I am so tired, I am basically a somnambulist, and some Blog-Field-Of-Energy is moving my fingers with alacrity over the keyboard, as hundreds of sheep went to complain to the shepherd that because of my bad habits, they haven’t been counted in forever –and it’s their favorite pastime.
Cry me a river.
I discovered that I am an uber-klutz this weekend. I had an early dinner meeting with a (young) old friend, and on the way, decided to “powder my nose”(Girls never do that. It’s an excuse to go to the bathroom and talk about the males that are sharing their molecular interacting area.), and lo and behold, my mosaic bronzer, well, truly looked like it was taking the mosaic motif a bit too literally. It broke to pieces, and my new, short, black skirt was covered in brown powder.
How will I take care of one kid if I need to wear a bib when putting on makeup?
However, it was such a fun weekend! Allergies rendered me so tired from the DROWSY medicine I bought. Why not non-drowsy??? This is Gigi, Space Cadet To The Stars. Don’t overestimate me. My shrink doesn’t, but man, with that fee no wonder she has a new Audi Sportscar. I PAID FOR IT! IT WAS MY ISSUES! And wow, I love that car. Just for that, I am working on all my issues. Next thing you know, after a session in which she sits and seems to meditate, asks me, “What color is your pain?”–Whatcha talkin’ about Willis??? I answered transparent. Her eyes opened wide and she started scribbling furiously on her legal pad. Why clear? Because I view the world through eyes of pain. She was very dsturbed I didn’t say flamingo fuchsia(I wanted to say it just to mispronounce it, and have her correct me–the reason why therapists don’t take to me well=0), or fire-engine red, or some other cheesy nail polish color.
Anyhoo, enough about me.
Oh, this blog IS about me.
I am going back to bed.
Of all the places I love the most, it is of course my home base–NYC!!! Love the lights, the crazy cabbies that make you find G-d as you pray when they seem to believe they are part of a computer game, and you, my dear reader, are just a blip on the screen that will pay when “Game Over”–so get that seat belt on, and for all those Atheists out there? You just ceased being an Atheist.
TIMES SQUARE!!!!! The lights!!!! The hot pretzels!!!! The artists who are truly gifted, trying to sell charicatures, spray painted scenes of NYC, and stores!!!! I was never diagnosed with ADD–but Times Square is the place I develop a severe case of it….
Every time I used to go, and try my comedic routine, which fell worse than Monsieur Dumpty, I would point to the WonderBra advertisement, and complain loudly, “I asked them time and again to use a different model for Times Square…G-d this is so embarrassing…” Needless to say, I never DID become a stand-up or sit down comedian. (Or a Wonderbra Model, for that matter.)
I know you are thinking–Gigi, your point being with this post??? I am thinking the same. It happens from time to time that I actually 1. think 2. write a point about jabberwocky 3. think so hard my pulled wisdom teeth sites ache, trying to think what was I REALLY trying to say–It is so deep, even I don’t know. (Righhhhht.)
Off I go to the gym, a place where some have yet to discover that there is something called–get ready for a big word–DE-O-DER-ANT–and they need to shower and use it. I wouldn’t mind driving and buying a dozen for them at the nearest pharmacy that has a sale.
The shower nozzle they are paying for. I’m jobless.
Gigi, so good, she is almost Mother Teresa
As a very young child, in a home full of adults (I was a miracle child–ha)my favorite show was Fame. I would dream of myself on stage, the spotlight on me, as I danced, acted, and sand–”Fame, I’m Gonna Live Forever. I’m Gonna learn how to fly high…People will see me and cry…REMEMBER MY NAME.”
The other day, I read an interview with an actress who felt when the time was ready to have a child, she would most probably adopt. I sometimes wonder how long this search for my husband-to-be…Goodness knows I have done everything to try to meet him…Yet–I am fighting my bio clock, the clock on the wall–as it ticks away my faith, and I dream of the chance of at least having one precious child in my lifetime…
The youngest niece I have looks a lot like me. She is close to two months old, with a head of hair, eyes gray that metamorphosed into blue(please stay that way)(nah, health is the most important.), and my red lips. When I held her, the first time, I cried from happinness…My niece–the daughter of the sibling I am closest to–it felt like she was a part of me.
My nieces and nephews love me. Their friends hate the fact that their aunts are old fashioned. When I am over for a visit, the friends flock to me, and ask about my life, my clothing, my accessories, and how I got this funny.
The irony is, many people know me. I achieved quite a modicum of fame without being a celebrity. I HAVE ACTED–I do it every day. Watch my smile carefully. Does it reach my eyes??? If not, look into my eyes. See the sadness.
My womb feels empty and I refuse to hear about freezing eggs…I am too young, or am I???
It is a common fallacy among human beings to believe, many times subconsciously, that we are immortal.
I know one day we all leave, and I hope it is to a better place.
What will I have left behind?
WHO WILL REMEMBER MY NAME?
I’ve kept you amused with my latest posts, haven’t I? That can be a good sign(upbeat mood), or a bad sign(deflecting the conversation from me.) Unfortunately, this time, the latter would be the correct answer.
I rubbed bony elbows yesterday at a very cool party in The Hamptons, doling out huge grins, throwing my head back and laughing in a tres tres chic way I made my signature, made witty small talk, teetered on lucite stilettos, and of course,looked nice and tanned–faux, but not looking like a citrus fruit.
My mind was elsewhere, though, and I am sorry I didn’t come forth and say it when It happened, as I have found that so many of you care about me, which is mind boggling, and touching, and…
A week after I returned to my old job, I was given an ultimatum–work for 1/3 less of your paycheck, or don’t come back. It wasn’t so cut and dried, and it was painful when it was presented. I left in tears. I can’t live on the pittance my boss was offering…
I am told I am intelligent, people like me, I don’t hurt anyone(and I try really hard not to hurt myself), but back to the drawboard, and again, I have no job. Big loser “L” on my forehead. Doesn’t matter how funny I can be, or how charismatic, or how well I write.
I have no job.
I haven’t been eating much lately, and my close friends are noticing. When I am gaunt, weak, and subsisting on barely any food, all the men want me. Everyone sits up and takes notice. I have heard first hand, and I have so many friends in so many different circles–every guy wants a thin girl–with the exception of that guy that likes heavy girl, and is thought of as a freak. Why is that? Inside she is the same person!
Society definitely plays a huge role in this, as we read headlines lately and about Victoria Beckham, Angelina Jolie, Kiera Knightly, etc…Exotic beauties–all very different–dangerously thin, stunning, rich, and with a wide fan base–not to mention the magazines that feature Human Hangers, a.k.a. Supermodels–the lucky genetic freaks that have legs that go from their armpits and never end. They are the ones we idolize–and yes, I do too.
I would rather be thin and have guys like me.
Even if it means risking my health.
I know a lot of you are reading this and have disordered eating habits and agree, but wouldn’t dare put it out there.
I care for you. Myself? No.
I just wan’t to be loved–but for the inner me. I need the outer me to be up there with the competiton.
I don’t wan’t to be alone, and if this is what it takes….
Bothers me that some guys that don’t take care of themselves want Stepford Wives. They have really nothing going for them–BUT EVERY GUY WANTS A GIRL TO BE THIN. SKINNY.
How will it feel to sleep with a carpenter’s dream? Nightmarish, huh?
Your friends will be so jealous, though. Lucky him. Check out his girlfriend. Does she have a sister? Lucky (insert word that starts with a “B” and ends with a “D”and has seven letters.)
Every guy–the ones that are short, tall, fat, thin, smart, stupid, young, old, jobless, CEOs–all want a thin girl and feel that they are entitled…
Why do curves, and meat seem so bad? It’s definitely better to hug, cuddle, spoon….
And doesn’t the heart and soul count for anything?
What happens when your average looking wife–but with a smoking body is pregnant, and gives birth to a healthy baby….But cannot lose the weight….And u married her for that 36D, tiny waist, 34 inch hips? What then? She isn’t pretty and she is heavy. What do you do? What did you fall in love with?
MAYBE YOU JUST FELL.
am so sorry I haven’t written in a while. My computer went to computer hell, may it never RIP. Yes. I am not mean. It was never a good computer. I am not going to lie about it. If there was a computer Funeral, I would say the truth about it. Why lie? Suddenly, a computer, vicious pet that ate your favorite Beanie Baby for the fun of it and SMILED (Oh, no, “It was gas”–a la the baby thing pple say when an infant smiles at you. It’s not gas, dear. You are the constipated one. That’s your issue.), and when they leave this world, suddenly they were angels.
“THOU SHALT NOT LIE”–And the same goes for Jewish Singles. How did I connect the both? I am ingenious. =0) Nah. It’s simple really. Why is it that someone mentions Jack Sprat to you, and you call a reference for info(or replace this with a friend really worried about you setting you up with Peet Moss, and tells you about him, as they know him soooooooo well—they met him once and spoke to him for 3.5 minutes), and they say the most wonderful things about him, (men, swtich this with females–I am talking to both genders here)and you are so excited to date Jack, or Peet, or Jackie, or Petunia–and in real life–you are positive this person is pyschotic. A freak like this should be in shackles, a la the dungeon in “The Count of Monte Cristo” by Dumas–minus the escape.
Why won’t people say the truth about a potential datee??? Why sugarcoat it, add whipped cream, a cherry, and what the heck–rainbow sprinkles??? We will notice that he has a nervous tic–just say it, so we aren’t shocked, and won’t jump, if we do decide to date him–and we might, if he is a really special person and that is his only flaw….
I take you, my computer, which has lost so many pieces of my writing, got stuck, never worked fully, and tell you–You were a lemon, and too dry to make lemonaide out of you. If you have another life, I hope you do better. You were a bad computer, but you know what? I am going to miss you.
Another part of me leaves…
This time I say Goodbye.