Are you interested in giving your life over to me, 24/7, without any hope of financial gain???

 If so, please email me posthaste!! I can provide you with a room of your own, a tiny 25-year-old TV but, hey! It's COLOR, and it's hooked up to the satellite! And there's a complete chest of drawers -- all yours; just be careful how you touch it b/c sometimes the drawers fall to pieces; the glue having given out a long time ago. And you'll get a closet all to yourself except that I store valuable dishes on the shelf in there -- Wedgewood and now Lennox. The slight downside to this? I will constantly regale you with the story of Gus Van Sant and how I got some of those valuable dishes until you fall over and die. And I will neurotically beseech you at all times to be careful with the valuable dishes that are in this closet that will ostensibly be all yours just so long as you don't actually make use of it. (No, I don't use the dishes; they are only for admiring...) Plus -- you gotta like cats. Lots of them. The other good news is that the bathroom, which for all intents & purposes is a complete disaster (but clean, if you only look at certain parts of it), is right next to your free room!!

Good lord, am I busy. In exchange for all this free hospitality, all you'd have to do is stay on top of absolutely everything that I'm trying to stay on top of while I'm stuck doing all this endless editing. You know, periodically go over all the little sticky notes stuck on the wall in front of my face and see if any of them have been dealt with yet; and in the unlikely event that any of them have, remove the little fucker from the wall! Then go over all my notes for the many story projects that are in the works and organize them for me -- type them up and file them; wow, that would be so cool! My story notes are scribbled, in no discernible order, over every imaginable scrap of paper that lands in my field of vision when an idea pops into my head. I'm sure you will have no trouble organizing all this, and also noting the sudden important phone numbers that are unexpectedly wedged somewhere in the middle of all those scribblings of story notes and then make sure they are entered into my address book. (Yes, the little brown leather book that's bulging with scraps of phone numbers belonging to people that I haven't seen or done business with in years. You know, quite a few of the people listed in my address book are actually dead. But don't delete them!! I like to come across their names every once in a blue moon and take a moment to remember them fondly...)

Probably the best part of your job will be sitting & working directly next to me at the tiniest desk known to man. But I love my desk. I am incapable of parting with it b/c it was a wedding gift to me from my first husband, 30 years ago. This desk used to be in front of a big window that looked out over 8th Avenue and the corner of W. 45th Street in New York City, back when the block was lined with male strip joints and hustler bars. It was a spectacular view!! Gorgeous young guys coming & going at the oddest hours. (My first husband and I lived in the idyllic Camelot Building -- does that tell you anything?? If it does, it's completely erroneous.)

The desk also looked out onto E. 12th Street in the East Village when the East Village was a really sucky place to live -- one of those last resort places b/c it was all that was left in Manhattan that you could afford and you refused to become a "BBQ" (Brooklyn, Bronx, or Queens resident). The desk also looked out for many gorgeous years onto West End Avenue on Manhattan's pricey Upper West Side. (Now it looks upon a wall full of sticky notes!)

The tiny desk saw electric typewriters, word processors, an enormous desktop computer, then a succession of laptops... plus, that first husband died a long time ago.  For some reason, I can't part with this ridiculously small desk. It's solid pine, though, and it was hand made by some Greek guy on 8th Avenue. He's probably dead now, too. I am, by default, honoring his memory and his craft.

Also, I  should note that this is in no way a BDSM arrangement. I am not looking for a slave. Just looking for an assistant who burns to assist. I can help you achieve that lofty goal!! I really can!! (Oh, plus you have to help me with my French, so if you're also a French tutor, that would be a plus.) Oh and if you know how to format screenplays, or are really well-versed in Final Draft Version 8 and you feel like putting the English revisions of the French screenplay into some reasonably formatted format, that job can be yours, too!! Just ask and I'll scoot over!!

And also, it would make me feel good if you could try to look like this:



Okay! Ciao, amigos!! Thanks for visiting!! I am so fucking late...