Um, I legitimately almost missed my train stop this morning due to the fact that I was fantasizing so heavily about Diane Keaton. It was the usual, you know…
meeting Diane Keaton and having coffee with her and talking about hats and Warren and Al and her Oscars, raiding her closet for her clothes from the 70’s and dancing around on her bed in them, killing her and then taking over her identity. Etc. It was 8 a.m.; she was floating in front of my eyes like a perfect mirage and I was smiling sweetly to myself and bopping along to the Van playing on my tranny iPod nano from 1993. That’s when I realized that the train was stopped at my stop and, um, no one else was getting off, and um, wait, the conductor was starting to move the train forward and I was already late for work and…
I had to hurl my body at the door and yelp like a crazy bag lady in order to be let off. Arms were flailing, people were avoiding eye contact…
But I mean, I’m sure this happens to other people all the time too.
As my friend Kathleen likes to says: Rawr!
Luca Brasi held a gun to the bandleader’s head, and my father assured him that either his signature or his brains would be on the release.
Pacino: so hot right now.
2 responses so far ↓
johnnypeepers // June 25, 2008 at 4:11 pm |
“Oh, Michael. Michael, you are blind. It wasn’t a miscarriage. It was an abortion. An abortion, Michael. Just like our marriage is an abortion”
drunkinarowboat // June 26, 2008 at 3:50 am |
Hmm. It seems “tranny” . . . may be the new “like”? As in, like, enough with the ‘tranny’ word already. So 2008.
love and hugs,
your mother