Getting Another Ganesh

Ganesh 2.0 came in the mail today. I heard from lots of people who emailed to say they also had a Ganesh stashed either in their home or outside it. Never underestimate the power of the Hindu Gods. Or any other Gods. Or Cheetos.

Giving Away Ganesh

This little statue of Ganesh is 3 inches high. I should say WAS 3 inches high because I gave him away. I bought him in the lobby of the Best Western in Mumbai, India in 2006 and have kept him in my car since then. Ganesh is a Hindu God known for *removing obstacles* and seeing him riding in my ashtray always made me feel safe. Whenever I had my car washed I put him in my purse until I got my car back. He was made of wood and garishly painted, probably cost me about 35 rupees. Tops. At the time 110 rupees was worth $1.10. Life in India is cheap, even in the gift shops.

I took this picture of him and then gave him to Mimi's daughter when Mimi lay dying in the hospital. At that point I felt so helpless it was all I could do.

I drove home from Santa Monica the weekend of July 9th as Mimi was being prepared for organ donation. In West Hollywood I was rear-ended by a car. No one was hurt so I let the young driver off the hook since my car had minimal damage. It's a 1998 Ford so I didn't think an extra ding on the bumper was going to bring down its current Blue Book value of $8.96.

I went to Mimi's memorial last Monday, the 23rd. I changed from the pair of Keen's I normally wear, unattractive, backless scary looking shoes I bought after my ankle surgery four years ago, to a pair of lovely Steve Madden pony skin loafers. Flats!! I drove to Santa Monica, about forty five minutes away, walked the five minutes from the garage to the memorial site, sat for two hours, walked back to my car, drove home.

The next morning I woke up and my right foot hurt. The right foot that was cut to bits by Dr. Cruel and his house of pain back in 2008.

Don't fuck with my foot because my foot's hardware can kick your foot's ass:

I went to Urgent Care over the weekend and I have a stress fracture on my 3rd distal, the bony part of the foot's skeleton that connects my third toe to the rest of my foot. I'm in a black walking boot, no pony skin. Definitely not Chanel.

Which brings me back to Ganesh. When I gave him away I had a few twinges of Uh-oh, Ganesh Is Gone. Will I be safe or more importantly will I FEEL safe? I dismissed the thoughts immediately because I know how powerful thoughts are.

Thoughts become things. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU THINK.

I hope Ganesh wasn't paying me back for riding in my ashtray all those years.

Dear God I Own Brown Pants

Like that one New Year's Eve when I was at a party and stood up at midnight to kiss someone, only to discover I was the only single woman there and all the couples were kissing, thus hangs my brown pants in the closet. Alone in a sea of black. A sea of black clothes kissing.

And not just any brown pants. Brown polyester pants. Jaclyn Smith's brown polyester pants. From K-Mart.

Can death be far behind?

It was 2008 and I had to go to India for surgery. Because of extreme pain I couldn't make it off the couch to the kitchen without 2 Vicodin and a walker. So I had put on weight. Up to 140 pounds from my constant 128. Nothing fit. How was I going to sit on a plane for 22 hours wearing the only thing that would fit me, four towels bound together with electrical tape?

So I dragged myself out to shop. There was a K-Mart over the hill in the San Fernando Valley. I went straight to the Overweight Section, which takes up about 97% of the store, and bought my brown no-wrinkle Jaclyn Smith pants. "No love will be lost when I donate these to The Salvation Army," I said to myself while I leaned on a store employee crying because I now owned brown polyester pants.

But when I got home I realized I didn't have anything to go with brown pants so I went to Ross and bought a matching cotton shirt. "Oh won't this make a well coordinated outfit for some nice person who loves the color brown?" I said to myself as I leaned on a store employee crying because I was now buying cheap brown tops to go with cheap brown pants.

Here I am in India wearing my K-Mart pants, my Ross shirt and risking my life in one of their pedi-cabs,  made out of plastic and spit. The necklace is from Planet Blue in Malibu and cost twice as much as the pants and shirt together. Notice how the pants appear to be riding up my leg. It turns out a big butt takes up a considerable amount of pant.

You really do learn something new every day.
I still have the outfit. I gave the necklace to my mom. And at 133 pounds and holding, I still wear the outfit. I miss the necklace.

End of chat.

When An Email Isn't Enough

I called Braja last night. That's right, Braja from Lost and Found in India. INDIA. So now I'm out next month's rent.

The little voice in my head, or as my shrink refers to it, SCHIZOPHRENIA, made me have to hear her voice. And being the impulsive person that I am, I called.

Just as an aside, 'schizophrenia' with spellcheck gave me the option of "cheeseparing." Soooooooo fucking close.

Everyone's talking on their blogs about how our bloggy brand of friendship is as real as any irl friendship. I think it's better because they can't borrow things from you and then secretly pack them in their suitcase without telling you and then go on vacation for 2 weeks which instead turns into 2 months.

It's always strange to hear a blogger friend's voice for the first time. People who have been reading me for a long time are often shocked to hear my voice because I sound like I've been smoking gravel-filled tampons. And what if I do?

Braja's voice is soothing, like a quiet waterfall with wind chimes. I heard Jahnu say hi from the background. She's doing well, they both are and yes, I told her and Vodka Mom the story of The Sharp Left Turn, which she mentions in her blog today. It happened to a friend of mine, a stranger on a plane told it to her.

My friend was divorced with 4 boys and lived in Texas, where there is no alimony. (EEK) She finally met a new man, dated him for 2 years, got engaged and then the day before she took him home for the Christmas holidays to meet her family in Virginia, he dumped her. She got on the plane alone and she and the lady next to her struck up a conversation and my friend told her of her recent split.
"It just came of nowhere."
"Ahhh, the Sharp Left Turn."
"What's that?"
"When you're going along in life and everything seems so smooth and uneventful and then a huge upheaval happens, that's God. He's taking you out; you were going the wrong way."

Then a comedian I know stole the story and called it the Sharp Right Turn. Soooooooo fucking close.

End of chat.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

Right before I board The Titanic, I always reread Many Lives, Many Masters. Chapter 6 always set me straight and takes the burden of bill paying, illness and other worries out of my head and into the trash, where they belong. If you don't own this book by Yale Med School and Columbia University trained Dr. Brian Weiss, buy it on Amazon. You can get it for less than a dollar. It's his most famous book and it's about reincarnation. For anyone struggling with an issue, Chapter 6 will set you straight.

Hollywood is full of legendary stories. A lot of people have made mistakes in their career choices. Kylie Minogue passed on the song Toxic and it went to Britney Spears. Kanye West wrote Golddigger for someone else, who passed on it. The famous lines uttered about Fred Astaire, "Can't sing, can dance a little" were the result of his screen test. The note also made mention of his big ears and the fact that he was balding. Nobody thought he would make it. This alone is why you need to read Chapter 6.

Warner Brothers is among the people who passed on something big.

Slumdog Millionaire.

It was made for $14 million dollars. Then it was shopped to them for distribution. WB's final answer on the film was that it would surely go straight to DVD so they passed and sent the producers to Fox Searchlight, who took the distribution deal. This is how films eventually show up at your local movie theaters. You have to find someone who will distribute it. So when Danny Boyle accepted the Oscar for directing Slumdog, he THANKED WB for "graciously giving the deal to Fox." HA! He had to do that because here in LA, you can't piss anyone off and I've learned that the hard way. Has ANYBODY ever learned anything the easy way?

To date the movie has made $130 million.

When I was in Mumbai my guide took me to Bollywood. It looked like a grey cement bunker, like a lot of Mumbai, which is undergoing massive infrastructural growth. And yet their people are colorful, joyous and kind. Now come to Hollywood and check out our studios. Overwrought exteriors, colorful interiors and nasty multimillionaires running the places. And one of those studios wasn't intelligent enough to go with such a brilliant movie as Slumdog. But for God's sakes, MAKE MORE BATMAN MOVIES with different Batmans and so much CGI that our eyes glaze over from your ability to take our money and laugh in front of our backs. (They want to make a total of 7 Batman movies, I guess they think we haven't quite figured out the story yet because it's sooooooooooo complicated).

Three of the nicest guys I met in Mumbai. To see the rest of the pictures I took, go here. Or click on the label India at the end of this post.

This is what 100 rupees looks like. When I was in India it was worth $1.25. Today it's worth $2.00. This is the amount I tipped everyone and was told was too much to give away. And I gave this amount to children and adults alike. TWO DOLLARS. I'd kill for 2 dollars today for God's sakes. And of course that is Sir Ben Kingsley on the bill. (please don't comment about this or I will fail you this semester)
I thought it was hilarious that I have a Best Western at the corner of my street and ended up in one 8700 miles away. (14,000 kilometers).

Two of the kids in Slumdog have been given permanent housing along with money set aside for their education, which their parents can't touch. And they're little tiny heroes in a big, big land. They would understand Chapter 6.

The Druggertons have been evicted so naturally we've all been going in to the vacated premises to steal stuff look around. And by all I mean me. I copped three black angels that were refrigerator magnets. I passed on the hypodermic needle and condom that were in the kitchen. I hope I don't live to regret that.

End of chat.

An Indian Thanksgiving. The REAL Indians.

I wrote my surgeon in Mumbai asking if everyone at Jaslok Hospital was okay. They're right in Mumbai. I also wrote one of my newer readers, Braja, who is funny, from Australia and currently living in a small village in India.

She writes about it today on her blog. She explains how the U.S. is seen from abroad. And around the world. We are NOT a popular country but you already knew that, right? I'M still popular, of course, but you already knew that, right?

While I was there in 2006, there was a terrorist attack at a train station. I was in a temple by my hospital and they ran us through metal detectors. At the time I didn't know why but read about it later on. They deliver 2 newspapers a day to your hospital room, kinda like here, only not.

Click on the label at the end of this post to see all the pictures I took of these lovely and kind people.

I still haven't heard from my doctor. Maybe he's helping the wounded. Braja said they killed Indians as well, which I hadn't heard on our news. I woke up at 4 a.m. thinking of him and all the people in that hospital. The news this morning is now announcing they're still under fire today, which I think is tomorrow there. The International Date Line is clearly for people who can count.

I think we all know where that leaves me.

End of chat.

The Last Pictures Of India

Happy July 4th. I rarely celebrate this holiday as it is the day my parents got married and no, that marriage did not last.

I took a picture of this couple without their knowledge. Indian men do not allow (allow!!!) their women to be photographed. When they stopped the clinch and came up for air I asked the man if I could take their picture and he said no. Uh.......okay.

These boys asked me to take their picture. So I did. They spoke a little English and were the embodiment of teenagers in the U.S., minus the drugs and alcohol, bad attitude and sense of entitlement.

Two other Americans in for surgery. The one lying in bed was a real bitch.

Looking out of one of the hospital rooms. Mumbai is in serious development mode.

A double-decker bus in downtown Mumbai. The British used to have a stronghold here so the bus was really no surprise.

This cab driver drove me all over downtown Mumbai so I could see the city and S H O P. I was in the sapphire capital of the world and I was determined to find a fabulous ring and I did, only not that day. I had to wait and bring in the big shopping guns who took me to the boutique where President Clinton and other heads of state shopped. That place was dangerous. I now own a 10 inch high 22 carat gold elephant. Seriously, how did I ever live without that? And if push comes to shove, can I use it to pay my rent?

My driver didn't speak English but I was dying to ask him why he kept Ganesh and a roll of toilet paper on his dashboard. Ganesh is the God that will help you with obstacles in your life. I bought a few of them and gave one to a friend who was battling a life-threatening situation (he made it, hi Eric!) and I always keep one in my car, just like all the Indian drivers. I kept him by my bed in the hospital and the nurses used to pick him up and kiss him. I had a more beautiful hand-carved and hand-painted statue of Shiva, also by the bed, but Shiva was always ignored in favor of Ganesh.

End of Indian chat.

More Pictures From India

The four star Best Western in Mumbai. Not so much.A temple in Mumbai, formerly known as Bombay.
Me taking off in one of the ubiquitous pedicabs of Mumbai. They don't tell you that this is the best thrill ride you'll ever experience in your life. And you will discover your devotion to God in the process. p.s. neither of the men in the pedicab spoke English. That was fun.A Mercedes enters the frame of this picture against the backdrop of some living quarters of the poor. The biggest slum in the world is located just outside of Mumbai and houses over a million people. The population of India is 1.2 billion.
Okay, I HAD to go into this temple. You check your shoes with the man behind the counter.
Another temple. India is predominantly Hindu and Hindus believe in the caste system, which is why the lower classes remain oppressed.

The poor sell their produce on Juhu beach and live in those shacks.

The view from my hospital room of the Arabian Sea, which leads to the Indian Ocean. Having stepped into the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans and had my toes frozen solid, it was amazing to find such a warm body of water. Ever seen an American hospital with a view like that? Of course not, we build condos on that kind of property.

Amaste.
(which does not mean end of chat)

Who's Sari Now?

I blame it on the movie Love Story. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Quelle bullshit.

An old man named Russell Weller drove his car through the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade and killed ten people. When questioned later he said, “Well they saw me coming, why didn’t they get out of the way?” Oh I don’t know, maybe because they were sitting in the bathroom of a restaurant peeing?

I came out of my manicurist's a few days ago and noticed that my car was parked next to an SUV with a hot 20-something blonde in it. There was another blonde standing beside the SUV staring into space. Even though that’s S.O.P. for 20-somethings in Hollywood, I finally realized it was because she was cock-blocked by another car. Hot blondes could not exit parking and make it to Sunset Tan in time for their appointments. Just one of the many heartbreaking stories in Hollywood.

As I was fumbling for my keys, I saw a woman carrying a take-out coffee heading for the car that was blocking the SUV. I watched as this woman got into her vehicle and drove away. No apology. I looked at the two blondes and we did the simultaneous LA eye roll, which is superior to all other city eye rolls in that we seriously want you to drop dead and we will help you.

A year and a half ago, in January, my best gay friend, an actor, refused to accompany me to India for experimental surgery because it was pilot season, when auditions are held for all the upcoming TV shows. I only needed him for five days, I was paying for his trip and did I mention I was having surgery? In India? Which, as it turns out, is not next door.

He said he could go at the end of pilot season, in April, when all the auditions were over. Apparently he thought I was in charge of when the hospital in Mumbai scheduled surgery. I guess he assumed I would know when the doctor was in town and was keeping track of when the anesthesiologist would be free. I guess he also thought I had an intimate working knowledge of when rooms became available or when O.R.s were booked. I didn’t realize I had that much power in a city of almost 13 million people. All while sitting at my computer in Hollywood.

This was a person who once told me he would take a bullet for me. But obviously not during pilot season. So over the weekend this man called and left a message about how he NOW realized he was a terrible best friend. He quit his twenty-five year acting career 10 months after our falling out because he got no bookings all year. I can't tell you how much that pissed me off. He quits AFTER letting me down. He has a new boyfriend. And oh yes, he NEEDS me to be in his life. But when I needed him in my life, he was too busy trying to book two lines on That's So Raven. Did he apologize for hurting me? For being selfish? No. This was our third divorce, as he had fucked up twice before but I had always let him back in. Yes, I’m a slow learner. And no, he's never coming back in.

Some people equate apologies with weakness. And being wrong. And the only thing people want to be is right. You know that expression, “Would you rather be right or happy?” Turns out people would rather be right.

Take responsibility and say you’re sorry. Here’s what happens if you don’t, your friends will spread the gospel far and wide that you didn’t apologize and will tell everyone what an asshole you are. You see, Dennison Samaroo, I just did!

Here are the people who took care of me:

The flight attendants of Air India.

The guy who does any lifting or moving and a Moshi. Moshis handle all the really hard stuff like bathing you, taking away bedpans and drying your tears.

The R.N.'s. There were 8-9 R.N.'s on every floor in the hospital. In the U.S. there are usually none or 1. They rush to rooms the split second you hit your call button and patiently explained to me 40 trillion times that yes, the morphine was in the I.V. bag and yes I was getting it and to please get my hands off their throats.

The guys worked at the Best Western that I stayed in for the first 3 days I was there. They were so appalled that I had come alone that they came to visit me in the hospital twice. And brought me roses and fruit each time. The guy in the dark shirt is from Nepal and I asked him why he came to India and he said there was nothing to do in Nepal but climb Everest. (Nepal sits right above India) He had no family left and said his father died at a very old age. I asked how old and he said "59." I said that wasn't very old and he said "In this part of the world it's old." The sweetie in the middle was my physical therapist, who came twice a day for 2 weeks and laughed at all my jokes. I probably should have tipped her more. A lot more, now that I think about it.

I’m sorry, but this is the end of chat.