Weakness of the Week: "The Real Housewives of [Insert Location of Choice Here]"

Can I stop watching this?  No.  Please, God, can I just stop watching re-runs I've already seen?  Again, all signs point to "no."  And as the countdown has begun for the season finale of the "Housewives" of NYC, I have bookmarked bravotv.com so that I know EXACTLY how much time is left until the final show.  Because that's what Jill Zarin's mother would want me to do.

And are these housewives that entertaining?  Are they, in fact, "real"?  Do I really need to expend energy wondering if a physiological problem is causing Ramona's eyes to bulge like that whenever she opens her mouth to speak?  Is it important that I find out if the Countess may retain her title after a divorce, considering that her Count has run off with an Ethiopian woman in Switzerland?  Do I really want to know who Gretchen has been dating post-show?  Should I continue to use the words "low-budget bitch" or "trashbox" in describing unladylike females who also enjoy wearing bad hairpieces?

The answer to all these questions, my friends, is a big, Spanx-covered, Botox-injected, surgically enhanced, seven-figure, tequila-infused, diamond-studded and animal print-swathed "YES."

So, thanks, Real Housewives.  You're my Weakness of the Week.  Now, where's my Skinnygirl Margarita*..........

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With Apologies to Tom Waits & Meg Rains.

"You can never hold back spring
You can be sure that I will never
Stop believing
The blushing rose will climb
Spring ahead or fall behind
Winter dreams the same dream
Every time
You can never hold back spring
Even though you've lost your way
The world keeps dreaming of spring..."

--"You Can Never Hold Back Spring" by Tom Waits

[This entry wrote itself Sunday morning, in a long-overdue email response to poet-friend Meg Rains.]

This is probably more than you want to know.  I woke up this morning at 5:30 due to the stomach rumblings of a nearby French bulldog and went to stand watch outside while business was conducted.  I looked around as David Byrne talked his way into my head.  How did I get here?

Then my dead grandmother visited me in revisited sleep. Clear as day. I was lying on my current bed, which is not my own but instead is borrowed along with the room I'm in, and she was next to me on her back. I was snuggled against her small frame in the way I did as a child. Mamaw was one of those cold little women who never took comfort in affection, but she tried. She wore polyester in shades of mauve, just like before she died. I wrapped my arm around her and felt the sharpness of two or three ribs on her side. She put her arm around my shoulder. I told her that I missed her and was so sorry I never really got to know her. She said, "That's alright. I'm sorry I didn't get to know you, because you're a phenomenal person. But it's alright....I'm right here."

If I had my way, I would always wake myself up laughing. It only happens occasionally, but when it does, it feels like summer sunshine. But today was one of those other days, when you wake up with tears on your face and neck, and your dog wonders why their person is so upset.

I have been in limbo now for five-plus-months, working freelance and living presently with my oldest guy friend Jackson, with whom every day has been a blessing and has also been like some episode out of "Will & Grace."  I have stalled my job search for about two weeks now, because I was temporarily fed up with frustration in sending my life's busy work into the black hole of no response. Because I look at that stupid electronic document and think, my God, what have I done?

And the worst part for me right now is fully committing to ANYTHING. Work, passion, friends, family. Whatever. I find it hard to focus, and even when I'm deeply concentrating and heavily sweating and meditating hard in my yoga practice and am asking God and the Universe and baby Jesus to please remove whatever psychic obstacles are in front of me so I can have a Clear Vision and see my Special Purpose and can Get On With The Next Big Thing, nothing comes.  I have a fantastic screenplay still in rewrites.  I find it hard to correspond--as some unfortunately know--and unlock myself to purge and be lighter. Have this blog, don't really know what to say. I have a year's worth of experiences from over yonder that I cannot bring myself to unearth. Why?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down....

I have a shrine of sorts in front of me as I sit at the writing desk that one of my best friends, Eva Fleischauer, gave me after her dad died. Johnny Cash is giving me the finger, tiny Ganesh quietly sits in front of some daily affirmation placard while a Red Octopus finger puppet can't be bothered to stand up straight. A buckeye, two stones and a mussel shell surround a stainless steel die given me by an Irishman. And two Chinese fortunes try to fake me out every day with their fake words of wisdom--"(smiley face) You will have a bright future (smiley face" and "An unexpected event will soon make your life more exciting." And then, beside the oil painting of a grey cat who looks remarkably like my old pal Cleveland, is my newest addition--my vision board. While true vision escapes me, I am trying to force-feed my psyche exactly what I want to bring into my life.  

I am trying.  But am I searching too hard?  

And you can't hold back Spring, says Tom, so I keep impatiently waiting for change like some peaceable, overly-caffeinated hobo shaking an empty cup outside a train station.

j:.

A Revival, Y'all

"Dreams unwind, love's a state of mind..."

--"Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac

Went to bed in Dublin, woke up on the other side of the sea some months later.

And in the hazy in-between days, I managed to find my way home, fix a broken dog, find my balance and find some work while I work on manifesting the Next Big Thing.  A modern-day gypsy by default more than by design, and as evidenced in part by my scarf collection.

So, I just decided that I'd dust off this Webby corner of the world and write a bit more.  

More soon.

j:.