Mommie Dearest

Have you ever had an argument with a loved one and started to cry? And then the other person asks you what's wrong and you superglue your lips shut and grunt like the other person is the stupidest person on the planet because any psychic can FIGURE OUT WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU. The male version of this scenario is you ask him what's wrong and he goes outside and mows the lawn. Even though you live in a New York high-rise surrounded by concrete. So he has to mow the balcony. Another thing you don't have.

Which brings me to my Mother's meltdown.

Due to her macular degeneration, she's convinced she's going to go blind in the next 15 minutes. And in her own passive-aggressive way, she found a way to stick the guilt stake right through our hearts.

"But I LOVE to rrrrread."

"How will I get arrrround?"

''My friends cannot believe I have 2 daughters who neverrrr come to visit me."

In 2001, when my dad died in Florida, it took me 3 years to settle his estate, sell 2 apartments, write twenty zillion letters and notarize everything but my ass. The money we spent on lawyers alone was outrageous. It was the only time I wished my dad had been poor. I told my mother that I was not going to fly 6,000 miles to Paris and that she needed to move here.

She did not.

So the other night at Lindy's she started to cry. And wouldn't stop. Or talk when Lindy asked her if she wanted to tell her what's wrong. Crying is a manipulative game and is about the worst thing you can do to yourself. You never get out of your system what is bothering you. I don't play this game. I did it in my dating years and it NEVER worked. Men just shrug and walk away.

For those of you have lost your mothers at an early age and think that I'm being mean or selfish, let me fill you in on the aging parent syndrome. Angry, bitter, nasty liars. My mother told me she never went ANYWHERE while she was at Lindy's. I chose to out my mother to my sister and while Lindy rolled out about 200 things they had done and how hurt she was that mom would say that, my mother turned to me and said "YOU HAVE A BIG MOUTH." I think we'd all agree that is true.

I know so many sons and daughters who have gone through this nightmare with their aging parents. Oh and P.S., they will NEVER move to assisted living, even though Mom isn't there yet. I'm sure some of your older parents are lovely but eventually they'll do a quid pro quo on you because they gave birth to you and were in labor for 3 months. They will fight you to move out of their own domicile.

Mom threatened to sell off all her assets and hire someone to live with her. I told her that sounded like a good idea. I spent half my life in France and I choose not to do it again. If she dies in Paris we'd have to hire French Notaires, American lawyers, sell her considerable amount of antiques, a garage, a maid's room and her 2 bedroom apartment. Did I mention she has a sister who lives 5 minutes away?

Did I mention Paris is 6,000 miles away from Los Angeles?

What would you do?

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

Mom would not watch Entertainment Tonight because Mary Hart's mouth is too big.

France was just named the country with the best health care system in a worldwide poll. They announced it on CBS' Sunday Morning. I made the mistake of telling Mom that Americans have somehow confused the French system with Socialism.

"Why eez your country so stupeed?"

Michael Jackson death's a homicide? Suicide is more like it. Having been in rehab and talked to a million addicts, there is one thing we all have in common. There comes a time when you hit rock bottom and can't control yourself and wish you were dead. I didn't know that until I went into rehab but it's surprising to hear people talk about death as if it were a night at the movies. I had those feelings right before I went into rehab and yet would never have taken my own life. You get tired, overwhelmed, more depressed than you can ever imagine and the thought just floats in. "Easier to be dead." If you ever hear someone who overindulges in narcotics or alcohol and talks about death, take them to rehab. Seriously.

I've been saying for months how retarded Facebook is. It's amazing to me that people get on there instead of trying to do something with their lives. THESE OTHERWISE LITERATE PEOPLE SPEND HOURS PLAYING BEJEWELED. You know how your husband watches or plays sports so he can ignore you and the family for a few hundred hours? Congratulations, you're now your husband.

"Tax collectors still aren't allowed to add people as friends under false pretenses, but this is bad news for anyone who doesn't pay taxes and then brags about how much they make and lists a hometown on their Facebook and MySpace profiles without setting the accounts as private."

"Why eez your country so stupeed?"
"Can't talk now Mom; I have a Bejeweled addict on my hands and I'm wondering whether I should let them die or take them to Betty Ford."
"Betty Forrrrrd is verrry farrr from yourrrr house."
"That's why I'm thinking about it."

End of chat.

I Do Not Have Bonnie Hunt's Mother

I'm still processing the 3 months of mom being in town trying to kill me and my sister with her death ray. It might be tomorrow that I talk about it, or over the weekend or Monday or WHEN THE XANAX IS GONE.

Did I Show You This Already?

After over 600 posts, and I use labels so I can find them again, I still don't think I ever posted this picture. You can check the label at the bottom if you want to prove me wrong. And I think I speak for everyone when I say "Who doesn't want to do that?" I was sent home from the hospital last year in this jumpsuit. It was made of paper that was hefty baggish enough to look like clothes. From a dumpster.

For my next doctor's appointment I took the belt of my black robe and tied it around my outfit in an effort to look like a black belt who could kick ass. With one foot.

The doctor asked me what I was wearing. I replied that it was what I got at the hospital and was sturdy enough to go up and down stairs on my butt since I had no elevator.

"How long are you going to wear that?"
"I don't know, why?"
"Because it's just to wear home, most people change into real clothes later."
"Oh."
"How long have you been wearing it?"
"Ten days."

Everyone in the room laughed and the doctor insisted on taking a picture of me wearing my paper confection. Needless to say, I covered my face.

Suzy went to the hospital and paid $15,000 dollars and all she got was this lousy paper jumpsuit and an arch in ONE foot.

End of chat.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame. Stick A Fork In My Eye. Buy Me Some Peanuts And Crack Cocaine. Then I'll Really Be Glad That I Came.

From our seats behind home plate. The Dodgers lost 3-1 to the Cubs. Two Cubs fans were right behind us and screamed every time their team so much as scratched their balls. So you can imagine the noise level. Below is Dodger Manny Ramirez at bat and not having a great game since he's now off steroids because the genius got caught using them.

Look at the pitcher's body. I'd like to ask his wife if he's good in bed because if he's not there's no excuse since he can go down that far.

Mom pretending to watch and understand the game. I explained it 47 times and each time she would nod as if she understood and then I'd ask her if she was following and she'd say "Not really." She finally said she thought football was easier to understand. I gave up at that point because I KNOW SHE WAS LYING.

My father and every man I've seriously dated spent hours of their life glued to a football game. Instead of doing something interesting, like washing the dishes or doing laundry.
While the Kiss Cam went around the stadium, it landed on one of the Dodgers, who did not kiss the woman he was with.

Rude.

The Kiss Cam eventually made its way back to them and he got down on one knee. You can see the She Said Yes sign behind #58.
Yoshi in Dodger Blue and not happy about it since he's a Yankees fan like me.
End of chat.

A Picture Tour Of My Hollywood

I haven't been able to walk around my neighborhood for 3 or 4 years because of my two surgeries. Now I can and I was either looking up or looking down and amazed I didn't fall into a manhole or get hit by a car.
If someone robbed this bank they'd have a built-in getaway car.

I tried to take a picture of the guy who shines all the stars. He has one leg and never used to get paid. Now he does. He shines them all by hand. I stopped and asked if I could take his picture and he said "What's in it for me?" I said,"I'll put you on my blog." He said he didn't want anything on the internet because of all the 'trouble' that could cause down the line. I asked him if he had a computer.

"No," he replied. Next time I'm not asking.

I have two unsold screenplays but I DON'T NEED TO BE REMINDED OF IT by of all things, A FUCKING BANK.

End of first walk in a very long time.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

I don't believe I'll ever run out of things to bitch about. And yet when I'm in a relationship I'm not a nag. How is that possible?

On Wednesday, the day I went to Santa Monica, Mom and I ate lunch at Babalu's, a small restaurant on Montana. I was staring out the window and saw Sean Penn and a gorgeous girl on the other side of the street. They were coming straight at us.

No paparazzi.

He's an Oscar winner, his wife JUST filed, for the third time, divorce papers and no paparazzi? As they walked, the girl stopped on the sidewalk right beside us. She was tall and thin, beautifully dressed, 25 years old, tops. She stopped and turned so that I could see her and she could see me which meant that Sean's back was to me. I kept staring and wondering why she made him stop there. And then it dawned on me she probably wanted someone to take her picture because how else was she going to become a big star? I would have taken one. Maybe even sent it to Perez or TMZ. But Sean is the American Russell Crowe. What if he stormed into the restaurant, smashed my camera, swung and missed and killed my mother?

How do I live without my camera?

Martha Jane has worked with him so I expect her to leave a comment and fill us in on whether he would have hurt me.

Lindy got a pair of Dodger tickets from a client but she can't go so I'm going with my mother, who doesn't understand how the game is played. I switched to a sports channel and started to explain it.

"The team plays until they get 3 outs."
"What duz zat mean?"
"Everrrry time that happens you give me money."
"Why do zey say zat ball is foul?"
"Because it smells and that's why he hit it over the line."
"Why did he say zerrre retirrrring ze side? Zey can quit working anytime zey want?"
"Yep."

We have seats behind home plate. I will not be trying to catch any balls as I have two of my own.

Management of our building has stepped in and threatened legal action against the 4 asshole women who let their dogs bark, two of whom have lived here less than 2 months. Apparently they think they're in the right and the rest of the tenants are wrong. Because we're so unreasonable as to require peace and quiet. They've stopped talking to us. Very mature. Meanwhile it's been so quiet I thought I'd gone deaf.

My blog is now on Kindle. Go review me. AND I only cost 99 cents a month. That sounds about right.

End of chat.

Going Down To Santa Monica For More Of This

Look at my mother's face. She had just completed a 24 hour meltdown at Lindy's. Underneath her sunglasses my sister is rolling her eyes at me. Plus she's wearing that size 2 slash 6 dress that is 26 years old and fit her like a glove.

My mother refused to eat or talk, preferring instead to stare balefully at the camera while keeping a death grip on Yoshi's leash. He is underneath the table saying 10 Hail Mary's and 10 Our Father's.
My sister has her Madonna arms out on display. She does that to torture me. It always works, especially when the fat on my upper underarm swings back and forth and hits her in the face.

They got back to Santa Monica and my mother went straight into the kitchen, saying she was starved. They both went to bed with their sunglasses on.

End of chat.

Lassie, The Perfect Dog Stamp

June Lockhart was present for the unveiling of the Lassie stamp. June asked why she wasn't asked to be on the stamp and was told that she hadn't been dead for 10 years.

I'm not going to touch that sentence.

June Lockhart is a client of my sister's. They have become good friends over the years and we now consider her family. Whenever June is walking on her Street in Santa Monica, pedestrians and people in cars always give her a shout out, even when she's disguised in a scarf and sunglasses. I have the same problem only usually I'm jaywalking at the time.

June and her family are part of Hollywood's lore. They have three stars on the Walk of Fame. She has starred in two of America's most iconic TV shows.

One day Lindy said June and her friend Paul were going to see The Phantom of the Opera and we were invited. When June picked us up I tried not to be as inappropriate as I usually am around famous people. (Click on the label below to read the rest of the gaffes I've made)

I was bound to screw this up. At one point June leaned over the front seat and said something to me. I have no idea what it was but I do remember what I replied: "Semper Fi." Let me save you the trouble. What the fuck?

We drove for a while as June and Paul chatted up front. I leaned into my sister in the back and mumbled, "Can you believe we're in the car with Lassie's mom?"

"You do know Lassie had a canine mom, right?"
"Of course I know that; stop trying to ruin it for me. Should I ask her where Lassie is now?"
"I'm guessing she's going to say DEAD."
"STOP TRYING TO RUIN IT FOR ME."

I continued to stare at the back of June's head, lost in my reverie of LASSIE'S MOM and thinking up things I could do to my sister, like sleep with her boyfriend.

Lassie's mom was the sweetest, kindest mom. I don't think she ever punished Timmy, never said a bad word about anyone and never raised her voice in anger.

My mother: Go do your homework.

Lassie's Mom: Timmy lay down and take a nap while I do your homework.

My mother: Do your chores.

Lassie's Mom: You spent all day in school; I'll do your chores.

Me to my mother: Why can't we have a dog? A Lassie dog.

My mother: Because your father and I hate you.

Lassie's mom: Timmy, come here, we got a dog that can find you in a well if you fall in.

My mother: If we get you Lassie you'll just fall in a well and drown before she can save you.

Suddenly June slammed on her brakes. I was brought out of my reverie because we'd hit a construction area and couldn't move. June turned right and then left but we were not making any progress. We went up and down the same streets many times, but we couldn't get to the theater. Then June turned one corner and came smack up against an even bigger construction blockage.

"FUCK!" she yelled.

Now that's a perfect mother.

End of dog chat.

Count Down To Blast Off

I haven't been reading blogs or commenting that much. There are many things going on right now, some of them unpleasant. This morning at 7:20 a.m. our side of the building was blasted out of a sound sleep by dogs shrieking in our building. This has been going on for months. The emotional stress makes it hard to concentrate and write. What should take me two hours takes me a hundred and twenty. I have finally reached Def-Con 1 with the assholes doing this. ALSO.

There is a baby upstairs. I was worried he would cry all day and ruin my life. His cries are barely audible over the cacophony of 8 dogs in 6 apartments in a 21 unit building with 4 vacancies. In a building with a courtyard that echoes. The owners of these Cujos have made our lives miserable and we're in the middle of trying to restore sanity via the long arm of the law. ALSO.

Only 2 and a half more weeks until my mother goes back to France. She has been living with my sister in a 850 square foot apartment for 3 months.

My sister has lost the will to live.

My mother has not been doing much better. Both of them are trying to kill me with a disease called Talking Behind The Other One's Back. Which I engage in for fear of being left out of the loop.

I lived in NY, Lindy lived in LA, Dad lived in Florida and Mom lived in Paris. You will not find 4 more independent people anywhere, except in Heaven, where my father is. We were all so afraid of missing out on the various wonders of the world that we, among us, have been around the world twice. We would miss out on holidays if we had an opportunity to travel. We never thought Christmas or Thanksgiving was important because we never believed in obligatory get-togethers manufactured by malls and TV commercials. We don't own any Totes.

If we saw something another would like, we would buy it and give it to them whatever time of year it was. That's how my mother ended up with some rather unfortunate silk pillows with elephants on them that I bought in Hong Kong, gave to my sister in LA, who three years later gave them to my mother in Paris who waited 7 years and gave them back to me in New York. ALSO.

I won a contest chez Kyddryn and received this matted and framed photo she took. I can't do it justice with my little camera but the colors match my living room, which I thought was amazing luck. ALSO.

I am part Russian, from Ukraine. Watch this youtube from Ukraine's Got Talent!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=518XP8prwZo.

The girl is uber beautiful and what she does is amazing. Ukraine's Got Talent Yo! I'd laugh at that but my entire family in Russia (except for my grandfather) died in the Gulags so laughing is kinda out. ALSO.

All these 2009 deaths continue unabated. WHAT THE FUCK?

ALSO. End of chat.

I Was Playing A Part Named After French Cheese

Due to my skills as an OCD practitioner, I have every piece of detritus from my career. Many years ago I was flipping through some of my scrapbooks and found this one-sheet. I read down the list and was amazed to find Dan Lauria's name on it. He played the father on The Wonder Years. This was a play reading we did and he played Carmine and I played Brie. Shut up. So when I saw him walk out of our Starbucks and past the table I was sharing with my mother and sister, I called Dan's name. He turned around and I reminded him of our brief encounters in NYC. He asked me what we had done together but I couldn't remember the name of the play. I had my OCD button in the OFF position.

I persuaded him to take a picture with me and my sister thought she took 6 or 7 pictures and it turns out she took 27. I looked shitty in every one. Which I discovered when I got home and uploaded them. HD is not kind to me and I know it. I truly do need hair and makeup to go downstairs and get my mail. Obviously all those Vicodin post-surgery made me think I was a natural beauty.

Dan had convinced my sister to stand where she did because the light was in back of us. My sister said she thought that was wrong and he INSISTED it was right. So he looks great and I have shadows on my neck that make me look like I have a Van Dyke where my neck should be. THANKS DAN. Dan and I commiserated about the business and how awful things were at NBC and how Hollywood is so fucked up they're making reality shows that can't even be syndicated and what was up with that shit? He sounded really depressed. I went home and IMDb'd him and in 2009 he has done 7 television shows and 5 movies. Then I got depressed.

Before we went to Starbucks I left a bunch of dresses hung up on the outside cabinet knobs in my bedroom. My sister saw one and said, "I remember that dress; you got it in NY." I asked her if she wanted to try it on since I was now a size 8. It was a size 6 and my sister is a size 2. I knew it would drop to her ankles like 10 pound weights. I loved that dress and didn't want to give it away.

She put it on and it fit like a glove. The dress is 26 years old. What used to be a size 6 is now a size 2. A sample size is a 2. (all the freebies the slebs get to wear at award shows) I guess 6 sounds too fat for Hollywood. I gave her the dress. I'm not going back to Twoville anytime soon.

Later that night on the phone, my mother mentions to me that perhaps I should start wearing makeup again. And combing my hair when I get out of the shower. Notice in the picture there is a nice clump of hair stuck in the middle of my bangs?

But the kicker was the email I got from my sister the next day, after I sent her the pic of me and Dan that was the least hideous looking. You don't look bad at all. Mom thought you looked great but mom has had a few glasses of wine.

End of chat.

The Answer To Yesterday's Post And Yes I Know This Isn't A Movie Title

Best Western was the real sign.