On of the benefits of living in L.A. – and if you saw my rent check, you’d know how very important it is that there be benefits – is that once a week something happens that absolutely, positively could occur in no other place. Sometimes these things involve your lady bits.

And yes, if you are uncomfortable with lady bit talk, you should leave. Right now. Come back tomorrow. Maybe I’ll write about nuns tomorrow.

Gene Wilder once described L.A. as a company town, like the ones that would sprout up around coal mines, except around here the thing we’re digging for is box office numbers and advertising revenue. Even if you – like me – are in no way associated with Hollywood, it still creeps in. There is virtually no aspect of my life that has not been interrupted by a movie or television shoot – dentist appointments, writers association meetings, airplane rides, my daily run, any number of traffic snafus and now my bikini waxes.

Oh yes, my bikini waxes. Nothing is sacred.

I am very, very particular about my bikini waxes. I am, after all, allowing a woman to pour hot wax on my lady parts, and that’s just not something I’m willing to hand over to anyone. I want some goddamn references. So it’s no surprise that the only place I’ll go is a wax-only salon in Culver City. This is all they do. Brazilians R Us. You can’t get your hair cut, your nails done or your eyeliner applied at this establishment. They are specialists, and I appreciate that. It does, however, mean that when you walk through those doors there is only one possible thing that’s happening in there, and everyone knows it.

Usually this doesn’t bother me. I’m not shy. But then again, I usually don’t have to walk past the entire cast and crew of a television show – a good fifty people – to get there. Most days, my salon is right next to an auto insurance business. But on this particular day the auto insurance building had been rented out by the show “Til Death,” which had transformed it into a very convincing convenience store that they were shooting from the outside. And while they had all rights to the building, they could not block access to the surrounding businesses, including Brazilians R Us. And unfortunately for me, the only way into the salon was through the outdoor set.

I had been warned ahead of time by the salon. I could cancel they said. And to this I reply, “Are you f-ing crazy?” That place books up months in advance. I have a standing appointment. I once rebooked a business conference call just for this reason.

I will not be deterred – even if getting my lady bits waxed and buffed means having every camera guy; key grip; makeup artist and the star of the show, Brad Garrett*, himself, stop what they’re doing while I walk – head held high – into the girly sanctum.

I have my priorities.



*Best known as the brother on “Everybody Loves Raymond.” And yes, he really is that tall.