Walking the Dead

Hmm...what a dog walking service THAT would be. I actually spent a fair portion of the day in a local cemetery, as I am very fond of cemeteries. I am also fond of British men, chocolate, and icy-cold lemonade, but that's a horse of a different color, as someone in the Wizard of Oz said. I think it was someone dressed in green, since he was living in the Emerald City and all.

Anyway, as I was walking along studying cemetery names and wondering why I am still single, I happened upon one that said "Sinatro". I had a great idea then (lightbulb moment!). Why not somehow erase the "o", add an "a" and pretend that Frank was buried there! Me and my, like, cohorts could charge admission, put up a little bird bath and sing "Three Coins in a Fountain!"
While tossing in coins periodically!

Somehow these ideas sound better in my head. I then began to ponder stop signs. For instant, stop is "pots" backwards. So why don't we have a sign called, simply, snap? You knows, pots and pans? People would be so confused that they might even start snapping, which would, for the musically inclined, make them think of wonderful things like, well, music! In short, we'd heal the entire planet through the power of that wondrous stuff! Kinda like the Beatles sorta did once upon a time for seven magical years! I say yes, you say no...oh no!!!! You say goodbye, I say hello, hello hello...

Alright, I figured out why I'm still single. You don't even have to email me. Not that anyone does, but once in awhile I get a comment. Some blogs get LOTS of comments. I'd prefer to think I merely toil in obscurity, waiting for the moment a writer from Conan O'Brien happens upon my blogs and gives me a job writing for the show. IT COULD HAPPEN, PEOPLE! Yes, so could a meteorite, but I'm thinking positively here, imagining good stuff! There is some of it out there still!

Like snickers bars are good stuff. Mmm, I love my f'ing snickers bars! I would also love to get my book back, move to Jamaica, and charge admission for something. Maybe I could bring the Frank Sinatra tombstone with me! Heh, heh, heh!!

Ah, we clever Irish/English/Slovak people. I like the fact that most Americans are mongrels! In other news I met a nice man on my walking travels today (the married, surburban, got three kids and a stationwagon kind) who introduced me to his Hungarian pointer. The breed started with a "v" and her name was Athena. The goddess of wisdom, is she (I only know this 'cause he told me and I asked, although I was getting close...it's something you think you know, then realize ya don't).

I am thinking HAPPY thoughts! Visualizing POSITIVE results! If you're depressed, just think about Tony Robbins and his nice white teeth!! Come on, I dare ya! Major chompers are they. Plus he has one of those Jolly Green Giant type voices and those deeply penetrating eyes, sorta like he knows all your secrets but likes you anyway. That's why writers write...we fear not only our own secrets, but yours! Even the most boring looking person on the planet has a couple, trust me. Fascinating stuff.

Has anyone ever read Peyton Place? Speaking of secrets? That's a book I never got around to, that and Ulysses and the Valley of the Dolls. Not that I'd put them necessarily in the same category, pill popping housewives and whatever the hell James Joyce was writing about. I believe it's his autobiography (my incredibly bitchy landlady informed me that I ain't no English major if I haven't read Ulysses -- but then again when she dies the dark creepy forms from the movie "Ghost" are going to drag her into the underworld and crown her its new bride). So maybe I'll read all those books this summer, when I'm living in my new house underneath the river. Or it is by the river? Living underwater might be cool, but you never know.

I'm on a brilliant streak here! I ought to send this to the Craig Ferguson show, except I know he'd steal my material, the bastard! Craig has a girlfriend for real now, sniff. That's ok, in my head I'm married to about fifty actors, and we all take turns, if you know what I mean. JUST kidding! Only Mormons can do that, the rabid hard-core kind!

Yes, well, I never said I was normal, ever ever ever.

Strange people keep walking in and out of the library. Here I am, a sedate looking thirty-something woman who looks incredibly normal and yet...

I am walking the dead.

Have a happy day.

Nothing Clever, Heavy Weather

How goes it, my sweet daffodils? Another glorious day here in New England. A mite on the cold side, although not enough to harden your nipples, freeze off your vitals, or in any way, shape, or form chill thy blood. Still, a close friend of mine fled New England ONLY due to the weather and is now living happily in Houston, where summer is apparently a perpetual state and the accents are probably long and broad. Instead of clipped and narrow! Long and broad and friendly, clipped and narrow and suspicious! Kinda the way southerners view themselves and northerners, no doubt! Or something like that -- I'm too tired to milk all the urgent ramifications.

Yes, everything is urgent for this person these days. I am happy to report I am Close To Leaving Without Benefit Of A Psychotic Break the landlady's house, though still bookless, depressed, and mired in my approximately one billion unresolved issues. Hey, it's no different than a day on The View! I was happy to hear Rosie O'Donnell was returning to network TV to co-host the show despite all the bad press she's received. At the very least she's never dull and always speaks her mind, which is more than Ryan Seacrest can say, for example. I saw him once on an old episode of Blind Date and was so appalled by how he treated his date that seeing him now on American Idol makes me cringe. Don't sue me for slander, Rye Baby -- you know it's true!

I should start the All-Celebrity Weather Channel -- we give you the forecast on both! Hey, it's a thought. Better than the naked news, although I'm sure there's a fraternity guy Tivo'ing that program at this very moment. Amazing how such simple concepts net people millions thanks to simple biology! Men are so easily manipulated by mammary glands -- it's amazing if you think about it!

Which I rarely do. At present I prefer men to be in the shape of Remote Television Hosts, or characters in books, like Mr. Rochester. There will never ever be a man like Mr. Rochester. Not in the flesh, anyway, alas. Ya gotta wonder what the Brontes were drinking up there on them moors. That's another miracle.

I actually had my Psychotic Break when I ran away to LA (for those laboring under the delusion I was normal -- I'm half-way to crackers and you shoulda picked up on that by now) without a job or place to stay. I had excellent reasons for this that only The Therapist Knows (kinda like the shadow, but probably more soothing), but returned a Broken Woman. Months of therapy later, I am still Broken, but you know, I will rise again, like the phoenix from the flame, maybe even without an added bad habit. Yeah, like heroin or a penchant for spraypainting buildings. I am actually doing very well all things considered, but the road has been long and hard, and some things are still complete shit.

All Things Considered! NPR! Sometimes listening to that is like the sonic equivalent of taking valium. SNL got the parody of that fine show right! They also had Alec Baldwin partake of the skit, and I am a sucker for those Baldwin Baby Blues. Sigh. If only.

I will leave you now with a great quote by our former VP Dan Quayle: "Potatoe!" "Potatoe!"

I don't know why, do you?

Happy day.