Monday, May 11, 2009

Holy shit, you guys, I had no idea that the story about the priest at the church a block from my condo was CNN-level material. Natch, I don't read the local papers. But I did see it first, when walking to Ben and Laura's last week I spotted all the news crews outside this church. It's literally one block from me.

I knew this was sort of a busy Catholic church, but let me tell you, the weddings and people I've seen there have been typical Miami tacky. Thus why would I think that some relatively famous priest preached there?

Apparently, he does. And his name is Cutie. Seriously.

Christ, I'm just glad he was 'caught' with a woman and not a 12-year-old boy.

As I'm compiling an outline of the past year or so—centered around surgeries, treatments, events and doctor visits—I'm thumbing through my Filofax and realizing how long of a journey this has been. Seems like just yesterday I was thinking of trading in the wig for a Birkin and throwing away bottles of Klonopin by accident.

Now it's May again?! And I've still not gotten my book together? Aaaaarrrgh. I need a wife and a ghost-writer.

Work, Rinse, Repeat

I've done nothing but work for the past few days. Working for no money—not the ideal situation, but one that most 'artists' are quite familiar with.

Today it's time for some housekeeping—namely to plug one of my Facebook friend's new novel Busy Woman Seeks Wife.

I'm long overdue in this, as UK writer Meg Sanders—Annie Sanders is a pen name, consisting of her and Annie Ashworth—sent me an advance copy to read. I love reading advance copies; it makes me feel like I'm a part of the publishing world. And I love good beach reads. Haven't you ever thought that being a woman in and of itself is a full-time job? (Or is that just lazy me?) I mean, men don't have to worry about physical maintenance—do they have any idea what our monthly Sephora bills are and how many hours a year we spend on our fucking hair?—and many of them don't even have to worry about domestic chores. Add to being a woman, being a mother with a very demanding job. Alex is just such a woman, and finds herself in need of assitance. But a nanny might not cut it—what she needs is a wife. There are mannys, nannies, baby-sitters, cooks, maids and servants for hire. Why not wives? It may be a Brit-chick-lit novel, but now that I'm thinking of it, I want a wife. I could keep her busy just maintaining my closets, wig, medical supplies and meals. So pick up this book and share it with your girlfriends. Especially your mommy friends.

What else? My lovely and talented editorial assistant is hard at work logging my videotapes from the Cancer year. By the time he is finished, he's going to know more about me than most of my friends and family. He's a lifesaver. And he's writing in screenplay format. Love it. I'm in serious, comitted work mode. I'm getting organized. And by July 4th, I'll have those necessary first 100 pages organized, written and ready to be read by my "readers." Who will then give me unbiased advice before I send the manu to agents.

So that's that. I called Momotaro—I need five inches to get my Jap straightening. Only five. I think I've got an inch or so to go then it's Shalom, Jewfro.