It's Everyone Can Bite Me Friday!

First of all, Mercury is in retrograde. If you don't know what that means, look it up. Then get some tissues and a bottle of Maker's Mark and don't answer your front door.

Martha Jane is in town from Honolulu and came bearing gifts on Wednesday. Pie, of course. And chocolate cake, both from Sweet Lady Jane on Melrose, here in L.A. She also bought gorgeous Calla Lilies and I realized that as many flowers as I've been given in my life, I've never received Calla Lilies. I also got my very own set of Household Saints. Every lapsed Catholic should have one. I'm not a fan of dark chocolate but have noticed that so far, of the people who have brought me chocolate, they have all brought me the dark kind. It's supposed to be healthy for you and keep heart attacks/killer bees/small children away from you. Just so we're clear, I'm the Queen of the Milk Chocoholics. The sweeter the better, and dark chocolate is bitter. A lot like me, actually. However, that did not keep me from eating it. All. Up.
Here are the pocket saints: St. Jude, the patron Saint of Impossible Causes, St. Clare, the Patron Saint of Television and St. Joseph, the Patron Saint of Houses. I would be very interested in knowing exactly how Clare had to prove that she was worthy of Sainthood since there were no flat screens or plasmas until recent times. Since she has to do with TV, I'm assuming she slept with someone at Paramount although that would make 98% of this town in line for sainthood.
Martha Jane signing the door.Here poor St. Jude valiantly tries to hold this impossible cause, the berry pie crust, together. He came without a halo; the other two statues had halos. I'm guessing it's because Jude was the one who slept with Clare and is on the short list for a transplant.

I think it's easy to see why I think Twitter is gay. Can you imagine reading this in 2 line increments all through the day? WITHOUT medication? See what I almost kind of saved you? I've noticed that the more people Twitter? The less they have to post about. And some were on thin content ice to begin with. Of course I can't use that as an excuse. I'm just Darla Dullard these days. When I go to the doctor I call myself Connie McCripplemaster, which always makes McLoserstene say, "Master? Do you really need to add Master to that name?" Then I have to take 10 seconds out of my extremely busy schedule of complaining and whining and tell her why I have to add Master. I have no idea what they're teaching these kids on the gangland streets today but whatever it is, it isn't WORKING.

Imagine the future. People will have no conversational skills, they will meet and break up over a text, fill each other in with tweets on how their day went. They will sullenly stomp through life looking for keyboards to relay their rage and proclaim their love. Talking dirty will be replaced with emoticons that they flash to each other during sex. No one will be able to bitch out their lawyer during their inevitable divorce because they will have forgotten how to talk. So as tedious as this post may have been, at least there were pictures. And possible Saint fucking and PIE. ;) ------> this might mean Blow Me. I don't have the manual in front of me.

End of chat.

Sweet Lady Jane Bakery St. Jude St. Clare St. Joseph Calla Lilies

Lars And The Real Suzy

The worst part of being a comedian is that when we get down, everyone goes "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Like we're supposed to be up and cheerful all the time. I thought I had disproved that notion over time in this blog, but obviously not very well. So last Friday I was as down as the temperature in Antarctica and I really appreciated all the emails and calls I got, some of which were quite surprising, like one from the hilarious comedian Carrie Snow, who I didn't even know read my blog. She told me to call her because my post didn't sound 'right.' I called her and once satisfied I was going to go on being a blog bitch, she came by the next day and gave me a DVD of her one woman show. I don't even know her, except by reputation, so that was over and above the call of duty. Of course we also trashed every comic we knew so that was even more fun and really convinced her I was on the mend. She offered to dye my eyelashes. I reminded her that I never leave my house. We have put that on the back burner.

This 'sitting around my house all day' shit is really as annoying as anything I've ever gone through in my life. The monotony is unbearable as I have no patience at all. I'm a Type A personality and the worst thing you can do to me is sit me in a chair and tell me to wait. Add some type of repetitive noise, like a dripping faucet, and I will give you all of our National secrets, my computer passwords and my shoes. MY SHOES. If I have to go to a doctor's office and wait I will end up straightening the magazines and offering to water the plants. If it's an especially long wait, I eye the reception desk longingly. Should I mention that I can grab the phones if they're all busy? You know that person at Starbucks, the one who always cleans up the sugar and cream area? That's me. I will take the napkins and wipe down the spills and ask for more Splenda from one of the baristas and then throw all the excess trash away. One day there was a girl who started helping me do it. We just looked at each other in this "Disturbing, isn't it?" kind of way.

Of all my husbands, and I have many, John Cusack (don't listen to Bossy, she's the town whore), George Clooney (don't listen to My Arch Enemy Jenee, she's the other town whore) I think Ryan Gosling is probably my favorite. When he and Rachel McAdams broke up I was happy and No One who has ever seen The Notebook was happy when those two broke up in real life. I saw Lars and the Real Girl this week. I thought it was hilarious but cried all through the last part of it. A story like this could only have happened in a small town with a very kind community so I'm not sure where that place is but I wanted to move there just so I could act out and not get all arrested and shit. For anyone with abandonment or intimacy issues, and I'd ask for a show of hands but all the servers in the world would crash, this movie really stabs you in the heart. I'm pretty sure I laughed at all the wrong places, especially since Vince Vaughn was not in this movie and only he makes me laugh inappropriately.

If you've seen the trailer for Lars, you know about the blow-up doll. I think we should all come equipped with a blow-up doll at birth. And get to kill it when we don't need it anymore. Which made me wonder how long it would take me to kill mine. It might have made it to last Friday. MIGHT have.

End of chat.

Mailbag # 7

Once again, out of context anonymous sentences from my emails:


We love you out here in nyc!!!!!

I was going to ask a lot of silly questions like do you think you'd be more famous if you released a sex tape.

ANT wants to add you as a friend on Pulse.

The funny thing about irony is how ironic it can be at times.

With as much metal as you now have in your body you should talk to Marvel about making you their next movie superhero.

I laughed out loud, then felt bad about laughing.

Nurses are so much nicer to funny people.

You are a tough cookie.

I like to bowl, but only if I am drinking.

Helping you makes me happy. I learned it from the Dalai Lama! He is my homeboy! If my home was in Dharmasala, India or Llasa.

I must have been stoned or in love when I saw it. Actually, I think it was both.

I’m jonesing for some good stomach virus- I need to let go of about 10 pounds right now.

If I had a gun I would have used it LONG AGO on myself. If you find one, I beg of you to point it directly at my head.

I'm still sending you some good tequila vibes.

Exactly why are we allowing tenants to move in in the middle of the night?

I am consumed about reading nice things about myself as I have no shame.

I'm a bitch before 2 pm.

Now where are my 2 adult children? You know, the crazy one & the crazy one?

Where My Dad Is Buried

This is what used to be called The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It is now just known as The Tomb of a Soldier. It's at Arlington Cemetery in Washington D.C. and it's where my Dad is buried, under one of those ubiquitous white markers that have come to be associated with Arlington.
Dad didn't want to be buried there even though his grade of Colonel allowed him that honor. Sadly, Arlington is so crowded from recent wars that now only old warhorses like my dad, who have senior grades, can be put to rest here. Arlington is normally reserved for those who gave their lives for our country and knowing my Dad, he probably didn't think he deserved that honor since he made it through WWII. My sister and I knew he didn't want to be buried there so we waited. Dad's ashes sat in an urn on my sister's balcony overlooking the Santa Monica Mountains while we tried to decide where to bury him. People thought we were crazy. Years went by.

What we didn't know was that Dad bought four plots in Freeport, Illinois, at Chapel Hill Memorial Gardens. One for himself and one for his third wife and two for his children. His estate took me three years to go through and somewhere in the middle of that time, I discovered the deeds. Seems like a pretty big secret to carry with you but that was my Dad. He should have been named Harlan Taciturn, because he rarely spoke. So his third wife is buried there and the fourth wife is buried up in New York State. My sister and I are left with three empty plots. We found an online broker to try and sell them but so far haven't had any luck. I don't know, maybe Freeport is a charmed little town and no one dies there. Wouldn't that be nice?

But eventually we decided to go against his wishes and apply to Arlington and Dad was accepted. It works that way, unless of course you're KIA. He worked hard all his life and gave a lot to the Army so we wanted him, a man who only finished high school and then had to work to support his family instead of go to college, we wanted him to have something that we feel he would have been proud of. Even in death.

My sister and I have never seen his grave.

End of chat.

Gravesites for sale Freeport, Illinois Chapel Hill Memorial Gardens

It's Everyone Can Bite Me Friday!

And today I really mean that everyone can bite me. I went to the doctor on Wednesday. I have 6 more weeks in a cast and even though I was aware of it going in, it still plunged me into a depression. After the cast comes off the doctor said I get the black adjustable boot contraption for 3 weeks and finally get to put my foot through his face on the ground. That visit cost me $425 dollars, $125 for the pretty colored fiberglass alone. I took a Vicodin before I left the house, which I never do when I go to the Doctor, just in case it makes me weak, fall down on the crutches and go boom. But I was glad I had taken one because without it I'm pretty sure I would have melted down completely. You know that D.C. Madam who killed herself rather than go back to prison? At first I thought she was really overreacting but now? Not so much.

Then McLoserstene dropped me off at California Pizza Kitchen while she popped into Ikea and as I was waiting for her so we could have lunch, I saw this:

Those little feet sticking out from a completely hidden ten month old baby named Brian made me smile for the first time that day. I really wanted to crawl in there with him because that's how I want to finish up this recuperation. Or my life. Hidden under a blanket and wheeled about by loving, devoted parents. Psychologist, party of one.

I do not have that loving and devoted family. I think they were like that when I was younger but sometime in the last 15 years there is no love from them to me. My biggest fear for many years was that I would get famous and then die and news crews would talk to my mother.

COMEDIAN SUZY SORO FOUND DEAD IN HER HOLLYWOOD HILLS APARTMENT.

CNN: "Was she depressed these last few years?"
MOM: "Well, she never listened to me when I told her to change her hairdo."
ABC NEWS: "Was her career in trouble?"
MOM: "She never had a career."
CBS NEWS: "Did she get along with her family?"
MOM: "I'm not in touch with her family."
NBC NEWS: "But...aren't you her family?"
MOM: "Please don't mention that in the article."
MSNBC: "Did she have a lot of friends?"
MOM: "I don't think anyone liked her except her dog, and he's dead."
FOX NEWS: "Well thanks for your time."
MOM: "That's it? Don't you want to hear about my life?"

Yesterday was my sister's birthday. We haven't spoken in almost 3 years. I no longer talk to my mother either and my Dad died in 2001. After he died, the other two got strange. He left me and my sister money but not my mother. She and my sister tried to wrest control of my portion but failed. No one in my family was ever honest. Not even me. I learned it at the feet of the masters. Between my parents they had 5 marriages and my sister and I were terrified to get married, even though I was engaged three times. My mother had someone on the side for most of her marriage and my father was married once before my mother but no one ever told us until after their divorce. Then Dad didn't bother to inform us when he married for the third time. We weren't even invited. You see what I'm dealing with here? Maybe it's better they're not in my life. They're so hyper-critical that it's impossible to feel like any type of success around them. Especially of the emotional kind.

And now, all these centuries later, I feel I wasted my life chasing my career and not marriage and a family of my own. But after what I saw at home, it was obviously the last thing on my mind. I also have the worst possible taste in men so that didn't help. Due to my inability to be honest, intimacy is a huge problem for me. If I am intimate and vulnerable, only bad things can come of it in my head. It's better to let them think I barely care. Pretty fucked up, I know. And yet now I wish I had a husband who loved me and children to get on my nerves. As it is, if it weren't for McLoserstene and her family, I'd be fairly lost right now. And thanks to all my friends who have visited or written and called, I couldn't have gotten through this without you either. Even my arch enemy Jenee visited me last weekend and brought me lunch and signed my door "You're a 'funny cunt' and if you understand our profession, you know that's really a term of endearment. The word 'funny', I mean.

I picked the color yellow because it was cheerful. Maybe eventually it will work. I don't smoke or drink anymore but this last surgery, the third in five years, has tried my last addictive nerve and I swear I could start either again with not even one wee regret, that's how shitty and depressed I feel. I sometimes wonder if all the good stuff has already happened to me. Now every day brings some letdown, some sadness, some small misery I can't change. Up until 7 years ago, I loved my life. It was perfect. But then my Dad died, I lost the love of my life, Elvis, my remaining family turned into assholes and I had to watch as my body disintegrated due to a childhood disease. Is the next step me getting into a plane with a Kennedy and nosediving into the ocean?

There's a lot of things I don't talk about on this blog. Because it wouldn't be fun, not for you and definitely not for me. Over the years I've had four therapists and although they've changed my life in so many positive ways, the one thing they can't do is mend a broken heart. Even the Bee Gees can't do that.

End of chat.

And The Winner Is!

The celebrity was Susan Sarandon and two people got it right, Mrs K and Jenn. I put each name in a hand behind my back and McLoserstene chose a hand and the winner was Jenn! Please email me your address and I'll forward it to Jess who will autograph a book and get it out to you. Congratulations!

And to Tommy and to barbaraca, you were on the right path but like me with marriage, just couldn't seem to make that final commitment.

Thanks to everyone who participated, even Tommy who cheated by Googling Shoes and Celebrities and came up with Shoebunny.com. However, once I checked out their website I realized it was fabulous and they're now on my sidebar. So even though I'd like to smack Tommy, I can't. Maybe next time?

Driving Sideways came out yesterday so click on this link and order it on Amazon.com.
http://www.amazon.com/Driving-Sideways-Novel-Jess-Riley/dp/0345501101/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1210641915&sr=8-1

End of chat.

Free Giveaway Contest Clue # 1

None of yesterday's guesses were correct.

So here's clue # 1: American Movie Star who is not married but has children.

Free Giveaway Contest!

I'm giving away an autographed copy of my beautiful friend Jess Riley's first novel Driving Sideways. She has a terrific sense of humor, which you can see for yourself by reading Riley's Ramblings on my sidebar. There are a pair of shoes on the cover of her book so this contest has to do with shoes. I know, shocking.

This contest centers on a celebrity. It's the same celebrity wearing two different pairs of shoes. Her choice in footwear is so tragic that her celebrity badge should be revoked immediately. I think it goes without saying she has no stylist.

You can only vote for ONE name a day. If someone has already left your guess, it doesn't matter, leave yours anyway. You may both be wrong! Why one guess only? Because I'm very, very mean. Actually, I just don't want people to throw out a million names that they've copied from People Magazine.

If there are no winners on day 1, a clue will be revealed the next day. If there are no winners on day 2, there will be a clue every day until we have a winner or multiple winners. In that case I will put those names into a hat and choose the winner.

And for those of you who want to give me the "I don't care about fashion" line, you're lying. Fashion is art so if you like art, you can appreciate fashion. I've yet to meet a person, male or female, who didn't care or else they'd all be wearing bathrobes to the office and barbecue aprons to church. There's that great line from The Devil Wears Prada where Streep rips Anne Hathaway a new one for saying "It's only a belt." Remember that line? She said that fashion keeps millions of people employed and that 'belt' you put on was obviously to your liking or else you'd be wearing string cheese to hold up your pants. Or something like that.

Footwear Tip Of The Day: In the days when dinosaurs our mothers roamed the Earth, the purse and shoes always had to match. Today that is considered a BIG no-no.

End of chat.

Technorati Tags: Driving Sideways Jess Riley Riley's Ramblings

It's Everyone Can Bite Me Friday!

After sending out an SOS for pie, which I got, and a Lamborghini Countach, which I did NOT get, I went to Nostalgic Candy to buy a box of Chuckles. They arrived yesterday and five two have mysteriously disappeared into the ether.

They don't sell Chuckles out here because the West coast is retarded. Did you know that the same chocolate bars can sit on shelves here in our stores for weeks? Because no one buys them. They're all I'll-Have-A-Puffed-Smog-and-Air bar please. If you actually purchase a chocolate bar, it will have already turned that strange color of grey that chocolate gets when it's been out of the factory for 47 months and wrapped in plastic. When I used to go on the road with Single, Married & Divorced we traveled mainly in the south and on the East coast. I would load up on Chuckles and then eat them all before I got home. Then get pissed I had eaten them all.

I used to do the same thing with Mother's Butter Tarts when I went to Canada. Buy them in every town I played but they never made it past customs because someone has no impulse control. And if you have no idea what a Butter Tart is then you can't ever be my friend.

I have found a way to manipulate the Vicodins so that I can sleep 12 hours a day and then only have to entertain myself the other 12. Sleeping 7 hours a night was really annoying because that left a lot of free time. I go to the doctor next Wednesday, which means I still have FIVE weeks of not walking left after that appointment. Jami had written me before the surgery and said that the time would not pass quickly and not to let people convince me it would. She was right. Three months passes like THREE MONTHS, not like 60 seconds.

I truly hate myspace.(vom) it. I've hated it since its inception. If you're a musician or comedian on tour, an artist selling product or even Pamela Anderson, I get it. But the rest of you? Sitting at your computer making up poems does not require a myspace. And to further annoy me, why not have your favorite unrecognizable song play as your page loads. That way, if I just happen to be listening to my own music, or streaming something, or on the phone, I will be required to scramble to turn off my volume which will annoy me so much I will surf off your page never to return. I know, I won't be missed.

When I got asked to join Facebook a few times, so bloggers could engage me in a game of Scrabble, I looked out my window to see if the four horsemen of the Apocalypse had arrived. Do I seem, in any way shape or form, the kind of person who would play a board game? LONG DISTANCE WITH A STRANGER? If I was into that, I'd be having cyber sex instead. Or chatting in porn rooms. You know, something F U N. Board games are for kids and drunk adults who live in towns where there is nothing to do but load unrecognizable songs into their myspace pages.

Let me bang on the Twitter drum for a few minutes, speaking of retarded things in the path of my outrage. I couldn't help but notice, when I was over at Dooce's website, that she follows 49 people on Twitter and over nine THOUSAND people follow her. For those of you who don't know what Twitter is, get a seven year old to explain it to you. I can understand if people with a fascinating life have a Twitter following. But to write what your kid said or that your plane is late or that you just dropped an orange in your kitchen, isn't that as close to not having a life as you're ever going to get? Put me in line with some George Clooney or John Cusack Tweets and I'll stop making fun of Twitter. I guess we know how long I will be making fun of Twitter, huh?

In spite of all this venom, I've recently discovered some blogs I like. Take a look at this guy from Alabama. EmmaK first pointed him out on her blog, Mommy Has A Headache. I also love Kimber over at Too Fabulous For Words. And my friend Mrs. K is back with a new blog; I think some of you will remember her as Just Jane. I've also listed that insane Aussie chick Fahey on my sidebar under her blog Boss of Everything. Her name is pronounced Fay if you can believe that. Then WHY IS THERE AN EXTRA E IN THERE? Because she's Australian, that's why. She's pretty funny so you should check her out if you're tired of American humor.

I can hear Fahey talking to her mirror, her only friend, and saying, "Poor Pooz, she thinks Americans have a sense of humoUr.

It's in the 90's here in L.A.

End of chat.

The Truth Will Lead You Out Of Therapy

I bought this alarm clock at the Pasadena Flea Market. It's got Mao Tse Tung on the face and the little blue arm down in the right-hand quadrant holding a red kerchief waves back and forth for the second hand. The guy only had 4 of them and they are authentic and obviously no longer made. I also own an Adolph Hitler postcard that cost me $8.00 which is in my postcard rack sandwiched between a little girl flipping the bird and a small black boy sitting on a pumpkin. People have asked me if I feel weird displaying these cards. The little girl is not but the other two are very rare and no, I do not feel weird about displaying them.
First you should know that I HATE LOATHE DESPISE political correctness in any form. A postcard of Hitler does not mean I'm going to kill 11 million people. Although that would not be a problem for me here in Los Angeles because when annoying people have sucked the very life force out of the towns and cities they come from they arrive here and go out of their way to meet me and get on my last available nerve.

So, gift from you to me? Please help stop the onslaught of ridiculously safe word substitutions to avoid being who you really are. Stop telling yourself you're vertically challenged, big-boned or follicle-impaired. You're short, you're fat and you're bald. Oh well.

How about if I start the ball rolling with I'm:
1. A bottle-enhanced blonde
2. A Size 8
3. And full of shit and pie

Is anyone really surprised there is no pie left? 29 hours. Not by a long shot is that a new record but the Vicodins really curb the appetite. Fuckers.

End of chat.

And Then There Was Pie

McLoserstene's Mom, Donna, was in town for a few days and instead of trying to kill me by making me walk 10 miles uphill in the snow on crutches like someone in her family, Donna went to the House of Pies! She bought me half a peach pie and gave me two pieces from a Key Lime pie she bought for her family. Martha Jane also wrote me yesterday and offered to have one sent over from Polly's but since she'll be here in 2 weeks, I told her to wait until she gets here and then I won't be forced to eat the whole pie by myself because in case I haven't mentioned it, I don't like sweets that much.

This might be a good time to mention that since I haven't been able to drive one ever for a few more months I miss my Lamborghini Countach. And miss it a LOT.

In other My Readers Are Very Amazing news, I got get well cards from Heidi and Denise. I don't remember giving Denise my address but as we all recall, she has issues and maybe those issues are stalking? Reader Eileen Cook is sending me a copy of her new book, which I've been dying to read since Jess Riley turned me on to the Debs, a website for debutante first novelists, of which they are both members.

Next Monday I'm starting a contest for a free giveaway of Jess' book, all autographed, shiny and without any coffee stains because it's hot off the presses. Jess sent me a copy to read while I was recuperating and I loved it. When she asked me to give another one away to one of you psychos, I jumped at the chance.

The contest involves one celebrity and two pairs of shoes. You have to guess who the celebrity is. If you don't guess the answer the first day, there will be clues every day until someone gets it right.

End of chat.

Lucy In The Pie With Diamonds

I spent the weekend thinking of pie. Cherry pie, chocolate pie, lemon-meringue pie. I’m stuck in this apartment for 13 weeks and 6 weeks into it I’m melting down over pie. What’s worse is the House of Pies is only 2 miles away, right next to Europe.

I have a serious sweet tooth. Do you know how long it took me to figure out that Cool Whip was supposed to go on other food? I’ve got it so bad I once ran out of sugar and put Cherry Nyquil on my Cream of Wheat. I like all sweet things except for carrot cake and zucchini bread. Those are just ways to disguise foods that taste really bad on their own. Someone figured out everyone likes cake and everyone likes bread, so they just decided to slide vegetables in there like no one's paying attention. Well I’m on patrol over here at Casa Cavities so get your vegetables out of my sugar and into the garbage disposal where they belong. Some misguided individuals substitute gum for something sweet. You chew, chew, chew and can’t swallow. What's the point of that? I’m fairly certain the carrot and zucchini cartels had something to do with the invention of gum.

I also have a problem with Raisinettes. How could they spoil a perfectly good piece of chocolate by throwing fruit in there? Have you ever heard anyone smoking pot say, Oh if only we had some raisins! No, you haven’t, unless you spent a summer in Bangladesh in the 60’s and the Beatles had just arrived with care packages. Very bad care packages I might add. And speaking of ruining food with other food, why does cheese need walnuts in it? Are people killing too many squirrels in their neighborhoods? Or how about that cheese with wine in it? Is that for the cheapest people in the world? We’ve only got 6 bucks, we can get cheese and wine.

I’m half-French and we worship cheese so imagine my horror when I discovered Wispride. It sounds and looks like furniture polish. I’m betting it tastes like it too. I never tasted Velveeta until I went away to college and a roommate had some her mother sent her from the States. I’d like to take this opportunity to mention I have the greatest mom in the world for keeping me away from that.

People are too health conscious these days. Dairy free, gluten free, fat free. Me? I'm health free. I eat anything. Vegans make me want to slap them hard, especially when they tell me I am what I eat. So if I eat meat shouldn't I already be dead? Or is that just a technicality and an 8.9 from the Romanian judge? All these dairy-free people flying their freak flags and saying, "Oh, you're eating cheese? I can't eat cheese.” Then they have to tell you why they can't eat cheese. "It gives me too much mucus." I once met a guy at a cocktail party and that’s what he opened with. That’s where he went in a conversation where my cleavage was trying to have its passport stamped so it could escape my dress. To mucus. Why don’t we just jump to irritable bowel syndrome so I can go home early and fire up the old vibrator?

And while we’re on the topic of things that are just patently wrong, have you ever noticed that in restaurants they always serve orange juice in a small glass? Who decided that a small glass of OJ was all we could tolerate? That a large glass of OJ would kill you. Of course we all know that OJ will kill you but would 3 more ounces really hike the cholesterol? And how about these nutritionists who tell us we should eat our food sitting down. That eating on the run is bad for us. And yet, running burns calories. So doesn't it make sense that if you want to lose weight, you should eat on the treadmill?

This is what happens to me when I fixate on something I can’t get my hands on. I obsess and dissect and deconstruct. Please, for the love of God, will someone send me some pie before I start in on what's wrong with Social Security?

End of chat.

It's Everyone Can Bite Me Friday!

I'm going to make fun of Dooce's appearance on The Today Show.

Apparently no one told her that skinny people can't wear baggy clothes on TV. Actually, fat people can't either. It's just one of those unwritten laws that those of us in show business know. Not only does the camera put on 10 pounds but now your clothes have put on 20 more. So as Dooce did the breast stroke in that gray schmatta she was wearing, Hoda Kotbe and Kathie Lee Gifford were wishing they had put on a Large rather than a medium Spanx. Their clothes were so tight I could make out a squamous cell carcinoma on Hoda's left upper arm.

Number 2.

Yes, there is more. Do not EVER let hair and makeup redo your look. If you've always worn your hair a certain way and suddenly the Today Show hairdresser says "OMGah that is so wrong on you" brush his remark under your schmatta. Otherwise you will be mistaken for a graduate of the Jennifer Aniston School of Acting and end up touching your new hairdo every 6 and a half seconds.

And always tell makeup what to do with your eyes. I only trust makeup people with base, blush, and mascara. THAT'S ALL. Bring your own lipstick. Make them use it. And what they do to people's eyes is frightening. On one New York show the makeup guy gave me Amy Winehouse liquid liner. 15 YEARS AGO. Fortunately I knew better and removed it. And if you do get a bad makeup job, just go and fix it. No one will yell at you. No one will make you wrong for it. Because no one cares about you since Matt Lauer needs to have his bald spot spray painted and there's leftover glazed doughnuts from Kraft services.

Don't be afraid of these people. I'm always amazed how women let their hairdressers at home do whatever they want and never speak up. STOP IT. Trust me, a man speaks up when he ends up looking like an egg. So should you. So if you're doing a segment, even a local one, don't be shy or bashful.

As an added note, don't mess with a makeup job for film work. Films are now all digital and the makeup rules have changed. Everything is toned down so don't fix the pro's work or you will look like Ronald McDonald. Although some of us already do.

End of chat.

A Checklist To Prepare For.....

..... being homebound and unable to walk while living alone:

1. Panic
2. Organize apartment to fit new needs
3. Laugh thinking I knew what that entailed
4. Place all cleaning products on top of my refrigerator
5. Laugh thinking I was actually going to clean for the next three months
6. Which is about as often as I normally clean so no gain, no pain
7. Rotate my mattress so I won't fall into the indentation I've created on one side
8. Laugh when I realize the only side of the bed I can get in on is the side I've now changed around so the indentation is still there
9. Always have Saltine crackers in the cupboard
10. Buy and eat Saltine crackers and realize why I never have any in the house
11. Tell friends to put any food they're brought on the top shelves of the fridge since I will not be able to bend down
12. Laugh when the first place they put my groceries is on the bottom shelf while I'm in the living room not paying attention
13. Pray that people will not bring me flowers
14. Laugh when that's the only thing people bring because they think it will cheer me up
15. Try not to think about how, while I'm on crutches, I'm going to eventually throw the flowers away when I don't have three hands, no matter what my mother told me about my birth
16. Place all my pots and pans on top of the stove for easy access
17. Laugh when I think I actually thought I was going to cook
18. Tell people what I need them to do for me
19. Cry when I realize that no one has ESP
20. Organize the books I want to read while I'm laid up
21. Laugh when I realize I'm no longer interested in reading but am very interested in Vicodin
22. Make sure I can reach all table lamps when I'm alone
23. Or learn to sleep with one living room light on for 48 hours until someone comes to visit
24. Do not use my good sheets with a fiberglass cast on my leg
25. Cry when I realize my black satin fitted sheet is now shredded
26. Have lots of cash on hand
27. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
28. Keep all credit cards, checkbooks and passwords at my computer so I can easily access them
29. Shit, piss, son-of-a-bitch, god dammit where's my FUCKING purse?

End of chat.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #36

Of Movies And Microwaves

I've spent the week watching movies On Demand. Last week I saw the horrendous The Darjeeling Limited and just when I thought there couldn't be a crappier movie out there, along came No Reservations. For those who follow Catherine Zeta-Jones-I-Married-For-Prestige-Not-Love's career, did you know her face now has no expression at all? When she cries, they put EVOO on her cheeks so the tears float down quickly and you can almost hear them saying to one another, "Quick, let's get the fuck out of here, this place is colder than Antarctica." Aaron Eckhart is too hot to badmouth and Abigail Breslin, the Fame Clock called, they want their 15 minutes back.

I loved Gone Baby Gone and have no idea why Amy Ryan didn't win over Tilda Swinton in Best Supporting category for this year's Oscars. Her performance is breathtaking and Swinton's is wooden and one dimensional. Ben Affleck has found his calling behind the camera, instead of behind Jennifer Lopez's career. I also saw Atonement and thought it was great. It was oil barrels better than Michael Clayton and the surprise ending was clever, unlike the dreadful ending of No Country for Old Men which should have been called No Country for Script Doctors.

My microwave is acting strangely, stopping the rotation one way just to go the other way and back and forth like that until the entire thing comes to a jolting halt and the buzzer sounds. Without cooking a thing. It finally started to work but exploded a cup of tea at the normal time I set it so now I can shave 8 seconds off my tea time.

If you know me, and know me well, you know that wherever I am, there is always hinky electronic activity around me. When I spent time trying to sell my Dad's place down in Florida I was having the Jacuzzi fixed. After two hours in the apartment, the electrician for the building asked me when I was going back to L.A. because he couldn't work on it while I was there. Alarms went off, wires didn't connect, extensions died. This was my dad's place and he was dead so I wasn't that surprised by all the activity but the electrician was as he'd worked in the apartment for 17 years and never had any problems before. I eventually returned to L.A. and over the next year and a half, until we sold the place, the electrician never charged me for another thing. But he made sure I was in L.A. before he stepped foot in the place.

In my own apartment, the bedroom TV has turned itself on twice and the stereo in the living room turned itself on twice, all in the middle of the night. When the TV turned itself on the first time, I walked to the kitchen and got a hammer, I guess in case the police came they would find clubbed spirits bleeding to (even more) death on the carpet? This activity has been going on since the late 1970's, when my French grandfather died and came to say goodbye to me in New York. Some of it is just hilarious, like the day I was watching a movie in the VCR and the VCR stopped, spit the movie out the slot and onto the floor and then turned itself off and went back to regular television programming. It had never done that before and never did it again.

I have so many stories like this that I put them all in my first novel, which is really a roman à clef called All The Bad Sex I've Had™. You'd think that sex and spirits wouldn't be related but you'd be wrong. After all, they were alive once and they couldn't all have been nuns and priests. I think we all have surmised that there is way more out there than what we see, things that can't be explained in any rational manner and that there is definitely more than just this lifetime. That is the entire premise of karma, after all, other lifetimes. So if you believe in that, well....

And because I'm open to all of this, I'm open to a lot more. And they find me!

End of chat.

It's Everyone Can Bite Me Friday!

It's been a month since my surgery and I'm sliding into a depression from not being able to walk. So now everything puts me over the edge. Like last night at 5:00 a.m., while I listened to a conversation between the Druggertons, him saying "You need to leave" and her replying "eeeeooooo" over and over and over, I got so annoyed that I had to take a Xanax. Then I started having the creepy crawlies with the leg that has the cast. It felt like it weighed 400 pounds and was choking me to death. Of course the more I flopped it around the more claustrophobic I became and after 45 minutes the Xanax thankfully wiped me out. Today I rode my scooter, in my robe, over to the Druggertons and left him a note saying I could hear every word they said and to please keep it down as I was recuperating from surgery. Which of course has nothing to do with them talking all night but I'm using that excuse as long as it can help me. This is the second night in a row they've done this and I can only hope they either start discussing something interesting or take too many drugs and O.D. I'm expecting a visit from him asking if I have any Vicodins so I might soon get my wish.

Remember these chairs? Well, Ann Abeyta was over on Wednesday and looked under mine and noticed it had a hat rack. I always wondered about the extra wires affixed to one of the seats but had no idea what they were for, if anything. Ann, a projectionist at the Los Angeles Cinerama Dome and aficionado of all things cinematic (she does my Top 10 list every year) said those racks were from the days when men wore hats with brims and needed a place to stash them. I stuck one of my fedoras under one to give you an idea what it looks like. Carson, who was also visiting that day, used to be a roadie and added when she was on tour with country bands in those giant tour busses, there was always a TV in every bunk and a little fold-down platform where the guys could put their cowboys hats while they slept. This is Ann signing my bathroom door. She had just finished telling us that at 5 feet, she and her movie colleagues had researched online and discovered she was only 2 inches off from being considered a dwarf. She wrote "This is only as high as I can reach."

This is Carson showing off her height by signing the top of the door. I've had people signing this door for over 3 years. It's my tribute to all the green rooms I've been in over the years.

Ann and Carson playing my slot machine. If you play and win, I let you keep your winnings. Of course Ann had no quarters so she used mine but I fear next time she will come with a bucket of quarters and I'll have to sell some shoes to make rent that month.

THANKS TO THESE PEOPLE FOR THEIR KINDNESSES THIS WEEK:

1. Carson for going shopping for me and then making me lunch the next day and bringing over extra snacks and grapes. You don't realize how much you miss grapes until you can't walk to the store and buy them when you want. I ordered some from vons.com but that was one of the things they didn't have in stock. How does a store not have grapes in stock? In California? In grape season? Carson also mailed my bills and emptied my garbage and got a fan down for me so I wouldn't boil to death in the 90 degree heat that descended on L.A. recently.

2. Ann Abeyta for bringing Diet Cokes and for volunteering to get my mail. Remember how I was all hopped up about not getting my mail? I was itchy after 4 days without it. Well, now I sometimes forget that I even get mail.

3. McLoserstene for bringing me back excellent chocolate cake that her SIL Regan made.

4. Irma for sending me lots of uplifting emails that make me feel guilty for being so curmudgeonly about my recovery. Irma beat cancer twice and I'm all "I can't get a pedicure."

5. My life coach Lauri for bringing me over some slamming Chinese food from Genghis Cohen last night.

End of chat.