Marrying George Clooney

I have to applaud & acknowledge & honor all these amazing women who have books – memoirs, fiction, non-fiction, biographies, humor, feminist, and gothic books – out this month. I’m not going alphabetical… that would be much to difficult today. So here goes:

Linda Franklin. Hope Edelman. Nancy Lord. Monica Holloway. Clea Simon. Marti Rulli. Kathryn Gordon. Eileen Flanagan. Rachel Resnick. Michelle Maisto. Kara Candito. Catherine Daly. Deborah Siegel. Amy Sohn. Julie Buxbaum. Abby McDonald. Michelle Cameron. Nancy Lord. Cindy Hudson. Dr. Patti Feurestein. Caroline Pincus. Nona Willis Aronowitz & Emma Bee Bernstein. Karen Franklin. Lauren King. Thomas Beattie … and just because I’m oh so hopeful & grateful & love their names: Amy Richards, Amy Thurman…

I am so proud to be among these women, and awfully proud to be a Seal Press girl.

she remembers the good times. i tend to remember the sadder, more unhappy times. she remembers the bowling and the pre-thanksgiving turkey dinners, and the easy bake ovens, I remember the sitting on my stoop waiting for my mom who upon seeing me wanted to know ‘what the hell did you do wrong?” She remembers the name of all of our neighbors, I remember some, not all. I remember feeling lonely and sad and oh so friendless, for a lack of a better word. She remembers bowling and movies and laughing alot.
We were great friends growing up. she was, to me, the Angelina Jolie of the 60’s. gorgeous and sexy and had the most amazing smile and full lips and great body and could light up even the darkest room wth her smile and joy. infectious. I of course remember being skinny and gawky with frizzy hair and upper and lower braces which not only made smiling hard, it made eating brutal. I was envious of her. Being popular was not on the top of my to do list, but making it through the day was.
We hadn’t spoken in years & years. I have a book coming out. She connected to me, having seen me on facebook We’ve caught up — phone calls in the middle of the night – learning about each other, jarring each other’s memory, apologizing for some bad behavior which in hindsight was just truly all a part of growing pains.
Being in my 50’s, it sure feels nice coming home again, if for only to visit the special girl, ellyn who made me realize that having breasts was far more important & empowering in the scheme of things then ever ever having a penis. She gave great meaning to “tough titties.”

Ellyn Kline.

does anyone remember when not getting a returned phone call felt so big and horrible and  heartbreaking all at once, when waiting for the phone to ring felt like you were living through a country western song, and not necessarily a good country western song  … when you wouldn’t even go and pee just in case you would miss that phone call, or you wouldn’t leave your apt., or home, or houseboat, you would just sit and watch the phone sitting there in silence, and you would, (or wouldn’t given your level of tolerance & mental health), in fact call the phone company and ask if your phone is broken, or possibly turned off because it’s not ringing. and then you would feel worse when the phone company repair person would say: oh yeah, your phone’s workin’ just fine, what’s a matter, no one’s callin’ you?

and now with facebook, because hello… it is a fucking addiction… i wonder how many of us are actually waiting, waiting waiting for that 1 or 2, or 500th friend confirmation.

and hey, FYI, there is a reason they’re called “depends.”

I have a question and this does keep me up at night. Will Ruth wait for Bernie? Will she wait 150 years? I really don’t understand at all how she didn’t know. And excuse me, 2.5 million is ALL she was left with. Okay. I’ll take that. I’ll take the 2.5, and try to find a home somewhere. I know it’s impossible. I know this is truly an impossible task, but maybe she should move out of NYC and live where the rents are a bit lower. Like hell. I’m thinking there’s probably a place in hell for her. Maybe a studio apartment, sans fireplace.

Or as my friend Charlotte said (so wonderfully,) maybe she can go on House Hunters, and they’ll find a place for her that’s within her budget. Because one can’t live on 2.5 million for too long.

But truthfully, my biggest heartbreak for Ruth, her hairdresser – Louis Licari – gave her the boot. Now she’s like most of us: a clairol woman. Ah, to be ordinary.

I’ll take that anyday.