I stole this from Jonathan Carroll’s FB page. He’s going to wind up on my 50 and Over list soon if he doesn’t watch it.

I also sent this quote to a friend, because it is so up her alley. She’s going to share it with a million people, so I thought I’d share it with you. This is especially poignant for me because I’m such a worrier. Who doesn’t need a reminder not to dwell on the stupid stuff? Who doesn’t get a sigh of relief when they are told, gently and calmly, it’s going to be okay?

CFV 426 - Avatar/Pocahontas Mashup FINAL VERSION from Randy Szuch on Vimeo.

But there should be some other phase for when you get rear-ended at a Railroad Crossing with your daughter in the car. Freaked the fuck out doesn’t quite cover it. I am no longer ashamed of having a healthy supply of xanax in the house. Days like this, that shit comes in real handy. Especially when, after talking to my Hubbin for a few minutes he asks me if I have any or have already taken some. The answer is a big fat YES.

Thank god too, because Boo was really looking forward to today with me and I’ve been on the phone and excusing myself constantly to regain composure. She’s so awesome. More than awesome.

Currently she’s dancing around in her new ballet stuff - she starts class tomorrow - to a Tinkerbelle song and it’s warming my heart and making me relax and breathe easier. God I love her.

P.S. My birthday is in early June. Wink wink, nudge nudge.

I cannot really take pain medication without getting horribly nauseated. So as much as I’d like to be a pill popper - the lining of my stomach does not allow it. However I did have one anti-nausea pill left in the back of the cabinet. So last night, when I couldn’t stand the pain anymore and after I had iced my back, shoulder and neck, I broke down and took the pills.

They both worked great, and after seeing the chiropractor this morning I’m on the mend. However I had a really vivid dream.

I was in Boston at an old theatre/playhouse. I was carrying around this beat-up paperback novel with me with a green and white cover and real flowery art. I think I had written the book. But I kept opening it and flipping pages trying to remember something or looking for a clue. Then it dawned on me, I was looking for Jason Bateman because I knew he liked old-timey typewriters and the theatre had an “historical display of Early American typewriters”. So I was hoping to run into him and tell him I’m sorry I left. That I still loved him and then I was overcome with weepiness and sorrow at the thought that he might not want me back.

THEN the play started. It was Macbeth - staring (get this) Jeremy Irons and Cher. I got so caught up in the unnaturalness of the thing that I stopped looking for Jason Bateman and became utterly engrossed in watching what turned out to be a really good show.

I do not want to hear that Johnny Depp is a normal guy. I was to hear that he’s a freak-show and then I want his phone number.

If Johnny Depp were a normal guy he’d be a high school teacher or own a liquor store. Normal guys manage storage units. Johnny Depp is a fucking brilliant actor. In no way is that normal. Sure, I bet he’s a nice guy. In real life he’s probably a great dad and soft spoken and makes a mean crème brûlée. But I doubt he’s normal. People of that talent aren’t normal, that’s why they are in the stratosphere.

I’m sure that when you are talented and famous other talented and famous people seem normal. But that’s like saying people who like surgery scars will also like other people who like surgery scars. Birds of a feather, right? Normal is as normal does.

But let me ask you this, would you live in Hunter S. Thompson’s basement? No. Because it’s creepy and weird. Even for a film role it’s creepy and weird.

The genius of Johnny Depp doesn’t come from a normal place. It comes from that place few of us brave to go near. Johnny Depp goes there, repeatedly, and that’s why he churns out such haunting brilliant performances. Don’t diminish the extraordinary gifts given to him by labeling him ‘normal’. Cherish him for being phenomenal.

Sincerely,
Jodie

I feel great.

I think it’s important to give as much time and energy to acknowledging our good days as well as our bad. Although our bad days always seem more interesting. Luckily there is little to gravity to our good days, which is why our bad days seem especially burdensome.

A few things on my mind today:

B-Sides - I got to see B-Sides last weekend and he gave me easily one of the top ten hugs of all time. And when I saw him he mentioned his old college band. The name was something that I knew and had heard of, but hearing it after so much time and thinking it was forgotten was just ultra-cool. Gust.

The Outlaw - Heard through the grapevine that The Outlaw’s Mom passed away over the weekend. She was always very sweet to me and while I’m not happy she’s gone, I’m happy that she’s no longer in pain.

White Apples - Jonathan Carroll recommended this book to me and for the life of me I can’t get through it. Not nearly as emotionally sweet or cosmically engaging as The Ghost In Love.

Lunch - I have two lunches planned this week and I’m looking forward to both for very different reasons.

Cheese Sticks - I have been craving and craving and craving these. They are so gross and bad for you, but so wickedly delicious.

I feel like I’ve over used adverbs in this post. For that I’m truly sorry.

Last night I had a dream of the Chicago Cowboy. For those who aren’t familiar with the Chicago Cowboy he’s my big college ex that I’ve tried in all sorts of ways to stay in touch with and remain friends with. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But a few months ago we broke up. For real. Over e-mail. And unless I reach out to try and mend things, I’ll never from him again. He’s one of those types that doesn’t make an effort ever. He’ll always take your call, but he’ll never call you. He’ll always write back, but never write first. Sometimes this is okay with me, but right now, it’s not.

A part of me will also wonder about the well-being of the Cowboy. I love him. I’ll always want him to be okay. But I can’t make him okay. I can’t make him anything, I don’t want to.

The dream was brief and realistic. We were face to face saying goodbye. I was leaving somewhere, somewhere far. And he simply reached out and touched my face. Usually this kind of tenderness from him would cause me to try and get into contact with him. I would feel like he needed me. But maybe that was all a bunch of crap and self-projection. Him not needing me, me needing him. And today I release all of that. Today, maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

And I get the irony that while it might not mean anything I’m posting about it, so it must mean something. Maybe. But I already feel better getting it out there and not feel the need to mention him again. So welcome to the list of other losers that I will not give any more time, energy, or thought about.

Names Never Again Mentioned Here:
Sarah Palin
Octomom
Chicago Cowboy

I love talking about my family and catching up. I also love the fact that I can talk about my Mom in such a safe way. Like it can be good or bad and I can cry or we can laugh together and it’s all okay.

Hubbin and I are not breaking with tradition tonight, even though we have one of the little french girls sleeping over. We’re all heading to The Tower for pizza. I don’t remember last year’s Valentine’s dinner there, but the year before was a hoot.

So Happy Dick Day darlings.