A National Merit Scholar, she has a masters from the University of California at Berkeley, which has a reputation for breeding liberals and hippies. CJ worked for a small-minded woman named Isobelle at the Triton-Day PR firm in Southern California, until she was fired the morning Toby came to bring her on the campaign. Leo heard about her through her work with EMILY's List, which raises money for women candidates. (Interestingly enough, EMILY's List does exist.) CJ has this weird propensity for falling into pools.

Her assistant's name is Carol, and Carol has a problem with spelling. CJ is sensitive about both her neck, and her height, and her Secret Service code name "Flamingo" does nothing to assuage those fears. She works out when she is stressed, and has a hard time staying on treadmills. She towers over the President at 6 ft, 0 inches, and enjoys drinking beer and playing poker with the rest of the boys. She can hold her alcohol much better than Josh, though that isn't saying much. CJ can't cook, doesn't know anything about sports, and will yell wherever and whenever she deems it necessary, even if it's in a crowded hallway with tons of people milling about. She is often right in her assessments of situations, but has a tendency to doubt herself thanks to the tradition of blaming the press secretary for every leak that appears. Toby is her direct superior, and he doesn't exactly let her forget it.

She looks wonderful in blue Armani, is often conscious of her faults, wasn't trusted by the rest of the staff for a long while, semi-dated Danny Concannon, though she broke that up because she didn't think it was appropriate for the press secretary to date the white house reporter. She has been cursed by the Bast, the Egyptian cat goddess, thinks Donna has a criminal mind like her own, and is, in her own words, delightful, delicious, charming, sleek, and often times witty.

CJ's dad is still alive and lives in Napa. She's Catholic, often drinks grasshoppers, has a cat, likes to call Sam Sparky, lip-synchs for joyous occasions, and can't get enough of goldfish crackers. Sometimes she wishes she could dress the President up in liederhosen and drop-kick him onto the Norwegian fjords. She can get away with telling him that too, because she is a goddess to be worshipped and adored.

Oh, and lest we forget, she's GREAT in bed.