Marrying George Clooney

i have to say when julianne moore says to annette bening (and this is not a direct piece of dialogue) “that was your fourth glass,” and annette says, “no, it was only my third,” i knew that the movie was about me.
although i am not a lesbian, nor is ken, that movie — the kids are all right — could have been me. us. our marriage, minus the kids and the sperm donor.
we have two cats. there was no sperm donor, although i am pretty convinced that one day their biological mother(s) will come looking for them and then, honest, all frickin’ hell will break open.
until then….

back to julianne & annette.

the truth of that relationship.
the looks.
the quirks.
the pinching of the mouth.
the tilting of the eyes.
the joy.
the anger.
the love.
the sorrow.
the jealousy.

and yes, yes mark ruffalo was fabulous and sexy and the only thing i didn’t get truly was the way he was sort of treated at the end, like a criminal, which he wasn’t. but then ken said to me when we left the theater that he completely understood the reaction that annette had. completely.
i didn’t.
and i loved, absolutely loved the scene where she sang joni mitchell.
oh my god.
her face.
the beauty.
the truth.
her mouth.
her honesty.

and what i loved the most was that both women wore their age with such beauty and dignity and joy and sorrow and i would love to just say for the record that for me it wasn’t a movie about gay women, or lesbian’s … it was and is for me a movie about life and love and women and men and children and growing up and growing older.

and everything in between.

sometimes i think, “this could only happen to me…”
yesterday i decided to get our very messy/dirty car washed. i don’t know about you folks, but it does get to a point where tossing water bottles in the back seat no longer feels hip & chic. there’s a feeling of homelessness to the back seat. water bottles, shoes, hats, old mail, newspapers, candy wrappers (or at the very least natures way granola nut wrappers). and so while ken & i were velcroed together for the past 3 days, i decided time to cut the tape and get a little fresh air.

car wash & food shopping.
yes, i know…. a bit boring.

so there i am waiting at the car wash while a big blue SUV is getting foamed and polished in the bay before me. I have a good few minutes to occupy my time. I meditate – thinking good thoughts. I breathe in, breathe out, fill my lungs with love, exhale my anger, resentment, jealousy & bitterness. as i breathe, i am reminded that every so often one should call upon the angels to surround them, offer a wing, offer a smile… i close my eyes and i whisper: i’d like an angel today please. I could use a little help.

and i swear within thirty seconds, from out of the steaming, watering, foaming, wet car wash bay, a man appears. tall and lanky, a tee shirt & jeans, out of no where. as the undercarriage of his car is being washed he was walking out of the car bay, and he is not at all wet, or foamy. he appears to be dry as a bone.

hmmm. curious.

could this be the angel i asked for?
could this be the angel of the car wash?
did this man hear my prayer?

i am shocked.
i am shocked that he is not wet. it seems there is water and foam everywhere. everywhere. but not on him.
he walks toward me.

uh oh.
oh my god.
maybe he’s murderer. maybe he killed the person in the car. and now he’s escaping.
maybe it was brutal death and of course, of course … no one can hear you screaming in a car wash with all that fucking noise. the washing and the water and the foaming and the tires getting spinned cleaned. no one can hear you scream. NO ONE.
oh my god.
what if he’s not an angel at all but a creepy awful horrible vicious man who preys upon woman at car washes.
i lock my doors.
i hold onto my cellphone ready to call 911.
he is walking closer. creeping closer. god how i wish i had one plastic bottle to beat him over the head with.
his car – that car – is now going through the rinse cycle and i am sure, absolutely convinced that there is a dead person lying there on the front seat going through the rinse cycle.

hmmm. i think. i am the only witness.
i decide to pull into reverse and make a fast get-a-way. unfortunately it’s not as easy as that and god knows i was never good at three point turns or four point turns, or whatever the fuck they’re called. i’m sitting there and i’m cursing my driving teacher from 1972 for not having the patience to teach me a three point turn. for passing me even though i didn’t know how to get out of a tight spot. i will hunt him down and yell at him if in fact i survive this killer. i’m pretty sure he still lives on long island. he’s probably 106 years old, and completely deaf …

he walks closer toward my car.
my heart is pounding. do i have a xanax? a valium? gas-x?
and then … then …he smiles.

hmmm, i think, he must get off on killing people in car washes. he gets a joy from it.

and then waves at me, like a “hi how are you wave,” and smiles again … and before he can come any closer to my car, he stops, turns around, and takes in every inch of the SUV in the car bay: staring at the final rinse of the car. and then after a moment of inspection, he walks through a side door – hmmmm – which on second glance looks just like an office door, and then i watch as he steps back into the bay, after all is said & done, and he gets into the car and drives out of the bay.

he was neither an angel or a murderer.
he was the owner of the car wash.

so, while he was scoping out the new “wash and foam and dry’ equipment, i of course lost a good five years.
but the upside:
i have a very clean car, and yeah, yeah… i’m still in need of an angel.
maybe i’ll have better luck at the mini mart. i hear there are angels in all the aisles.

eleanor roosevelt.
need i say more?
talk about an amazing magnificent brilliant gracious perfectly imperfect woman.
i mean while ms. lohan is about to get out of jail, waiting to collect a million dollar paycheck (post jail interview), there are women (and yes men) who fought and campaigned and brought dignity and humanity to this world we live in. they did it quietly and selflessly.

there are tons & tons & tons & tons of folks who deserve to be acknowledged.

tons.

i want names!
come on, share.

it’s all about me.
seriously.
we’re doing an addition.
i have to say right up front that i love my house. love it, with a capitol L. it’s sexy and fun and filled with absolutely gorgeous art. stunning. from the first moment ken & i met, we collected art. we have louis comfort tiffany mingling with keith haring mingling with reginald brill and dan shupe, and then there’s david greenbaum kicking ass next to kulvinder dhew who is mingling with v. johnson and the exquisite black and white walker evans photo which makes the orange, black, and white alastair gordon painting look luscious which makes the painting by maxee really truly pop.
and now…
now we’re doing an addition.
and this is where all hell breaks lose.
this for your information is ken’s dream. his retirement dream. adding a dining room.
my dream is paris for a month, or two… or three.. smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, getting a whooping cough and having a parisian doctor telling me the only cure is to stay in france for a good few years,
that is my dream.
ken dreams of knocking down a few walls, causing a stir, bonding with the contractor, having a few beers at the end of the day and talking about how their wives don’t understand their passion.
this is a small town.
truly.
there used to be only one fax machine within a 5 mile radius– at arnold’s mini mart –and god forbid that got jammed.
so here we are, doing an addition to our already spectacular home. i gotta say, not shit, my home knocks my socks off. it’s like the perfect place for two folks. sexy. fun. eccentric. ecclectic. we’ve had great sex here. plenty of great sex here. i don’t need to elaborate. you get the picture.

and now the screaming and yelling begins. the fighting. the fuck you, no no no no FUCK YOU.
because i gotta say for the record, there is no way on this earth that you can break through a room and a woman will stand by calmly watching as all her personal effects get rattled to their core.

i will love you.
but i will be a mother hen to each and every tchokches that landed in this house.
watch out for the hummel pieces, they’re not the tall & silent type.

this is retirement.
not at all what i expected,
i expected stacks of books, day trips, loads of movies, some memory lapses, great wine, and a few “hey, wanna visit bob?”

i didn’t expect walls to crumble, and windows being pushed out.
but you know.
he’s my guy.
can’t do better than him. on a scale – a nine.

i’ll watch and wait and hold him at night when he’s feeling weak and tired and completely overwhelmed with why oh why oh why.. and tell him: a dream takes time.

i love him.
he’s worth it.
it adds spice.
spice is needed at 55.

she will have a will and strength you’ve never seen.
she will hate you one minute, then love you with all her heart and soul the very next.
she will call you names, then forget you’re her daughter.
she will look at you and stare, and then remember a moment.
she will kick and scream, and then laugh joyously.
she will say she loves ice cream, then throw it away.
she will remember the bad times, and long for the good ones.
she will howl at the moon, and then she will spit at it and make a wish.
she will call you in the middle of the night, and swear it’s the afternoon.
she will demand you give her the car keys, then forget how to drive.
she will break your heart, then help you pick up the pieces.
she will she yes and no and no and yes and yes and no and no and yes over and over… and over.
she will confuse night for day and day for night and dinner for breakfast and breakfast for lunch.
she will hurt you deeply, then look you in the eyes and say… i’m so sorry.
she will love your hair, then hate your clothes.
she will spit at a stranger.
she will count her pennies.
she will tell you she has millions hidden away.
she will cry.
she will forget.
she will remember.
she will soil herself.
she will be so deeply embarrassed.
she will feel ashamed.
she will say fuck you more than not, both to your face and silently.
she will look in the mirror and not know who she is.
she will lose her keys and her faith.
she will hold your hand and kiss your fingers and tell you how beautiful you are.

she will wish she were in a different body.

you will fall in love with her.

A is for Ambien.
Mommy loves her sleep.
Mommy loves sleeping eight to ten uninterrupted hours a night.

Mommy “hearts” Ambien.

B is for Benadryl.

Mommy takes this when her allergies kick in. Like during the Spring and Summer months when there is so much pollen and crap in the air that her head throbs, and her throat closes and her nose gets all runny and itchy and this makes Mommy a little itsy bitsy cranky and that’s why Mommy tells you to go outside and play with your friends so Mommy can have some “quality” quiet time.

Mommy likes her quiet time.

C is for Cialis.

When Mommy is horny and Daddy can’t get it up, this is what Daddy takes and this helps Daddy make Mommy happy and when Mommy is happy, Daddy is very, very happy and when Daddy is happy, Mommy is very happy and then you get toys, and then everyone is happy.

D is for Demerol.

Mommy takes this for pain, like when she’s playing golf with Daddy even though she absolutely frickin’ hates golf because Mommy has carpal tunnel syndrome, but she plays golf anyway because Daddy likes golf, but Mommy deeply, deeply resents it, so Mommy takes this medicine because it gets rid of both the pain and the resentment.

E is for Effexor.

When Mommy gets depressed or anxious or suicidal and has one of her panic attacks in the middle of Barneys 70 % off everything sale, or in Bergdorf’s, this medication, this little tiny pill, helps Mommy get through the rest of the day with a plastered fake smile, and some free samples from Chanel and ReVive.

“Light a candle for one, and then everyone can see the shoes that are on sale.”
-Anonymous Shopper

F is for Flonase.

Mommy uses this nasal spray when the Benadryl isn’t kicking in, and it makes a funny loud swishy kinda sound, and sometimes Mommy does this in a public place, like in a restaurant or at the theatre and this always, always embarrasses Daddy. And then Daddy yells at Mommy in a public place and then they don’t talk to each other for hours and hours.

And when Mommy sees a pair of lovely earrings in the window of the Jewel Box on Madison Avenue, she grabs Daddy by the arm, points to the earrings and says, “You can apologize now.” That’s why Mommy always has such nice jewelry and someday all of that jewelry will be yours when Mommy dies.

G is for Gas-x.

Mommy takes this so her stomach doesn’t extend or bloat because then Mommy would look pregnant or worse, fat, and Mommy doesn’t want to be pregnant or fat, but Mommy loves you very, very much, and she’s very, very happy that you’re an only child.

H is for Habitrol.

This is so Mommy can stop smoking, even though Mommy doesn’t want to stop smoking. Mommy likes smoking because it calms her nerves and when Mommy is calm, everyone is calm, and when Mommy is crazy, everyone is crazy. But Daddy, and Grandma Syl – that fat unkempt fuck – both hock Mommy to stop smoking, so Mommy uses this patch. It’s an ugly patch and Mommy has nothing to wear with it, and it’s not helping. It’s ugly and useless. But the Demerol helps. So Mommy chips off a little teeny piece of Demerol with her teeth, just a smidgen, and it melts in her mouth, and pouffff, then mommy is happy.

I is for Ibuprofen.

Mommy takes this when she has a headache. And she can buy it at any drug store over the counter.

And Mommy can drink alcohol and operate a car and/or even dangerous machinery while taking this medication.

J is for Jolivette.

Mommy uses this to prevent estrogen from thickening the lining of her uterus, so that she’ll never ever have pain that is related to endometriosis, which is a nasty, and unpleasant pain, the “stay the fuck away from me” kind of pain, because if that were to happen … she and Daddy wouldn’t have sex because the pain would be too excruciating and that would make Daddy very, very, VERY cranky and unhappy, and then Mommy will have to take more Effexor.

K is for Klonopin.

Mommy takes klonopin when she has to get on an airplane so that she doesn’t have a severe panic attack and scare all the other passengers, because Mommy is prone to do that, and because you’re much too young, you’ve never seen Mommy on an airplane, but someday you will, and hopefully by that time Mommy will have either gotten over her fear of flying, or there will be a much stronger drug.

L is for Lorazepam.

Mommy takes Lorazepam when Daddy is driving.
It keeps her from screaming out loud.

M is for Morphine.

Sometimes late at night, when everyone is fast asleep, Mommy gets down on her hands and knees and prays to the almighty God, or Goddess that someone will bring her Morphine as a present in a real Prada handbag, unlike the black market kidneys that were coming into the United States in faux Prada bags.

“It’s called a twofer. It’s not just a handbag – it’s a handbag plus a kidney.”
-Anonymous Israeli Shopper

N is for Nicoderm.

Mommy started using this when Habitrol became completely useless.

O is for Omega-3.

Mommy takes this so she doesn’t have coronary artery disease, heart disease, or a stroke. But sometimes Daddy does or says something that makes Mommy go completely frickin’ nuts and it feels like she’s at the beginning throws of a cerebral hemorrhage.

P is for Percodan.

Mommy takes this after she bangs her head against a brick wall over and over and over again because no one — not one single frickin’ person — is listening to her.

Q is for Quaalude.

Mommy used to take this when she was much, much younger and didn’t care who she was sleeping with. This was mommy’s very favorite drug and if she had a choice between a perfectly cut flawless 10-carat yellow Diamond or two Rorer 714 Quaaludes, she’d take the Rorer’s.

R is for Retin-A.

This helps keep Mommy’s skin looking much younger, and radiant and a lot less wrinkly, this way Daddy won’t leave her for a young hot chick with big tits and no brain.

S is for Stool Softener.

Mommy uses this so her poop is smooth and silky soft when it’s eliminated from her system. Mommy doesn’t like to squeeze too hard when she’s pooping, it makes her ass hurt, and her lips pucker, and then little tiny lines appear around her mouth, and that puts mommy in a very foul and retched mood as you can just imagine.

T is for Testosterone.

This is something both Mommy and Daddy are taking so that their sex life has a little more UMPHHHH to it.

But it’s all a crock of bullshit. The reason Mommy and Daddy aren’t having sex is because your Daddy is an asshole.

U is for Ultracet.

Mommy gives her co-worker Toby all of her ultracet’s because Toby is addicted to pain pills, and Toby gives Mommy her Ambien, because Mommy “hearts” Ambien. That’s called a drug trade.

And someday you’ll be doing that with a friend too.

V is for Valium

You know when we’re stuck in traffic, or we can’t find a parking space and Mommy screams at the other drivers, and you say, “Mommy, please, that’s so icky and embarrassing,” that’s a good time for Mommy to pop a valium. It makes her feel more at ease, and then she doesn’t give a shit about anyone else on the road.

W is for Wellbutrin

Mommy takes this so she doesn’t feel unhappy and psychotic all day long. And sometimes Mommy takes a little bit more, and sometimes Mommy takes a little bit less, but … and this is very important for you to know for future reference incase you ever have to call Mommy’s doctor … Mommy must never ever do that without asking her doctor first about upping or lowering the dosage. So put Mommy’s Doctor’s phone number on ‘speed dial’ on your brand new shiny sleek iPhone (with every APP known to man) that you got for being such a good little girl.

That’s D for Doctor, honey.

X is for Xanax

When Mommy runs out of Lorazepam, and she has to wait for her Doctor to call in a new prescription, she takes a Xanax.

Mommy likes Xanax, but not as much as Lorazepam.

Did you know the generic name for Xanax is Alprazolam?
Can you say Alprazolam?

Y is for Yodxin

Mommy doesn’t take this drug.
It’s for infections.
Mommy doesn’t have any infections. But Sara our neighbor does have an infection because Sara is a lying cheating skanky whore. She has a lot of infections. Never ever have unprotected sex because then you’ll end up like Sara, lonely and bitter and infected.

Z is for Zoloft

Mommy takes this
so we can all live happily ever after.

vegetating.

a cross between meditating and being in a vegetative state.
imagine reclining — TV clicker in hand — for say 48/14.
EXCEPT you’re not watching TV, you’re rewinding all the tapes in your head, playing them over & over & over, when finally you hear a teeny little voice:
STOP.
STOP.
STOP.

a hint of enlightenment.

then all gets a little quiet, shhhhhhhh, and you start hearing the words of gary zuckav, the wisdom of eckhart tolle, the brillance and compassion of pema chodron, and the humanity and spirit of the dalai lama instead of say, your mother:

instead of live with slipcovers, you hear… live with intention
instead of hold on tight, you hear … let it go
instead of you’ll amount to nothing, you hear … awaken to your greatness
instead of ssshhh i’m watching my programs, you’ll hear … live out loud
instead of where’s the bold detergent, you’ll hear … be bold
instead of that’s so fucking ridiculous, you’ll hear … be audacious
instead of go ask daddy to drive you, you’ll hear … throw away the road map
instead of being a back seat driver, you’ll be … the driver
instead of speaking when spoken to, you’ll speak … your truth
instead of please, take care of me, you’ll … TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF
instead of do you love me, you’ll … LOVE YOURSELF
instead of refill my coffee cup, you’ll … FULFILL YOUR MISSION

… all else will follow.

all else will follow.
simple. trust, all else will follow.

vegetating.
bodhi clicker pose.