People who don’t live in L.A. often ask people who do: “Do you ever see famous people?”

And the answer is almost always “yes.” Not everyday, mind you. But given the rate at which our society turns out actors, singers, “reality T.V. personalities,” and people famous for absolutely no reason at all and the fact that 99.9% of them live in this one town, you’re bound to trip over one or two.

The thing is they’re never exciting-famous. I’ve never seen Julia Roberts at Starbucks or Sean Penn at the grocery store. And I’ve never known anybody who has either. Those people don’t seem to go out to normal human places much. They don’t buy their own milk or get their own coffee or pump their own gas. They have people for that. The people I see are the ones that make you go, “Hey, wasn’t he on that one show? Remember? The one that had the pizza parlor in it? Damn. What was the name of that show?” Of course, you won’t remember the name of the show let alone the name of the actor who’s standing there like everybody else waiting for his luggage at LAX.

But sometimes the person you see is what I’ll call weird-famous. Today my husband and I had the following instant message chat

Him: “Hulk Hogan was at my gym today.”

Me: “Why?”

Him: “To work out.”

Me: “Doesn’t he have a home gym?”

Him: “It’s not like I asked.”

Me: “What did you think?”

Him: “He’s seven inches taller than me and has biceps bigger than my thighs.”

I’ll be filing this under “Only in L.A.”