Playing It Cool Page #2

is going to involve online shopping

and eating my feelings.

Online shopping...

I would have taken you for a porn guy.

No, I'm off porn. It objectifies women.

Oh, so that's a bad thing now?

No, no, I'm not against women

being objectified, per se.

I guess I'm just sick of men

not being objectified.

Oh, I'm sick of women not being judged

by how much money we make.

I mean, if I spend an hour

and change getting ready,

I want to be ogled.

I'm pretty much begging for it.

Exactly, and I'm tired of being wanted

for my body, but not my pocket book.

We're drinking $300 wine here.

My money is no good?

Oh, God, this girl's dangerous.

Do you want to do a social experiment?

Nice ass. You work out?

Is that dress a Valentino?

You know what this suit's made out of?

Boyfriend material.

That suit looks good on you,

but I bet it would look even better

balled up in a corner of a hotel room.

Well, I'd love to travel more,

but I have crushing student debt.

God, sorry... I'm sorry.

Oh, God, look at this guy, so stuffy.

Do the... the blow job,

the tongue-in-the-cheek thing.

No, he's my boyfriend.

- Hi, honey.

- Darling, there you are.

I have no idea what Stuffy said,

because I went temporarily deaf.

Where'd you go, homey?

I was looking for you.

You don't look too good.

Oh, did you have the crab?

Yeah, I had the crab.

It's probably why I was on

the shitter for so long.

Okay, that sucked.

Shake it off.

Time to randomly text some chicks.

Hey. I'm so glad you called.

I didn't.

I found that love is like a leak in a boat.

It starts slow, with a drip,

and if you don't plug it,

it gets worse until you drown.

And to fix it,

you should really find an expert.

I want to tell him, "No, Mr. Policeman,

this is not a thumbs-up moment."

But yeah, it is.

We all have different patches

for the leak, and mine is sex.

Which is about to erase all the traces

of that girl from the charity event

right out of my brain.

Wait.

Stop. Stop. Stop. I'm sorry.

What the hell?

Good question.

Question for you,

there was a girl here...

she had brown hair,

just a great, great, girl height.

Perfect smile, red dress,

kind of a whole happy thing going on.

- Ringing any bells?

- No. Sorry.

Sh*t.

Hey!

What the hell were you doing?

Listen, Erin, you're amazing,

but is there somewhere I could drop you?

She would go on to say

her name was Regan.

At least I think it was.

Wow, I'm not good with names.

Teresa, she could be a Teresa.

Jenn with two N's, no, never.

Mary, too plain.

Shantiqua, highly unlikely.

Chastity, f***, I hope not.

If there's one thing

you should know about writers

is that we don't suffer alone very well.

It's why we write.

It's why we form little groups.

This is mine in action.

Lyle, single, harmless deviant.

The proud writer of the first 20 pages

of 16 screenplays and 12 novels.

He needs a shower.

Samson, married, graphic novelist,

poems, short stories...

kind of too old to be hanging out

with us but we don't give a sh*t.

Mallory, she writes and performs

intensely personal one-woman shows

she drags the rest of us to.

We f*** sometimes... for research.

Scott, you met him.

Why do you need to know her name?

I guess...

I kind of wanted to say

her name out loud.

Oh, stop, it's a passing infatuation,

that's allowed.

Gee, I wish some guy thought about

saying my name out loud.

You mean like while he's playing

with his dangly bits?

- Yes.

- Who says there are no more romantics?

No, I actually think the whole idea of love

is kind of unrealistic and outdated.

- That's touching.

- Well, make sure that goes in your RomCom.

- You know how I kill infatuation?

- With a gun?

When I meet a hot girl,

I'll just look for one flaw

whether she's pigeon-toed

or knock-kneed or just not very polite.

I focus on that one flaw,

until I'm not attracted anymore.

You know? Works perfectly.

How do you think I don't cheat on my wife?

- I thought you did.

- No wonder your marriage is so happy.

Don't talk to me about happiness, okay?

Because... thanks...

- happiness and marriage don't co-exist.

- Bullshit.

There's a reason that Romeo killed himself.

Suicide was the best option for this guy.

- Why?

- No. Romeo set the standard for love.

No, Shakespeare didn't know anything

about love. The guy was a sexual deviant.

He couldn't keep his hands off of himself.

That's why his name was Shakespeare.

It's true. Hardy, Dickens, Longfellow,

all sex-starved pen names.

- E.E. Cummings.

- Updike.

- Margaret Ate-wood.

- Dean Kuuntz.

- Atwood and Koontz.

- Balzac.

Yeah, I see your point. Whiny teens

killing themselves isn't love.

Love is what keeps f***ing you

long after the sex has dried up.

Stop! You guys are terrible!

Love is a real thing.

I was watching this Korean

soap opera last night...

- Stop watching that sh*t.

- No, no, no, you guys are hearing this.

It was an episode of When the Pear

Tree Blossoms, It Also Weeps.

So, basically there's this girl,

Hana and this guy, Da e-jung.

And they've been reunited

after years of separation.

They're like crazy in love.

I mean, it's all tea pouring

and furtive glances, but you can tell

they're like two seconds away

from just ripping each others' kimonos off

and getting seriously freaky.

Oh, God, remember how I told you

how I put myself in other people's stories?

Well...

And why is she here?

But now they're finally back together.

And she realizes

she has to tell him her secret.

She'd been born a man!

So she had to get this operation

to be what she always knew

she was in her heart...

A woman. This is the part

that literally blew my mind.

Instead of rejecting her,

he matches her confession.

He had biologically been a woman

but had science give him

what he always felt he should have...

you know, dude parts.

And they just...

touch hands.

That's love.

F***.

Love will always find a way.

Now that's...

- Excuse me.

- Oh, sorry.

Scott could be right...

but then Scott will also say

that there's someone for everyone.

And as much as you may

think that's right,

you can always find that one person that's

so unusual to the natural order of things,

you think that can't be true.

But then, you're wrong again.

Then everywhere you look, it's like

googling awkward engagement photos.

And you realize

you're wrong a third time.

You're that one person,

you're the exception.

There's someone for everyone...

everyone except you.

Is something on your mind?

Oh... it's nothing. It's...

Whenever you say it's nothing,

it is never nothing!

Can we talk about something else?

Well, yeah, sure. I'm gonna have another

prostate exam tomorrow morning.

- Jesus!

- Would you rather talk about that?

No. It's a girl. It's... nothing.

If you're thinking about her, but you can't

figure out how to talk about her,

- it is not nothing!

- I met her at some random fundraiser.

I have no idea how to find her,

so, nothing.

Boy, I didn't know

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