Marrying George Clooney

14 women.
3 rafts.
okay let me say that one more time:
14 women, 3 rafts.
amazing.
14 unique, different, amazing, vibrant, gorgeous women.
3 very similar rafts. actually, almost identical. i’m sure there were a few things that made each raft unique, i just don’t know what that was or is at this moment. they looked the same to me.
there was nothing particularly special about the rafts. nothing.
except for the women who were in them.
5, 5, and 4.
and i would wager that each raft held a different conversation.
ours varied – from dry cleaners to sex.
and a lot of laughter.
that you could hear from each boat, the laughter.

at one point on the river, two guys in a canoe pulled alongside. bare-chested, young guys. turned out they were NY firemen. on a retreat. canoeing, camping, bonding. trying (unsuccessfully) to pick up five women who were probably old enough to be their mothers.

they tried engaging us in conversation, offering up some beer and jokes. truthfully, we were flattered & annoyed. but mostly we were 5 women not buying any of it. young & hot can not beat older & wiser. no frickin’ way.

14 women, 3 boats.

can’t beat it.
don’t try.

sometimes you just have to kick back, let life happen, go with the flow, enjoy the sun, take in a few clouds, experience all — you know, just be. here.
now.
right now.
here.
this place.
whatever that place is.
for someone like me, it’s not that easy.

i am not a ‘be here now’ girl. i wish i was. truly. plus, i don’t know how to be anywhere on time. let alone now. but i’m gonna try. now.

i met this extraordinary man this weekend. he was a monk for 25 years. he lived & breathed his faith, his practice.
and then he spoke up & shared his opinion about something, and he was asked to never do that again.
he was given a choice:
you can either speak up & leave the order, or you can see that you’re speaking up causes too much confusion & disruption.
he said he would pray on this.
he prayed.
he prayed some more.
he prayed harder and longer and felt so uneasy.
he prayed more.
he felt sad.
he prayed more.
he felt anger and uncomfortable.
he decided he didn’t like keeping it all inside, to himself.
so he choose speaking up and left the order. the big kahuna monk didn’t like his decision and said, “you will reside in hell for this.” hmmm, he thought, not a good way to encourage someone to stay on board here. a little bit of bully in that monk.
he knew his choice was the best one.
he left with nothing. not a penny. he left with his clothes on his back and his passion for weaving.
he loved weaving. this is what he did at the monastery. he worked the loom every single day.
and….
for ten years he struggled with his anger and the feeling of betrayal from a community that was ‘his family,’ he struggled with guilt and shame and sadness.
and along with those feelings, he made his art every single day. he wove. he created gorgeous tapestries.
he traded praying for weaving.
he wove.
he wove more.
he wove everyday.

it gave him hope and filled him.
with joy and happiness.
and there were moments of great doubt.
great confusion.
great sadness..
and days filled with miracles.
and now his tapestries hang in museums all over the world, and hotels and institutions and galleries. he teaches, he travels. he is world renowned.

i asked him if he still prays, he said, oh yes, at my loom. i pray at my loom. that is my passion.

he found his god he said inside of him. he said he believes in the beauty and power of the mysterious. that he tries to not question every little thing, but lets it unfold.

i told him that this was not easy for me. trusting. letting things unfold. believing that all will be okay without my controlling every little bit of it. it scared me, i said. he said it’s not supposed to be easy, and it is scary, and sometimes we just need to close out eyes and jump.

when he left the order, he found life.

on the count of three…

she knocked on the door. al gore opened it. she asked what she should call him.
he replied: “call me al.”

from there it gets well, icky weird strange, and turns into a completely different paul simon song.

she said: he moaned & groaned while she was massaging his belly, he wanted more. he wanted her to yes massage lower, keep going…. lower, lower, yes … to there, his penis. then apparently he (allegedly) tried to have sex with her, and yes, yes, she was shocked & outraged (and yes, who wouldn’t be).

okay so right there, that moment, that moment would have been enough for me to file a report. guy forces my hand (literally) and wants me to have sex with him … you know what, fuck him (figuratively).

but she didn’t file a report out of fear because there was no DNA evidence. she said she feared being made into a public spectacle and that her reputation would be destroyed. and i understand that. and i get it. i do.
but why now?
what i don’t get is why wait this long?
why wait years?

and honestly truly i don’t mean to be glib here, but now she’s going public with this. is it that he promised he would leave tipper and marry her? did he say that while he was face down on the table? and then he left tipper and didn’t marry her? again, i don’t mean to be glib, but the time frame is really hard for me. guy is forceful and wants to have sex, and she doesn’t tell someone? anyone? a girlfriend? a boss? the hotel manager? hey the guy in room blah blah, you know, the guy who was vice president of the united states who was mortified that bill clinton got a blowjob, that guy, that guy… al… wanted me to give him a hand-job.
or how about sending yourself a certified letter, “dear me, al gore wanted to have sex with me, and it was icky and strange and gross, and i will open this letter in four to six years and get a really good lawyer and … and… love, me”

but now – a few years later – she wants to go public.
you know what i think, i think this is all about tiger & jesse & all those girls (okay, women) who walked away or are walking away with gazillions of dollars.

and maybe, just maybe there is going to be a line of women who called him al. and maybe, just maybe there are many more icky, weird, strange stories. that’s possible. and maybe that’s why his marriage went into the toilet.

and maybe you’re thinking good god, she’s so bitter & jealous, and filled with a teeny bit of rage … and you’d be right, you would be…. and here’s why: i didn’t have this career opportunity when i was much younger & much too accommodating & much too loose with my own body.

gives new meaning to green with envy.

can you hear that?
it’s women calling.

stand up.
be bold.
audacious.
generous.
kind.
loving.
strong.
willful.
fearless.
peaceful.
vibrant.
sexy.
find your voice.
speak your truth.
share your words.

menostry.
bowing at the altar of women.

why is it no one famous ever contacted me, or contacts me after death?
i mean, my god, tori spelling went to a psychic to get in touch with her father and … farrah contacted her. i mean i completely get it, the connection, you know… charlie’s angels … and obviously the whole ‘angel’ thing… and they were neighbors. i get it. i don’t begrudge her at all.

and i’ve gone to many, many, many psychics, intuits, tarot readers – you name it, i’ve done it. past life regressions. check. spiritual healers. check. miss rosalie on tenth avenue. check. check. and never, not once did a famous person from the beyond get in touch with me. i mean i don’t even have old boyfriends get in touch with me…

why not me?

why is it no one famous — dead & famous, which is completely different than a wanna be & a has been — why is it no one famous contacts me?

is it an area code or zip code thing? that sounds doable. our area code changed a few times in the last couple of years. that could be it.

is it because i moved a lot when i was young and never really settled down until i was much older and wiser. possible. you know, it’s hard to keep track, someone’s whereabouts.
is it because i went to the wrong psychics who had no famous (dead) clients? well, that could be. could be.

is it because i wasn’t good enough? hmmmmmmm. not a road i wanna travel down right now.
is it because we didn’t have call waiting when we were growing up and no one – absolutely no one – could get through to us ever? not even live relatives or neighbors.
is it because i needed so desperately to be liked, accepted, paid attention to (when i was MUCH MUCH MUCH younger) that i in fact repelled and nauseated the very people who could have helped me have a big huge massive film career? possibly, but then again hollywood is such a fickle fucking place. trust me if i wrote a script tomorrow and it sold for a gazillion dollars anyone and everyone who never ever returned a phone call would find me in a heartbeat. it’s like being a dog in heat. okay, scratch that notion.

is it because i never dropped the majors…. as in: farrah fawcett majors?

or is it because none of the phone/cell carriers – verizon, at&t, sprint, cellular one – none of them have an FFF plan: friends & family & famous dead people plan?

i can’t believe i even think about this shit.

I am thoroughly convinced that a GPS GIRL is just like a pet.
you know how your pet starts taking on your characteristics?
okay, maybe not your pet, my pet. my pets. my cats, bella & lotus are just like us. lotus is happy & content & loves sex. bella likes googling old felines and leans toward anxious & cranky.
anyway…
i have found that the GPS GIRL takes on the personality of the owners and/or city you rent a car from. For instance, when we were in LA we rented a car, and the GPS girl was slightly snarky, a bit aggressive and very impatient. when she said re-calibrating she said it with attitude. sort of like, “hey, i own this town, you’re just a visitor.”
in new mexico the GPS girl was more enlightened, less snarky, much more tolerant, and preferred to let me drive around for awhile in a zen like fashion — figuring that maybe i needed to get a little lost and then find my own way. sort of like, “que sera sera.”

which brings us to this week. tuesday. we borrowed a GPS from our friends. two lovely sweet wonderful calm friends. calm people. we were driving from our home to rockport, and i of course felt that we needed some direction and since mapquest takes you out of the way for about an extra hour, i thought we should give the GPS girl a whirl. so, we borrowed the device, and yes just like our friends, the GPS girl was very calm, charming, sweet, very subdued and lovely, and then … no shit … something amazing happened … about 2.5 hours into the trip, both ken & i noticed a change in her voice — she became a bit more aggressive, less patient, more irritated. less tolerant and particularly snarky towards ken. then it was my turn to drive, always a treat for ken. since i am not a merger — i can stay in one lane for say ten days — just going where that lane takes me. and it was while i was driving, and ken was overlapping, interrupting the GPS GIRL … saying make a left make a left make a left… go on merge, merge, merge … you can go now… go on… now now now NOW NOW that the GPS GIRL stopped talking. she went completely silent.

i kid you not.

and she stayed mute for an hour. a whole hour without saying a word. complete silence.

until…

ken got behind the wheel. that’s when her voice came back big & strong & oh so frickin’ loud:
MAKE A LEFT. MAKE A LEFT NOW. NOW. MAKE A LEFT.

and that goes under the category of HMMMMMMM.

you know there are some stories you just shouldn’t tell, you should keep them hidden deep in your heart & soul, and be happy & grateful that you had them.
this is not one of those stories.
i am here tonight in rockport mass, in a town that’s lovelier in person than in picture postcards. it’s christmas every single day here. truly.
the last time i was here was 18 years ago. ken & i moved here for what was supposed to be five months. we got a sweet house, and settled in. he was shooting a film, a big, long shoot. we were brand new. dating and sexy and new. and god knows we couldn’t stand being away from each other for longer than ten minutes. nothing is sexier than first kisses. nothing. they last long and dry your lips and you think about them all day. those kisses. those lovely gorgeous sexy kisses. and so, i came with him to rockport. that’s the great perk of being a writer. i can write (or not write) anywhere.
well, the big hollywood director of the movie was a guy i kinda sorta dated months and months before. months before. We dated, we slept together and honestly, truthfully, it just didn’t have a future. and so, like all bad relationships with absolutely no future, you move on.

months later, i met ken. and the universe shook and i fell deeply in like.

and it was there — in the middle of the square in rockport, massachusetts — our lives changed forever. truly. ken and the director were standing in a basket in this giant cherry picker, getting ready to do a shot, and i show up – all bubbly and happy – and wave to ken, and he – all bubbly and happy – waves back at me and the cherry picker, this massive crane – swear to god – starts vibrating and swaying and it appears that the knees of the director are buckling. buckling. the entire cherry picker was swaying and nothing, absolutely nothing, could stop it.

it was that night that ken was fired.
he was told that it would be too difficult for the director to work with him. it wasn’t because ken had done a bad job, or a mediocre job, it was simply because the director couldn’t bare to be ‘in the same town as me.’
they even tried concocting some bullshit story that ken was ill, that he had contracted some such disease or something,
the studio wanted ken & the director to have a talk, a heart to heart.
and so, ken & the director had a long heart to heart. but still. at the end of the day, he just couldn’t bare my being there. it was too much for him. he was a sensitive type o’ guy.
and so ken was fired because i had slept with the director.
now some women sleep with a guy and get a raise, or a full spread in vanity fair. i sleep with a guy and i’m banned from a town. go figure.
my god, who knew i was so powerful and sexy?
who knew?

we decided to stay on in rockport and fight for him to receive his full salary. i called a good friend who was running a major film studio and gave him all the gory details, the blow by blow, he was extremely supportive, told me not to worry, and offered to step in and referee the fight. shortly after, the president of twentieth century fox (the studio behind the film) called ken and offered him full salary for the remainder of the film.

it became widely known throughout the industry as “the ferris deal.”

but none of that is the cool, sexy, oh my god fabulous part.
all of that led to the cool, sexy fabulous part:
after things settled down, and we were getting ready to leave rockport, ken got down on his hands and knees, and i of course being me thought he had a lost a contact lense, and so i joined him on my hands and knees, and while i thought we were looking for his lense, it turns out that he was seeing life very, very clearly.

“amy,” he asked, “will you marry me?”

yes, yes, yes…
we live happily.

okay, this is so perfect. so amy typical. so un-fucking-believable.
here’s the scoop:
when i was in the second grade i had a huge crush on a cute boy. a very cute boy, a huge massive crush. and i have proof – actual proof – in the form of a hot pink diary (with key, thank you very much) where I wrote in big bold letters: I LOVE RICHARD!!!!!!!!!!! and along with declaring my love, i also drew little red hearts, and little happy yellow flowers, and i was completely convinced, thoroughly convinced, that once richard noticed me, he would realize that i was his one true love. i was also convinced that he and i would get married and have babies and live with my parents until the sixth grade. and i believed that he could see – actually see – my heart beating, pulsating, pounding whenever he walked by me. it was so obvious. at least to me.
a typical second grade love story.
well, turns out … not so typical. turns out he was abducted by aliens in the second grade.
rewind three hours ago.
ellyn, my very best friend from childhood, sends me a post on facebook telling me she located richard, who now goes by the name rich and yes, yes she thinks it’s him. so, of course, i go on facebook, look him up, and low and behold it is him, no doubt about it. curiosity gets the best of me, but instead of friending him, i go on to his website which he had listed on his pre-friending page.
this is not just any website, oh no, no, no, no, this website is like entering a whole new dimension. it is filled with information and symbols and spiritual guidance from the beyond and close encounters of the third, fourth and fifth kind. this is a man who had an experience that completely and utterly transformed him. and … get this, he had this life altering experience in the second grade. the very same year i had a crush on him. the very same year i did everything in my young girl power to get him to notice me. the very same year i had a massive love crush on him turns out he remembers nothing – absolutely nothing – from that year. nothing. nada. zilch. he was at a drive-in movie theater with his friends and family when his life was forever altered. he not only doesn’t recall what movie he saw, he recalls nothing from that night on. that whole year is a complete blur. the year i loved him.
and so, for the past what, 40 odd years, i just assumed it was unrequited. you know, girl loves boy, boy doesn’t love girl, girl makes phoney phone calls to boy, boy hangs up phone on girl. girl rings his doorbell and runs away, boy thinks girl is really, really weird.
but it turns out, i was a human second grader and he was an alien second grader. talk about un-fucking-believable. my first crush, the first boy my heart skipped a beat for, was abducted at some drive-in theater.

now obviously i don’t know if this is true. for all i know he could be just some idiot savant, like that guy, whatshisname, from the movie “a beautiful mind,” or… maybe, he was flunking the second grade and made up some cock and bull story so his parents would think, “who cares if he’s getting F’s, at least we have him back, safe and sound.” or maybe, maybe he was abducted. maybe. maybe an alien walked into his body, and maybe the alien really liked me a lot. maybe. and maybe the alien was just painfully shy. anything is possible.

really, who the fuck knows?

all i know…
you go your entire life thinking someone snubbed you, didn’t like you, believing they didn’t even know you existed and you find out – holy mother of god – he didn’t even know he existed. in other words:

alienated.

today is father’s day.
my father passed away a little over ten years ago.
he was imperfectly perfect. he was. he was funny & charming & impatient & handsome & difficult & unforgiving & sweet & relentless & a worrier. oh my god, a big time worrier. boy oh boy did he worry. about everything. big & small. teeny & grand. and… and… he loved golf & he loved my mom & he loved reading & theater & plays & musicals & 007/bond movies & he worried about everything & everyone. but mostly, he loved his family. he did, and i miss him.

and so today, in memory of my dad i wish all men – those who are father’s and those who aren’t – well.
i wish them well. i wish them very, very, very well. oh so very well.

well, maybe not all. most. most men. mostly i wish them very well & very happy & very healthy & much joy. and much love. and i wish them good women, because a good woman is way better than a good meal.
it’s true.
first, we last longer. and second, good women can change the world.
it’s true.
and i wish men the grand ability to pay attention & listen to those good women, or at the very least the ability to make believe they’re paying attention. that would earn points. miles. dividends. big time.

i know for a fact when ken pays attention to me, and listens to me his day goes much, much better. and he’ll be the first to admit that.
he will.
and along with that wish, i want to make a special wish, a blow out candle kind of wish:

today i wish mike workstel (who is such a good dad, and such a good husband, and such a good good man) good health.