Editing Myself

After the Klingon debacle in which I nearly lost my mother (don't ask) I determined never to write anything personal again. However, since my life is an open source of inspiration and pain, what would that leave me with? Nada. So I determined to start a new blog, one which told the truth about me and my rather interesting escapades, the type I can't tell my mother about, and then I realized that I basically don't have any. I mean, I can quote from some swanky text messages mistakenly sent my way (my favorite two being from the same guy, one year apart: "It wd B g8 f u cld b r surrogate"was the first one, sent to my barren womb about three years ago. Then, the following CHRISTMAS DAY, "My girlfriend say yr picture do U wanna have 3some with us. PS don't tell my wife." Touching, simply touching. I could write about skanky Beijing up the ass and back again, but since no one is going near my tail, what's the point? The most touching thing I did this week was to teach my drama class to sing "Smile" (the Charlie Chaplin song) and to come close to weeping as their little faces lit up as they sang. They liked it. Ten year olds have a surprising amount of good taste.

In the news: 48 year old woman wonders what the hell happened to her neck...

Dear Best Friend

     Caution to all the single ladies: If you hang out with married men, at some point at least one of them will decide he's in love with you, tell you so, kiss you passionately, then drop you like a hot potato due to guilt. He won't even ask you what YOU want and he will probably be a lousy kisser to boot, hoovering you into his face with his lips before tearing himself wetly away, bursting into tears and saying how he would NEVER cheat on his wife, no sir, NEVER. Well, yeah, he would never cheat on his wife with YOU, that is, but you damn well know is a lie, because he sticks his dick into anything with a skirt when he's on the road, and you KNOW THIS because he has told you so many many times,  and the girls he has stuck it to have occasionally ended up crying uncontrollably on your sofa.

     The worst part: You can't call your best friend and tell him about this asshole, because he IS that asshole, and if you have to work together at some point in the future--say, at some TV show---there will be many many long and awkward silences. If you think his outburst of passion has something to do with the fact that you just then were confiding in him about this cute guy you have a crush on, you're probably right. Dog in the manger syndrome is alive and well, even for the over forty set.

     Oh, yeah: and if you had a date to do something together, say, go to a fancy dress event, you will have to go alone (if you still have your ticket) and listen to many people whisper about you behind your well-dressed back. So: I don't want to be alone again, but I have enough integrity not to steal away a married man, even one that actually wanted me. And that's my story of March.