Dear Mr. Martin,
It is my great desirs that you do not inform me about your sexual screenwriting again.
Unless of course you would like to submit your sexual screenwriting for me to post here in its entirety. Constructive criticism from the b’eaw readership could quite possibly help you in your successing. And it would certainly help us pass the time.
Sincerely,
Jenn
Continue Reading 22 comments October 3rd, 2006
Why must it cost me $150 to finally meet my animal spirit guide? Why? I have been waiting all my life to meet my animal spirit guide!
Continue Reading 20 comments September 21st, 2006
I finally got “Sister Christian” out of my head, only for it to be replaced with “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad” by Meatloaf.
8 comments September 18th, 2006
Oh, my brain is full this morning. It is full of things I wish it were not full of, i.e., all the words to Huey Lewis’s “The Heart of Rock ‘n’ Roll Is Still Beating,” and “Sister Christian.” I don’t know why she’s the only one to say okay, I don’t know why she’s motorin’, but I’ll be damned if I don’t know all the words.
Continue Reading 36 comments September 15th, 2006
I just thought you should all know that Gloria Putnam Smith and I broke up. We tried to work things out, but after she told me to TURN RIGHT ON LOMBARD STREET and then GO .6 MILES—which would have put me squarely in front of an oncoming freight train—it all went downhill. (Well, I went uphill. Gloria Putnam Smith wanted me to go downhill.)
It was a long week, but I am back home now. It’s late and I should sleep. I don’t know how to write about the trip. My brain is whirring and I keep hearing this line from Cabaret: “You know the funny thing about Herman? There is NOTHING funny about Herman.”
Aside from Gloria Putnam Smith, there was nothing funny about Herman.
Send funny vacation stories. Missed you. Hope you are all well and very air-conditioned.
22 comments August 22nd, 2006
I could say I need you, Gloria Putnam Smith. Let’s be best friends, Gloria Putnam Smith. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Gloria Putnam Smith. But I have learned some lessons in my life. So I just reach out and touch Gloria Putnam Smith with my right index finger.
Continue Reading 28 comments August 17th, 2006
I got David to snap another one this morning so you wouldn’t worry. It really shows the importance of good lighting.
Continue Reading 21 comments June 25th, 2006
The girls are at school, the New England rain keeps pouring down, and I am slumped in my big chair trying to decide between attempting to clean up the house (which is so bad our ghosts have headed to a local hotel) or climbing back into bed. The meds are working some, but last night I had such a coughing fit before bed that I wound up hurling the entire contents of my stomach into the toilet, including my first dinner in three days and last night’s dose of Prednisone and Azithromycinmaxinmississippian. Niiiiice.
There have been perkier Fridays. Tell me it’s okay to surrender and go back to bed. Will you tell me that? Will you? Yes, please. Be an enabler. Calling all enablers.
32 comments May 19th, 2006
You guys, I am one of those people who says, you guys, especially before bad stuff. You guys! I have to have a chest X-ray in the morning because I can’t breathe and it could be pneumonia! You guys! I have been coughing for two and a half weeks and it’s getting worse, and my lungs hurt and my asthma gets really bad by nighttime and I start heaving and breathing with my shoulders and my back muscles and looking tragic and I get dizzy and panicky! You guys! I am so exhausted! They gave me a breathing treatment with a nebulizer and it made me breathe worse and wheeze worse and cough more, and now I have to have Prednisone and Zythromax and I’m getting panicky all over again because the sun is going down! Vampire pneumonia! Dracula pleurisy!
I said, hey, doctor, it gets worse at night, and he said, well, I don’t understand why it would get worse at night, to which I replied, right, well, I don’t either and I thought you were the guy to ask. No, it’s not my usual primary care physician. The warmth! Is it wrong to want a warm and fuzzy primary care physician to serve me hot tea and hug me and tell me I am not going to suffocate before dawn? Is it? You guys?
P.S. It was my beautiful David’s birthday yesterday. He would like all of you to know he just finished his Jesus year and it was a very exciting year.
36 comments May 17th, 2006
The Mater has been visiting, and our week together has been full of quotables like, Get the steak. I miss seeing you eat steak. Which is charming and baffling and eating-disorder-triggering and back to charming again all in the span of two microseconds. Life with my mother is a constant temptation to put up one of those quoteboards you find in the hallways of dorms inhabited by lots of drunk freshmen. This is a cute lady! You would love this lady! You see why I want her to move up here. Then we really would have to give in and put up a quoteboard.
Anyway, of course Mom and I watched David Blaine try to hold his breath for nine minutes tonight live on ABC in the Lincoln Center fishbowl. Live on ABC! LIVE! BUT NEARLY DEAD! Laughing it up over here! Seriously, we may use decent grammar, and she may say adorable things, but Mom and I have just as much schadenfreude coursing through our veins as anybody else. But we wouldn’t eat our young or anything. Well, Ma ate four of us but spared me and my one brother so I could write a blog someday and he could deliver babies and save people’s lives and have a really photogenic family.
But back to everybody’s favorite dumb-tushie, Mr. Blaine. The cameramen got a few up-close shots of Blaine’s now-corpse-like hands, which at this point had been submerged for like, six dumb days of total and complete watery dumbness.
My mother: I bet his little twinkie doesn’t look too great right now. [crying]
Me: [crying]
My mother and me: [more twinkie talk, more crying]
At this point, David was having considerable trouble marking papers in the adjoining room, the Den That Is Not A Den. So he gave in and joined the cacklers. And the conversation.
David: [skeptical] Are you sure he doesn’t have some tube going up his leg with oxygen?
My mother: I never heard of a tube blowing oxygen up your froufyhooha. [pause] It gives new meaning to the word ‘bl*wjob.’ [more crying]
Me: [more crying]
David: [staring at floor] Oh my. Just. Oh my.
We settled down a bit as David Blaine’s eyebrows started twitching and The Grim Reaper popped his head into the frame and did the heavy metal I-LOVE-YOU hands and yelled “WOOOOO F*CKIN’ A!” into the camera. My David didn’t see it but Mom and I totally did.
But David Blaine was just getting settled in for the long, dumb haul. Bor-ing.
Me: [disgusted] Oh, please. Now they’re playing freakshow angel music.
My mother: [nodding]
David: Uh, that’s Mozart’s Mass in C Minor. [pause] Oh. No, it isn’t. It’s the requiem they used in Platoon.
My mother: A requiem. They use them for DEATH.
Me: [silent]
David: [silent]
My mother: [nodding]
Now Mr. Blaine is wasting precious energy and brain cells trying to figure out why he added dumb handcuffs to his dumb underwater donkey show. We are also wasting precious energy and brain cells trying to figure out why he added dumb handcuffs to his dumb underwater donkey show. We are one.
My mother: See, I don’t know why you wouldn’t just do one or the other. He’s got to multitask. Too much multitasking.
Me: How will he get out of the dumb handcuffs? I hate that I am even asking that because HE WANTS ME TO ASK THAT.
David: It’s all about being double-jointed. [pause] No, he has keys.
Me: [coughing and wheezing from psychosomatic drowning episode as David Blaine starts inhaling water and bits of his own imploding lungs]
My mother: [worried] Don’t forget to take your Cingular tonight.
29 comments May 8th, 2006
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