Between the time you become a Big Deal Hollywood Screenwriter and the time Anyone Who Matters figures that out, it's never fun to start the day off discovering a guy you could have married in the early nineties grilling shrimp with Star Jones-Reynolds and Melania Trump on The View. 
You picture yourself off camera, prompting your Big Deal Cookbook Author Slash Husband to smile bigger while holding up the new book he's lovingly dedicated "To Julie, My Food Muse, My Kitchen Accomplice, My Morning Love Muffin and Midnight Snack Cracker With Cheese."
During a commercial break, you imagine both Star and Melania inviting you to their dueling Hamptons mansions for the weekend, getting a tad bitchy with each other while pitching the assorted guest amenities they'd each offer in exchange for round-the-clock access to your husband's Skewered Ginger Chicken Wings. It turns outs that nobody eats at these things, but you have to keep plenty of meat grilling so The Donald has something to smell, and the servants have something to take home after -- or else they'll steal you blind. It's Star who lays all this out like a former New York City prosecutor who done good but married gay; while Melania stands by dabbing her lips with a greasy basting brush she mistakes for a new brand of lip gloss.
Unfortunately, the aforementioned Frontline Foodie you met in passing at some Miami party never actually asked you out back in the day -- but then you never showed any interest, did you? Short guys with big jobs didn't blow your skirt up at the time, since your youthful ideals promised tall ones with fat inheritances and insatiable fetishes for girls with ever widening asses. You were a Successful Travel Writer yourself, after all, before making the mystifying choice to go to film school so you could become a Failed Screenwriter. Come what may, you had your own stories to tell, you informed your Self-Important Publisher Crowd -- epic stories, destined for screens big and small. Off you took for points West and a Big Hollywood Future brimming with brushes with greatness, culinary and otherwise.Your Big TV Grillmeister is no longer between marriages, you notice by way of the ring on his finger. Some other girl is buttering the old baguette on the sidelines, mouthing a reminder that Melania won't eat the shrimp sample and Star won't eat at all until she's lost the rest of the weight.
All this on live TV -- somebody else's life, anyway -- while you're still sitting in yesterday's nightie with a pair of flatulent Wiener Dogs licking the scattered crumbs from your morning bagel in bed.
Later today, and maybe again tomorrow if your pocket change holds, you'll settle for The Weasely Guy In A Turban behind the counter at 7-11 slipping you the eye while he tops off your Slurpee, no extra charge.
Humility bites here in Hollywood, and most days you're in for a nice big one. Just one more thing they won't ever tell you in film school.
