Dear Seth Rogen

Perhaps you are not aware, but the United States Postal Service is on the verge of bankruptcy.  Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night could hinder the postal service, but apparently 300 million citizens who   prefer texting and emailing will do the trick.  Unless the US government bails them out, well, I don’t want to picture a world without mailmen.  Though to be honest, I could probably do without mailwomen.  Those shorts are just awkward. 



Seth Rogen, this situation is extremely serious.  I’m not the only one who thinks so.  According to Postmaster General Patrick R. Donahoe, “Our situation is extremely serious.”  He went on to say, “If congress doesn’t act, we’ll default.”  If the post office defaults then who will deliver  my favorite grocery circulars and daily offers for platinum credit cards?   And how will my Alma Mater contact me to request a donation of $100 or more?  Sadly, it seems the USPS is already showing signs of its demise.  Lately the post office, normally a pillar of accuracy and timeliness, is misplacing and forgetting to bring my most important pieces of mail.   For instance, Ryan Gosling’s thank you card for the car shaped cookie basket I sent him after his commanding performance in DRIVE?  Never delivered.   My letter of acceptance into the summer program at Juilliard.   Never delivered.  That’s not the worst of it, Seth Rogen.  The USPS has failed me on an even greater level and I think we both know what I’m referring to.  

A wedding is a joyous occasion, and wedding invitations, delivered via the postal service, are important first impressions presenting the couple to their guests.  Luckily, you and I are way beyond first impressions, because thanks to the failing postal service, I never received my wedding invitation to your big day.  You could imagine my embarrassment, Seth Rogen, when I awoke last Monday morning only to read that I missed the matrimonial festivities as you wed the perfectly acceptable Lauren Miller.  Embarrassed doesn’t even describe it.  Mortified is more accurate.  Please, please, please… don’t feel bad.   I know this wasn’t your fault.  Truthfully, email is to blame, but since email can’t feel guilt it isn’t very satisfying to blame.  Damn our failing postal system!



According to my sources on the internet, your intimate affair included Judd Apatow and wife, Leslie Mann, Paul Rudd, Adam Sandler, Craig Robinson from The Office, and Jonah Hill.  I can only imagine that when you looked around at your sea of friends, you wondered where I was.  (And also Freeks and Geeks companion Samm Levine, whose invite most likely went missing in the mail as well.)   Well, this past Saturday night I played a game of cyber chess with my Libertarian physician father.  In his old age he is much appreciative of quality time anyone under the age of 55 is willing to spend with him.   In hindsight it seems cruelly ironic that whilst I explained to my father that there were no “hip” or “hopping” Hollywood parties that evening (which garnered a small grin from the old man), I was missing out on your big day.   I just hope you had someone   there to walk you down the aisle.  I let you down, Seth Rogen, and for this I am eternally apologetic. 

Know that I am not over this.  I plan to do whatever it takes to fix our broken postal service.  Join me,  Seth Rogen.  Let’s use our combined celebrity power to save the United States Postal Service!  This way we can insure that next time you get married all your invitations will be safely delivered.   My best to the wifey. 

Until then…

Debbie

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I hate to report that I am in the midst of a family feud.  And what’s worse, the family that I am feuding with has no idea that we are feuding.  This family that I speak of is my own.  Specifically, my father.  That’s right, Seth Rogen, my dad - the man who is friends with your parents’ friend and the one whose existence connected us in the first place - is now vying for his piece of my “celebrity pie”… which happens to be pumpkin flavored for the holiday. 

I know this must sound very confusing to you.  I can understand that.  How is it even possible for a father to begrudge his daughter the celebrity that she worked so hard for?  How would a father even attempt to compete with his daughter?  Well, Seth Rogen, leave it to my father, with his cunning yet crazy medical libertarian genius, to find a way.

My father, who once told me that I am the new face of comedy, is attempting to become the new face of medicine.  Literally.  You see, John C. Lincoln, a big Phoenix hospital, has decided to promote their surgical services with billboards.  These billboards use the face of a local doctor to  establish a sense of familiarity and compassion.  John C. Lincoln asked my dad to provide his tender mug for the billboard, and he was only too eager to pounce on the opportunity.  Now, when Phoenix drivers head down loop 101, they are forced to take their eyes off the road in order to view the 20’ x 30’ Richard Dreyfus look-a-like that is my father.  On particularly bright days the sun will reflect off his shiny forehead, blind drivers, cause a traffic accident, and result in new customers for John C. Lincoln.  Brilliant.

Back in Hollywood, I have only become the new face of comedy in the figurative sense.  My agent assures me that I am a star, and explains that the reason I don’t get called in for auditions at the moment has nothing to do with a lack of funny.  I probably don’t get called in, because at my level, an audition really isn’t necessary.  I’ll simply be notified when a roll is created for me.  But it’s not fair, Seth Rogen.   In my father’s line of work, he has so many more opportunities to become a household name.  It’s not as if actresses and comedians have the same opportunities to have their faces plastered on large signs.  Unlike a surgeon, a comedian must actually do hard work to get recognized.

Seth Rogen, I don’t know what to do.  My brother-in-law, Matt, was recently featured in the local Palo Alto paper for his veterinary tech skills, but his story was humbly tucked away on page 17.  Matt understands where the spotlight in the family is meant to land and he didn’t push for the front page or a gaudy billboard. 

How do I tell my dad that I am uncomfortable with his desperate need to compete with me to become the most successful Singer?  I mean, a little competition is healthy, but I don’t want him to get hurt.  He is simply a general surgeon in one of the most prestigious major medical groups, and I think it’s pretty obvious who would win that battle. ;)   What would you do?  You’re always there when I need you.



Debbie

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Human beings often do things that are bad for them, blaming their destructive actions on the unquenchable urge to emulate their celebrity heroes.  For instance, people drink alcohol to be more like Lindsey Lohan.  People steal to be more like Winona Ryder.   People even wear manga-like “circle contacts” (that may cause corneal abrasions and blinding infections) in order to look more like Lady Gaga in her “Bad Romance” video.  Where will the destruction end, Seth Rogen? 

The way I see it, as long as people are going to mimic celebrities, they may as well be doing something good for themselves.  That’s where Heidi and I come in.  As a celebrity, I know people will want to mimic whatever I do.  And in order to maximize my positive effect on the community, I am teaming up with Heidi.  Together we are going to spearhead the latest and greatest health craze… Acupuncture!

You see, Seth Rogen, I have been a lifelong sufferer of migraines.  My neurologist suggested I try acupuncture to lessen the pain.  Lo and behold, the ancient Eastern remedy worked like a charm.  I can’t wait for the world to know so they too can reap the spoils of acupuncture.  

Where does Heidi come in, you ask?  Who is Heidi, you might also ask?  Heidi is one of Hollywood’s fastest rising stars.  She was recently discovered by a talent agent while frolicking in a park.  According to her agent, her look was fantastic, and her skills stellar, but unfortunately for Heidi, she suffered from arthritis.  As an actor, she was physically able to do the tricks demanded of her, but not as repeatedly and as often as required on set.  Unless Heidi did something about her condition, her agent claimed she would only be able to do print ads.  Heidi knew she was destined to be more than a pretty face.  So, this blossoming talent went to an animal acupuncturist.  Now she is able to move like a star. 

So, you see, together Heidi and I will show the world that man and man’s best friend can both benefit from what will soon be the latest trend. The only problem is, I have not been able to make contact with Heidi.   As it turns out, it is much more difficult to communicate with a dog than it is with a person like you, Seth Rogen.  I’m doing everything I can to find her.   I bring my pups to the dog park and make them stay alert for any sign of her.  I’ve even brought them for some dog acupuncture of their own.  If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that this is a small world, and the celebrity world is even smaller.  Sooner or later Heidi and I are bound to run into each other. 

If you happen to run into her before I do, please let her know I am looking for her.  Your help means so much to me, Seth Rogen.  Oh!  Perhaps you would like to try some acupuncture as well!  It might be more effective than the medicinal marijuana you frequently use to deal with your pain.  Let’s work together to use our celebrity status to make the world a pain free place. 

Until then…

Debbie

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Every family has a black sheep.  That one individual considered an utter disappointment. For some, it is the estranged uncle with the mustache and prison record.  For others, it is the son who couldn’t muster the grades to make it into his father’s law school.  My family is no exception, Seth Rogen.  We too have a black sheep.

Until now, you have hardly heard me mention the black sheep in my family because her sheep-like qualities are thoroughly underwhelming.  The black sheep I speak of is none other than my little sister.  Of course, I don’t blame her for being the black sheep.  You see, my above average aptitude was apparent from a very young age.  At the age of fourteen (when I imagine most kids my age where still learning to read), I would push the living room furniture to the side, call in the family, and announce, “I’m going to put on a show!”  Let me tell you, I didn’t disappoint.  But, as I shone so bright, it was only natural that my sister fell into the role of disappointment. 

Where else could she go, really? Wherever she went, she knew she would be walking in my shadow.  Naturally, she chose a safe path… Stanford, for a Doctorate in Psychology. Did I set the bar too high, Seth Rogen?  I just hope that in June, when my sister receives her PhD, she doesn’t look down at her diploma and resent her big sister for being a celebrity. 

I mentioned the black sheep today, because I am concerned for her safety.  My sister is getting married in July to a veterinarian.  I’m not afraid of the vet.  Vets like black sheep because sheep are a type of animal. L.O.L.  Anyhow, my sister is planning a simple wedding. The invitations are already out.  Yet, the other day, my parents spring it on her that they must have a “doughnut making station” at the wedding.  Well, my sister isn’t really big on doughnuts.  Neither is the vet.  So why, I ask you, are my parents suddenly insisting on this saturated fat laden product on my sister’s big day?

I did a little sleuthing.  Like most things, it all comes back to Oprah. 

A while back, Oprah did a special on Jake/Julia.  Jake/Julia was a girl who had been living as a girl for fourteen years, when she decided she was a man trapped in a female body.  She took the appropriate hormones and started living as Jake.  Jake’s parents were incredibly supportive of the process.  Oprah checked in on the family 3 years later.  Apparently, Jake’s little brother, Jason, wasn’t doing so well.   Jake said, “I should have taken more time to stop and tell my parents, ‘I’m fine for right now. Pay attention to my brother.’”  Jason got jealous of the attention Jake got.  No one ever asked how he was doing.  It triggered a downward spiral.  Jason developed anorexia, and dropped down to as low as 109 lbs. 

That’s when it dawned on me, Seth Rogen!  My parents must have seen this Oprah episode.  They are insisting that we have high calorie donuts at my sister’s wedding because they are aware that my sister is embarrassed by her inadequate career choice in the shadow of my fame, and they don’t want her to develop anorexia.   They are telling my sister that they don’t want the guests to be bored at the wedding, but how else could you explain their tacky food choice?

What should I do, Seth Rogen?  I do think it is sweet that my parents are reaching out, but is a doughnut-making machine really the way to go?  Might their attempt to fatten her up only shun her further?  My sister is very important to me, even if she is a disappointment to the family.  So what if she isn’t me?  No one but me is.

On a side note, I do hope you got your invite to the wedding.  Make sure to indicate if you would like the Filet, The Lobster, or the Filet and the Lobster.  We can talk about it at my big show.  May 6th at The Spotlight Comedy Club.  Can you believe how popular it is?  They’re bringing it back!  Get your tickets online at www.spotlightcomedyclub.com.

Can’t wait to see you there.  Seth Rogen, you’re my best friend. 

Until then…

Debbie

P.S.

Anorexia is no laughing matter.  If you, or someone you know suffers from anorexia, here is a great recipe for doughnuts, from Emeril.

• 1 (1/4 ounce) package of active dry yeast
• 3/4 cup plus 1 teaspoon sugar
• 1/4 cup warm water (110 deg F)
• 6 eggs
• 6 cups flour
• 1/4 cup melted butter
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups whole milk
• 1/2 cup half and half
• 1 1/2 cups sweetened whipped cream
• 1 1/2 cups vanilla pastry cream
• 1 1/2 cups raspberry filling
• Shaker of powdered sugar
• 1 cup chocolate glaze
• 1 cup powdered sugar glaze

Preheat the fryer to 350 degrees.

In a small mixing bowl, combine the yeast, 1 teaspoon sugar, and 1/4 cup of the warm water. Stir to dissolve and set aside. In an electric mixer, beat the eggs and remaining 3/4 sugar until thick and pale yellow in color. Change the mixer attachment to a dough hook. With the machine running slowly add the yeast mixture, melted butter, milk, half and half and salt. Add the flour, 1 cup at a time. Mix until the mixture forms a soft ball, leaves the sides of the bowl, and climbs up the dough hook. Remove the dough and turn into a lightly oiled bowl. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and set the bowl in a warm, draft free space. Let the dough rise until double in size, about 1 1/2 hours. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and dust the surface of the dough with flour. With a rolling pin, roll out the dough, about 1/4 inch thick, in the shape of a rectangle. Using a 3 inch round cutter, cut the dough into circles. Place the rounds on a baking sheet. Cover the dough with a greased piece of plastic wrap (this will prevent the dough from sticking to the wrap) and let the dough rise until double in size, about 30 minutes. Gently fry a couple of the circles at a time, until golden brown, about 3 to 4 minutes, flipping occasionally for overall browning. Remove the doughnuts from the oil and drain on a paper towel-lined plate. Fit each pastry bag with small round tips. Fill each bag with a different filling. Pipe the donuts, alternately with the different fillings. Sprinkle some of the filled donuts with powdered sugar. Glaze the remaining donuts with the two different glazes. Place on a serving platter and serve.

Yield: 2 dozen doughnuts

I’m afraid I have a celebrity stalker.  I’ve heard tales of celebrity stalkers on prestigious news programs such as TMZ and The Insider, but I never imagined I would be a stalkee.   The craziest part, Seth Rogen… I am being stalked by another celebrity! Yup, a celebrity celebrity stalker. What are the odds? 

My story begins a few months back, when I was just a fetus of a celebrity, forcefully kicking in the womb of mother Hollywood.  It was a regular Sunday afternoon, and I was preparing for a hike with my dogs and my friend, Karla.  I was purchasing sandwiches at the nearby Whole Foods when I saw what looked like Kristen Davis (Charlotte from Sex and the City) buying a small fern, one of my favorite plants.   Her large sunglasses made it tough to identify her, so I followed her to her car.  Still, I couldn’t be sure, so I hopped in my Prius and followed her home.  Miraculously, when she got out of her car, her sunglasses caught a fern branch and fell to the ground.  I was right.  It was Kristen Davis! 

Naturally, I waited outside her house to catch another glimpse.  When she didn’t return, I left an anonymous note outside her door letting her know that I thought a fern was an excellent purchase and would make a nice addition to any living room.

But, Seth Rogen, Kristen Davis is not my celebrity celebrity stalker.  I only mention KD because the time I spent with her made me late for my hike in the Santa Monica Mountains, which subsequently made me come into contact with my real celebrity celebrity stalker.   You see, being late for the hike with Karla and the dogs meant that the sun was setting by the time we reached the peak.   Fearing a bloody death at the paws of a coyote, Karla and I rushed down the mountain.   We were surprised to see how quickly we found ourselves back at the parking lot… only to find we were at an entirely different and abandoned parking lot.  Somehow we made a wrong turn.  We had no idea where my car was, and now that it was dark, we wouldn’t dare reenter the forest.  

So, we followed the pavement to a nearby road.  Karla suggested we hitchhike, but I told her I generally don’t approve of taking rides from strangers.  Karla, who is from Nicaragua, reminded me that hitchhiking is perfectly acceptable in Europe.  Just as I was reminding Karla of every single horror movie ever made, a black SUV slowed down and pulled up beside us.  I thought to myself, “This could be the end.”  I wondered if I would be remembered like the other ingénues taken before their time: James Dean, Heath Ledger, Shirley Temple.  I concluded that, yes, I most likely would.

But, Seth Rogen, the driver of this SUV was not a serial killer.  The window rolled down and beautiful blonde flowing locks emerged.  It was none other than the embodiment of the fountain of youth, dynamic actress and environmental crusader, Daryl Hannah.   She offered us a ride in her biofuel-powered vehicle.  Knowing that you can always trust someone you’ve seen on TV, I quickly jumped in. 

Daryl Hannah drove us around for quite a while as we searched for my car.  We joked about the time she was arrested for spending three weeks in a tree to protest the destruction of a public garden and how it was similar to the time I climbed a tree to get a better view of Kristen Davis’ living room.  We all laughed.  It was a jolly good time.  It seemed that Daryl Hannah proved Karla was right; it’s ok to hitchhike sometimes.  Then I thought, “Wait.”  Could it really have been pure coincidence that Daryl Hannah found us on this country road?  Or had this Guerilla Gardener been following us?  Was Daryl Hannah stalking me, Seth Rogen?

At first, I gave my celebrity celebrity stalker the benefit of the doubt.  She was most likely just a Good Samaritan, patrolling the roads of Santa Monica for lost women and their pets.  Then, a couple months later, my girlfriend Shiri saw Daryl Hannah at a concert at the House of Blues.  I was supposed to be at the concert, Seth Rogen, but I got caught up outside Kristen Davis’ house.  Shiri mentioned me to Daryl and, as it turns out, Daryl totally remembered our interaction.  She even asked about my dogs!  My suspicion was growing.

Then, last week, strike three!  I put my cell phone in the washing machine and had to go to the AT&T store to get a new one.  Guess who was there?  That’s right, Daryl Hannah!  She looked right at me and said, “What’s wrong with YOUR phone?” What are the odds that this reclusive, organic farming celebrity would be at three separate places that I (or someone that I know) am at within one year?  There’s no doubt, Seth Rogen, Daryl Hannah is my celebrity celebrity stalker.

Seth Rogen, I don’t know what to do.  I must admit, I’m afraid… although, I do respect Daryl’s work in such classic films as Splash and the more recent Kill Bill volumes I&II.   I wonder what Kristen Davis would do if she had a stalker. 

I’d rather not involve the authorities at this point.  We can discuss what to do at my show this Saturday night at The Spotlight Comedy Club.  Show starts at 7:30pm.  12215 Ventura Blvd., Ste 209, Studio City.  Oh, if you happen to run into Daryl, don’t mention me. 

Until then…

Debbie

It happens to every celebrity sooner or later.  It’s no surprise that it’s happening to me now.  With the stupendous reception of my one-woman show and my meteoric rise to fame, the timing is perfect.  That’s right, Seth Rogen, tomorrow morning I’m checking into the hospital.  Of course, I won’t be the first red head starlet to do so.  Just look at Lindsay Lohan.  Her skyrocket to superstardom was more than she could handle.   I think we can both relate to what that poor girl had to go through.

My therapist says it’s important to have compassion for others and their struggles.  Aside from Billy Joel, my therapist is the smartest person I know.  When I first began seeing my therapist, I told her that there was nothing wrong with me, except for my eating disorder.  Thanks to therapy, I now know I also suffer from low self-esteem.

But I’m not checking into the hospital for low self-esteem.  As it turns out, my endometrial cells are growing even faster than my career.  L.O.L.  I don’t want you to be alarmed, Seth Rogen, but you should know there is a small possibility that this procedure could leave me infertile.  Not to worry, I can always adopt.  In fact, that was already the next logical step on my journey to superstardom.  I’ve always said that if I have a boy I would name him Archibald, after Cary Grant.  A girl, Debbie Jr.   But if I were indeed barren, then I would name my adopted son, Baron.   I’d explain the deep meaning behind his name when he came of age.  And if I adopted a girl, Debbie Jr.  Then again, the name “Seth” makes a pretty strong case for itself these days.  It’s unisex, right?

You know what’s strange about being a celebrity and checking into a hospital, Seth Rogen?  The sudden outreach from the FANS.  Within seconds of the announcement, my biggest fan had booked a flight to come and care for me post op.  I tried to tell my mom that it really wasn’t necessary, but you know fans.  She insisted. 

Seth Rogen, what should I do?  If I let her cook me “get well meals” and clean my apartment, am I setting a precedent?  Will all future fans feel it is ok to do the same?  My therapist says it’s ok to set some boundaries.  She also says family is important.  I need your advice now more than ever.

Until then…

Debbie

A Valentine for you…

Until then…

Debbie

People are coming up with strange excuses to see me.  Ever since my recent House of Blues show with Jeff Garlin and professional wrestling legend “Rowdy” Roddy Piper, I have had a bit more notoriety.

I feel my world is changing, Seth Rogen.  I always knew this day would come, when I would cross over from a “Dime A Dozen Deb” to a minor celebrity, on my way to eventual superstardom.  But the excuses people come up with are getting a bit far fetched.

For example, the other day, as I was sitting down at my computer to research Scottish kilt fabrics, my cell phone rang.  It was my friend Casey, begging me to unlock my door and let him in.  You see, Seth Rogen, Casey was on his way home from lunch at Sharky’s Mexican Grill.  Casey tends to dine at establishments such as Sharky’s, Chick-Fil-A, and Poquito Mas, none of which comply with the all-organic diet that I practice and my Libertarian father scoffs at.   Anyhow, Casey claimed that Sharky’s had upset his stomach and he was demanding to use my toilet for fear that he might not make it to his own.

Now, Seth Rogen, rather than ridicule Casey, and point out that he lives only a few blocks away, I took his bathroom request as a compliment.  I did what I assume any budding celebrity would do: I played along.  I know what to do when a friend needs to poo.  I locked the dogs in the bedroom, I made sure there was an ample supply of Quilted Northern (a better deal than Charmin Ultra when you consider the amount of 2-ply sheets per roll), put out my best magazines, unlocked the front door, and waited.

Casey played his part well.  He came running into my apartment as though it were a true emergency and he was in for a potentially embarrassing and messy episode.  But, Seth Rogen, as an actor myself, I was able to see right through his charade.  As I said, his commode is just down the street.  No one has to go that bad, right?

I stopped to think if there might be another reason aside from my celebrity that would be causing this fiasco.  Could it be my bathroom?  I doubt it.  You see, I just have an ordinary porcelain toilet bowl.  It is not as if I have one of those fancy vinyl cushioned toilet seats that your grandmother probably has.  You know, the kind that hugs your tush when you sit.  And I definitely don’t have a high tech Japanese toilet that heats your seat and cleans your undercarriage while playing you electronic music.  I realize a lot of celebrities have those.  Whoopie swears by hers.

This is just the start, I suppose.  Being a celebrity sure is hard work.  How do you handle it?  Do a lot of people come over your place to poop?  We can discuss it further at tonight’s show at “3 of Clubs.”  I’m getting all flushed just thinking about it, L.O.L.   Get it?  Flushed?  Like a toilet?   …Oh Seth Rogen, you are such a kidder.

Until then…

Debbie

I am in the midst of an unseemly medical mystery. In times like this, having a father who is a doctor comes in handy.  It is especially helpful that my father is a doctor of medicine, as opposed to one of the many other fields that might bestow a doctorate degree.  I’m not saying that other types of doctors are any less important.  I’m just saying I wouldn’t ask former Enron CEO Kenneth Lay (University of Houston, PhD) for health advice.

Of course, my MD father and I do not always see eye to eye.  For years, we battled about whether or not a comb over is a convincing form of deception.  I won that battle in June of 2002, when my father finally faced reality (and his barber), having his comb over permanently removed.  Despite our different fashion aesthetic, when it comes to medical advice, I put faith in my father’s expertise.  When a medical issue arises, my Libertarian father is always the first person I call.

But there is a problem, Seth Rogen.  This particular medical issue is of the feminine nature.  Talking to your father about botheration in your box is uncouth no matter how you spin it.  It’s not as if I were talking to you, Seth Rogen.  You, I feel I can tell anything.   I do hope the feeling is mutual.  My father, however, has been voted among the top doctors in Arizona.  It was only natural for me to call him first.  I’m sure you understand.

Our phone call was short, Seth Rogen.  Discussing the temperament of my nether regions with my Libertarian father made for an especially uncomfortable conversation.  The only discomfort I can compare it to might be the discomfort I am currently seeking medical attention for.  The conversation culminated in my father yelling in exasperation, “Debbie, this is not my field.  Go see your gynecologist!”

Honestly, Seth Rogen, I was shocked.  My dad has always said I could tell him anything. Not to mention he will hear about it eventually, as my gynecologist is his best friend.  I’m sure they talk about that sort of thing by the water cooler.  Or during their Friday evening card game.

Oh well, this too shall pass.  Off to the pharmacy. Hope I’m feeling better by the time I see you on Tuesday at the House of Blues.  Don’t forget, it’s in the Foundation Room. We can swap gyno stories with Jeff Garlin.  I bet he has some great ones.  It will be such fun.  Can’t wait to see you there, Seth Rogen.

Until then…