I fucking hate soap operas. Despise the shit out of them. They're beyond annoying. But today, the days sunk in as I chatted with my mom back in good ole' minnesota.
Insert chuckle..."Aunt Kitty died."
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.
"Aunt Kitty died. Didn't I tell you?"
"Sorry. No. You missed that mark."
awkward silence.
"Did you laugh when you told me she died?"
I could hear my mother take a drink of something. A bit of pre-happy hour bliss.
"When did she die?"
a lonnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg pause. "This morning. Her name was Kitty...." snicker snicker--
Oh, the lies! My mother was lying. Not really good at it either, but she was trying to cover the tracks and my aunt's timeline. The conversation took a drastic segueway into the fact that my beloved aunt had a stripper's name. Sad but true. I loved Aunt Kitty. I have fond memories of her freezing her ass off in below-zero wind chill puffing away on cigs outside our house during the holidays. She always gave the coolest gifts. Aunt Kitty will forever be missed.
And next up, Lindsay Lohan is being sued for---
Drama. That's what fills life. This town especially. Who's fucking over whom...catching, receiving...
My thought is that living in Los Angeles, you're one of three things. You're either:
1.) Fucked
2.) A fucker.
3.) A mother fucking asshole.
Wonder what Borat would say given the options???
Within the back of my mind, that song by We Might Be Giants plays on a continuous loop--Why Can't we be Friends?
I've had the fortunate experience of being labeled all three. I've been fucked by producers. (Can I get a show of hands of those who also have?)
I've been called a fucker by a colleague. And I've been called a mother fucking asshole by an ex-girlfriend. Funny that she was the one who broke it off. I just happened to tell her something she didn't want to hear. Karma.
Once again I feel like Scorsese because I've lost the narrative thread. Sorry. Don't hate. Appreciate the next moment and breath you take.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment