Friday, June 27, 2008
I can't believe I just spent 3 months cloistered in my apartment. I've left it exactly 4 times, which is also the amount of times I've wanted to saw this cast off my leg and throw it into the pool. I've developed restless cast syndrome and it's screwed up my sleeping big time. It's enough already. It comes off on Monday. Three days.
In the good news department someone from Sydney, Australia wrote I Heart Cock on my cast. How embarrassed are all the people at the doctor's office going to be when I show up with that? Why am I not embarrassed? BECAUSE MAKING FUN OF MY LIFE IS ALL I HAVE LEFT.
A lot of comics have sent me emails and called to talk about Carlin. I went to one of the youtube links my friend Matt sent me. While I was watching I noticed the embed had been disabled upon request. I'm guessing George's estate stepped in to stop the world from downloading, embedding etc. George would have fucking died (again) over that. He was so not that guy. If he could come back for 4 minutes the first 3 would be him yelling at youtube and his estate. He wanted you to hear what he was saying and he didn't care how you heard it. If you got it for free he would consider you a genius.
One of my commenters, Maureen, mentioned that SNL was rerunning the 1975 show that Carlin hosted. As happy as I am about that, what pisses me off was that according to Comedy on the Edge, the definitive book by Richard Zoglin on the evolution of standup, George was the guest host on that show, their first one ever and yet never hosted again. 'Carlin remains the forgotten man in the oft-told tale of Saturday Night Live's birth. Michaels never asked him back and he was pretty much written out of SNL's seemingly endless retrospectives and tributes.'
I'm upset that it takes death to set the record straight. So NOW they're all on board the Carlin Express. First Stop? Fuck You, New York.
The last three months I've spent most of my time online reading articles. This one made me laugh out loud, about how much coinage people leave behind in airports.
The cash leader: Los Angeles International Airport, where passengers left behind $89,375 from Sept. 30, 2004 to Oct. 1, 2007, according to TSA reports. Las Vegas' McCarran International was a distant runner-up.
The cash laggard: Chattanooga (Tenn.) Metropolitan Airport, whose 300,000 departing passengers in 2007 left just $1.20.
Biggest underachiever: New York's Kennedy International Airport, the nation's sixth-busiest, which generated just $5,228 from 2004 to 2007, including a mere $607 last year.
When have you ever heard that New York has been an underachiever? All in all, in the U.S., over a million dollars was left behind.
Then there was this article about James Dyson and his vacuum machines.
James Dyson has made quite a name for himself with his bagless vacuum cleaners. Now the inventor is spending some of his $1.5 billion fortune working on a gasless car --specifically, one that runs completely on solar power.
His engineers in England are developing a lightweight electric motor that, according to Dyson, could power a family vehicle for hundreds of miles. The battery would be charged by solar panels mounted on the vehicle's roof, and/or on the roof of a garage where the car is stored. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the motor is actually based on those used in the company's vacuum cleaners and hand dryers.
Seriously, why isn't this guy in charge of the world? Have you seen his newest vacuum cleaner, the one that operates on a ball? It came out this year. 2008. How long did it take people to figure out that vacuums only operate in a straight line? 139 years. That's when the first one was invented, in 1869.
And finally, more motorists are buying locking gas caps for their vehicles.
The minute I read that, Will Smith's song Wild Wild West went through my head. I filled my car with gas before my surgery. I have no idea why since I wasn't going to be driving anytime soon. But three months ago gas was a lot cheaper so I'm glad I did. I fill my car 4 times a year. That's because I walk everywhere and even if I drive, my car gets great mileage. Oh, and I don't have a job, that helps. It's currently parked underground in a gated part of our building and the gas tank is flush with the wall. Unless the Druggertons have figured out a way to crawl under my car and siphon out the gas, I think I'm good to go.
MONDAY MONDAY. The Mamas and the Papas had that right.
End of chat.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I had just moved from New York City to Los Angeles in the hopes of pursuing a bigger career than New York offered. I had agents and an apartment by the Hollywood sign and I felt I was on the right track. One of my first gigs was in Las Vegas; how horrible could life be?
Driving into Vegas and seeing Carlin's name on the marquee at Bally's and knowing I was going to be in the same place, doing the same thing made it seem like I had moved for all the right reasons. I immediately wrote him a note saying I was at Catch and that I wanted to see his show. I dropped it off at reception and wondered whether George would get it. He did and called me in my room to ask how many tickets I needed because it was Valentine's Day. He assumed I needed two. I had just started dating The Impotentate (GET OUT. RUN AWAY. YOU'RE GOING TO WASTE 7 YEARS OF YOUR LIFE WITH HIM.) but left him back in L.A. It was my first time playing Vegas and if I went down in flames I didn't need him to see that. So I asked George for one ticket and a fire extinguisher.
The first note pinned on the yellow sheet below is the message the operators at Catch A Rising Star took from George telling me to be at his 9 pm show. You know I'm the Queen of the Qeepsakes so I have this hanging in my Hall of Fame. You can't see it in this photo but it hangs down on the left, under the Muscle and Fitness magazine with my sister on the cover.
Valentine's Day in Vegas couldn't be more annoying if it tried. People running around all in love and shit and strangers looking at you with sad eyes because OMG you're alone! But I didn't care because I couldn't wait to see the guy that all comics put in their top 5 of best standups ever. If you don't get that, chances are you might not understand what makes great comedy. It's hard to explain if you're not in the business of making people laugh. You're just going to have to trust me and every other comic on the planet on this one. Can 20,000 of us be wrong? Uhhh. No.
Standing on a stage for over an hour trying to hustle an audience into laughing is not for the weak. It's so difficult that sometimes I look back on my younger self and wonder what convinced me that I could tackle such a job. How did I believe I had the wherewithal to make an audience love me? Or make them laugh or require them to think? Few of us will ever attain the rank of making an audience think. That requires enormous skill and I'd be the first to admit that I can't do it. I'm not that gifted. But Carlin had it in spades. Imagine trying to talk about religion, as George did in his bit on the Ten Commandments, and yet point out how ridiculous those Ten Commandments were. Who makes fun of that and wins? George. Because he was a master of comedy. My friend and fellow comic Matt Davis sent me an email that really summed up George's genius. He was a maestro with his words. He would start a premise or a story and he would zig and zag and weave and go off onto several different tangents (all of which were relevant and hilarious), and he would always come back and join it all together 10 or 20 minutes later and tie the end piece with a bow. It was amazing. It made me want to write more jokes and quit comedy forever at the same time.
That's really the hallmark of great anything. That it makes you want to do it better and yet quit because you don't think you'll ever be as good at it as the ones you admire the most. Comics can make a room full of strangers laugh. We don't know if it will work every time, and sometimes it doesn't, but we do know that most people can't do it and for some reason, that's why we keep doing it. And most of us hope we're one hundredth as good as Carlin. And know we're not.
The next night there was a message from George. "Want to know if you saw the show." I've had boyfriends who have dropped me off in front of my building and haven't waited to see if I made it inside alive. I have relatives who assume I'm dead because they never call. George was a real class act. And p.s., how many comics have you seen remain successful through their 60's and on until their 70's? Newhart. Cosby. Rivers. Carson. Believe me, we should all be so lucky.
Those of you who read me on a regular basis know I struggle with what I did with my life but when Carlin died I realized I'm grateful that I chose to be a comic, no matter how difficult the road. I remember once when my career was in the toilet and I didn't know what was going to happen to me and I called my Dad. I told him I had wasted my time flying around the world doing comedy and what did it bring me? And my Dad said "You made a lot of people laugh. Not many people can say that about their lives." And over the years I realized how right he was. Making people laugh is a lucky gift to have. It also reminds me of what The Laugh Factory here in L.A. puts up on their marquee when a comic dies. RIP George Carlin. Make God laugh. So if I can do that one day when I'm long gone and forgotten down here, make God laugh? Well, there will be no regrets. Except for this one: GET THIS CAST OFF MY FUCKING FOOT.
Another great comedian died the same day as Carlin but at 93, her heyday had come and gone. Dody Goodman was in both the Grease movies and played the mother in the hilarious sitcom Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. But more importantly, she was a Johnny Carson and Jack Paar fave. And if those two guys didn't know great comedy, no one did. Dody also did Broadway in her later years. I came across this quote from the producer of one of her shows about her prowess on the New York stage:
"Dody had the most impeccable comic timing," Goggin said. "When we had her in the show Nunsense, she was the only person on Earth who could walk on stage and say, 'Are you ready to start?' and bring the house down."
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Thanks to everyone who participated in this contest. I have another one coming up with a very funny book written by a man. Remember them?
There were ten people who had the correct answers for this contest. Jami, Martha Jane, That Chick Over There, Jennifer, Melly, chicmama!, Mrs. K, Deb, Mrs. S, and gm country mama. Mrs. K has guessed correctly on every shoe contest, 3 so far, so I was hoping she'd win. But she didn't. I was also hoping gm country mama would win because she's an old friend of Stefanie's and is mentioned in Stef's first book. But she didn't.
Four pairs of the shoes have appeared on my blog because they're mine. The only pair that did not belong to me were B. All of the shoes are new except the ones in D. Those were the boots I wore on New Year's Eve at Lompoc Maximum Security Prison in 1993 when I did two shows there. Spare me your snipes on them unless you've played a prison. No one? Didn't think so.
So congratulations to the winner, That Chick Over There! Chick, send me your snail mail and I'll forward it to Stefanie so she can sign and send your book out to you. It's a very funny read and for those of you who don't own this book or Stefanie's first one, Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay, shame on you. Run to Amazon.com. Or Barnes and Noble.com. Or to a bar. Although you won't get much reading done there. And they don't sell books. Did someone say Mojitos?
End of chat.
Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay Naptime Is The New Happy Hour Stefanie Wilder-Taylor
Monday, June 23, 2008
So here's the question that could win you her hilarious latest book, Naptime is the New Happy Hour. Which of the shoes below has NOT been on my blog?
You only get ONE letter guess and the winner will be announced on Wednesday.
Because I'm leaving the contest open for two days. That means until Midnight PST on Tuesday 24th. If there are multiple winners all the names go into a hat and I choose one without cheating. Anonymous entries will not be accepted unless you've signed your name since I'm really grouchy these days.
To get an idea of the other fabulous, funny books my friends have written and given away on this blog, click on the Contests link at the bottom of this post. If you want your funny book to have a shoe contest, start kissing ass now. Fortunately I've lost 16 pounds so it shouldn't take long back there.
End of chat.
Friday, June 20, 2008
HOWEVER, if a bottle of Vodka walked into my apartment right now I would marry it. I'm grateful that I have no weapons on me because if someone broke into my apartment I would shoot to kill. Turns out I left my door unlocked on Wednesday night so that might have happened, only I don't have a gun. So I would have stabbed someone to death after I pushed my scooter over to the knife drawer and then followed them around my apartment yelling, "Don't make me come over there because I WILL. Eventually."
10 days until this bitch comes off my leg. It's enough already. If I had a vacuum saw, like the one they use chez le medecin, this fucker would be lying on the floor and I'd be doing the Happy Hoppy Dance with one leg.
ANOTHER SHOE CONTEST! Shut UP, you say? No YOU shut up.
This one stars my good friend and hilarious comic slash writer Stefanie Wilder-Taylor. Dasright, she's going to autograph and give away her latest book, Why Suzy Soro is the Queen of the World. Or as some hateful people prefer to call it: Naptime Is The New Happy Hour.
I know that anyone who has read Stefanie's blog or her first novel Suzy Soro Taught Me Everything I Know, also referred to in some spiteful literary circles as Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay, will want in on this contest.
It starts on Monday and will run for 2 days. Winner announced on Wednesday.
End of chat.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Which brings me to the picture below. This is the Army K-9 unit of Osan, South Korea. They are holding a pair of The Impotentate's briefs. Even though he was never a jealous guy, he hated it when I went overseas to entertain the boys. So one day before I left for Asia, he gave me a pair of his briefs with this written on them: "Don't forget me. I love you. Please don't be a whore." Actually I have no idea what it really said but I remember he wrote it in green magic marker and put a heart in red with an arrow through it. During the entire 7 years I wasted with this individual that is the nicest thing he ever did for me. I know; I'm a retard. But not a whore.
Below are some very serious German Shepherds. Civilians weren't even allowed to stand next to the gate. We watched a presentation they made for us, where the dogs rushed a guy and ripped his protected arm to shreds. Sometimes I fantasize that it was The Impotentate's arm. A MULTI-millionaire, in case you read that first paragraph too quickly.
The first coin in the top left hand corner is from the 1st Battalion 506th Infantry. In the middle it says Stands Alone and at the bottom North of the River. On the back it says Bushmasters. Hmmmmmm. I got this one at the post at the DMZ, which separates North and South Korea. I remember the officer took us aside and made a little presentation of the coins.
The coin underneath it has the map of North and South Korea and is from the same outfit. They both say Currahee on them.
The one with the black shield says No Slack and Warrior Main. It's from C Company, 702D, MSB. How butch does Warrior Main sound? And how many of you wives out there are married to No Slack? That's what I thought.
It's 2 miles long by 3/4 miles at its widest point. It's the home of the operational chemical weapon demilitarization point. In English? This is where they stash the leftover Mustard Gas and Agent Orange from previous wars. You are issued a gas mask upon arrival and a kit full of antidote. You are shown a movie where they demonstrate how to plunge the hypodermic into your thigh in case the alarm goes off. If you cross a certain point of the island you must have your gas mask on you or you have to turn back. The indoctrination takes over an hour. They want to be clear that you understand what's going on. Below is a picture of me in my gas mask with my medical clearance certificate. And the first person who says I look better this way can bite me.
We woke up every morning to the loudest motherfucking siren in the Universe. I spent most of the shows making fun of the guy who ran that siren. Then I started talking about those hypodermics and everyone began laughing. I asked one specialist from the south why it was so funny and he replied, "Ma'am, by the time the Mustard Gas hits the air? You'd have no time to get that hypodermic out of its bag 'cause you'd be dead." Well then.
The people at Johnston get a really bad case of cabin fever since there's nowhere to go and they have to serve a tour there, sometimes 2 years, which they are financially well compensated for due to the extreme situation. They drink a lot. Once some of them get so drunk they jumped into the waters and were sliced to shreds by the coral reefs. One died.
As you can probably tell from this blog, I documented my career in a very meticulous manner. Pictures, mementos, scrapbooks, postcards. Because I figured someone as single-mindedly ambitious as me would forget to marry and have children and I wanted to account for all that time. And I was right. I forgot to marry and have children. A MULTI-MILLIONAIRE, yo.
End of chat.
Bushmasters Currahee 1st Battalion 506th Infantry C Company, 702D, MSB Warrior Main Stands alone
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
This post is for you.
I entertained the troops during the Bosnian War and made other trips to South Korea, Johnston Atoll and Japan for MWR. The comics were given G-17 status and at the time that pissed off my Army Dad, ret. and now deceased, buried in Arlington. He had only gotten to G-14. I said, "I told you I'd amount to something ONE day." And he replied, "Yeah, as long as you're in a war zone you're fine."
I spent time in red-tagged bunkers in Macedonia and did meet and greets out of a Blackhawk flying with almost zero visibility in some no-fly zones, for which I did NOT receive hazard pay. (Surely one of you guys can put in a word for me about that, no?) I yelled at that pilot because he took us over a mountain and dropped the chopper straight down, thereby scaring the FUCK out of me. He promised not to do it again and told me not to feel bad since when he had the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders on board they all puked when he did that to them.
At the show that night I ripped that flyboy a new asshole and got a standing O. Hooah!
The Blackhawk and the pilot.
The note that was left on my door after that show. I went to their commanding officer to try and track down the guy who wrote this and was told, "We're all just soldiers here." And yes, their humility made me cry. Shut up. At least I didn't puke.
End of chat.
U.S. Soldiers in Pakistan War In Iraq
Monday, June 16, 2008
Since that strange tingling came back in my fingertips, which I haven't mentioned to save myself the agony of reading helpful reader comments like "Well, then just cut them off,' coupled with my life on a scooter slash crutches, I felt assured of the valued pole position at this year's Crippledome. I reluctantly called the scooter people to come pick up my metallic best friend on July 1st, the day after the cast comes off. Then I'll have the black boot and be able to put 20% of my weight on my foot while using crutches. 20%? Haven't we been over my ineptitude with all things math? One fifth of my total weight = what the fuck does that mean. I did a practise run with that contraption that Carson gave me to wear around my neck. Thank God big necklaces are in style right now; maybe people will just mistake it for a very poor fashion choice. You can stick food and drinks in it while hobbling about on crutches. I managed to go 3 feet until I dropped a paper towel and just stood there staring at it because someone forgot to make bendable crutches.
Carson and her friend Charlie came over on Friday for movie night. We watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. I was familiar with the story and knew it was brutal and depressing so of course I was very excited to see it. My shrink used to tell me to stop watching the 11:00 pm news because it was too depressing. That's when I started watching the 11:00 news. Diving Bell is the memoir of the French editor of Elle, Jean-Dominique Bauby, who had the rarest form of a stroke, called locked-in syndrome, and could only blink his left eyelid. With that one eye he blinked out an entire memoir. He wrote a book while blinking at the letters his therapists read to him. Whereas I would be staring at a dropped paper towel for the duration of my recovery. I'm half French. Obviously the American half is more dominant.
End of chat.
Friday, June 13, 2008
And in case you're wondering, Darvocets suck. Big time. They must have pumped air into the pills. The only good news I have to report is the advent of a new blog by my sometime commenter and fellow standup comic Hollywood Dad. It's hard to find really funny male bloggers, whereas it's easy to find funny female bloggers. I'm guessing because more women blog? Whatever the reason, Tommy's blog is hilarious, his wife is always annoyed with him and he has two small children that we think are his. He doesn't have a SiteMeter on his blog YET so if you comment, tell him I sent you.
I went away last weekend to the McLoserstene Manse in Southern California, or, as it's annoyingly referred to on the local news, 'SoCal.' Apparently no one has time to say the entire phrase so they've reduced it to SoCal, as in, "So Cal, how about those Lakers?" This part of our state is also referred to as The Inland Empire, as if we were a 17th century Chinese dynasty. Our local L.A. weathermen are named Johnny Mountain and Dallas Raines and they are as ridiculous looking as their names imply. We are the laughing stock of the United States. LaLa Land, Hollyweird, HellA, it's all just part of a conspiracy to make us dumber and more retarded than we actually are. Although to be honest it doesn't take much.
Which brings me to my sojourn chez les McLoserstenes. They wasted no time including me in their weekend plans, a birthday party for their grandchildren. I was the greeter for all the toddlers who streamed by my chair, clutching their parents' hands while crying and pointing to "the monster lady sitting in the chair."
Notice the subscription bottle of drugs in the basket of the scooter? It's a good thing I still had some left because they made sure to include me in their many sophisticated outings. Here we are at Rite-Aid, where I was put in charge of, I believe the technical words for it are "Watching our shit while we shop."
Due to the lovely roses from their gardens that they placed in my bedroom and bath area, I had to spend $20.00 at Rite-Aid on an inhaler as I am allergic to roses. I'm pretty sure they knew that in advance.
They thoughtfully made sure I had plenty to read and left these books on the nightstand next to my bed.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
End of chat.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
So the correct answer to the contest was D. "This shoe cost $0 because the shoe is not in production." And if I may? HOW DUMB IS THAT TO PUT A SHOE IN A MAGAZINE, GIVE THE PHONE NUMBER AND THEN TELL A CUSTOMER YOU'RE NOT MAKING IT? Why not just SAY that in the photo caption? It's not like there's George Clooney on the other end of that phone number and that's the booby prize you get for making the call FOR NOTHING.
Okay, I'm back. So the following 8 people got the answer right:
1. Mrs. K
I put all the names in a bowl:
And picked the winner:
Congratulations Pam! Send me your snail mail so I can forward it to Eileen Cook, the author of Unpredictable. She will autograph a copy and send it out to you.
End of chat.
Prada Christian LaCroix Eileen Cook Unpredictable
Monday, June 09, 2008
So here is the contest. The first shoe pictured, the black and gold one, costs $750.00.
You have ONE guess for the second shoe. Again, if there are multiple winners, their names will be put into a hat and chosen at random.
How much does this black and white shoe cost?
A. This shoe cost $125.00
B. This shoe cost $65.00
C. This shoe cost $795.00
D. This shoe cost $0 because it's not in production
Friday, June 06, 2008
Would you be the slightest bit surprised to know that I took 1 Vicodin yesterday morning to go back to bed and then another 2 when I got up from my 67 year long nap? I believe in the addiction handbook that is what is referred to as 'Going Backwards.' However, I took nothing else all day so the tally for Thursday is 3. I'm not bragging, believe me.
I'm an addict. If I put it out there, I'm responsible for it so I'm putting it out there. My descent into hell with alcohol five years ago, which lasted a good six months before I pulled the plug on myself and went into rehab, started out with me as a social drinker. Then one day I wasn't. One day all the fat people were thin. Then they weren't. Why?
If you're addicted to anything, you're probably unhappy. You're either in a dead-end relationship, a fucked-up job, not where you want to be in life or in a place where you do ALL the emotional or physical work and the other person does NONE of it. Addiction is just the band-aid that covers up what is really wrong. It covers up what you're really addicted to, and it's always a behavior. When X does Y, I feel like eatingsmokingdrinkingshopping etc. Find out what that behavior is and you're halfway home. I figured out mine back in 2004. It's been a struggle ever since to avoid the people and situations that bring this up or I just have to deal with it outright, which is also difficult. But I try. Sometimes I fail. I'm not perfect. Well, I AM, but you know. Just with clothes and accessories.
I'm not interested in pot, gambling, eating (seriously, SOMEONE MAKE A PILL CALLED LUNCH AND DO ME A SOLID) or smoking. And when I'm not having surgery, I'm not interested in pills either. Smoking was also a big addiction for me and it took me two years to quit. If I even had one this morning I'd be up to a carton by this afternoon. And here's another news flash with addiction, you can't quit anything until YOU want to. That's why telling someone else to quit something doesn't work. If they don't want to, they aren't going to. Move on.
I fight codependence every day and man, talk about a bad gig that doesn't pay well. In case you don't know whether you're codependent or not, if you're constantly telling someone else how to live their life, how to do it better or anything similar, you're controlling and thus codependent. And you've probably got addictions.
I did figure out yesterday that I wasn't depressed from the Vikes, which is what I thought. I got myself into a situation with someone and that is what was bringing up all the old feelings that made me want to use. Once I realized what I was doing, I extricated myself from that person and was kind of surprised how much better I felt. Immediately. Being exposed to this person makes me want to control and the more you try and control something, not only the less it will happen your way, Melodie Beatty believes it KEEPS it from happening altogether, but you're also more likely to act out addictively. That would be me.
And now for really important news, there's a new SHOE CONTEST starting next week to give away the hilariously funny Unpredictable by Eileen Cook. Go to Amazon.com and read her reviews and you'll want in on this. I still haven't worked out the particulars, due to being all high and everything. KIDDING. But it involves shoes and I think that says enough.
End of chat.
Melody Beattie The Language of Letting Go Codependent No More Beyond Codependency Addiction
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Because that's the unpredictability of untreated 'issues.' They show up as addictive behavior. (It took me 4 therapists and 56 million dollars to get to that nugget) You quit one and will almost always pick up another. After I gave up drinking 5 years ago I spent a year going to AA meetings. Mostly judgemental Nazis bleating out rules and regs from the founder of AA's Big Book, Mr. Bill Wilson who, although he stopped drinking, was a raging sex addict his entire life. (To be fair, back in the 1930's the world didn't consider eating, shopping, smoking, sex or gambling as addictions) At AA people can't go 15 minutes without a cigarette and there's more coffee drunk at those meetings than in all of Seattle. And if I pointed out that they were still addicts they would say "But nooooooooooo, we're alcohol free!" There are 7 addictions. Not diseases. Addictions. And there's hardly a one of us who doesn't have something. And in case you think I outed Bill W.? He's listed all over the Internet with his real last name.
So last night I slept a blissful 3 hours. I'm sorry, did I say blissful? I meant psychotic. I 86'd the useless Darvocet and went back to my 2 Unisoms and 1 Xanax. I only took 2 Advil.
So far so good. I dozed off at 2 AM and was up again at 5:00 AM. Then I took 2 more Advil and 1 more Xanax.
6 PREVIOUS TOTAL
9 NEW TOTAL
By 8:30 AM I was still up and on the brink of murdering someone. Unfortunately my family doesn't live with me. I had a lunch today and had to be up at 11. Don't hate me that I get to rise at that hour; today was a hardship as I usually get up at 12:30. But I promise you that me crawling over my bed with my bare ass in the air and that yellow cast dragging behind me shredding my black satin sheet in its wake, all just to set the alarm clock, is truly a thing to behold and takes 15 minutes. I hope I don't have video surveillance in my bedroom because if I do, somewhere two guys in greasy overalls are laughing their asses off.
So, desperate to get even 2 more hours of sleep I took another Xanax.
9 PREVIOUS TOTAL
10 ANOTHER NEW TOTAL AND CURRENT RECORD HOLDER
Then I checked my email while waiting for the sweet angels of slumber to club me into a coma and discovered an email from my lunch date. Who cancelled.
One of the books I keep next to my bed is The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie, who wrote Codependent No More. It's a book for anyone who wants to let go of extra baggage, bad habits, neuroses and our seemingly constant battle with life. The book is laid out one date at a time so you can read one entry a night to keep you on track. So I SWEAR June 5 says this: "Compulsive behaviors, sexually addictive behaviors, over-eating, chemical abuse, and addictive gambling are shame-based behaviors. If we participate in them, we will feel ashamed. It's inevitable. We need to watch out for addictive and other compulsive behaviors because those will immerse us in shame."
I had shame when I was over-indulging in cocktails but I have no shame with these pills. When they're gone, they're gone. And God help me that I don't pick up caffeine addiction. Kinda not what I need right now.
End of chat.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
But I did have to take the doctor's dose of Advil, which for those of you who don't know what that is, it's 800 mg of Advil, 4 pills. It's what the doctor would prescribe if you actually had pain. I took them because I've been using the crutches and was all creaky. I can't believe my poor left knee and thigh have taken so much pressure the last few months. Sometimes I talk to them and tell them not to give up, that we're almost done with this nightmare. I'm not entirely clear that they listen to me. (Plus 4)
Nightime I got creative and thought I would not take the Xanax but take a (worthless) Darvocet along with the 2 Unisom. Two hours later and after trying to read 3 different books and watching 35 different TV shows I gave up and took the Xanax. Which led to sleep. (Plus 4)
So instead of taking 5 pills a day, I'm now up to 9. Well done, don't you think?
End of chat.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
I was never a fan of this drug when I've taken it in the past. But that's because I was on a limited amount due to dental woes or buying if off the Druggertons, who live next door. Second clue to my addiction is my hypocritic oath, hereby sworn, because I totally trashed them a few posts back for being drug dealers. And expensive ones I might add.
When my doctor first gave me 60 with a refill for 60 I thought he might have confused them with Vitamin C. Who gives a patient access to 120 Vicodin? I mean besides Anna Nicole Smith's doctors. But never one to look a drug mule in the mouth, I didn't say anything. I barely even took them because I had no pain. And the first week post-op I was too busy trying not to throw up to even think about ingesting anything that would cause further expectoration.
But now, with just 27 days until the cast comes off I am seriously depressed. I find it hard to believe that only 2 months have passed since the surgery since it totally feels like 5 years. About 2 weeks ago I was in such dire straits that the only thing that would make me get out of the straits and onto the narrow was the Vicodin. And not just one at a time, like I had been taking, but 2 at a time. And then 6 hours of complete bliss would settle over me like a Thanksgiving dinner. I would prattle on and on about how great life was and I would work like an elf at Christmas on my final polish for my novel, which I'm now beginning to hate.
When the Vikes would finally wear off, I had the perfect pill cocktail to go to sleep. As a lifelong insomniac, (Seriously, I should have ticked off Cat Burglar on those questionnaires they make you fill out in high school about where your aptitude lies), I found a combo-platter that kept me out for 12 hours. 2 over the counter Unisom and .025 Xanax. That is the lowest dosage possible of Xanax but on the few occasions I've overindulged and taken 2 of those then the next day I wander the rooms of my apartment on my scooter, in a daze. So maybe that low dosage isn't as low as I think. And imagine how retarded I look dazed on a scooter.
I'm writing all this out because it's better to let the world in on the secret you're trying to hide. So in case someone else out there is reading this and has a similar problem, go ahead and taper off with me and then quit. If you need NA, go there. But TELL someone. I'm also doing it in case I die. KIDDING, PLEASE DON'T WRITE ME, I'M NOT HEATH LEDGER. And the Medical Examiner would be too embarrassed to print out what killed me and have to instead write in that I was the worst drug overdose he's seen in his 36 years of Medical Examining. Of course we're talking about Los Angeles so there's quite a few million people ahead of me on the pussy list of Drug Overdosees.
So I'm cutting down on both the Vikes and the Xanax as of today. I also have a stash of 24 Darvocet (Good Lord when you count your pills you might just as well call Tatum O'Neal and ask her if she has any leftover crack) but have no idea if they stave off depression or just make you sleepy. Because I'll say it again, I have no pain. I've never had any pain. So the last time I saw my doctor I mentioned that I was happy to have the Vikes and he said, "Because they make you feel good, right?" And therein lies the answer to why I got 120 Vicodins. He knew my situation was particular, living alone, second floor, etc. He KNEW I was going to plunge into a depression because of the long incarceration. He planned that all out and made sure I'd have something to keep me from heading the scooter down the stairs and into the deep end of the pool. As IF I could even do that and not end up in the shallow end.
So let the deprogramming begin.
End of chat.
Monday, June 02, 2008
A few weeks back I said that No Reservations was a really shitty movie. I only said that because I hadn't seen 27 Dresses yet. This is what happens when Not Walking Meets On Demand and the person in question is losing her mind. That person being me, of course.
I don't know how 27 Dresses got made. It's so formulaic that you'd think one person in Hollywood would say, "Jeeze, how many times have we seen this equation? Pretty girl made to look not so pretty in the beginning and in love with the wrong guy then meets another guy who of course she doesn't like only to find out later on in the movie, after she's had a remarkable transformation into a pretty girl, that the guy she doesn't like is really the right guy." Even if Katherine Heigl is wearing a Wonder Bread paper wrapper and has no arms and legs she looks fabulous. Why don't they make movies out of some more interesting, in-depth reading, like these two books?
1. Driving Sideways by Jess Riley. A woman gets an organ transplant from a guy named Larry and that organ leads her on a cross country trip in search of a mother who abandoned her and the real story behind a freak who steals her purse.
2. Unpredictable by Eileen Cook. This is the story of a woman whose man walks out on her so she pretends to be psychic to get him back. I will just say that the story of the car moving is really genius and I only wish I had had the opportunity to do this once in my life. For reals.
They can't make a movie out of this next book but it sure has the best quotes outside of a Joe Eszterhas book.
3. Off The Record by award winning journalist Allison Samuels. This book unveils the behind the scenes look at what famous black people go through in movies, sports and music. Did you know that Michael Jordan's inside crew call him Black Cat? Me neither. And that Eddie Murphy single-handedly transformed the word 'posse' to refer to hangers-on? Me neither. Here are some other quotes from this book:
"After getting an Oscar nomination for What's Love Got to do With It?, Angela Bassett sat by the phone for months, waiting for work to come her way again. But she didn't work again for another year and a half."
"...(John) Grisham's unhappiness about Denzel Washington costarring in his film The Pelican Brief. It took the actress Julia Roberts to insist that he be cast. "He didn't see the character I played as being black," Washington said of the best-selling author. When I asked Grisham, he denied it."
"Whoopi Goldberg was also one of the two -and only living- black actresses who'd won an Oscar in the past. Goldberg won a Best Supporting Actress award for Ghost in 1991. Yet (Halle) Berry's tear-filled acceptance speech did not acknowledge Goldberg or Hattie McDaniel, the first African-American to win an Oscar (for Gone With the Wind) at all. Goldberg was royally insulted by this slight, and when I mentioned that perhaps Berry forgot in her moment of joy, the comic responded, "She looked at my black face the entire night. How could she forget?...You figure, if she's not going to recognize me, why should anyone else? And if she did forget, why haven't I heard from her? Why didn't she call or write to say she forgot?"
End of chat.