That’s why, effective immediately, I’m crafting the FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions) for the site. Today, I’ve decided to post some of the questions I’ve received and start by answering them after the break. Just click on in there and you’ll get a chance to learn the answers to some of WFME’s most asked questions.

Remember, if you don’t like the answers or you’re unhappy I’ve printed your questions, your only options are to ignore me completely or file a FAQ-attack through the appropriate factions (www.faqattack.com). Otherwise, just sit back and learn the answers to potentially some of the questions you’ve had but were afraid to ask about.

Q: What do you have against Abercrombie & Fitch?

A: When I was still in college I had this huge crush on a sorority girl. When I first met her I was wearing an A&F pair of acid-washed faux-ripped jeans and a tight A&F pre-crumpled/wrinkled muscle T. That night, I hooked up with said sorority girl and it was an awesome experience only made better by her providing me her phone number. I called and arranged a date and when I picked her up for said date I noticed a look of disappointment in her eyes. After that date, she never returned my calls. Later, a friend of hers admitted the reason for her avoiding me. Seems on our second date I wore a pair of GAP jeans and a button down shirt from Banana Republic. I wasn’t the A&F guy she thought I was, and lost interest immediately.

Q: What does your name stand for?

A: Surprisingly, although most people think I was named after the Pauls in the Bible, I was not. My name actually has much more significant meaning to it as I will lay out here. First of all, Paul comes from “Apollo (or Apaullo) Creed” — the character from Rocky (which won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1971…the year of my birth). Since my parents loved that movie and really enjoyed the character of Apollo Creed (who was cocky but then realized the error of his ways when Rocky bested him in the ring) — they gave me my first name after Apollo (which sounds like A-Paul-o). Also, years later, my parents would give me (for a birthday) a descriptive meaning for my name. Breaking it down as follows: P is for Persistence. A is for audacity. U is for Unwavering. And L is for the Achille Lauro — a passenger liner most remembered for being hijacked in 1985 — the year I hijacked my parents and made them take me to see Back to the Future.

Q: Would you ever consider selling the domain name for your site for $10,000?

A: No. I have had many people ask if they could buy this domain name, yet none of them ever happen to be a Paul Davidson. They’re mostly companies selling propecia or other hair-growth drugs. I have also had big-head companies who sell big hats and what not for big-headed people ask to buy my domain since I am apparently the one-stop psychological site for big headed folks. I will say this now and never again — I will not accept anything less than $50,000 for my domain name.

Q: What’s black and blue and red all over?

A: For those under 12, a newspaper. For those over 12 and younger than 18 — a dead skunk in the middle of the road. For those over 18, a baby in a blender. For those over 30, an aborted baby in a blender. For those 40 – 50, a newspaper.

Q: What happened to your whole posting every single day thing?

A: When I stopped getting paid per post, I decided it was a waste of my time to post every single day.

Q: Who paid you for each post?

A: AOL.

Q: AOL paid you to post? Isn’t this a personal blog?

A: No.

Q: Why not? Can you explain more?

A: You might get mad.

Q: Please?

A: Okay. Here’s the thing. From the years 2003-2005, it was a personal blog. But when I sold my book to Warner Books (a division of Time Warner/AOL), the multi-conglomerate agreed that the site was a good tool for selling books. They wanted me to keep fresh posts each day. So, we struck a deal. They would pay me $50 a day for one post a day, thus — $250 a week. That came out to be quite a bit over the year, plus they paid me $100 for each post that mentioned the words “warner”, “bread bowl” or “anesthesia.” Apparently, Time Warner/AOL owns the rights to bread bowls and some anesthesia-based products. Anyway, after the book did its thing (around mid to late 2007), the payment went away. I’m currently in talks with another major company (cough, Paramount/Viacom/MTV), who we’re negotiating with to start a new payment scenario back up. As long as I write at least 4 posts a week about The Hills and/or Lauren Conrad / Spencer Pratt…and one post a week for whatever I want…I may be getting paid about $75 a post. So, more on that as it develops.

Q: Have you ever wished you were a fictitious animal, and if so what kind?

A: Unicorn and/or Centaur.

Q: Do you really eat things out of the garbage and off the floor?

A: Yes. Mostly cookies, leftover cereal and other sugary treats. Every once in awhile I’ll eat a half eaten chicken drumstick out of the trash. Usually, running any of the above items under hot water will get rid of the germs.

Q: Have you ever dated/been linked to dating certain celebrities?

A: I am continually linked to Sarah Michelle Gellar and Mr. T. I once had a “moment” with Dina Meyer and stood next to Sally Field at a bar (at a party) where she seemed overly concerned about having to leave a tip at an open bar. I once dreamed that I went out on a date with Punky Brewster’s Soliel Moon Frye.

Q: Do you have any new books in the works?

A: I have three books all in different states of development. Two are humor books (A Brief History of My Shoulder and Goldilocks Say WHAT?) and one period drama novel set in the late 1700′s around the time of our country’s independence called The Boston Flea Party: 10 Stories About Insects in the Days of Independence. While I’m always excited about the humor books, the third project has already been sold to an unnamed publisher (and is copyrighted in case you’re thinking of stealing the idea) and has ten chapters that are each dedicated to what different insect families were doing during the times of our struggle against the British for independence. My favorite I’ve written so far is Chapter 6, which is all about termites in 1776. Would you believe our founding fathers had to use a different table on which to sign the Declaration of Independence since the other one Alexander Hamilton chose was wobbly from termite infestation? Pretty wild and interesting stuff.

Q: Do you have any moles?

A: Lots of them. One, in particular, looks like a dog wearing a top hat, standing atop the Eiffel Tower.

Surprisingly, if you scan through the RSS Feed for the comments on WFME (located at the bottom of the sidebar) you’ll see a slew of comments that come in on a daily basis related to big heads, A&F, long toes, swallowing pills, eating crackers, and yes — even obessions with Kristy McNichol. I don’t judge people for their interests or concerns, and I’m glad that WFME provides a forum for people to discuss such concerns. Even when it’s about Sarah Michelle Gellar and the argument about whether or not she smokes cigarettes.

Fortunately for those people, my recent run-in with Freddie Prinze, Jr. will once and for all close the book on the debate.

You may or may not have ever read the saga that involved me and my old friend Freddie Prinze, Jr.. It started as a creative collaberation, then crumbled into a million pieces when he wouldn’t just SAY that we were best friends. Yes, just two words for a guy looking for something with meaning in a city so cold, it’s surprising the palm trees still survive. When that relationship failed, you can imagine how cold his wife Sarah Michelle Gellar became.

Weeks later, Sarah Michelle Gellar gloated on my answering machine and then snubbed me at a local sushi place…while smoking.

It was soon thereafter, that e-mails started to come into the WFME coffers, asking me to confirm or deny the truth that Gellar was smoking. Apparently, it’s an ultra-serious issue with her fans, and boards have been dedicated to finding out just if she IS smoking but lies about it or if she really is telling the truth and not smoking.

“I read your posts about the feud with Freddie Prinze’s wife Sarah Michelle Gellar with great facination. I was curious whether she smoked cigarettes when she was around you and Freddie? She seems to be overly protective about her public image and would never admit to being a smoker in public. So very curious whether some of the Internet stories about what she really does in provate might have some credence to it.”

“I just wanted to follow up with you from some earlier email conversations we had about Sarah Michelle Gellar. I just heard from a guy who does security detail for Sarah and he told me she chain smokes Marlboro Lights in private and goes out of her way to say she doesn’t smoke in interviews and magazine articles to prop up her image as someone who is clean and healthy. I also heard from another journalist in LA who said SMG smoked on several occasions over the past year when she met her at a couple of private parties. You were right — SMG is a bit of a hypocrite and I just don’t understand why people cover up up for Sarah and others like her.”

“SMG smoking is definitely a big issue to her fans and has been for years. Her die hard fans don’t believe she smokes because she always goes out of her way in interviews to say she doesn’t. So anytime someone claims they saw her smoke, they gang up on the person who makes that claim saying that it is a fabrication. It’s interesting too because I recently heard from a journalist who claims that Sarah has been smoking since 1998 and I also heard from someone in SMG’s security detail and they both said that Sarah chain smokes away from public view. It’s amazing though that in places like the Opium Den where you saw her or Kabuki where the guy who writes for TVGASM saw her that no one has ever caught her on camera or on video. Even this last weekend she was reportedly on the smoking patio at Dominick’s in Hollywood. It’s probably going to take someone catching her on camera for her die hard fans to believe she is a smoker.”

“If she’s been lying about smoking… If she’s been going out there and smoking and then telling the press she doesn’t smoke… If she’s making the conscious decision to smoke, then lie, then smoke some more, then lie again to her fans and the press… Well, I’m just not having it.”

“Can you possibly provide me with the phone number or current location of Sarah Michelle Gellar so I may find out for myself once and for all if she’s been smoking behind our backs? I would only just ask her that one question, I wouldn’t keep bothering her after that, FYI.”

Indeed.

Well, about a week ago I was at a restaurant in Studio City, when I noticed a particular ex-best friend walk into the restaurant with a buddy. Low and behold, it was my ex-cohort in creative crimes, Freddie Prinze, Jr.. At that point, I was unsure if I should even talk to him, since I’d tried so hard to mend the friendship in previous years without any success. But my friend who was with me suggested that maybe enough time had passed and he might be open to re-establishing ties.

So I approached him.

And would you believe that the guy looked at me and didn’t even recognize me? I mean, I’m standing there, saying nothing, and he’s all looking at me like I’m the waiter or something. Even as I stood there, emotionally assessing the situation, I felt the frustration wash over me from the previous years issues with him. But I pressed on.

Me: “It’s Paul Davidson. Remember?”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: Hm. I know you…from where?”
Me: “Um, we were developing a show together. The Boyz of Gurlock. You don’t remember?”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “The Boyz of Gurlock?”
Me: “Bachelor party that went awry. All the guys turn into zombies. You’re kidding, right?”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “Ohhhhhh. Wow, you look different.”
Me: “Well, it’s been almost three years.”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “Yeah, cool. Well, good to see you.”

And then he turned back to his friend and started talking to him. Leaving me standing there. So, I did what anyone with a blog and an awareness of the Sarah Michelle Gellar smoking debate would do.

Me: “So, I saw your wife is smoking again.”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: Excuse me?”
Me: “Sarah. Your wife. She’s been out smoking again, hasn’t she?”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “Sarah doesn’t smoke.”
Me: “But I’ve seen her. Smoking.”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “This thing just doesn’t die, huh? Why do people care if she’s smoking or not anyway? It’s her business. Her life.”
Me: “Well, I guess people feel like they know her, and just look out for her well being.”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “Well for your information, she doesn’t smoke. If you see her with a cigarette, it’s not a real one — it’s one of those help you quit smoking fake cigarette things. It helps her when she’s out and other people are smoking to keep from doing it herself.”
Me: “Oh, really? They make those kind of things?”
Freddie Prinze, Jr.: “Yes. Yes they do. So, now you can sleep better knowing the truth.”

Attitude aside, I rejoined my friend with two very important pieces of information. One, that the FPJ & Pauly D boat had sailed. That no matter what came next, the two of us would never be friends again. And two, that Sarah Michelle Gellar does not smoke at all. And if you see her smoking, it’s not really smoking, because it’s one of those fake smoking-aid things.

Yes. The debate can now finally be resolved.

A slew of star sightings are this weekend’s talk of the town, confirming yet again that celebrities are just like you and me.

Take for example Leonardio DiCaprio seen putting a dollar coin into a parking meter and jamming the darn thing up, then throwing his hands up in frustration when he realized he’d probably end up getting a parking ticket. Or what about Katie Holmes, seen this weekend in Beverly Hills shopping with Victoria Beckham…at a local Crate & Barrel store where one was overheard saying to the other, “Do you think they’re having a sale?”

Or what about that celebrity sighting of Paris Hilton, seen eating an ice cream cone from the bottom up (biting the bottom then sucking ice cream through the funnel) after taking a penny from a local Ben & Jerry’s tip dish, just to cover her ice cream purchase? And what about Charlie Sheen, seen moving his car so that the meter maid’s chalk mark on his tire wouldn’t be seen the next time they came around the block?

There’s been a slew of other sightings this past week of celebs doing things just like you and me. Katherine Heigl from Grey’s Anatomy was seen hitting her brakes to keep a tailgater from driving too close. Sally Field was seen squeezing squashes at a local outdoor farmer’s market. Neil Patrick Harris of TV’s How I Met Your Mother was spotted at a local Hollywood gym staying on the elliptical machine for over 30 minutes (which was the posted limit of time one could stay on the fitness machines), then resetting the clock so no one would know he’d been on for like fifty minutes. Or what about WFME’s favorite Sarah Michelle Gellar spotted out and about smoking a pack of cigarettes, and addicted to the darn things just like you and me!?

And across the coast, in Gotham, SNL‘s Andy Samberg was spotted with mustard on the corner of his mouth, Alec Baldwin was seen adjusting his shoe, Jack Nicholson was overheard complaining about an uncooked doughnut, and let’s not forget reports about Jim Belushi buying stamps from an ATM! Just like you. And just like me.

It’s nice to know that celebrities are real people.

Isn’t it?

It’s true.

I mean, why would I lie about being so afraid of the horror-film The Ring that I cannot even make it past the very first scene where they open that closet door and find that girl in there with her face all melty and weird. There’s no reason for me to lie about trying to watch it at 3pm in the afternoon and still having to turn the damn thing off.

And it’s not just The Ring. I am a horror-movie wuss.

If I could only count the horror movies that freaked me out on one hand, I would be a happy soul. But alas, the list begins with Poltergeist and continues all the way to that freaky Sarah Michelle Gellar movie where some hand comes out of some guys head while they’re in the elevator.

Don’t ask me what movie it is or what it’s called — all I know is that as soon as I saw the hand coming out of someone’s head I had to turn the channel, close the laptop or turn away from the movie poster.

It’s that bad.

Don’t ask me to watch The Exorcist or The Shining or Nightmare on Elm Street or The Exorcism of Emily Rose or The Amityville Horror or Carrie or I Know What You Did Last Summer or Saw or The Blair Witch Project any other movie that involves melting faces, sharpened blades, Rube Goldberg-esque killing machines, guys in masks, women in peril or forests.

Forests are the worst. Honestly. That old adage, “does a tree make a sound in the forest if it falls and no one is there to hear it?” has a specific answer that I can give you:

“Don’t ask me, cause I’d never be caught dead in a forest alone.”

But there are also scares in movies that have nothing to do with the horror-element. They are elements that scare me for other reasons that are both insane, ludicrous and you’ll probably agree…100% legitimate.

Take The Fly — a movie that is more creepy than scary. But what makes it a movie that I am unable to watch is the fact that Jeff Goldblum grows these huge coarse hairs on his back (that’s the first thing) and that he pulls off his fingernails! Ack! He pulls off his fingernails, people. Every time I meet someone who has slammed their hand in a car door and they’ve got that black fingernail thing going on I can’t even look at them because all I think about is the damn Fly and how sooner or later they’re gonna have to pull off that dead fingernail like Jeff Goldblum and I won’t be surprised if it has that icky, sticky liquid thing accompanying the nail-pull scenario.

Or perhaps take Super Mario Bros. — one of the worst video game movie adaptations to ever be made. The movie itself is a silly little romp but I cannot watch it because all I think about are the Producers whose lives were ruined as a result. Somewhere, some guy is sitting in a room surrounded by Super Mario Bros. posters and promotional materials to this day and his whole career has been ruined by one single idea. That, of course, freaks me out. For what if the same “death by one-idea” scenario comes my way. I don’t need to be thinking about this!

And what about Stand By Me? Sure, it’s more a coming of age story, but for a guy like me who has had food poisoning more than once and is deathly afraid of getting it again — what do you think that pie-eating, throwing-up sequence does to me? I. Cannot. Watch. It. Without. Gagging. I literally have to skip over the entire sequence or not watch the movie at all. (Sorry WW.)

The list of fears related to non-horror movies has grown long and even more ridiculous over the years. From not being able to watch Something’s Gotta Give because I can’t look at Diane Keaton’s wrinkly face, to refusing to watch Napoleon Dynamite for fear of it continuing to not live up to the almost-unexplainable hype, to not going near How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days for fear of continuing to like it waaaay to much, to avoiding Rounders so that online poker obsession does not continue to grow like a fungus that cannot be killed, to staying away from Big Night strictly so I don’t get hungry and then can’t cook anything that remotely resembles the food in that flick, to One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (big mute Indians), The Money Pit (home improvement going wrong), Prefontaine (running, in general) and Pulp Fiction (being trapped in a box) — they list goes on and on and on and on.

The moments of real life (and how it relates to us as individuals) are sometimes more scary than the terror-filled moments of traditional horror flicks.

So what’s a guy to do? Stop watching movies altogether for fear of seeing something that scares him? Turn off the TVs and the radio and not go out into public? Plug up ones’ ears so the sounds won’t get in?

No, no, no, no no and no. (I added a ‘no’ for effect, FYI.)

We must stand strong against such not-so-scary, scary movies. We must realize that although certain subjects make us think of our own lives and then turn into obsessive-compulsive fears that have no merit in the real (non-fantasy) world — that in the end, Diane Keaton’s face or big huge mute Indians aren’t nearly as scary as one very poignant thing:

Melty faces.

Just admit it. It’s okay.

Melty faces freak the living crap out of you.

Normally, you would have thought that the first trilogy of drama would have ended there. But my “good-friends” decided to keep hammering away at me. There was Sarah Michelle’s eerie phone message and Freddie Prinze, Jr.’s emasculating phone call/request. But then, it got quiet.

The drama ended. I was able to forget about it all. That is, until this morning when good WFME friend MJ vocalized one of his dream-team Celebrity Poker tables that, yes, would include the following players:

Me
Freddie Prinze, Jr.
Sarah Michelle Gellar
Misty May
Kerri Walsh

Just seeing my name sitting next to you-know-who (and I’m not talking about the volleyball ladies) made me choke on my coffee. What I had worked weeks to remove from my memory came flooding back like that really big wave in that movie about the huge tidal wave flooding New York City.

Nonetheless, I crawled back into my bed, pulled the covers over my head and cried uncontrollably.

Thanks, MJ.

The call came last night, out of the blue, without warning.

Me: Hello?

FPJ: Hey, Paul.

The voice, of course, was unmistakable. My once friend, then best-friend (although he didn’t want to be my best friend), then no-longer my friend thanks to his wife SMG, was on the phone.

Me: Freddie, is that you?

FPJ: It’s me, Paul. It’s me.

SMG: And me, too, Paul.

Startling, at first — a second voice was on the line as well. A surprise conference call, with FPJ and his lifelong SMG. The SMG who I had always believed had hated me.

Me: Guys, I’m- I- I’m not sure what to s-say. I mean, why are you- To what do I owe the-?

DF: I’m here, too – Paul.

Oh, boy. My heart obviously skipped a beat as I realized that David Faustino, whom I had been working with before FPJ and SMG had sabotaged that was on the phone as well!

Me: A three way call! This is insane! You guys are so crazy!!

Now I was laughing this crazy giddy laugh because I couldn’t quite believe it. In Hollywood, people who write you off very often never come back to erase having written you off with the big ‘ol eraser of death. But here, at this moment, while I was sitting in my sweat pants eating ice cream and watching Veronica Mars, I couldn’t stop from shaking. I was on the phone in a four-way call with Freddie Prinze, Jr., Sarah Michelle Gellar and David Faustino! Why were they calling?

And then, out of nowhere, the three of them started singing.

Hello, hello, dear Paul!
We’re here, that’s right, us all!
To tell you that we were wrong,
that’s why we wrote this song!

FPJ: I never meant to hurt, dude,
the way I acted was plainly rude,
I probably should have never chosen that end,
but I sure am sorry, and I’ll be your best friend!

SMG: Throwing wasabe, it’s not right nice,
but I’d been stressed, my career was sliced,
but now that I’ve got a movie coming out,
I think you’re nice, that’s what I’ll tout!

DF: And me, Pauly D, it was just peer pressure,
I always thought the two of us did mesh-ure,
and that talking alien stuff was gold,
so let’s get back to it before we get old!

We were wrong and you were right,
your blog did show us up, our fight,
was silly and stupid and all messed up,
hah hah hah hah, biddity boo bup.

And then they hung up.

It showed me one thing. That really, people in Hollywood aren’t nearly as bad as you think they are. Sometimes they have pressure causing them to act crazy. Sometimes their peers or their attractive and awesomely-nice girlfriends affect them in a wrong way. But deep down, they’re great people with big hearts and awesome song-writing skills.

That is, unless of course the call was a ruse. Like, you know, they recorded me getting all excited and sat around at a party letting all their other rich Hollywood friends laugh at me, at my own expense. That the reality of it all was it was their way of getting back at me without me even knowing it. But writing a song, I mean, that takes time! The fact that all three got together to write me a song is at least exciting. Unless, of course, it was easy to write. Unless of course, it was all a ruse. Damnit!

These stars, man. They screw with your head.

I’m sure you remembered when I asked FPJ to just vocalize to me that we were best friends. He refused, of course, mostly because his “girl” Sarah Michelle Gellar (SMG) hates me and never wanted to see that friendship bloom to its fullest extent.

Lately, I had come to be okay with the situation, thanks to the support of many WFME readers. Really, when your friends stand up for you and spit in the virtual face of stars who get paid to act opposite a CGI-enhanced cartoon dog…well, you know you’re in good company.

But isn’t it just Murphy’s Law that the day you find peace with something, it shows up just in time to ruin your day?

Yeah, I know.

I had abandoned the pilot I was developing with FPJ and started working on a new one with my “best friend” David Faustino. You know the guy from Married With Children but he’s more than just Bud Bundy. He’s a smart guy, one hell of an idea guy and a great writer. We met, if you can believe this, at Pink’s Hot Dogs one night in LA. We got to talking, how most drunk people in LA do, and we came up with an amazing idea for a new show.

Sewer Alien is a half-hour comedy in the vein of ALF about a down-on-his-luck lawyer who, on the night of losing his biggest case, he stumbles upon an alien that looks like a mix between a koala bear and Ed Norton. The creature, also down on his luck after crashing onto Earth, befriends our lawyer and becomes his protege — and starts studying for passing the bar. The voice of the alien, in our minds, should be William Shatner.

Anyway, DF and me were finishing up the finale of the pilot on Friday night (trying to get it done before my move this weekend because once you move you’re M.I.A. for like a week) at the local Starbucks down on Robertson in Beverly Hills. We were just finishing this great exchange where the alien is practicing his closing statement on a recent prostitution case and starts regurgitating some weird alien-like acid stuff. Man, hilarious. Well, DF is acting this out and I’m laughing my head off when the doors open to reveal FPJ and SMG — arm in arm.

DF knows FPJ and SMG — they go around in the same circles. Well, DF turns around and sees them and starts to say hi to them and they don’t see me yet, I’m sitting down.

DF: “Hey F, S. Whattup?”

FPJ: “Not much, man. What’s up with you?”

I obviously don’t want to be left out of this conversation — so I pop up and sidle up to David.

PSD: “We’re developing a new pilot, if you must know. A better pilot than some I have developed in the past with people who have refused to vocalize that they were my best friend.”

DF looked at me, unaware of the situation. SMG gave a snarl.

SMG: “Oh, the stupid zombie thing that I told F was a waste of his time?”

PSD: “That’s awfully interesting, coming from someone who battled Vampires for like, ten-thousand years and did nothing else except act opposite a CGI-animated dog.”

SMG: “Whatever, wasabi-thrower. FPJ is better off not being best friends with you!”

PSD: “Like I care. DF and I are best friends, and he was on one of the longest running sitcoms ever to grace TV’s across the world!”

Now, I’m looking at FPJ’s face — and he’s got this hurt expression on his face. This doe-eyed, puppy-dog droopy sad thing going on. He puts his hand in front of SMG as if to stop her blathering, and looks seriously to David Faustino.

FPJ: (to DF) “You guys are best friends?”

SMG: (to FPJ) “Please don’t tell me you care, F.”

FPJ: (to SMG) “I want to know.”

I decide that the man who couldn’t stand up for himself and profess his friendship to one of, if not the bestest friend ever in his life had to hear the truth from the horse’s mouth and since I was the horse in the current situation, I was going to do the talking… And so I did.

PSD: “We are so best friends, F. We hang out all the time. I know DF’s hopes and dreams. I know what DF likes to eat for breakfast. Sometimes we ride around with the top down, picking up on chicks and using bats to knock over people’s mailboxes. The kind of things, best friends do!”

Then, of course, what’s-her-name decides she’s got to get the answer to this burning question that is now eating up the insides of Mr. FPJ.

SMG: (to DF) “Is this true?”

Then, the long pause of defeat. DF had this weird look in his eyes.

DF: “We’re writing a pilot together. Does that make us best friends?”

PSD: “Uh, yes!?”

DF was waffling — I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, whispering into his ear, “DF, we have been working long and hard on this alien thing and if you could just vocalize that we’re best friends to FPJ and SMG, I know that my creative juices will be enhanced even more and we’ll hit a homerun and get this thing sold…”

DF looked at me, much in the way FPJ looked at me that dark day at the coffee shop, and stepped away from my side and onto the opposing team’s side. Now, FPJ, SMG and DF were standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at me.

DF: “No, we’re not best friends. Never have been. Never will be.”

Like being punched in the stomach, the air left my lungs.

PSD: “DF! What are you talking about. We are SO best friends.”

But DF just shook his head and turned and walked away — leaving me face to face with FPJ and SMG.

SMG: “Poser.”

FPJ: “Duuuuuuuude.”

All three of them exited the coffee shop, not even taking the time to order even though they came in the place in the first place to order something. Well, whatever.

Personally, deep down, I know that FPJ and DF and even SMG have all wanted to be best friends with me but have kept a certain distance that comes with growing up in the Entertainment Industry. I know this has something to do with it. And because of that, I am okay with their aversion to vocalization. I will move on, forget FPJ, SMG and DF and find another well-known B-star to develop another project with. It will happen, I will succeed and before you know it you’ll be watching my show.

I have a lunch meeting next week with the kid from Jerry Maguire who really likes the alien idea. So, you know, that could work out. He wants to be the voice of the alien, but I think if I talk him into the William Shatner thing, maybe he could play the younger brother of the guy who has the talking goatee. I think that, could elevate what DF and I created into something even better. Maybe even award-winning.

Fingers crossed.

Some of you may remember the Freddie Prinze, Jr. situation where our burgeoning friendship was stunted as a result of three things.

1. Freddie wouldn’t vocalize that we were “best friends.”
2. Freddie was being fed subliminal information telling him that being my “best friend” may not be in his best interests.
3. Sarah Michelle Gellar is the anti-Christ.

Since the blowup at the coffee shop earlier this summer, I had pretty much resigned myself to the idea that the friendship was over along with all our development work on a particular TV sitcom project we had called The Boyz of Gurlock. The Boyz of Gurlock is a horror/comedy about a group of friends on a bachelor party weekend who end up getting turned into zombies but still want to have fun. It tells the weekly story about these 20-something zombie bachelor party buddies and the havoc they cause around Las Vegas. It was damn good.

A few weeks ago, you may remember me mentioning that I had run into Sarah Michelle Gellar at a sushi restaurant here in Los Angeles. She was, to say the least, off-putting. Sitting in a corner, the farthest away she could have possibly been from me, the girl ingnored all my silent hand motions of peace — instead, choosing to even ask the proprietor to put up one of those hospital separator cloths so she didn’t have to see me. I threw a chunk of wasabe at her (yes, childish I know) and stormed out of the joint.

This past weekend, you won’t believe what happened.

I was patronizing my favorite Los Angeles Karaoke haunt, The Brass Monkey and was there on early Saturday afternoon with a few friends. We usually head out there in the afternoon, have some drinks and food and then hang until the karaoke starts in the evening. And once that gets going, let me tell you, it’s out of control. Celebrities have been known to frequent the place because it is so out of the way and people don’t accost them there, but Freddie and Sarah had never been there. Course, I’d mentioned it to FPJ on more than one ocassion.

That evening, my name had been called to get up and sing around 9:15pm (the show starts around 9pm, so since I had been there early I had my name come up pretty quick) and had settled on singing one of my trademark songs, “You May Be Right” by Billy Joel. I jumped up from my seat upon hearing my name called, downed the rest of my Rolling Rock and moved up to the stool at the front of the room, grabbing the microphone in hand. And just as the MC was about to start the song — FPJ and Sarah Michelle walked in the front door.

I was like a deer in headlights.

Freddie looked at me and our eyes met. There was a moment of recognition. Of course, immediately, I could see Sarah Michelle elbow him in the ribs to which he turned and looked at her. She made silent mention of me, and the two of them looked at me with disdain. She turned FPJ’s immediate surprise at seeing me into an immediate uncomfortability factor. She had some hold on this guy, I thought.

Sarah Michelle grabbed his arm and tried to turn him around. But I was fast thinking in this situation, as you have to be when you’re singing karaoke anyway (you never know when a word or phrase will turn yellow, directing you to sing highlighted phrase) and so I turned to the MC and whispered a change.

Just as FPJ and Sarah Michelle were about to reach the steps to walk out of the joint, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” by Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand started to play on the speakers. The two stopped dead in their tracks. Why? Sarah Michelle LOVES Barbra. How do I know this? FPJ and I once had a conversation about how insane Barbra is with her special concert lighting and fear of performing and how Sarah Michelle felt some kind of connection with Barbra because she too, had this fear of performing and Barbra’s way helped her get through all those seasons of Buffy.

Well, I started to sing the Neil Diamond part and grabbed the second microphone and reached out with it towards Sarah Michelle.

“Sarah,” I said. “Neil Diamond wants to sing with you.”

Part of me, had you told me I would be saying anything remotely like this ahead of time, would have told you that you were crazy… Let alone, me. But at that moment a change came across Sarah Michelle’s face and she dropped FPJ’s hand at her side. A gleam or some reflection shone off her colored-contacts and she took two steps towards me, unsure.

I waved for her to come join me. The blue highlighted words for Neil were almost up. The pink highlighted words for Barbra were just seconds away.

And just in time, Sarah Michelle jumped to the stage, grabbing the microphone and singing her heart out alongside me as FPJ watched from a table in the back. He smiled, as did Sarah Michelle, throughout the whole song. It was, as far as I was concerned, the start of a new chapter in our triad-relationship. FPJ, Sarah Michelle and me. Visions of The Boyz of Gurlock came flashing back to me. Zombies, strippers and all-you-can-eat buffets. We were going to be stars.

And as the song ended, and FPJ joined Sarah Michelle at my side — she leaned in to whisper something to me. Much like that moment at the end of Lost in Translation, she leaned close and told me something that no one else could hear. When she finished, she grabbed FPJ and they stormed out of the joint.

I was, to say the least, extremely confused. But, then again — it’s the Sarah Michelle factor. There is no rhyme or reason to the woman’s actions. She is altogether crazy, sweet, adorable, feisty, funny, outgoing and jealous. In the end, there was only one thing I was 100% sure about…

The Boyz of Gurlock is never going to see the light of day.

As a writer, you observe, you listen and you write shit down.

Over the past few weeks I have attended a variety of parties and events where I have hung out (next to) a variety of A-level, B-level and C-level stars. Some events have been book signings (read: Pamela Anderson), others have been parties (read: Hollywood hills) and others have been ice cream shop stops (read: Ben & Jerry’s). In every situation, I have come in contact with a variety of male stars who seem to be more than forthcoming (or they just talk way too loud) about their current obsessions. Check them out:

At at Sunset Boulevard eatery, Ashton Kucher’s friend Dax Shepard from the upcoming Without a Paddle tells a female friend that he loves to challenge himself by putting two deflated balloons in his nostrils, then pinches his nose closed and “blows those babies up until he feels like his head is going to burst”. He does it daily, before he leaves the house, as a way to “release the pressure within”.

At a party in the Hollywood Hills, drunk-off-his-ass and thrown-out-on-his-ass by his ex-wife (Jennifer Garner), Scott Foley of Felicity fame is more than happy to tell the guy making him a Red Bull/Vodka drink that he loves to push his socks down around his ankles. He’s not one of those “pull up your socks to your knees, kind of guys” but instead loves to “shove those cotton munchers down to ankle-land”. He proceeds to show a friend just what he means, lifting up his khakis and allowing all to see his bony, bare knees.

At a Barnes & Noble bookstore in Westwood, magazine-peruser and soon-to-be movie-tennis pro Paul Bettany flips through a copy of “Tattoo Magazine” telling a pierced buddy that he “loves to see the freaks with tattoos because it makes him feel proud of his blemish-free skin” and that if he ever ran into “a tattoo-wearing freak” he would be sure to show them his soft-to-the-touch baby-like skin that she [Jennifer Connolly] loves so much, as a way to possibly encourage them to have the ink, laser-removed. He buys four copies of the same mag, saying that he needs to have them “plastered on his trailer’s walls” as a way to constantly convince himself he’s got “baby-soft skin”.

In line for a screening of Collateral, psychotic Gary Shandling uses a shoulder-mounted mirror to check how the back of his head looks. He has no qualms about anyone seeing him use it either. The shoulder-mounted back-head viewer comes with a flourescent light, he tells his female companion, so he can “check out the current status of his head no matter if he’s in a department store or a darkened movie theater…”.

At a Valley sandwich joint, Encino-man himself Brendan Fraser laughs about the four “motion-sickness bands” he wears on each wrist, telling the not-so-interested woman at the counter that he “can’t go a day without having motion sickness bands on his wrists” or else he will “get dizzy, fall down, and not be able to get up without calling for professional help.” He proceeds to take off one motion-sickness band, wavers like he’s going to fall, then puts it back on and says, “See! Just like I said!”. He then collects his sandwich with a side of cole-slaw and stumbles to his booth.

At Pamela Anderson’s book signing, bloated Corey Feldman discusses his obession for flossing his teeth before dinner, after dinner (but before dessert) and after dessert. He is an extremely big fan of those plastic spear floss devices that have a small piece of floss threaded between the plastic arms. He says, “Floss is boss.”

—

In other news, the fight with Freddie Prinze, Jr. has reached epic proportions. I ran into Sarah Michelle Gellar this past Saturday night at Los Angeles sushi restaurant “Hamasaku” and she proceeded to sit herself as far away from me as possible — refusing to lock eyes or discuss the current “silence” between me and her boy even after I threw some wet chunks of wasabe at her.

However, a few really unfortunate events happened recently that ended up resulting in an outcome that I am not pleased with. An outcome that, basically, resulted in me being in a fight with my friend Freddie Prinze, Jr.. But in order for you to agree with me that I was right and he was wrong and that he should be the one apologizing to me and not the other way around (no matter what that whiny Sarah Michelle Gellar tells Freddie is the reality of the situation or not), you must get the full story from start to finish.

First of all, I met FPJ awhile back at the first premiere of the Scooby Doo movie. I had been invited by some friends at the studio that produced it and he was obviously there because he was in the dang movie. Anyway, my friend introduced me to him (without Sarah, at the moment in time) while we were all getting drinks at the bar. FPJ and I talked a bunch about writing (he wants to Produce as well) and since it had been after the screening of the movie, I told him my thoughts on how the movie really worked as a commentary on today’s political and environmental problems… (I.e., Scooby Doo the character is a bumbling (political) character who is always stumbling upon the wrong-doings (environmental issues) and teaming up with his buddy (the EPA) to solve the issues.) Anyway, FPJ and I laughed for a long time about the hidden meanings, and well, that was just the beginning.

For the couple years since then, FPJ and I have grabbed coffee and drinks over time — yes, I’ve hung with him and the “girl” on many occasions and over the course of the last few months we’ve really started hanging out even more as I started to get his notes on some scripts I was working on and he actually pumped out one that I gave him notes on. Now, the problem with “the girl” is that she helped co-write this steaming piece of crap that he showed me… It was basically, without giving away any hints so no one steals it, a remake of a classic movie that takes place in the 50′s and involves a ton of musical numbers between a leather-jacket clad greaser and this innocent blonde Australian girl who comes to town. Well, they have a total summer of love kind of relationship but then she shows up to school and realizes that the guy is really a greaser and well, do they stay together or not… I know, vague, but anyway — she wanted to take this movie, remake it, but make all the main characters…vampires!

Ugh, is right.

So, I gave my opinion and although FPJ thought I was totally right, the “girl” took offense and she started continually saying bad things about me to FPJ behind my back. But still, FPJ and I were working closely and trying to develop some other ideas in the process.

Last week, the you-know-what hit the fan.

So I’m sitting at the Starbucks with FPJ and we’re going over some notes my manager gave the two of us on the project and we’re just in this perfect zone of making changes and the project is so going to work really well and we’re throwing out all these ideas of who will star in the movie and FPJ’s agents are on board… And I say to FPJ… “Dude, we are so best friends, aren’t we?”

Well, FPJ looks at me and gives his trademark smile that he overused in that Monica Potter movie with all the models in NYC and says, “Yeah, dude. We’re friends.”

Right, but that wasn’t what I said so you can already see the wheels turning in FPJ’s head and I can see the influence of “the vampire queen” all over the place. So, I have to clarify here and I shoot back, “Best friends… Not just friends. You and I, we’ve been through a lot… Best friends.”

Then, FPJ flips the cover to the script closed, folds his hands on top of the script and looks up at me (as he’s putting his sunglasses back on) and says, “We’re not best friends. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

I say, “Just say we’re best friends. We don’t have to actually BE best friends. But can you just say it?”

He says, “I’m not going to say it.”

I say, “Oh, c’mon. They’re just words.”

He says, “Never.”

Well, I could feel the burning of a thousand souls building up in my stomach at that point, and so I just got up, pushed the chair away from me (causing everyone to look) and said, “If you only consider me to be just your friend and not your best friend, who obviously must be the blonde biaatch… then you should consider this whole friendship over.”

FPJ got up, walked out and refuses to return my calls.

See, it’s obvious to me that I may have come off a tad “strong” in bringing up Sarah and making her seemingly the center of the argument, but FPJ was way wrong to take a tone like that with me and just simply leave the establishment. I was willing to talk more even though I pushed the chair away from me. But he, well, he’s already got his sunglasses on and he’s “folded the script cover closed”… I mean, it may just be me but I think it’s quite obvious who was in the wrong here.

Let me know your thoughts, especially if you agree with me.