Jimmy and Gretchen in “You Knew It Was a Snake”

Sometimes I look at you and I think, "How did this person get in my house?" It's like I've lost the thread of a novel, and all of a sudden, there's this messy short woman who's clearly important to the story. So, I'm flipping back, thinking, "I don't remember that character being introduced."

Tell me about it! Some days it's like I un-blacked out from a week-long bender, and now I'm in this weird-ass house with sharp corners.

My mate was supposed to be so different. Classy, unbruised, a first-chair violinist for the Philharmonic. God, can you imagine it? Me in the wings of Disney Hall. And we wave good-bye to the other musicians, and I joke about what a drag it must be for Igor to haul that double bass home. And then Dudamel does a champagne spit-take and shakes his head at me like, "Oh, Jimmy, you are too much."

How am I not arm candy for some international movie star with a giant dong? He's part owner of a cool tech company and invents apps when he's not dick-punching Peter Sarsgaard in his latest movie. Sometimes we talk about adopting a kid from a third-world country, but we never do it. And we live in a legit-ass castle in Malibu with one of those big modern art pieces by the guy who does the big dots.

What? Lichtenstein?

Yeah. A big old Lichtenstein.

Wow. How very sophomore year art history of you. You definitely shouldn't decorate your own house.