Don't Read This

Well, not yet, but I did join the local gym, so I'm well on my way. Actually, I'm really good friends with Arnold Schwartzennegar, so you can see the kind of body-building company I keep. I give him tips on working out all the time. In fact, if it weren't for me, he wouldn't be where he is today. Not really, but I did vote for him, so that's kind of the same thing, right?

Okay, I don't know Arnold, but I can do a really good impression. You should hear me say, "It's not a tooh-mah!". I sound just like him. Everyone thinks so. Okay, only one person thinks so, but she works for the information directory, so her opinion is very reliable. I could tell by the way she said, "Do you want me to give you a phone number or what, asshole?" that she was very impressed.

I'm already in pretty darn good shape as it is, so I doubt my journey to becoming a body-building champion will be a long one. I mean, if you saw me, you'd see how my muslcles already are just so defined and just bulge out everywhere. Sometimes I'll just flex my muscles in this big body-building pose and just let out a big roar. That really gets me in the mood to work out. You're not supposed to do that at the library, apparently, but how was I supposed do know? But, anyway, I am so built! Sometimes kids get scared when they see me approach.

To be fair, I should mention that I walk down the street in red speedos and a sombrero, but I do live in San Diego, so you can see why that's not all that strange.

The gym where I go is really great, I have to say. The lady who signed me up said I should start with lighter dumbbells, so I don't over do it and get all sore or injure myself. I didn't see a lot of small dumbbells at the gym. There was this one guy who looked kinda stupid, but he wouldn't let me lift him, so I just decided to start working on my specs...or flabs..or something. I don't know the terminology. I asked a lady to point me to the machine that will make my neck bigger than my head, but she just said to go to hell, so I left her alone.

After a few minutes, I decided it might be best to start on the treadmill. That's a great workout, let me tell you. They said the key is to start slow and work your way up. They don't fool me, though. They just say that so you'll stay longer and pay more money. The girl said I was an idiot and said that my membership fee was the same no matter how long I stayed, but I've read the fine print.

The key to the treadmill is that it gets your heart rate going really fast. That's important. I found out the best way to get your heart rate up really fast is to just sit on the treadmill and then hit the start button at the fastest speed possible. When you go shooting off the end into the wall, your heart rate is just flying, let me tell you! They wouldn't let me do that anymore, so then I just started running on it like all the other boring people who don't know how to have fun. I didn't start off slow, though. Instead, I turned it all the way up and sprinted like crazy, screaming, "RUN, RUN, AS FAST AS YOU CAN! YOU CAN'T CATCH ME, I'M THE GINGERBREAD MAN!!!"

After awhile, I was tired, hot and sweaty, so I decided to take a shower. I asked this big guy to "spot me", but he just called security, so now I have to find another gym. I'm thinking of joining a pilates group. I've always wanted to fly planes. My uncle is a pilat and takes me up in his cessna all the time.

Well, I’ve decided to take my blog in a totally new direction! I’m going to turn it into a docu-drama. Some of you may not know this, but I’m a pretty well-respected filmmaker. It’s true! Okay, it’s not totally true. Nobody actually respects me, but I do just love that song “Respect” by Aretha Frankfurt…or Frankincense or whatever her name is. I just love to sing that song wherever I go. “Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me!” I sang that at my latest prostate exam, unfortunately, and had a lot of explaining to do. But most people say I sound just like her! Okay, only one person said it. What she actually said was, “This is a museum, so shut the hell up,” but she wasn’t fooling me one bit. I knew what she meant.

Besides, who did she think she was being so bossy? I was on a class trip and my third grade teacher was in charge of us. At that point, I really had to go to the bathroom, so I raised my hand and asked the teacher if I could go. She was really nice and let me. Okay, fine, she actually said she wasn’t my teacher and that adults weren’t allowed in the third grade and if I didn’t get away from her class she was going to call the cops. But, I still got to go to the bathroom and that’s really the point. And her class was so nice! At least I got to join them for snack time. Well, not exactly, but one girl did throw a banana at my head as I was leaving and I did get to eat the half I didn’t accidentally step and slip on.

So, anyway, I’m starting to film my docu-drama, and I have to say the footage is looking really good! I have some really good connections in Hollywood, so I was able to hire some Academy-Award winning actors. Meryl Streep is going to be in my film! Well, almost. She did agree to appear, though. Okay, I don't know Meryl Streep, but I did hire my stuffed bear, and he does sort of look like a Dingo and I do like to hold him while playing my Merle Haggard records, so you can see that’s almost the same thing. Also, I was able to get funding to buy a million-dollar camera to film with, so that was fortunate. By “funding”, I mean I broke open my piggy bank with a hammer like I used to do as a kid. Actually, it was my safety deposit box at the bank and the manager screamed at me, saying I’d have to pay for that. People can be so mean sometimes.

I couldn’t actually afford a million-dollar camera, so I bought one a bit cheaper. Okay, there was only $15.33 cents in my safety-deposit box, so I wound up using my mom’s old Polaroid camera. Don't you just love those? You snap the photo, there's a blinding light and then the picture comes shooting out the bottom. I used to pretend I was a Polaroid camera when I was a kid, but my mom said I had to stop because it wasn't pictures I was shooting out of my bottom, but we can skip that story.

Anyway, I know it's not actually a filming camera, but if you take like a hundred pictures in a row, you can piece them together and make a nice flip book that looks like a movie when you flip them really, really fast. You have to stand really still while you film each frame, though, or it doesn’t work. Also, it doesn’t work if you have to jump off your roof in the nude for a segment, which I do for my film, I’ll explain later.

The hard part is that the action only happens in the split second when I snap each photo, so I have to scream, "ACTION!!!!!!! CUT!!!!!!!!" really, really fast, so the crew doesn't get confused. Actually, the stuffed bear is my only crew member, but sometimes it seems like a whole bunch of people since he's so hard to work with. For example, he demands his own trailer, room-temperature bottled water, and will never sign autographs. Oh, the rigors of the film industry.

I just love films, though, don’t you? Not you. The girl to your left. I go to the movies all the time. Just every chance I get. I would go even more, but Circuit City said I can't bring that lawn chair back into the store and that hanging out in the electronics department, watching their television sets without buying anything is against the rules. What a stupid head. How can I know what I want to buy if I can't try it out first? I also asked that question when they were screaming at me in that toilet store. Wow, but people can be testy these days. 

Anyway, I love that one film, “The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe,” When I got home from that movie, I immediately ran to my wardrobe to see if there was another land inside, behind my clothes. I was so excited! I just shoved my way all the way to the back behind the cloaks and coats and started feeling for the tree branches and the snow. I don’t actually have a wardrobe, but my suitcase worked just as good, once I squeezed myself all the way in, zipped it halfway and piled a bunch of my clothes on top of me.

I felt just like I was in the movie and I started calling out, “Aslan! I’m coming, Aslan!! Wait for me!! Wait for me!! I want to help fight the Snow Witch!!” It was a blast! Well, until the security guard at Sears showed up and ruined everything, the idiot. Fine, it wasn’t exactly “my” suitcase, but the clothes were definitely mine. I know, because I was wearing them up until I had to take them off to pile on top of me while I pushed through the wardrobe. Doesn’t work without the clothes, I think you’ll agree.

I just love to act out scenes from movies, though. Al Pacino is great, isn’t he? I just love to do that line, “Are you talking to me? Are YOU talking to ME??” Finally, the waitress at Sizzler said, “Yeah, dumbass, I’m talking to you. I asked you what you wanted to drink!” But she has no sense of humor. Looking back, it was probably a bad idea to act out a scene from The Exorcist and spit pea soup all over her when she brought me my check, but at the time, I thought she would just laugh and laugh and laugh, instead of screaming and running to the back.

How many things can go wrong in just one day? Why can’t every day just be trouble free? Where does it say that life has to be just one big ‘ol kick in the head after another? And why doesn’t Steve Buscemi get his teeth fixed? Ignore that last question.

Today did not start off well. I pride myself on being a very good parent. I really do. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that sewing my own son’s clothes out of yarn is probably not a good way to show it. But, he loves them, dammit, and pleasing him is what’s most important. Okay, he doesn’t love them, but he does wear them. If he didn’t, I’d just ground him to his room again and conveniently forget to fill his water bowl. Actually, sometimes I really do forget. Well, the bowl is white and sometimes when the light hits it wrong, you can’t tell it’s empty. Except if the water gets dirty from sitting there too long. Then it’s easy to tell. Just kidding. It’s still hard to tell.

So, this morning, I tell him that he’s a big boy now and he doesn’t have to use his booster seat anymore. He was so happy and proud and rattled his chains to show it. I just smiled and put him on the chair and then noticed that his face was just level with the table edge. Oh, well, so he wasn’t exactly big enough yet, but what harm could it do? I quickly found out.

Suddenly, he rears back and lets out this horrible sneeze and his little face just slams right into the edge of the table. Awful. Just awful. What a mess. I mean, he chipped the Formica right off the edge and that stuff is not cheap, let me report. Then he starts screaming and holding his face, yelling, “The blood! The blood! My tooth!” Blah-blah-blah. Hey, bucko, teeth will grow back, but who’s going to fix my table?

Eventually, I saw how bad he had been hurt and after I revived him after fainting from blood loss, I took him to the dentist to get his tooth fixed.

Okay, none of that last story actually happened (except the water bowl part), but I do have a Formica table that got chipped. My son says he didn’t do it, but I still almost grounded him to his room. Instead, I just put him in the well for a few hours and yelled down to him, “It puts the lotion on it’s skin or else it gets the hose again!” No, I’m kidding. The hose doesn’t work anymore. And we were out of lotion, so I threw down some of that yucky Vick’s Vapor Rub.

I remember my mom used to slather that stuff all over my chest when I was younger and sick. Now she says I’m older and sick. Anyway, somehow the fumes were supposed to open up your nasal passages. It worked, too! The bad part is that it also singed my eyelashes, burned all the hairs out of my nose and opened up the nasal passages of all the neighbors within a block’s distance. I think I read someplace that Vick’s Vapor Rub was invented during the Spanish Inquisition. That, and the packaging for CD’s. Have you noticed how hard it is to get into a packaged CD? I gave up and started using dynamite. It worked, too! Well, just on one side. For the other side, I used my band saw.

Seriously, though, I do love my son. He’s such a precious little thing. And my daughter. I don’t actually have a daughter, but I have to say I do in this blog since I have to justify the money the State gives me. Qualifying was no easy task, let me tell you. When I introduced my daughter to the welfare lady, saying, “Tell the nice lady hello, Nellie,” the lady said, “That looks like a mannequin”.

I got really nervous and just told her that she’d slept wrong in the bed and was probably just a little stiff. And she bought it. I got a nice, big fat check. Just in time, too, because I need some new DVD’s. I’m just upset that I have to spend part of it, dressing and feeding the mannequin. I have no idea what I’ll do once she starts school. Faking that is going to be sheer hell, I can tell you. Plus, she’s getting really uppity these days. Striking poses all day long, thinking she’s a model or something. And she never listens. I scream at her all day to friggin’ sit down already, but she just stares off into space. I’m thinking of letting her have a nice long stint in that well. See if that won’t wake her up.

Don't you just hate when you go to turn on a lightbulb and the darn thing just pops and then you are caught in the dark and then you feel around for the door or something familiar, and all of a sudden your hands find something big and covered with hair and you just scream and scream and scream? I hate that. Actually, that happened to me once, but then I realized it was my own head, so I stopped screaming. Man, I must have looked silly. Especially since it was at the public library and I was just going into that private study room and the librarian was right behind me.

But, if it's not your own head and you find something big and hairy...you scream at the top of your lungs (I usually try to scream at the bottom of my lungs because they're usually so neglected in scary situations like that, aren't they?) and you just KNOW Big Foot has suddenly found his way into your room because you have that big cabin up in the mountains of Oregon and you wear Birkenstocks and plaid shirts and you remember that story the funny looking guy with the chaps and the tube top told you at the corner market about how he's spotted Big Foot on at least three occasions.

Never mind that he also claims to have seen Elvis, Jimmy Hoffa, and Kristie McNichol (whatever happened to her??)...this you actually believe because the lights are all out and stories like that always seem so real when you're scared. Or drunk. Or scared and drunk. Or scared to get drunk. Or tarred and feathered. I've never been tarred and feathered, but my Uncle Ernest has. He told me so. Actually, he just said he was "tired", but he's from Alabama, so it sounded just like "tarred". I thought that for the longest time.

I wasn't drunk. Not all the way drunk. I was about 81.34 % of the way drunk, if you don't count the weed. I do. I dont smoke it, but I do count it. That's fun. The cops didn't think so. They also didn't believe me when I said I didn't smoke it. They didn't believe that but they did believe me when I said I had a gun. Must have been very convincing on that one. It was probably due to the acting classes. I've never had acting classes, but my neighbor did, and maybe it rubbed off on me.

"Having a gun" was a joke...but they weren't amused. Apparently you get a job at an airport, you have to surrender your sense of humor at the door. The strip search was fun, though. I asked them if they'd play some razzy dazzy music while I took my clothes off, but they just said no.

They said I had to submit to a cavity search, but I said no siree. I knew they weren't dentists. Besides, I don't have any cavities. I have dentures. Not in my mouth...I wear a set around my neck on a chain. They're my good luck charm. Which, they don't work, since I haven't had a single date since I start wearing them last month. They were my grandmothers, god rest her weary bones. She's not dead, she's just resting her weary bones.

I think she wants them back, though, because everytime I go visit her at the home, she's looking around for them. I guess I should have asked her before I took them, but I was afraid she'd say no. She's not my real grandmother, actually, but she does look very similar to a lady who assaulted my grandmother in Fresno with a sponge cake (don't ask), except this lady is actually a man named Herbert...or Gary, I don't remember exactly. The important thing is...I just visit him on occasion because he likes to tell me stories about his childhood and I call her Mrs. Threadgoode like she's that nice old lady on Fried Green Tomatoes. He keeps telling me to stop and wants to know who the hell I am anyway, but old people get confused.

So, anyway, I hate it when the bulbs just pop like that. Very annoying.

I am so excited!!! I got offered three clerkships for the summer break from law school. Okay, just one clerkship, but it is for a Supreme Court Justice with a very long, distinguished list of judicial rulings, so it’s obvious I’m well on my way to a very lucrative and successful career in law!

Fine, it wasn't a Supreme Court justice, but it is for a very reputable personal injury attorney in my area who just loves taco supremes from Taco Bell. Plus, he just loves songs by The Supremes, so you can see how that's similar. Don't you just love that song, "You Can't Hurry Love...no you just have to wait...she said love don't come easy...it's a game of give and take."

Phil Collin's version is good, too. Wow, is he talented! I just loved him in that movie, “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”. What a crackup!

But my clerkship will be so much fun! And it doesn’t matter that the law firm is actually in his garage, there’s plenty of room to do work and his riding lawn mower provides a very suitable desk for me. I even get my own assistant! Okay, it’s really just his cat, but she’s good, let me tell you. She even lent a paw in landing us a murder case! Seriously!

Fine, it was actually just a dead mouse that she dragged in from outside, but we had a great discussion over forensics and stuff, trying to determine if the cat actually killed the mouse herself, or if she found it that way. We even drew a little chalk line around it on the floor so it would set the mood. Then we dusted for fingerprints. That was a mistake. It was some kind of weed killer powder and I accidentally got some on the attorney, but he was fine. He woke right up after about a half hour of seizures and foaming at the mouth.

So, anyway, we got right to our investigation of this dead mouse and that was so exciting. We even interrogated the cat to see if we could get her to confess to the killing, but she wasn't talking. I tried that lamp thing where you sweat it out of them, but later discovered that cats don't sweat. Soon, I turned the heat way up and she finally broke and coughed up the whole story! Not really, it was just a big hairball, but it was pretty impressive.

Then the attorney pretended like he was the prosecutor and I was the coroner, investigating the dead body. Oh, dont' worry, It’s not like we cut the mouse open or anything, to do our research. That would be sick. Okay, I actually did cut it open, but I didn’t find anything. Except organs, of course. And some undigested food. Let’s change the subject.

Working for him has been really, really great, too. Like all the courtroom experience I’m getting. The other day, he said, “Hey, time to go! We’ll be late for court!” I was so excited! My first courtroom experience. That’s why it didn’t matter when I later found out that he was the one who was on trial. Something about tax fraud or money laundering or something silly like that. You’d think they’d be out catching the real criminals!

Actually, I wasn't the top of my class, but I am the TALLEST person in my class, if you only count the guy who sits right behind me. I mean, that's all that really matters, right? There's this one guy who thinks he's taller than me...he sat in the front row in my contracts class, but he always wore that stinky after shave and loved using that stupid word, "NOTWITHSTANDING" all the time like he was Clarence Darwin or Clarence Farrow...or whatever that big judge's name was. Idiot. He thought he was so smart because he had a "III” after his last name. Maybe I should change my name to have a “III” behind it.

I am so excited! Barbra Streisand has agreed to sing at my Bar Mitzvah! I’m not a 12-year-old Jewish boy or anything, but I don’t think that’s important. I can have a Bar Mitzvah if I want. And, besides, I do sometimes use words like “oy vey” and “schlep” and I’ve watched every episode of Laverne & Shirley, so that should count for something, right? Don’t you just love that show? My favorite part is the opening song, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Schlemeel, schlemazel, hasenpfeffer incorporated!”

Now that I think about it, those are pretty weird words, aren’t they? Hasenpfeffer. I only know that word from that cute Bugs Bunny cartoon. You know the one where the big meanie king yells, “Bring me hasenpfeffaaaah!” and they try to kill Bugs Bunny because he’s a rabbit (in case you missed the ‘bunny’ part of his name.) and hasenpfesser is some kind of rabbit dish. That always had me cracking up. That and the gas fumes from all my huffing. That was a hard habit to break. I did it everywhere I went. Loved it. Of course, it was always hard trying to explain to people why I was dragging around that big lawn mower everywhere I went. Eventually, I switched to a riding lawn mower. That was easier. I found out later that you weren’t actually supposed to drive them on the interstate. I had no idea.  Found out pretty quickly, though, when I was almost run over by that big semi. That was scary. The cop said I was very lucky to be alive and then he asked me where my mommy was. Unfortunately, they made me go back to kindergarten.

But, anyway, Barbra is singing at my Bar Mitzvah! I can’t believe it! And how I was able to book her for this special occasion is an interesting story. Wait’ll you hear it. See, I was just surfing the internet (I used to boogie-board the internet, but then I took surfing lessons from a roving band of gypsies) when I just stumbled upon this video of Barbra Streisand in the studio, recording some new album. You can see the video here. It’s breathtaking. I just love to see her record music and hear that gorgeous voice. Like buttah, I tell ya.  So, I emailed her straight away and said, “Oh, Barbra, can you please, please, please, please, please come and sing at my Bar Mitzvah?” and she writes back in like 3 hours and says, “Oh, right.” So, you see??? She’s coming to sing for me!! I can’t wait.

I’m going to request that song, “Wind Beneath My Wings” that she did for that movie, “Saving Private Ryan” and then ask her to do some of the lines she used to do when she acted in that television show, “One Day At A Time”. She played that poor working mother with those two teenage girls. Remember that? I just loved that show.

Don’t you just love national holidays? Like today! National Celebrity-Look-A-Like Day! I know a lot of people have never heard of it, but it's real. Look on your calendar if you don’t believe me. It’s on mine. Okay, it’s on mine because I wrote it in myself, but it could be on yours. Fine, it’s not exactly a national holiday, but it is a state-wide holiday in California. It’s true! We even get the day off. Actually, I didn’t, but I did call in sick, so that’s kinda the same thing if you don't count the lying part. I don’t think they believed me, though. Hepa-filter B is a real illness, isn’t it?

For some reason the company where I work doesn’t recognize National Celebrity-Look-A-Like Day. I talked to our human resources manager, but she’d never heard of it either. What are they teaching kids in college these days? Don’t they have Holiday Appreciation 101 anymore? That’s a real class, you know. Fine, it’s not in every college, but mine had it. To be honest, I am the one who started that class and was the only student, but I’m sure that if I had been persistent enough, they would have eventually added it to the curriculum.

Anyway, we had this HUGE parade in honor of National Celebrity-Look-A-Like Day in my town. The turn out wasn’t as good as expected, but it was still a big celebration and everyone had a blast. Okay, I was on the only one actually in the parade, but the crowd was crazy about me. I even had one of those huge cartoon character balloons like ones you see in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. That got a lot of attention and all the kids just loved it. It wasn’t a real balloon character of course. It was actually my two couch cushions and a micro-hibachi hot-glued to a garbage can lid, but it looked a lot like Sponge Bob wearing mint green plaid trousers. Everybody said so. Well, nobody said so, but that one guy did cheer me on pretty loudly. Looking back, perhaps the fact that he was drunk and sitting in his own urine makes his opinion less reliable, but it was still a really nice thing when you really think about it.

It was a big hit with the kids, I can tell you that. Maybe not all the kids, but most of them, anyway. Okay, only three kids liked it, if you count that one kid who threw rocks at my head. I do. I think he was just trying to get my attention. Boy, did he, his aim was good. Actually, getting hit with that rock really added to the celebration because I saw stars before my eyes for at least 20 minutes after that. Which is why, of course, that I broke out in song, blaring out the Star Spangled Banana. I know that’s not the real title, but I was a little woozy from that rock, so I just sang as best I could. I found out later that “O say can you see…any redbugs on me,” isn’t exactly how that song goes, but I like the way it rhymes. My dad taught it to me that way. I think he taught me that on the same day he told me that “wonder bread” was slang for very durable money. That was the reason I was found cramming that slice in the coke machine that time. When you’re young, you’ll believe anything, won’t you? That was about a month ago, I think.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re asking yourself why I am celebrating National Celebrity-Look-A-Like Day. If you aren’t thinking this, I’ll give you a moment to do so, so you can catch up. (Everybody else can just read this sentence over and over about three times while the others ask themselves that question.) Ready? Great. I’m celebrating it because I just so happen to look just like a big celebrity. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been told this by a lot of different people. Okay, there was really only that one guy and what he said is that I was “dumb as dirt”, but there is that movie, “Dirty Dancing,” so, you can see how that’s the same thing.

Sometimes I’ll be at the grocery store or at the post office and suddenly out of nowhere, someone will rush up and ask me for an autograph. It’s always so flattering and often they’ll start flashing their cameras and calling their neighbors to come see the big celebrity and I just cover my face with these huge Elton John sunglasses and that big floppy hat and yell, “No autographs, please!” Okay, that’s actually never happened, although I do wear the hat and glasses and I do yell that sometimes, because I get asked for my autograph all the time. Especially at the store when I pay for my stuff using a credit card or a check.

My bank recently sent me a letter telling me I can’t write “All my best” before I sign my card slips and checks anymore, but they just don’t understand the plight of celebrity.  I even had to install a very expensive security system in my home to frighten off stalkers! No, not really, but I did duct tape my camcorder to my front door. It disappeared overnight, but.I’m sure it frightened somebody off before it was stolen.

I just love to write, I really do. I can't think of anything more enjoyable. Well...except for maybe an activity involving a very attractive model and a can of corn chowder. Not a human model...that’s just sick. It is. What I mean is a “model airplane”. I like to eat corn chowder while putting together my model airplanes. I usually do that right before spinning my folk tales. I once tried spinning webs, but found out later that I lacked the equipment to shoot silk from my butt. I won't bore you with the gross details of that debacle (thank me later). Suffice it to say that it involved a very large can of sepia-toned spackle and lots of Bounty paper towels. But, let’s move on.

I do love to write, though. And I’m pretty good at it, if I don’t say so myself. My last book was on the New York Time’s Best Seller list. It’s true! Alright, it’s not true, but my book should be up there. It’s called “This is A Good Book That You Should Read About a Girl Who Does Some Funny Stuff With a Cute Boy and They are Funny and Cute”. It’s a long title to remember, I know, so I usually just call it by the nickname I gave it: TIAGBTYSRAAGWDSFSWACBATAFAC, which is an acronym. That’s much easier to remember…and much easier to say.

Okay, it’s not easy to say…actually it’s very difficult to say. I should know, I tried three times at Barnes and Noble when I was asking the cashier if they might want to carry my book. It was weird, because I started trying to say the title and suddenly she’s giving me the Heimlich Maneuver. What was that about? Anyway, I asked the question and then she just looked at me funny and said they don’t carry books with “staples” for binding. Oh, right. Like glue is better. They don’t fool me one bit. You don’t see office people sitting around all day “gluing” papers together, do you, Miss-Know-It-All? Of course, not. Like me, they know that staples are better.

My agent tells me not to worry, though, something will come through. I think I can trust his word; after all, he’s been an agent for 10 years. Not a book agent…he’s actually just a secret agent for the CIA, but he knows books. Oh, alright, he’s just my plumber, but he does read A LOT and he does look an awful lot like that Tom Cruise guy…assuming, of course, Tom Cruise had a bad comb-over, dirty fingernails and a bad case of terminal butt crack. And Tom Cruise did play that Sports Agent in Jerry McGuire, so you can see why I call him my agent.

If my book ever got published, I know it would make the perfect movie. I’d probably even write the screenplay, because I’m good at that, too. I wrote one once about this guy who lives near the water and he has this cute little young son and it’s sad at first because he loses his wife and they move to Sierra where the son makes a phone call to a radio talk show to get his dad a new wife for Mother’s Day and in the end, they meet on top of the Sears Tower and fall in love.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this sounds like Sleepless in Seattle, but it’s nothing like that. First of all, it’s called “Sad In Sierra”, so you can see right there it’s totally different. Second of all, there is no “Christmas” element in my movie and my female lead works at the San Diego Tribune and not the Bloston Globe...and the little boy in the other movie is named "Jonah", but my character is "Jonas"...and in the end they meet on top of the Sears Tower and not the Empire State Building like in that other movie. See what I mean?

I explained all of this to director guy at that movie studio, but he has no vision. He just had me thrown out and told me that trespassing was against the law. Oh, well, I guess I’ll just join the ranks of all the starving artists in the world, except I’m eating a burrito right now, so maybe I’m not actually starving. I was hungry earlier, though.

Well, it’s time for my medication, so I gotta run. For some reason they make us all run while taking medication here. I have no idea what that’s about, but I’m becoming more and more convinced that this is NOT a health spa. Do health spas usually involve being handcuffed to the bed? I don't think so.