Y'know what I like to do when I can't sleep? Google myself. It's the quickest act of ego-onanism that the Internet allows.
My longtime readers are familiar with the Slackmistress-or-Diablo? phenomenon. Diablo herself even commented on the vlog. And what I thought first was a joke became very real when even her stalker made a beeline for me at the NBC picket location. I made the joke that I wanted my own stalker, so I could be stabbed on my own merits, thank you.
Cut to last night: during my google search, I find my name listed in The Pussy Ranch's comments section.
A reader of hers saw me at the Hollywood Rally and tried to get a good picture. (Warning: picture is of my ass. Clothed, thankfully.) It's like personal faux paparazzi!*
*I should note that I am thankful that no one pointed out the obvious you're-30-pounds-heavier and the polar opposite writing career trajectory, and that I'm beyond flattered by the comparison.
