Years ago when I was doing regional theatre, there was a song I used for auditions. An old Irish drinking song, it contained a verse that ran,
"...and all the harm that ever I did
alas, it twas to none but me."
Story of my life. All the drama, all the harm to health and sanity, 99.9% caused by yours truly to yours truly.
Who knows, maybe I should start on it. I've been reading some recovery memiors lately and see no reason at all why I shouldn't add to the pile.
"The Cross Bearer" by the guy who wrote "Basic Instinct" and other trash movies. He has since recovered and is doing well.
"Angry Conversations with God" in which the author takes God to marriage counseling and confronts her preconcieved notions of God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.
And then there's me, tainted by the school of thought that holds that the heavenly Father has planned out EVERYTHING in your life, that all that takes place is part of his "precious plan" for you.
Pure and simple.
So I blamed God when if anything he was trying to patch the holes in my boat as fast as I could make them.
God has a plan for me and while he is willing to be my flight coordinator, he has not written my story in stone.
Just a random thought for the day.
Most women have the "little black dress", that one special, sexy number that they pull out and put on when they want to look especially devastating. Not me.
Oh, I have a "little" black dress. I also have a number of BIG black dresses, a whole army of black tents designed to do one thing: make my fatness a little less noticeable and with any luck, at least make me appear not quite so offensive to the skinny bee-yatchs that make up most of LA's society.
It also helped to hide me...from me.
Needless to say, I am over the black dress thing. In fact, I am over the whole color black from start to finish expect when used in a cashmere sweater. That's still ok because to me, that's very elegant. Makes me look and feel like a rich bitch. But as for dresses...
This dress is actually 2 years old. I got it in 2007. No, it didn't even begin to fit. I told myself that I would "diet" into it and added it to the rest of my collection of clothing that I had promised myself I would one day be able to wear if only....
But "if onlys" never happen. When you live in a world of "if only", you live in a dream world of broken promises to self and broken furniture.
All those little incidents you would think would force you to take stock of the blubber that is ever spreading over your elastic waist band and into the seat of the passenger next to you on the plane, the bloated fat that prevents you from being able to use most of the desk/chair combos in the class room, gets easier and easier to brush off and ignore. Besides, it's not your fault.
This dress that I KNOW should fit me, that is now stuck around my boobs and that I cannot get off no matter how much I tug and jump around, this is not my fault! The manufacturer is obviously employing blind war orphans to make their clothes! It's their fault!
This lawn chair that collapsed the minute I sat on it was obviously made of defective material that wouldn't stand up to someone the size of a pea let alone me!
And these IDIOTS who ask me when my baby is due are thoughtless clods who enjoy embarrassing strangers...
"If only" land becomes as comfy and as familiar as that one pair of pants you can still wear only because the elastic in them broke and your big tummy is holding them up.
My stay in "If only" land lasted for 6 years. My passport to that strange place finally got revoked on Christmas night of last year. We had gotten home from the annual gorge fest that makes up the Christmas Dinner put on by my husband's family. No random can of this and cream of that here; we are talking gourmet all the way. Julia Child would be right at home in Brother in law's kitchen.
So there we were, DH and I, at the close of Christmas Day, basking in the glow of the season and the lights from the tree when I asked if he wanted something to eat. He did not but I did and proceeded to get something very gooey and lovely from the freezer.
DH remarked that I certainly did manage to eat a lot that day. I was stung by that remark and retorted that of COURSE I ate alot that day, it was Christmas for Christ sakes, what the hell else was I supposed to do on Christmas Day at his brother's Julia Child fest but eat, drink and be merry???
"What are you, ashamed of me or something?" I demanded.
There was a horrible pause and then, almost a whisper,
My first reaction of course was to blame him for HIS lousy and intolerant attitude. A fine thing to say to one's wife, on Christmas Day no less! Tears and much slamming of doors followed. A battle brewed up.
"What do you want me to do, STARVE myself?" I screamed.
"I don't have to worry about that, you NEVER follow thru with ANY diet!" was the reply.
As far as I was concerned at that point, we were THROUGH. That's it! We're done! Happy Frickin' New Year, see you in court, A-hole!
What kind of man was it that would say such hurtful things to his wife on Christmas Day???
The kind of man who loved me and wanted me to be around for other Christmas Days to come, that's what kind.
I took one last wild ride through "if only" land and packed on 5 more pounds on top of what was already there. But come the first of January 2009, that ride was over. From there on out, I walked.
As of this morning, I have put a distance of 40 pounds between me and that person in black who sat blubbering on the couch Christmas night.
I have 40 more to go. And this part of the march will be conducted in color.
I can now actually wear the little coral dress in the picture. This is a milestone ladies' size 18.
To some of you, this may still sound huge. But after flirting with a WOMANs' size 24 last summer, this ladies' 18 is a perfect 10.
I know that I was not the only one bummed no end at the lack of community violence.
Of course the fall out at city hall is interesting. I normally don't support Dennis Zine but he is right on target regarding the true cost of this little gathering of the rich and infamous. I hope that he continues to go after those responsible for such items as the 49K lunches brought in from a small mountain town 80 miles away. Not that I don't want to see the police being fed well, but people! This is LA. We supposedly have world class fast food in this dump!
And then there was the lack of burial for Jacko's remains. This crapola of keeping the body until the remains of the brain come back...I hate to tell the family; ain't gonna be nuthin' left that even resembles the brain nor it is going to be able to go back into its original home. At best, in a biohazard bag at the foot of the casket will be the likely resting spot for it.
So that's how it stands right now; LA is still in one piece and Jacko ain't.
Meantime, I've got some better topics in mind for next week's blogs.
I am impressed. Either due to the positive influence of the late Wacko Jacko or by the martial law style presence of 5 cops on every corner, the riots that many were predicting or even hoping for, (over on GLP posters were counting on full scale implosion), did NOT happen!
Meanwhile, aside from the pompass windbags that are sharpton and shelia jackson lee, the service was lovely and impressive.
Only trouble is; the story does not yet have a true ending as the casket is not be taken back to the Disney Land of Death for dispo. In fact, no one knows where the casket and its cargo are being held but Jacko will not join Mother Earth tonight.
Rumors are online saying that the family is holding out for his brain to be returned by LA Coroner.
Does he or doesn't he have his brain? Only his mortician knows for sure!
Not that it matters; turns out I could not have sold the tickets for any amount of money as LAPD all up and declared that it was against the LAW for anyone to sell the tickets or for anyone to buy them. To that extent, they are wasting even MORE of the tax payers' money for undercover cops to be mingling amongst the desperate mourners at Staples, posing as rabid, heartbroken Jackson fans who would give ANYTHING to be at the service....ANYTHING!!
Nuts to that. Who ever has them has the right to do with them as they like! Even give them away which I did think about doing too.
How cool would that be to be able to find that one fan who came from many states or countries away, the one who has put everything in their lives on the line to be here, to walk up to them, strike up a conversation, shake their hand and walk away fast as they take in the sparkly wrist-tag and ticket that has suddenly appeared in the palm of their mitt?
I admit; there will always be a roped off pew in the church of my heart for the obsessed. To make the freakin' day of one of the mondo-Jackson fans would be a kick I could giggle about all the way to my grave.
Oh, speaking of insanity; guess who's coming to protest...that's right, Jesus's very favorite Representatives on earth, (not), the WESTBORO BAPTIST CHURCH!!!
Ah, who could ever forget their charming take off on "We are the World" retitled, "God Hates the World!"? Didn't catch that one? Hardly anyone did as their equally repugnutted lawyers pulled the thing off Youtube as fast as people could upload it. Oh, it was a gem I tell you, a pure gem!
Anyway, here is what they have to say about the late King of Pop;
"Staples Center - Michael Wacko Jacko Jackson is in hell! 1111 S. Figueroa St WBC will be there to remind you to stop worshiping the dead. We will be there to tell you to Thank God for the death of this filthy, adulterous, idolatrous, gender-confused, nationality-confused, unthankful brute beast. We will be there to remind you that God Killed Wacko Jacko. There is a God, and a Day of Judgment. For you to wallow and murmur against God for his righteous Judgments is sin and will cause YOU to join Michael in hell. Stop that! Be thankful that God has not already killed you because like that Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar realized after 7 years of being cursed as a crazy wild man because he did not give God the glory warns - God will deal with you WHERE YOU LIVE if you do not put away your sins."
And so on and so on. So remember the address; 1111 S. Figueroa Street. It is my hope that all the locals from East LA and the passengers from the Crazy Town Choo-choo will drop by to extend a warm welcome to these brothers and sisters in Christ.
Oh, Lord, I hope the local channels get this all live.
If chosen, I have NO intentions of going to that quackry. I instead have EVERY intention of selling off my little ol' wrist band to the HIGHEST BIDDER!!
Join in! If you're local, you too could have a chance at paying off that credit card bill in FULL for once!
NOOOO!!! Oh, dear God, no, not my Mrs. Slocombe, not my role model, (beyond Tyler Perry's Madea), of how I should behave in my old age! Oh, this is too bad!
Forget Wacko Jacko, you wanna talk icons? Mrs. Slocombe is the Ba-ha-la of pop culture icons.
She of the wild wigs of the pussy that was forever going straight up the wall.
When I heard the news of Karl Malden's death earlier, I had wondered which older player would join him in the set of three that would be quick to follow. I never expected it would be Mollie.
God Speed and thank you, Mollie Sugden. Thank you for your talent and for having given birth to Mrs. Slocombe!