Ain't Nothin' Like the Real Thing: funny stories

Thursday, July 12, 2007

I'm So Screwed

See this dress? Pretty isn't it? I want to get my pear shaped body into that Cindy Crawford shaped dress by 8/11/2007. Less than one month away.

I have several problems.

#1 -- I don't like exercise.
#2 -- I enjoy eating.
#3 -- I have no willpower.
#4 -- I always have more than 3 problems happening at the same time, so just figure I've got at least a couple more that I won't bother you with.

August 11, 2007 I will be in Vegas, seeing the Man, The Showman of Our Generation, Ladies and Gentlemen:

(thank you www.manilow.com for that picture).

I've been a Mr. Could-It-Be-Magic fan since I was in high school...which is a number of years ago. My love-struck skinnier ass was at Ravinia in Highland Park, Illinois in August, 1976 to see Mr. M for the first time. He filmed his first Emmy-winning special there and then on a, to borrow a phrase, Hot (and humid) August Night. I had a great time. Like him or not, he'll give you your money's worth when it comes to a show.

I saw him again in 1979 and was going to see him last year until the show Anne and I were going to was cancelled. There was some speculation that Barry realized I was going be in Vegas and consequently left the entire state of Nevada -- only to appear in Rosemont, Illinois, a stone's throw from my own backyard. In other words, I was in his backyard, and he was in mine. But nevermind. Being my oldest friend, Anne was pissed off on my behalf, so Barry and I could maintain the warm and loving relationship he knows nothing about. Of course Anne and I had a great time in Vegas sans Mr. M -- how can you not? -- and the highlight was visiting the M Store at the Hilton.

The saleswomen were delightful. Ready to give you a Barry story or sighting on the spot. They were friendly and chatty and very helpful. They asked me about my Barry history. Then they turned to Anne, who was buying Manilow truffles only because the package said "Watch out! They squirt!"

"Do you like Barry?" they chirp.

"No," replies Anne, pointing an index finger at me. "I'm only here because of HER."

The looks on their faces assured me that Anne had delivered an answer they never heard before.

Now while Anne, out of friendship, would surely have accompanied me to Vegas this year, I've decided to spare her. This time around, I am going with my friend Colleen (whom I've met on-line) and meeting several other Manilow fans. Saturday night, 8/11, we will be at the show en masse. Third row center.

Poor guy. 30+ years in the frickin' business and he's soooo not prepared for us. Trust me. I'm on a pretty impressive regressive swing thanks to bio-identical estrogen.

In the meantime, what am I going to do about my pear?

Thursday, May 31, 2007

People I Have Known, Part 1

Oh, you think I'm gonna rattle off a story about how I met Paul McCartney, or when I ran into Johnny Depp at the tatoo parlor or that time I got a letter from Stephen King when he was ass deep in writer's block.

No. Sorry.

Not to say I haven't met my share of famous people: Cesar Romero...Shaun Cassidy...Bozo the Clown. You know, the biggies.

But this is more about real people I've known. Real people are incredibly more interesting that Paul or Johnny or Stephen. Not that the famous aren't fascinating, but we only know them one dimensionally...or only know what they want us to know. I remember reading an article about Robert Redford, who, for my dollar is still one of the sexiest men on the planet, and he pays publicists to keep his name OUT of the paper. And while I do an inordinate amount of fantasizing about my fantasy men, I still have enough grey matter focusing on reality to keep me grounded.

For now. At some point, Barry Manilow is going to have to go into the Witness Protection Program. (oh, fine -- take aim. I like Barry Manilow....can we just get past it?)

Anyway, I started thinking about people around me and the stories that I've heard and probably shared when I shouldn't have. Rest assured, I've never broken the "Chick Code" but I have changed names to protect the innocent in search of a good community laugh.

I would like to pick a moment in the life of Aunt Bernie. Trust me, it's worth it...and I bet you've got one tucked away in your family closet.

Aunt Bernie was one of those very few women who actually scared me when I was little because her face reminded me of an alligator. Her jaw flopped open and closed as she related some new terrible event, like who stole her favorite teaspoon or that she was sure the guy who stared at her in line at the grocery store had a picture up at the post office. She looked ancient when she was 30. Life just didn't seem to be kind to her ever -- and she never tired of telling you about it. She never married....although my dad took me aside one day and said Bernie was kind of married to the bottle.

Anyway, the story goes that her niece Christie and husband Jack had invited her over to see their new house. It was right after they had gotten married, but the memory of 60 year old Bernie getting drunk at the reception and trying to seduce the 25 year old head waiter had faded in everyone's memory. (We all decided it was a good damn thing the kid had a sense of humor. We passed the plate between the whole family and tipped him $250.00 at the end of the night.)

So it wasn't a huge surprise when she perhaps "had a few to settle the nerves" prior to her visit to Christie's. Bernie believed alcohol cured everything. It was especially helpful dealing with: anemia, shortness of breath, night disturbances, headaches, chills, bad leg circulation, nervous jitters, urinary incontinence -- all of which she had and why she could attest to alcohol's miraculous healing ability.

But Aunt Bernie was one of those people who was unhappy drunk and unhappy sober. It was hard to tell when she'd had too much until she'd cross a line and start yelling out racial slurs or trying to seduce any man in residence. After all, she LIKED sex...and she didn't get it....but she wanted it....and why shouldn't she? She was a normal, healthy woman who liked sex.... and on and on and on. And on and on. At all family functions, we had a designated "Bernie driver" who was in charge of tossing her ass in the car and driving her home when she first uttered the words men or sex. Off she went. Yelling about the indignity of it all.

So basically, she's tanked and on her way to visit Christie and Jack when she ended up grazing a neighbor’s dog with her car. It was summer, everyone was outside and stood stunned, watching all this unfold. The poor little dog was injured and needed help but Aunt Bernie is three sheets to the wind and trying to back the car up so she can hit it again. She’s hollering out the window that she’s doing the humane thing, trying to put the dog out of its misery. Well, the dog is snapping to and trying to get its bearings. Fido knows it’s way smarter than the person driving the big, banana yellow Buick and it smells danger. People are now running at my aunt, running for the dog, running for the dog’s owner, running to Christie’s house, just plain running.

Jack eventually saved the day. He grabbed the dog as Aunt Bernie flew past him and just kept on going, oblivious to the fact that she was on her way to visit her niece and her husband when all this happened in the first place.

Yes, Aunt Bernie. Still alive, still drinking at the ripe old age of 90. We no longer celebrate her birthday, but the day they denied her a driver's license.