I’m thinking Dick Cavett after a sex change and a Viagra overdose.
I mean just when I thought I was the queen of re-evaluating-my-life syndrome, I get laid up for a week recouping from surgery (trust me you don’t want to know) and am forced to do guess what. … Yep … re-evaluate my life.
Sheeeeesh!
How many inner-child sessions can a girl have before she just wants to smack the shit out of her little brat and scream, “Will you please $#@%^& grow up already!”
Breathe … deep breaths.
This probing the inner-self thing is really not all its cracked up to be. Especially since THIS self has been probed quite enough for one week -- OUCH!! -- thank you very much.
So it’s Day 5 of my cabin fever, and I’ll probably be indoors for at least another few days, followed by a week of shuffling around like a crab with bad arch supports.
I had planned on spending this time catching up on bills (I said catching up on, not actually paying), writing, painting, reading all those books I display to show how smart I am, but never actually had the time to read.
My ambitions were … hmmm … well … ambitious.
But what have I really been doing?
Buffy.
Errr … not doing … watching that is …
Yesindeeedeeeeeeeeeee!
Thanks to the FX network, Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-runs have been on five days a week for two hours a night! Add to that the Halloween Buffy marathon and the normal, Tuesday night new Buffy show and you’ve got an all you can eat … Buff-et.
Hahahahahah.
Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.
Listen when you’re alternating Tylenols and Percosets just to walk across the living room. … You have to keep yourself amused.
Besides Buffy is a great healer.
She’s downright spiritual.
Ohhhhmmmmmmmmmm. Pow! … Ohhmmmmmmmmmmm. SMACK!
I love a little zen mixed in with my fight scenes, don’t you?
I have to admit I was a tad embarrassed when I first realized I was acquiring a secret little addiction to the show. But then I started noticing that some of my friends seemed to never, ever, ever, be available on Tuesday nights and mysteriously never answered their phones between 8 and 9 p.m. on Tuesdays, either.
First there was Mendel, the political cartoonist and father of my goddaughter. Turns out this cantankerous inventor had given up every Tuesday night since the first season of Buffy and had actually learned how to use a modern appliance (gasp) just to tape the show so he could watch it again and again with Zora the aforementioned daughter/goddaughter. The great Zora, now does Buffy high kicks around the house scaring the cats and the neighbors.
“Hiiii yaaaaaaa … aaaaawasaaaaaa!”
Yep. … Nobody needs to worry about that four-year-old. She’s got it all covered.
Then there’s my most recent ex-lover who used to chide me big time about my little Buff-addiction and now admits to watching it dutifully with her new babe. She blames it on the babe, but I have noted her growing obsession with Spike the vampire/leather boy with the punk rock hair. Hmmm and the new babe’s got short spiky platinum hair,too. Hmmmmm.
So ANYWAY, as I said, I’ve been in-bedded in Buffy this week, (nothing sexual here, she’s actually not my type though I kinda liked Faith the evil vampire slayer … natch … but that’s another story).
So in-bedded (love that word) that I found the show was creeping into my dialogue. Like when my significant other came over to bring me soup, and then later on popped by to bring me soup and then later on dropped in to bring me love and oh yeah … soup … but she was so sick with the flu. … We couldn’t hug or even be in the same side of the room at the same time … else I might catch the anthrax errrr ummm flu.
Frustrated (big time) I finally blurted out what I’d been thinking for months, ”We’re just like Buffy and Angel!”
To which she added. … “Yeah and when we get together the world stops.”
Very dramatic, my little cubana … but cute. … No fangs, though. Damn it!
I think this is getting outta hand. Maybe I should even myself out a tad, start watching Dark Angel or throw in some Friends. … There’s gotta be another show that mixes queer humor, battle scenes, attractive teenagers, dark despair and great clothes.
Oh yeah! CNN! But that’s not fun. … It’s life.
Speaking of my life … ( back to self-probing) … my problems seemed to start when my mother discovered JCPenney mark-downs. The other kids got
corduroys and alligator shirts, but noooo, not for moi.
I started having deep inner yearnings to own a pair of jeans that did not have little rabbits or other furry animals stitched on the back pockets. … I wanted Levi’s!
The rabbits had to go.
I was prepared to take them out … dead or alive.
(to be continued)
