Wow, It’s Finally Happening.

This Thursday on ABC, 8:30/7:30c, watch Samantha Who?, episode: “THE DOG,” because I wrote it, which means it’s the only time my name’s in the credits at the front of the episode — the only time my family feels confident in telling people I write on the show. (“Well, otherwise your name goes so fast at the end, and they don’t see it, and I look like a liar!”)

And now you can point at my name and shout, “That’s my friend!” Or some of you will go, “I used to know this girl!” And maybe some of you will be all, “Man, I really should call her instead of just reading about her. I miss her.” And then some of you will be like, “I know this girl! Well, I mean, I kind of know her. I read her journal. Blog. I used to read it when it was a journal, and it was way funnier back then, and she talked about her life and stuff, but now she kind of doesn’t really do that, I guess because she’s too good for blogging or whatever, and if I’m being honest, I’m just not into blogs like I used to be, once I got the promotion and the baby was born, it’s just like–” and then the other person on the couch will say, “Are you done? Because now I have to rewind and watch this entire scene again so I can find out what happened.”

I remember I was writing various drafts of the outline for this episode through September of last year, in like, seriously a variety of cities and forms of transportation, including I think maybe even at one point on a boat. Then finished the first draft of the script the same afternoon I had company from all over the country arriving for the Baby Doll Brawl, which was that weekend (I just saw that picture of me taking a picture of my bruises and even I winced. No wonder people kept trying to talk me out of it back then. These days I don’t look nearly that beat-up, I promise. I don’t fall nearly as much as I used to.) Obama got elected during the bajillion rewrites. We shot it in… December, I think? I don’t remember; by then I was kind of melting down. It feels like I worked on this episode for about four months straight a million years ago, and now here it finally is. Like a weird little time capsule packed with memories.

Watch it, buy it, stream it… whatever makes you happy. And thanks. I never forget that I wouldn’t have this job if it weren’t for this site right here, back when blogs were journals, when I got lucky enough to find you.


punch-up: a process where we individually go through the writer’s first draft and offer up suggestions for jokes, story structure, and/or cuts. Then we get into one room and offer up all of our suggestions at the same time until the writer is convinced he or she should never write anything ever again while simultaneously just as sure that we are all a bunch of hacks who have no business telling him or her what’s funnier than what they wrote.

The process repeats with each subsequent draft. I find it easier to do punch-ups on later drafts. The first one I’m thinking of the writer, and how nervous he or she must be. So I’m always like, "Yay! It’s really funny!" and silently: "Oh, you didn’t use that joke I pitched a couple of weeks ago. You hate me." And, even more silently: "Yay! You used that joke I pitched a couple of weeks ago! You like me!"

First draft attachment. I have it. To be honest, I have lots of attachments. I am not the best at letting go. So when we move on and get to later drafts, I’m usually the one thinking, "I liked the joke we had six jokes ago."

Back to punching up. (But page 16: he used a joke I pitched a couple of weeks ago!)


We moved into our new offices for Season Two on Monday morning. It’s been five days now, and I still keep getting lost. So much so that Correne made the kind gesture to make this sign just for me, so I can find my essentials.

Monday and Tuesday I gave myself excuses. I figured I kept getting turned around because I was distracted, or used to the old offices. In fact, both mornings I walked to our old offices until I remembered. But I’m not the only one who walks into a hallway, only to turn a full circle and stare, wondering which direction is which.

At least five times this week I walked into the kitchen when I meant to walk into the bathroom. And speaking of the bathroom — where the towels should be is a tampon dispenser. I can’t even tell you how many times this week I went to dry my hands only to have to turn in a circle. The towels are by the stalls. The tampons are by the sink. I know I have a lousy sense of direction, but this place makes no sense.

My new office is the opposite of the old one. I’m now tucked away in a corner, so easily hidden that two days ago during lunch I overheard my coworkers discussing me until it got suddenly silent, as one must have started wildly gesturing towards my door.

So, I keep spinning in the hallway, trying to figure out which direction I meant to be headed. I’ll get it eventually, but with virtually no break between season one and season two, and yet everything changing in the meantime, it’ll take a few days to get adjusted. I really like my new office, and will just have to get used to the fact that I have to be aware when lunch is over and we’re back to work, instead of hearing everyone chatting around the table.

Like… oh, I think right now. Gotta go.

At least I know where to find the coffee.

post mortem

Friday was our last day of the second season (Season Three, coming to you at the top of next year). Many of us lingered around the office, sitting near our boxes of things, as nobody knows who will be back or when that would be. “We should be skipping out of here,” Irwin said. “And yet.”

And yet.

“I guess combat really does bond people,” he said.

“This is why soldiers re-enlist.” Continue reading

The Room

The Writers Room is empty.

I’m used to this certain sound when I sneak back here to check my cell phone or see if someone emailed — this sound of laughter bouncing down the hallway from the other end of the building, calling me back, letting me know that I just missed out on something funny. That sound isn’t going to happen again, and I hate that. Continue reading