A Nod to My Agent

I love that my agent has a baby close to Sophie's age. Susan gets what it's like to balance kissing butt with wiping butt. I love that she wanted to sign me at one point and but I declined, instead going with another agent (who spent a year telling us about his wife, his sick mother and his many illnesses - so many so that his sneezing, combined with the fact that he looked like the agent form of Doogie Houser, caused me to nick name him the Dr. Bubble Boy). I love her even more that when I called her mid-staffing season in a panic, eloquently blubbering into her machine, "I know you might tell me to fuck off, but will you reconsider signing me!!?" she did so without hesitation. I love that she hasn't made a fortune off of me in the past two years, but she's not dumping me either. I love that she's a Beverly Hills woman but accepted a pair of XL Valley K-mart maternity pants from me, even telling me she used them (Liar!) I love that she called me last week to say she's circulating one of my pilots to networks. She believes in Herb and me, and with the rejections in this business, that's HUGE. But the thing I love, and laughed about the most, is when she called me last week mid dish wipe, Sophie on my hip, Nick screaming for more "Thomas the Train". Usually a call from my agent results in a meeting or a positive nod about work. But during this particular call, she informed me that, no, she did not have any work for me. She does, however, love my blog.