by Jenny Mollen
“Everything okay?” Fabian’s head was buried in his computer, totally not giving a shit.
“Yes, fine. Thanks again,” I said, pretending I wasn’t talking to a man who knew the exact color of my menstrual blood.
Just as I got in the car, Leanne called to ask how things went.
“I felt like they had a lot of great ideas, I got my period on the couch, I think most of the changes will be easy to make, I’m gonna reoutline, and let’s see … I guess that’s it!”
The line was dead for a minute, followed by violent coughing. Finally, she responded. “So overall you feel good about it?”
“Umm. Yeah,” I said, wondering if she’d heard me correctly.
With the money I’d saved by miraculously not getting a ticket at the thirty-minute meter, even though my car was parked there for two hours over the allotted time, I called Wally’s Wines and ordered Stan a basket of pinot noirs. When asked what I wanted the card to say, I paused, really taking in for the first time all that had transpired.
“Just write, ‘I got you red to match your couch. XOX, Jenny.’”
* * *
Two days later, Stan called, and everything seemed fine. I quickly realized that getting my period on Stan was the best thing that could have happened. After bleeding on someone, there is no point in pretending to be anyone other than yourself. Menstruating really freed me up creatively and allowed me to accept whatever curveballs came my way. I reclaimed my confidence and felt at peace. I ended up working with Stan on the script, with the majority of our meetings over the phone. When I did finally set foot in the office again, everybody including Fabian acted like it never happened. When it was time, Fabian gave me the go-ahead to walk back to Stan’s office.
Stan was finishing up a phone call when I entered.
“Sit down,” he said, motioning toward the crime scene.
I looked over, and covering the white love seat was a giant beach towel. Unsure whether he was joking or serious, I sat on the towel, figuring it was better to be safe than be bloody. Stan hung up, then pulled out his iPhone to take a picture of me.
“You don’t care if I put this on my Facebook, do you?”
“Of course not,” I lied, wondering if he was by chance friends with Carly Millhouse.
“Your story is now my go-to icebreaker whenever I have meetings in here. It’s a huge hit. Everybody wants to know who you are and what you look like. I’m going to frame this picture and put it right next to the couch as a discussion piece.”
“Wait, you tell them the story while they are sitting on the bloodstain?” I asked, shocked.
“It’s pretty much gone. I had it steam cleaned.”
* * *
Acting is a total pain in the ass, but writing can be downright disgusting. I did, however, achieve my lifelong goal of making a lasting impression on a big shot producer—at least until he gets a new couch.
Like most scripts, mine probably won’t ever see the light of day, but it doesn’t matter. As a writer, an “almost” is considered a win. And I am sort of the “baby Judi Dench” of almosts.
If after reading this you are still adamant about pursuing a career in Hollywood, my advice can be summed up in the “secret” I took with me onstage every night as Maria in The Sound of Music. “When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.” Do yourself a favor and jump.
Acknowledgments
Thankfully, most of the people I offended in this book don’t read. To those that do, thank you so much for being a part of my life and for coloring the journey so vividly.
Here is a short list of people who deserve a little extra ass-kissing:
Yaniv Soha, my editor, who held my hand through this entire process and only made me cut a few rape jokes. On our first phone call, I said, “You get that I don’t know how to write a book, right?” Thank you for teaching me how. I know your parents still don’t understand what you do in NYC, but I would just like them to know:
Liz Brown, who I bamboozled into combing through these stories when she probably should have been writing a funnier book of her own. You make everything better. Groundlings can suck my dick for dropping you one step before company. I can’t wait for you to make more money than all of those fucks!
St. Martin’s publishers Jen Enderlin (one of my earliest and biggest fans!) and Sally Richardson. The team that so capably supported the promotion of this book: Dori Weintraub, Stephanie Hargadon, Erin Cox, and Angie Giammarino; John Murphy in publicity, for your early enthusiasm. Cover designer, Jimmy Iacobelli.
Joe Veltre, for getting me this book deal even after certain publishers told you that I should be scolded for the kind of material I put online. Thank you for making my wildest dreams come true.
Priscilla Moralez, for your blood, sweat, and tears. Thank you for never giving up on me and for seeing my path before I did.
Lynn Fimberg, for turning me into a writer.
Jen Craig, for your endless hard work and for not being upset with Lynn for turning me into a writer.
J. J. Harris, one of the absolute greats who unfortunately never got to see this book come to fruition.
The cover photographer and my dear friend Kate Romero; my hair and makeup messiah, Brett Freedman; and the Wizard of Oz who saved me from looking six months pregnant on the cover of this book, Maria Muradyn.
My publicists Leslie Sloane and Jami Kandel, thank you for making me more than just the girl who takes people’s iPhone photos with Jason Biggs.
Allyson Ostrowski, Alison Pace, Liz Topp, Peter and Meegan Kiernan, Laura Gibson, Jeff Bailey, Paige Mollen, Brad Mollen, Jaclyn Lessard, Stefan Lessard, Becky Gama-Lobo, Kat Coiro, Derek Richardson, Todd Garner, Jeremy Stein, Sean Robbins, Maurio Garcia, Bobby Hoppey, Nicola Jones, all the girls who attended my sister’s bachelorette weekend, David Sullivan, Alice Lawson, Christina Young, Melody Young, my lawyer Chad Christopher and the entire Gersh Agency.
Every actor I’ve worked with that deserves more attention than they are getting. (You know who you are. The rest of the world doesn’t, but you do.)
Melissa Bull at The Smoking Jacket.
Vanessa Butler at Playboy.com.
Adam Tod Brown, for publishing my first article about the hooker and for giving me a place to learn and grow.
Jason Kaplan, J. D. Harmeyer, and the staff at Howard Stern for helping me figure out the accurate spelling of “bronski.”
Michael Ian Black, for your support, friendship, and retweets.
Chelsea Handler, for paving the way.
Jason’s ex: Please call me if you ever want to talk.
My friend and housekeeper Cynthia Castro, who has cleaned up more of my period blood than even I have.
Nick, my dry cleaner.
Joan, from Joan’s on Third.
That chick who always gives me extra drink tickets in the American Airlines Admirals Club.
My therapist Shandiz Zandi.
My couple’s therapist Beth Becker.
My dogs’ therapist Jeryl Werchowsky.
Rita Lowrey at Giuseppe Franco for changing my hair color twenty times a year and for letting me take your kid with me to get Botox.
Allison Stoltz, for talking me off so many ledges.
To all of my Twitter followers whose support convinced my publishers that I was totally a bigger deal than I actually am.
Chad Gervich, for reading my shitty journals and instilling me with a false sense of confidence that has taken me everywhere. I love you and I’m sorry I told your mom I dressed up like a hot version of her for Halloween.
Jhoni Marchinko, for your incomparable support and crazy flat stomach. Thank you for setting the bar so goddamn high.
Chiara Biggs: If I didn’t marry your brother I would have married you. You are one of my best friends. Thank you for being such an incredible partner-in-crime. If I had half your wit, I think I’d be a lot richer.
Lesely Urig and Sara Farmer, both of whom I’ve known since before I realized I should be in the
rapy. Sara, thank you for being a better person than I am. Lesely, thank you for being worse. I love you both like sisters.
Doron Silverman, thank you for marrying my sister. Also, I’m sorry.
Samantha Mollen, for living through it with me and for giving me my best material.
Both my parents are obviously good sports and fucked me up in all the right ways. Thank you both for teaching me generosity, kindness, and the importance of hard work. Special thanks to my mom, for never following the rules and teaching me that waiting in line is for unattractive people. And to my dad, for being my biggest cheerleader and for believing I could accomplish anything as long as I dropped his name.
Though I poke fun at how nuts you both are, you have made me the woman I am and I love you both immensely.
Harry, they say the average lifespan of a Miniature Pinscher is 14 years.…
Gina Marie, my baby lady werewolf hound, who asked to not be mentioned in the book because she’s already been to jail once in her life and has no interest in returning. Gina, I adore you and totally wouldn’t be mad at you at all if you killed Harry.
Teets, you taught me how to love. Thank you for your wisdom, your strength, your horrible pussy trashcan breath, and your true friendship. YOU ARE EVERYTHING.
There isn’t a world in which I could have written this book without the love, inspiration, support, criticisms, farts, emotional outbursts, and humor of my sometimes-annoying but mostly perfect husband, Jason. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper and be better. I found my voice when I met you. You are truly the Ethel to my Lucy.
About the Author
JENNY MOLLEN is an Arizona native and graduate of the UCLA School of Theater. Her credits include the TV shows GIRLS, Wilfred, Suits, and Angel, and the films D.E.B.S., My Best Friend’s Girl, L!fe Happens, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. Her writing has appeared in Cosmopolitan and Playboy Online. She lives in Los Angeles with two poodle angel-muffins and an asshole miniature pinscher. She also has a husband.
I LIKE YOU JUST THE WAY I AM. Copyright © 2014 by Jenny Mollen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Some of the stories appeared in revised and abbreviated form in Playboy’s TheSmokingJacket.com.
Photograph of painting in chapter 4 by Eoin McShane
www.stmartins.com
Jacket photographs: © Kate Romero and Joseph Moran; background bodies © Altrendo Images/Getty Images
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Mollen, Jenny, 1979–
I like you just the way I am: stories about me and some other people / Jenny Mollen. — First edition.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-250-04168-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-3858-1 (e-book)
1. Mollen, Jenny—Anecdotes. 2. Actors—United States—Anecdotes. I. Title.
PN2287 .M655A3 2014
792.02'8092—dc23
2014008150
eISBN 9781466838581
First Edition: June 2014