We recently caught up with Carrie Conway, best known as Bobby Framingham's "Friend who is a Girl" in the well-loved novel "Out of the Pocket."

Her hair now a shade of red-orange usually reserved for forest blazes, her lips a shade of purple usually seen in slurpie cups, Carrie was at a frat party at Cal State Northridge, a plastic red cup in her hand. She was wearing a black and white print Kimono, and she had chopsticks in her hair. The party was not a costume party. No mention was made about why Carrie was now Asian, nor did she try to explain during our quick chat.

Q: Carrie Conway! You've really done quite a marvelous job of staying out of the media this past year and a half. How've you done it? How are you? What are you up to?

A: Um, one question at a time, please. How many things do you think I can hold in my head at one time? I'm kidding. I'm being weird. There is not NEARLY enough odd at Northridge, believe me you. Okay. So, I guess I'm fine, I mean, yeah. I'm good. (Sips her beer) For the record, I am not drinking beer. (Sips again, foam forms on her purple lips). Because. That would be. Wrong. Oh stop looking at me like that, Renee! I do not have a problem! So what was the question?

Q: What are you up to?

A: Oh, you know. This and that. Spring semester at Durango was tragic! I mean, lame to a significant, you know, extent. I dated this baseball player, and found, you know, that ACTUALLY dating an athlete is a whole lot less enjoyable that kind of dating a closeted gay football player who won't touch your boobies or even kiss you. (Laughs, rolls her eyes). Yeah, being known for that has really been fabulous for my social life. (Motions to the non-existent crowd around her). Sorry, Renee. We all love you. We meaning me. So yeah, dating a baseball player. A lot less irony in the conversation, if you know what I mean. So anyway, I'm now a freshman, in case you can't do the math. Northridge is, wow, how do I even describe this place? (Sips beer, ponders). A school.

Q: Are you in touch with Bobby?

A: Skype. We have our Sunday morning skype sessions, which are perfect because my JESUS LOVING ROOMMATE is out sacrificing small babies, or whatever it is that those people do on Sunday morning.

Q: Go to church?

A: Yeah, I guess, whatever. So Bobby and I skype. He's LOVING Stanford, which makes me want to rip my eyes out of my socket. Because it is possible, if I were brighter or at least more studious or my parents were richer or maybe all three I could be at a school like that and not HERE where nobody FREAKING appreciates a good Kimono. God!

Q: Bitterness aside, how is he doing?

A: (Shrugs). You know Bobby. Always drama. He's playing football. He's not like a starter or anything, but he like is on the team. I think he didn't get out on the field this year. (Laughs). Which makes the whole 'I'm a football player' thing sort of existential, no? He's dating someone. Not that Bryan guy, but like a guy at Stanford. He's all shady about the whole thing, evasive. Which is SO DIFFERENT than the Bobby I knew for three-and-a-half years, right? I mean, come on, Dude. You came out. Stop with the evasion. Is that a word?

Q: Are you dating?

A: Well, glad you asked. There are like a bunch of gay guys who major in drama here, so yeah, the field is definitely WIDE OPEN. No. I mean, I don't date, exactly. I will sometimes eat a meal with a guy. And if he pleases me, I will allow him to touch my boobies. Not directly, but like, over the sweater, you know. Can I go now? I mean, aren't you a little old to be at this party, perv?

Q: It was nice talking to you, Carrie.

A: The pleasure was all yours. Kidding! I'm kidding. Nice talking to you. If you see anyone with even a SPARK of creativity about them, or like a guy with nice pecs and cute dimples, would you, like, send them over here? I'm literally dying.