OH. EM. GEE.

Kim Kartrashinan is pregnant with Kanye's spawn.

1.  Her ASS is going to get so big it will need its own zip code.

This is NOT normal.  She may have to deliver this kid anally.


2.  I hope the baby doesn't get his chin.

3.  Two narcissists who are in love with each other (she with herself, he with himself)

4.  Strategically waiting to make this glorious announcement - New Years Eve ... because Kimye knows how much we, the little people, look forward to their farts and shit.  (I bet if Kris Jenner would find a way to bottle Kim's farts she would, and then everyone on earth would rush to their local department store to purchase it).

4.  A new reality show awaits.

Dear GOD, help us.

FINDING YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE ...

As you all know by now, I am not a "glass half full" person.  I don't necessarily think of myself as a fatalist ... I think of myself as more of a realist.  So, a while back, I was on The Huffington Post and read an article by a gal who had quit her day job and was now living her dream.  Her dream consisted of:  (1) having more time to herself; (2) becoming financially independent; (3) having homes in other parts of the world; and (4) being able to travel.  She has now decided to help the rest of us achieve the same. 

Her article goes on to have the reader answer a long list of questions -- FAST -- before you have time to think about it, then you add up your scores and VOILA!  Your life's purpose REVEALED.   

I don't need to take a test to find my life's purpose.  

Honey, EVERYONE on earth wants to have more time to themselves, become financially independent, have homes in other parts of the world and be able to travel.  EVERYONE.  And you telling me that if I do what you tell me to, I too, can have the life of my dreams?  Someone needs to be bitch slapped.  Twice.  

People like you make other people feel like crap.  People do not like to feel like crap.  You need to stop writing these "you can have it all" bullshit articles.  You CAN'T have it all.  Period.  Quit getting peoples hopes up and start writing more useful articles.  Thank you.  

Love,
Debbie
 

SO ....

I just finished sending my resume to ten prospective employers.  If the planets do not align on 12-21-12 and the end of existence as we know it does not occur, I can hope to hear back from any one of these prospective employers approximately ... never.  

While job searching, I happened to stumble onto You Tube where there were lots of helpful videos for the mature job seeker (aka useless humanoids) on how to interview successfully.  Such as "how to ask the right questions during an interview" or  "how to spin your biggest weakness into a positive and "how to explain resume gaps" (this is crucial because if you've been unemployed more than a hot minute you seriously have some esplainin to do); and my favorite ... "how to negotiate your salary" (LMAO). 
Everyone knows that drones do not negotiate their salaries.   

HOUSEWIVES AND OTHER REALITY NUT JOBS ...

Dear Kenya,

YOUR MAN DOES NOT WANT TO MARRY YOU.  PERIOD.

Kenya is suffering from a multitude of issues, mainly malignant narcissism.  She has major issues with her mother who abandoned her and does not acknowledge her to this day.  This would explain her need to compete with and cut down other women and flirt with their men.  Only ... this does not work Kenya ... it just makes people hate you.  Did you get that?  Not jealous.  Hate.  You need to find yourself a good therapist and work this stuff out.  I say this with love in my heart.
Oh ... and p.s. ... you might want to find a good dermatologist. 

Dear Phaedra,

You really need to keep that GIGANTIC ASS of yours covered up.  Seriously. 

Dear Kim,

I have no idea how you hooked such a nice, normal guy because you are such a shameless, foul-mouthed, tranny looking piece of trailer trash who thinks you actually are someone.  LISTEN CAREFULLY .... YOU'RE NOT.   

Dear Alexia,

What you did to Karent was MEAN, MEAN, MEAN.  Yes, she is a bit much to take but ambushing her the way you did with news of her cheating boyfriend in front of all the other ladies was really unforgivable.  You were practically giddy with joy as you told her you had proof of his infidelity and offered to show her the pictures.  Girl, you'd better pray this doesn't come back to you.  Because if it does, I'll be the first one laughing at your pathetic ass Cuban Barbie.

OK.  This broad right here - G.G. from Shahs of Sunset, is certifiable.  She has serious, SERIOUS anger management issues and is always threatening to fuck someone up.  She constantly demands respect from everyone but acts like a mad dog on crack.  I love these rich bitches who think they are so down and want everyone to be afraid of them when you know, that in a showdown between Miss G.G. and Clockstopper, Golnesa would piss on herself.   

G.G. my love ... if you are really that down why don't you hop in your Mercedes and drive on down to The Hood in Pico?  There are plenty of gals down here who'd be more than happy to rearrange your face.    

P.S. ... Doesn't she look like the bug from the Outer Limits?  Right!

SMOOCHES!

DREAMSCAPE ...

There isn't even a word that could possibly describe my dream life.  My dreams are like a parallel universe that I exist in that is ultra bizarre.  I had one the other night that I  have not been able to stop thinking about and I keep wondering how I could possibly get it written into a screenplay.

So the premise of the dream is this .... I am living in someone else's reality.  This reality is really dangerous, like life threatening dangerous and I am about to be murdered -- but I have no idea by who/how or where.  All I know is that I have to escape.  The means of escape is through several doors, which will take me into yet another dangerous reality, BUT, if I take the wrong door, I will return to the same reality I have just tried to escape.  So I'm basically fucked no matter which way you look at it.  (Prophetic?)

Scene one:  I am in high rise office building.  I am in the coffee room taking a break.  I'm a temp worker.  The people there don't like me.  As I sit and drink my coffee I watch an old lady jump up and down until her underwear falls down to her ankles.  Several other workers race to help her pull up her underwear and then drag her away because she has obviously lost her mind.  Just then, I realize that if I don't make a quick get-a-way, I am NEXT and I know that if I don't get out of there immediately something terrible will happen to me.  I run out of the coffee room and escape into a stairwell where there are several large doors all offering a means of escape.  Above each door is the destination.  One door says, TO NEW YORK, another FROM TOKYO, another TO HARLEM and another TO LOS ANGELES.  I don't know which one to take.  I'm panicking.  I decide on the New York door ... I open the door and there is a little car on a rail -- like a roller coaster ... I sit in it and am immediately hurled into space through the New York skyline until I end up on a street right on my butt.  Just like in THE TERMINATOR movie, the bad guy has followed me and I'm off and running again!  Oh shit.  I run through he city trying to find a place to hide when I realize that I do not know this city at all and I have no idea where to hide.  So I do the only thing I can, and that is to find my way back to the DOORS -- to choose another reality -- I find my way back to the stairwell wherein I jump onto the TOKYO roller coaster and I am propelled into TOKYO.  It is night and I find myself in a beautiful hotel lobby, very eco-chic, lots of white lacquered walls with huge aquariums full of exotic, colorful fish.  I'm safe ... for a while.  I try to familiarize myself with this new place when all too soon I sense the evil presence and I once again have to find my way back to the doors.  I run through the lobby and get on the escalator.  I know that if I can find my way back to the stairwell, I will find THE DOORS and I can escape again. 

The dream continues ALL NIGHT and consisted of me desperately trying to escape all of these realities until I finally woke up in a panic and thoroughly exhausted. 
My personal interpretation:  I'm screwed and my reality sucks. 


THOUGHTS?  ANYONE?  

ALL ABOARD!! NEXT STOP ... "DANNYLAND"

It was a typical Sunday afternoon ...

Danny:  "Hon?  I know ... why don't WE make enchiladas tonight?"  (translation from Dannyspeak to English ..."WE" means "YOU").

Me:  "I don't know how to make enchiladas." 

Danny:  "Oh it's real easy."

Me:  "Then why don't YOU make the enchiladas?"

Danny:  "Ha ... ha."

Me:  "Besides, I don't have anything.  I haven't been to the market."

(I had been neglecting my own grocery shopping for the last two weeks because we were going to have Thanksgiving at my sisters and she just got a new job and didn't have the time to do all the shopping so I was helping her out and taking everything to her house, therefore, I had no food in my house which meant that I would have to go to the market to buy EVERYTHING for the enchiladas, then come home and COOK on Sunday ... the traditional day of rest ... but not for Debbie).

Danny:  "No really ... it's really easy.  All you do is get the chicken, shred the meat, chop up the onions, get the sauce ....


Me:  "Again ... if you know how to make them, then you make them."

(We like to play this funny little game, he and I, over how easy/difficult it is to cook a particular meal and I always end up losing because COOKING IS EASY therefore I ALWAYS end up making the meal ... even on the weekend ... because I am unemployed and I have to earn my keep ... because I'm a slave - ugh.)

So I go to the market, get the chicken breasts, buy an onion, get the tortillas and buy an apple pie for HIM because I'm stupid that way.

I call my sister ... "hey, how do you make your enchiladas?"  She tells me.  I do it.  I sweat and chop and cook and shred, I peel and saute and cook and cook and then I wash the  THREE pans I have so I can re-use them because they are the ONLY three pans I have because my husband is a tight wad and then I cook some more.  This equates to standing on my feet which are riddled with plantar fasciitis for over an hour which is killing me.  I get the enchiladas in the oven, then I start making the rice and the beans because you can't have enchiladas without rice and beans so this means I am standing for another half hour.  I finally finish in the kitchen and after having done two rounds of dishes ALL while preparing dinner I FINALLY SIT DOWN.

Me:  "Danny, YOU are going to clean the kitchen for me because I've been standing for over an hour and I made you the enchiladas okay?"

Danny:  "Yeah, yeah."

DINNER IS SERVED.

Danny:  "MHMMMM, MYMMMM, OMG, THESE ARE PERFECT!  MHMMMM".

Me:  "Awww honey ... It makes me so happy when I make something you really like."  

Twenty minutes pass.  We eat.  We converse.  We smile.  Everybody is happy.

Forty minutes later there is an empty Pyrex baking dish with remnants of tortilla, chicken and enchilada sauce which is rapidly coagulating.  Two pots, one with rice the other with beans which need to be transferred to Tupperware, a multitude of forks, knives, spoons and other cooking utensils are also hardening with various remnants of foodstuffs. 

Me:  "Danny .... you are going to clean the kitchen for me right?"

Danny:  "Yeah, yeah.  I'll do it in the morning before I go to work."

Me:  (I knew it)  "That's disgusting" I say.

Danny:  "What?????" 

Me:  "Letting food sit in pots and and pans overnight like that while the food hardens, etc.  Only pigs live like that."

Danny:  "I'll do it in the morning what's the big deal?"


OK.  I'm not even going to attempt to explain why I cleaned the stupid kitchen but I swear I will never, EVER make enchiladas again!  EVER.  And I mean it.  Really. 

HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS ....

So I caught RHOBH last night and it was rather uneventful (which means that no one set anyone's hair on fire) Lisa and Adrienne met for drinks so that Adrienne could properly apologize to Lisa for accusing her of selling stories to the tabloids.  Adrienne in turn, thought that Lisa should also apologize to her for ... for ... oh something!  Anything. 

 Kim is now sober but still riding the cuckoo-crazy train. 

(Me thinks Miss Kim has had way too many chemical peels).

Brandi, whose ex-husband is the super gorgeous Eddie Cibrian, who left her for Leanne Rimes, is very hypercritical of herself ... tragically so.  During a photo shoot she actually got upset because she saw wrinkles on her thumb ...(and don't you know that Leanne Rimes is totally watching every single episode!)  I kind of feel sorry for Brandi but then she does say some seriously off the wall shit.  However, I will always be on the side of any woman who has been betrayed ... it's just basic girl code.  I hope Brandi meets an super wealthy man ... just so we could watch as all the other Housewives kowtow to her and kiss her ass.   

Kyle is always happy.  I'd be happy too if my husband was sexy, gorgeous, rich and had just surprised me with a brand new Maserati.  I think Kyle is a real "girl's girl" but I gotta say that her need to constantly do the splits on camera irritates the f**k outta me.  Yeah ... we get it Kyle, you're super limber, therefore a great lay.  Whatever.

New Housewife Yolanda Foster is married to David
Foster, GOD OF THE MUSIC WORLD, therefore she is a GODDESS because this shit just rubs off if you're married to it.  She has an incredibly BEAUTIFUL home.  Exactly my style, Mediterranean, California causal loaded with easy elegance.  It seems Yolanda knows how to marry the right man.  Apparently, her ex-husband is the infamous Mohammed who is LOADED and happens to be Lisa Vanderpump's friend.   Yolanda is an ex-model (surprise) and her daughter is also a model (surprise) and Yolanda doesn't "interfere" in her daughter's career but what I saw on t.v. when she attended daughter Gigi's photo shoot was Yolanda running the whole show.  Which clothes to wear, how to paint her eyes, ... basically, a controlling pain in the ass.  Time will tell what she is all about. 

Taylor Armstrong.  All I can say about this one is she must stop with the lip injections and the Botox.  Her face is completely frozen and nothing moves.  Word is she has a new man ...
It's amazing to me how quickly these gals recover from suicide, heartbreak, divorce, etc., et al.  Just find another MAN ... preferably ROLLING IN DOUGH ... and move on.  This is not normal.

So ... here is my pitch for a new reality show.  SCARED HUMBLE.  We take the RHOBH and put them in a setting where they must actually live with and interact with REAL people.  I can see it now ... Lisa Vanderpump trying to buy diamonds at Cost Co., Adrienne Malouf DRIVING, all by herself, in a REGULAR car, to Vegas where she would then stay at an affordable motel off the strip.  NOW THAT I WOULD WATCH!  Can you imagine these hoity toity broads interacting with regular people who don't know/care who they are?  How funny would it be to watch some regular Joe or Jane tell Lisa Vanderpump to go fuck herself LOL!  Ooooh, I think I'm onto something.  Really.  Kind of like "Wife Swap" ... we could called it "Life Swap ... Scared Humble".    What do you think?  Would you watch? 

I'm fucken brilliant. 

EVERYBODY HAS A PLAN ...

So last Friday was a very special night for me as my adorable friend Tina and I went to see a screening of Viggo's lastest film "Everybody Has a Plan." 

This is the first Argentinian film Viggo has done and it is quite a big deal for the Argentinian community because Viggo grew up there and the Argentinian people love him like one of their own.  

Adding to my excitement was the atmosphere ... it was a very sophisticated affair with most everyone speaking Spanish and lots of press and cameras, live music and tango dancers ... I almost felt as though I was really in Argentina. 

There were a lot of VIPs from Argentina, representatives from the Argentinian Consulate and people representing film in Argentina.  I definitely got the feeling that Tina and I were rubbing shoulders with some very famous people in Argentina (even if we didn't know who they were).

As for the movie ... it was fantastic.  It was a special treat for me to get to see Viggo on the big screen because he's not one of those actors who makes a movie every five minutes.  Viggo plays twin brothers; one good (questionable) and one bad (questionable).  It was surprising, intense, romantic and psychologically interesting.  I do not want to give too much away but there was some naked Viggo - not a ton, but enough to make this girl happy. The entire cast was phenomenal.  As always, Viggo was brilliant.  I felt transported ... a most excellent movie experience.  



After the movie there was a wonderful party.  The musicians continued playing, the tango dancers continued dancing and waiters with trays of delicious empanadas walked about while free glasses of wine were served.  There is something about being in Hollywood ... the people watching was fun and those Argentinian men are HOT.  I don't think I've ever seen so many beautiful men in one place EVER.  Tina and I were drooling ... as we meandered about we joked about what we would do if we were single and 20 years younger (X rated for sure) ... for me, this is the one good thing about being older ... you can openly stare without embarrassing yourself because ... for all intents and purposes, you're as good as invisible.  This is not Tina's problem.  She is much younger than I am and a sex bomb. 

It was a really great evening and thank you my friend Tina for sharing the night with me. 

If you are a movie lover then this is a MUST SEE.  On a scale from 1 to 10, it was definitely a 10.


P.S.  Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!

MY LOVE AFFAIR ...

with jam.  It is 11:00 pm and I have been sitting on the couch for half an hour wrestling with the idea of going into the kitchen and making myself a jam sandwich.  I LOVE Jam.  Strawberry Jam.

When I was a kid in school I would anticipate, literally until my mouth watered, the two jam sandwiches I would make for myself when I got home.  Two jam sandwiches on soft white bread. I even put jam on tortillas.  To this day there is no bigger treat for me than a tortilla slathered with jam.


When I first started taking Ambien (the last time I was traversing the Purgatory of unemployment) I was one of those people who exhibited the side effect of nocturnal eating.  I put on 30 lbs.  Partly due to massive consumption of jam filled tortillas.

Now, every morning, I have wheat toast with butter and jam.  EVERY.  MORNING.  I look forward to that on my way to bed ... tomorrow morning I can have my toast and jam (smiley face).  My brother, who teased me mercilessly when I was a teenager, always loved to call out the fact that I was not what one would call a domesticated female.  I did not cook.  I did not clean.  I did not do anything like that.  When he really wanted to do some damage to my already fragile female psyche, he'd hit below the belt with "what are you going to make for your husband when you get married Debbie?!  JAM SANDWICHES!?"  It filled me with shame.  It really did.  What WAS I going to make my future husband for dinner?  I didn't know how to cook.  What if he didn't like jam?

I have since widened my horizons ... I will now indulge in Apricot jam as this is less fattening (at least that's what Weight Watchers says), or I'll enjoy Boysenberry jam ... Mmmmm.  But nothing beats good old strawberry jam. 

So ... after going on and on about my love of jam, should I go to the kitchen or not?  It is now 11:19 pm.  I think I've overcome the urge ... and if I go to bed right now, the morning will come that much faster ... and I can have my toast and jam (smiley face) ... NITE NITE!

THE VIGGO CHRONICLES (Part X)

When we last left our heroine she was in the midst of an emotional breakdown.  Viggo had left her sitting under a tree with a broken heart.  Unable to process all that she'd told him, he was overcome.  It was perfectly understandable ... let us now return ... to The Viggo Chronicles (Part X) ...

A few weeks had passed.  It was agony.  I had made myself resist the urge to transport to the library out of fear that if I did and he wasn't there it would confirm his disdain for me.  But I also knew that if I found him and was able to talk with him one more time and try to explain, that no matter what happened, I would accept the outcome.  So, with that in mind, I wished...

Deep intake of breath .... I was in the library.  I didn't move or walk ... I just stood where I was and scanned the room.  I didn't see him.  I wanted to look around but I was hesitant to move about and explore.  Maybe I should just go back and return in a few days.  Maybe it was too soon.  Or worse, maybe he resisted.  My heart sank.  

I took a step.  And then another.  I did not venture too far, just enough to peek around a few corners.  Now I was able to see the entire library.  My eyes scanned the place ... he wasn't there.  With a heavy heart, I left the library and returned to my other life.

I went back to reality, although at this point I no longer knew what reality was.  Viggo was in my blood and in my every thought.  It was torture.   I have resolved that I will not put this behind me until I have one more encounter.  I always thought that closure was a luxury that only a few get to experience - a ridiculous idea -  but this situation is so odd that I know I will never be able to rest until I have had one last opportunity to explain.  My last words to him were so shocking that I realized he would need time to process it, and maybe, after he had the opportunity to do so, we could speak once again ... even if it would be for the last time.  

Bolstered by the fact that I could still transport myself I became obsessed.  It was all I could think about.  I started transporting twice a week, then every day .... sometimes twice a day.  It was crazy I know, but I couldn't stop.  At some point I knew I'd have to end this madness but until I felt that I'd done everything possible, until I grew tired and drained of hope, I had to continue trying.  

Weeks turned into months.  I was transporting all the time now.  I was losing weight.  Losing sleep.  Losing my sanity.  I was growing so tired.  I had determined that if I did not find him soon ... then I'd have to end it.  I would stop traveling the ether and stop visiting the library.  It was the only sane thing to do.  My life had become so unmanageable and crazy that I was afraid I'd truly go mad.  I resolved that after tomorrow, if I didn't not encounter him, I would stop.  Forever.  I would stop longing and crying over him.  It would be done and I would move onto to some semblance of a normal life again.  

With deep resolve ... I wished.  I transported to the same spot I always did ... by the elevator.  I stood there doing my usual scan of the room before venturing forward.  After having spent the last month crying myself to sleep, punishing myself for my deceit, wishing and hoping for resolution, going over and over those last words I said to him .... "ding ding" ... the elevator rang and broke my train of self-pitying thought.  As I turned around the doors were opening.  IT WAS HIM.  He was in the elevator!

Our eyes met.  Mine full of fear and trepidation.  He approached me.  My heart raced but I was thankful that it would soon be over.  I was so tired of the stress and anxiety this had caused me.  I was ready to be done with it.  He held his hand out.  I took it.  He led me to the place where we first sat on the floor of that library so many months ago.  I felt oddly calm ... I was so emotionally drained by now that it was a relief not to feel the anxiety of the past couple of months.  I was truly exhausted and I felt that however this went, it would soon be over and I was okay with it.   

 "You look terrible" he said.

(... to be continued)

VIGGO ... *sigh*

It's all my fault!  It is!  Because I am a compulsive stalker I have Google Alert email me anytime there is anything new on my boyfriend.  Well .... Google alerted me last night with some disturbing information ... apparently, there is talk that my boyfriend has secretly married.  Yes.  MARRIED.  To HER.  That woman who stole him away from me.  

BUT, since Viggo rarely comments on his personal life it is anyone's guess whether this is true or not.  I'm in a panic.  It sent me into trolling mode.  Google-ing, Bing-ing, and Yahoo-ing all over the internet to find out what I could.  There was nothing other than "rumors" and even the "rumors" were few.  I ran across a story that Viggo had been tweeting fans to pray for his dog who was having surgery.  This CANNOT be true.  Viggo would NEVER have a Tweet account.  He is far too private to tell the world at large his every movement.  

I do know that he has been living with HER in Madrid.  It is ridiculous that the possibility of his marrying could make me so sad but I feel that he is mine ... in my mind.  On the other hand, Viggo needs a woman.  He really does ... he doesn't know how to dress himself very well.  All unmatching ties and scuffed shoes with Armani suits.  And in all honesty, I can totally see what he sees in HER.  She's an artist.  An actress, intelligent.  Creative.  AND she's an Aquarian ... like his ex-wife, but more importantly, like ME, which confirms, once again, that he and I would be 100% compatible (as our love in the ether has confirmed over and over again).

So, until I read something "official" I will try to remain calm.  

I will notify you all as soon as I hear anything.  Please cross your fingers and send me positive energy.  I will most definitely need it.  

You may not hear from me for a while for I must ... I ABSOLUTELY MUST, venture back into the ether to find him for we have to discuss this cruel rumor.  I will report as soon as possible. 

A RANT (on certain persons that piss me off)

So, we all my know of my hate for (1)Rush Limbaugh and (2) Ann
Coulter.  After Debate No. 3 wherein President Obama basically bitch slapped Governor Romney, the vile Ann Coulter said "I highly approve of Romney's decision to be kind and gentle to the retard." 

I'll say it again .... "I highly approve of Romney's decision to be kind and gentle to the retard."

OPEN LETTER TO ANN (HORSE FACE) COULTER:

Dearest Ann:

I have so many reasons to hate your comment but the BIG ONE is that my beautiful 26 year old stepdaughter has Downs Syndrome.  Now, normally I don't get my panties in a twist over "retard" comments.  I really don't.  But because you are such a hate monger and obviously have no soul I feel perfectly justified in stating how much I hate you, so much so that if something really horrible happened to you I really don't think I'd feel a thing.  That's a lot of hate.  And just think ... I am only ONE person of so, so many who feel the same.   

My stepdaughter (or "retard") as you would identify her is one of the most NORMAL, LOVING, GENEROUS, PURE, FUNNY, TENDER human beings I have ever known in my entire life of living and I am greatly offended Ms. Coulter because the word "retard" to you means STUPID, NO BRAINS, UNINTELLIGENT, CHILDLIKE MORON when in fact it is YOU, Ms. Coulter, who are a STUPID, NO BRAINED, UNINTELLIGENT, MORON.  And the sickest thing is that you get PAID to be a STUPID, NO BRAINED, UNINTELLIGENT MORON which should call into question all sorts of other points such as the power of the media, the right winged hate machine, and the joke that politics and serious discourse have become in the 21st century world of hype, B.S. and shock talk.  

I know, I know ... you didn't mean "retard" like that.  But you said it, and you said it to shock, because your vocabulary does not contain bigger, better, more descriptive words to describe your feelings re Obama's debate performance.  Retard was the first thing that popped into your mind.  Ann ... weighing ones words, thinking before speaking ... are signs of a "thoughtful, literate" speaker.  Any 7th grader could come up with retard.  Unbelievable.  

I truly wonder how you sleep at night.  But then I remembered ... vampires sleep during the day.  

SMOOCHES!

and p.s.  I hope you get diarrhea on air while the whole word watches as liquid excrement exits your anal cavity instead of where it usually exits from ... your mouth.  

That's all.

"DANCING AT THE SHAME PROM" ...

This Sunday I attended a reading from "Dancing at the Shame Prom" hosted by my amazing friends Amy Ferris and Hollye Dexter.  The evening was a wonderful journey as we listened to many amazing, fantastic, talented women writers read from their essays which compile this amazing book.  Heart wrenching, funny, painful stories that all women can relate to.  Like the woman whose mother was an emotionally abusive and stubborn hoarder, to the other whose father was a cruel alcoholic who terrified and humiliated her.  People and incidents that invalidated and robbed them of them of their worth, their truth and their beauty BUT, through the power of the written word, they found their strength and each one of these women rose like a Phoenix to state her truth and say I AM HERE AND I AM SOMEBODY.  

Each woman recalled her own personal story of shame that crippled and stifled her.  A shame that held her back from really living, loving, and being.  We listen to them as they share the most personal, most painful stories and rejoice with them when they each awaken from their self-imposed indifference to realize and claim their own power and  greatness. 

Each woman stood up and proudly shared her story and touched every single person in that room.  There were loud claps of appreciation and lots of laughter and many sighs of "yes ... I understand".  It was a love fest.  Because we women are awesome! And when we share our stories together we empower one another.  And when we encourage one another we can conquer anything and anyone who wants to keep us small.  

WOMEN RULE!!!!

SO GO OUT AND BUY THE BOOK!  You'll  be glad you did.

 

The incredible, adorable, generous Amy Ferris.

The equally incredible, adorable and generous Hollye Dexter.

The amazing writers who contributed their powerful stories to the book.

My favorite picture of Amy.




THANKS TO ALL OF YOU LADIES FOR A GREAT AFTERNOON!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIGGO!!!!

On October 20, 1958 you were born.  Approximately 50 years later, you and I would be in the same room .... TOGETHER in Hollywood, CA.  My heart skipped a beat as you bounded up the aisle to the front of the theater in your t-shirt and jeans and I was struck by love.  When oh when, will you realize that I am your true intended ...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY VIGGO ...

OK folks ... here are some pictures of Viggo's new movie "The Two Faces of January" with Kirsten Dunst.  I CAN'T WAIT!!!  It is a great plot.  Viggo plays a con man who mistakenly (or not) is accused of shooting a police officer and then goes on the run.  It takes place in Greece, Istanbul and Turkey circa 1962.  


Doesn't he look hot in that cool yellow suit!

I LOVE HIM. 

AAARRRGGGHHH! ... YES. A rant.

Today is October 17 and it was 94 degrees today which is really starting to piss me off!  IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE FALL ALREADY DAMMIT!!!  I am so sick of this freaking hot weather!  I want to wear sweaters again, and socks ... NOT shorts and sleeveless t-shirts.  I look TERRIBLE IN SHORTS AND SLEEVELESS T-SHIRTS.  

Every morning when I get up I open the front door and WHOOM ... I can feel it ... the fucken heat ... like waves assaulting me.  I am certain it is global warming.  When I was a kid summer started in June and lasted until MAYBE mid-September.  Now summer starts in August and NEVER ENDS!!!!!  I feel like I need to buy more summer clothes and Thanksgiving is around the corner. 

As I write, it is 6:30 pm and it's like an oven outside.  I know you people who live where the weather is normal are probably disgusted by my bitching, but trust me, BE GLAD THAT WINTER IS COLD AND SUMMER IS HOT.  It's dependable.  It's NORMAL. Here in California Summer is HOT and winter is HOT.  It's like living on the sun.

RE-RUN ... My First Viggo Kissing Dream ... *SIGH*

Every time I dream about my boyfriend we're in a library or a bookstore (there must be some meaning in this because I love books and reading and Viggo is a published poet and an artist ... I'll have to do some research on this) ... so, in my dream, Viggo and I have established a "friendship/crush" in the library/bookstore of my dreams, SO we're in the library with some students and we're all seriously discussing some deep and esoteric topic and I began to notice that Viggo is a little sad, but flirty at the same time.  Mhmmm.  So, we're all talking and then all of a sudden it was just he and I engaged in a deep conversation. He sat down in the middle of an aisle of books with his long legs stretched out in front of him and he started telling me about how he was having trouble with his girlfriend. She was 49 going on 50 and she had green hair. She was also having serious issues with menopause. "Awwww", I said "I know how that is. You must be patient with her because those hormones are real. And they're no fun." (All the while thinking GOD I WANT YOU ... but I had to be cool, nonchalant ... I had to come across as supportive and caring and not like the horny toad I was)

So, after he confides in me, he shakes his head and I could tell that he was embarrassed that he told me his girlfriend had green hair, but I let it go. I could also tell that he was really down but at the same time, I could tell he really liked me too.  So, we keep on talking and all of a sudden everyone starts to get up to leave, so we get up too, and head towards the elevator. We get into the elevator with about four other people. And as we're riding I could sense his desire for me growing ... omg ... the longing ... the yearning ... THEN, he placed his hand on my thigh.  SIGH .... pant, pant, pant.  Then, when we got to my floor, the doors opened, he reached for me and took my face in his hands and started kissing me (this is so stupid I know but I was so freaking excited when I woke up that I had a smile on my face all the way to work). Then, I say, "Viggo, I can't kiss you here, in front of all these people, let's get off the elevator ... "

AND THEN I WOKE UP.

I think it's A SIGN ...