Marrying George Clooney

days 3 and 4.
so much happened.
nothing happened.
everything happened.
nothing happened.

it was florida. everything & nothing happens at the same exact time. some folks, swear to god, manage to eat and die at the same time. miami. a twofer city.
the big event, the big icky painful event: i was stung by a bee while lounging by the pool. i never lounge at a pool. the bee went right for my hand, my palm to be exact, stung me, decided to attach it’s stinger into my palm, and after i screamed “holy shit this burns like some hot hell joint,” ken, my ken, wanted to know what i did to provoke the bee.
that was not a good moment.
not for ken. not for the bee.

but then the good news:

i had an amazing, extraordinary massage.
chelsea, the massage therapist, was also an intuit & psychic & looked very much like an etherial being. she told me that i was not only on an amazing, brilliant NEW LIFE path, but she could see — ABSOLUTELY SEE — that i was about to have A PRETTY OFF THE CHARTS PHENOMENAL career experience, oh my god, she said: HUGE HUGE and she knew that i was a writer. she saw it, she knew it. she felt it. she did. which i always find pretty amazing. i mean, afterall, i could be taken for a high fashion model slash leading lady, (why not? halle meryl berry streep ), i could also be taken for a waitress or an overbearing sales clerk, or a slightly demented girl on the loose. but she chose writer and that was a definite BINGO. she also saw me accepting an award which she believed to be either a pulitzer or a tony. slightly curious and to make sure i was on the right track i asked her if possibly she meant a tony perm (as in hair), and she giggled and said, oh no, no silly, it’s a tony award. you are wearing a gorgeous sleek black suit, maybe even armani, opera length pearls, diamond earrings — definitely sleek and stunning and black heels. hmmm. that’s a pretty amazing psychic description moment. down to the armani suit. she knew i was a writer. she knew. and you are a brilliant writer, a healer. you are healing women with your words she said, tons and tons AND TONS of women. i asked to elaborate since this was a much better life experience than getting stung by that little creepy yellow jacket that clearly had a vendetta. i asked her if i would be attending the ceremony with ken or george clooney. she said ken, definitely ken.
i believed her. and yes, i believe i will win either a pulitzer or a tony award (not perm) and yes, i will be attending the ceremony with ken. mr. clooney is on my shit list, he doesn’t call or write. and yes, i’m through begging.
totally. a girl can just cheapen herself so much. one must hold on to some dignity.
my one hour massage turned into a 2.5 hour massage with many more intuitive enlightened moments (some shocking enough to make me both hold my breath & then catch it — how do they know this stuff?) coupled with an entire chakra cleansing and rejuvenation.

i advised ken he needed to start thinking about buying a tux.
he felt that the bee sting had clearly affected my logic.
uh huh.
i told him to forget about the bee. the bee was dead, no need to beat a dead bee into ground,
and then he said with just a hint of cute mixed in with some old useless dreck, “you know what, maybe you just fucking irritated the bee.”
oh yeah, that’s gonna work, that’s gonna win points and sexual favors. “really,” i said, “you know what, fuck you, you irritate me.”
and then he said, “see, that’s what i mean.”

need i say more.

my hand was somewhat swollen & throbbing. the benadryl had not kicked in yet.

“listen ken,” i said, you’re gonna have to get a tux, i saw this woman and she was just brilliant, clear, precise, very goddess like, she twinkled.” a word that always gets a rise, twinkle?

“did she know you were gonna get stung?”
“hmmm. I don’t know”

Well, if she was a really good psychic she should have envisioned the bee stinging you.

But that was after the point. I had already been stung.

I wonder if she can envision me losing my patience with you. i wonder if she’s envisioning that? Whatdya think the odds are, of her envisioning that?

“Predictable.”

oh. wow. and with that, I made a life changing decision, “to be more than. To aim higher, shoot higher, go for the brass ring.”

Period.

all in all a few really good days.