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Like you, I have an email address. If you email me from this blog, and yes, there is an email address attached here somewhere, trust me, because I get emails. If you email me, it comes to my email address, which is also my business address, my somewhat personal address and the address attached to banking and investments. Basically, it is my all encompassing email address.

Sometimes I contact clients for my job via my personal email address, just to touch base, set up logistics, ask questions, answer questions, that sort of thing. I always sign those emails with my full name, cell phone number and office number. So, if you got an email from me, even if it was concerning a job through my employer, it might very well come from my private/business email.

Saturday I was working for a client whom I had not met, but I had sent a couple of emails to and we had corresponded that way. All was well, or so I thought. There I was, setting up my camera and she came up to me, asked if I was Matt, I said yes, shook her hand, and she said, "I googled you and then I found your blog." I think I kind of winced. She continued, "I could not stop reading and I sent a link to all my friends. We have all been reading it. We have some questions, come with me."

I followed her into a hotel ballroom. There I found about 7 stunning women, all of them young, perfectly made up and dressed like they might be going to some sort of formal occasion. My client asked me to sit down. "We all have some questions about your blog."

My lord. My mind began to whirl.

Last century I was driving a small sports car on a windy hillside road, following a landscaping truck, probably too closely, and he came to a stop. I hit the brakes, and the pedal went to the floor. The car did not even start to slow down, I had no brakes. I had an instant to make a decision. I could drive off the right side of the hill, down an embankment, a cliff, into homes or pools or god knows what. I could hit the truck, rear end it, and then who knows what would happen in front of the truck, I could not go into the left lane, another car was coming, I would head on into it. I could cross the left lane and ram my car into a brick garage. I chose the garage. I came to in the front seat, covered in blood, my steering wheel broken where my head had hit it. A man was knocking on my window, he said he called an ambulance. In the emergency room a nurse was taking my vitals and asking me simple questions to make sure I was not suffering from a concussion. She asked me what I did for a living and I told her I wrote scripts for a new TV show. She then went on about a 10 minute rant about how crazy it was to work in an emergency room in Los Angeles, you see all kinds, and how crazy the doctors and nurses were and that it is always changing, always new people coming in the door with the strangest problems. "You should write a TV show about us," she said as she took my blood pressure. I said I might and almost immediately realized I would never tell anyone again that I was a writer.

In the hotel ballroom, I sat down, but I told them, I was quite busy and did not have the time to just sit for a long time. They said they had a lot of questions. Do I really call all women Becky was the first one. I laughed. I then stood up and reminded them that I was there to film. I walked towards the door and my client, the woman who had already written a substantial check, stopped me, "Matt, we have a book club. We'd like you to join on on Thursday. We have a lot of questions."

Before I could respond, a dark haired younger woman, maybe 30, hard to tell, deeply tanned, looked to have been working out and was stunning, stood and walked towards me, she leaned into me and whispered something into my ear. We made eye contact, that sort of steady eye contact that seems to contain an unwritten promise. I nodded and she smiled the most seductive and glorious smile I have seen in a long time.

"Deal," I said and opened the door, walked out and did not let it hit me in the ass.

The good news is that everything went well. I got home late, a little drunk, and the experience gave me something to think about. Maybe I should create an email account just for this blog, or something. Maybe I should not email business clients from an email account linked to this blog. Maybe I should have mentioned that I have a date on Thursday.