. I was grateful that she stayed awake with me, and we got the cookies completed around 3:30 AM. They weren’t anywhere near my best creation, but at 3:30 AM, good enough is good enough.

The next day, I met 3 of my old coworkers for lunch at my favorite campus eatery, Reckers (travel goals #1 and #2 - two birds with one stone). I was happy to spend time shooting the breeze with old friends, and even more delighted that the topic of conversation centered on me.  Just kidding. But in all honesty, it was nice to discuss the past five months with people who really know me and could offer advice. This is the one thing that I truly miss about working at Notre Dame – I had built a special camaraderie with my coworkers and it seemed like I could talk to them about anything. This is something that I haven’t been able to replicate in LA, but hopefully it will come in time.

After lunch, I picked up my aunt and little cousin from the airport, and we grabbed some last-minute items for my mom’s dinner party that she was hosting later that evening. When we got back to the house, I put my aunt straight to work. I hauled the 180 sugar cookies from the dining room into the family room, and she helped me wrap each cookie in a cellophane bag with a ribbon. To distract my cousin, I turned on Austin Powers, as he had never seen the film which shaped my childhood. He didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did, but I think that’s because at twelve-years-old, his sense of humor is slightly more mature than mine. It took us about three hours to finish wrapping the cookies, but my aunt was a trooper and stayed with me until the very end (I think it had something to do with the fact that I compensated her with leftover cookies).

Later that evening, our best family friends came over for a cookout. My mom made all of my favorites: beef tenderloin, grilled salmon, Portobello potato casserole, brie bites…it was incredible. This dinner definitely solidified my mom’s kitchen as my favorite hotspot in South Bend. After dinner, everyone participated in a cornhole tournament, and without much surprise, Jorgan (Brangelina of my name + Morgan’s) proved to be the dominant force. We crushed the competition left and right, and new teams formed throughout the evening attempting to take us down. We eventually fell near the end of the night, but I attribute that loss to our alcohol intake. After our defeat, we sat around the back patio talking and laughing until 1:00 AM, enjoying the beauty of the gardens which my father had toiled over all summer. It was a perfect night!

The next morning, everyone was slow to get out of bed. I, too, wanted to ensure that I was well-rested for my friend, Clare’s wedding. She and I have been fast friends since the 8th grade, when we bonded over our love for oldies music during Mrs. Wroblewski’s math class. From that moment on, we had been inseparable. We traveled down US 31 together, from St. Joe High School to the University of Notre Dame. Through it all, no one has ever made me laugh more than Clare. Our wicked humor routinely got us into trouble.  Whether it was with our Drivers’ Ed instructor, who refused to let us sit together, or our senior year English teacher, who had to call the high school guidance counselor into our classroom because of a project we had done, we were definitely a force to be reckoned with. When Clare first told me that she was dating her now-husband, Saurish, I was skeptical. Saurish came from a traditional Indian family, and Clare was known for her outspoken tongue and steadfast convictions (not exactly something that I associate with females in the Indian culture). However, after moving to California and seeing them interact on a regular basis, it became clear that they totally complement each other, and I couldn’t imagine anyone better suited for Clare. This became especially apparent during the wedding ceremony when Clare and Saurish exchanged their own vows that they had written. They articulated exactly what it was that drew them to one another, and I don’t think there was a dry eye in the church. Growing up, Clare often concealed her real emotions from other people and put on a tough exterior, so I was proud of her for being so vulnerable in front of a church full of family and friends, and I credit Saurish for bringing that side of her to the forefront.

The wedding reception was a blast, and I was able to catch up with tons of old friends. Because of Clare’s and my long history, the wedding guests included people from grade school, high school and college…this could have gone either way but I was happy with all of the guests invited! My family was seated at the same table with 3 friends whom I’ve known since the fourth grade. We had lost touch in recent years, but we instantly reconnected and it was like no time had passed at all. One of these friends confessed that she actually follows my blog, so she knew exactly what I had been up to the past five months. I must admit that I use my blog as a bit of a crutch – when people ask me what’s new, I usually refer them to my blog instead of telling them.  In my defense, I feel like most of Generation Z communicates via social media, so I’m just trying to keep up with the kids!

After the reception, I convinced everyone to go to my favorite local bar, Corby’s. Although I had not been there in a few years, the bouncers and the bartenders still remembered me. I say this sadly, not proudly. My friendship with the bouncers resulted in me distracting them while the bridal party snuck the groom’s underage sister into the bar. Successfully sneaking minors into Corby’s always gives me great pleasure because it was the one bar in South Bend that I wasn’t able to get into with my fake ID. The bouncer who used to work there went to my high school, and he made it his mission in life to prevent St. Joe grads from entering the bar before their 21st birthdays.  Clearly he had unresolved issues and pent-up anger stemming from his high school days that he needed to work through. After buying numerous $7 pitchers of beer, we claimed a few picnic tables on the back patio.  We then participated in some of our old favorite bar games, including one that my friends made up junior year of college called “Zoo.” The premise of the game is for everyone to assume the role of a different animal, and everyone goes around the circle calling each other out by their animal sound. From the looks that we were getting from the other patrons around the back patio, I don’t think Zoo is a game regularly played at Corby’s. We also engaged in plenty of games of Flip Cup and Cornhole. Saurish and Clare even made a surprise cameo at Corby’s and played a few rounds of Flip Cup with us. Say what you will about South Bend, but any place that serves pitchers of beer for $7 is first-rate in my book. I was so bowled over by the low prices that I definitely overindulged in the alcohol department, and I stayed out until 4:00 AM. In other words, it was a successful night!

Once I fought off my hangover on Sunday morning, my family met my cousins, Josh and Jackie, at one of our favorite local restaurants for brunch. I was faced with a really tough decision – whether I should get breakfast or lunch. I ultimately opted for lunch and I ordered my beloved Quattro Formaggio pizza (which I scarfed). As usual, we had a ball with Josh and Jackie, and before we knew it, 2.5 hours had passed and I’m sure that the waitress was ready to get her next table sat. With our time quickly dwindling, we tried to jam-pack as much fun into our last day as possible.  After brunch, we went to the club to play tennis (I won) and then we returned home to play even more ping pong (I regained my title as the reigning champ). Like all good things, the weekend started to come to an end, and my parents drove my sister and her boyfriend to Chicago to catch their flight. While home alone, I raided the refrigerator and ate some of the leftovers from our Friday night cookout. I then met one of my best college friends at Scotty’s Brewhouse and got my favorite chicken quesadillas and Mo’Fo’ Chicken Wrap. I didn’t tell my friend that I had just eaten before dinner, as I didn't want to be judged for licking my plate clean at Scotty's!

As I started to pack my bags on Sunday night, I felt a pit in my stomach at the thought of heading to LA in the morning. I definitely wasn’t excited about returning to my sketchy apartment with its shady neighbors, but there seemed to be something more going on. Sure, I had accomplished both of my travel goals, but I felt like I hadn’t gotten to spend nearly enough time with my family and friends. The weekend had flown by and I certainly could have used a few more days in the Bend. Sitting on the plane bound for LA, I reflected on this feeling and I caught myself smiling. The thing is, friends often complain to me about having to travel home to visit family, so I guess I feel fortunate that I can’t seem to see enough of mine! I hope that I always long to spend more time with friends and family than time allows because that’s what keeps us coming back for more. So until next time, South Bend…