Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

I was trying to make a quick banner to submit with my journal to this blog site and I messed up on the size. I am waaaay too tired now to try to redo it all, and it wasn't really my best effort because I was rushing, so I'm just putting it up here for a little color, and so I won't feel like I just wasted an hour, argh.

Oh Hello My Journal Darlings,

Here I am, catching up on my beloved Oprah, playing fetch with Ruck with his favorite stripey kitty toy with the little bell. I gave Beau some medicine, some love, and some Motherly advice that his teenage game-addicted self may just reject outright, (but that's all part of his growth path), and got him to go to bed.

I adore Oprah. Anyone who reads my journal should know this. I would be Oprah's dog in a heartbeat. I would be Oprah's foot stool if I could. Not to give my power and self worth away, because hell, my ego is big enough for me to think she'd be pretty damned lucky to have me for a friend, but that ain't gonna happen so I just need to say that I think she is one of the coolest people on the planet and I quite simply adore her. I would marry Oprah. I would have her children. Yes, I love my imaginary girlfriend Miss Oprah.

When Scott was over here the other night and didn't want to watch my stored up Oprah shows, "Anything but Oprah," I looked at him with a kind of veiled concern for the future of our relationship. I pretended it was no big deal but inside I was wishing for a man-sistah who would enjoy her as much as I do, and I was secretly thinking this: "What do you mean you don't want to watch Oprah? How can anyone not love Oprah? Love me love my OPRAH!!!" Does a guy have to be gay to love Oprah? Can I continue to love a man who doesn't share my passion for this woman's goodness and style? I mean does he even know how GOOD she's been looking lately with her hair styled more naturally and this recent weight loss that's given her the ability to wear prettier, sexier, designer clothes?

Ruck is so cute, when I get distracted, like when I'm busy writing to you, he'll just toss his toy up in the air for himself a few times until I notice and we can go back to playing together. Beau and I stopped by the overnight vet hospital to check on Jake and Zazu. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm just trusting that everything is going to be all right. I just needed to know that they were both alive and stable for tonight, before I could go home.

I finished reading my signed copy of Chore Whore -- the Adventures of a Celebrity Personal Assistant, by Heather Howard, while waiting for the vet to call this morning. I read that one of the better people she worked for was none other than Miss Oprah Winfrey, as well as Steven Spielberg, Matt Dillon, and Tom Waits, but I would so love to know who the bad celebrities are that she based these characters on. I've been all over the net looking for any good dish on this and all I could come up with was an interesting bit on Page Six about someone giving her a Voodoo doll at a book signing. Damn, wouldn't you just love to know who did that? I know celebrities and wealthy pampered people can be outrageously insensitive and selfish, but Lord it's hard to believe some of this stuff is based on anything real. Although living here in Brentwood, in the real heart of all of this shallow, celebrity-wooing mayhem, I guess I should know that it probably is based on some truths, and that's what makes it so much more fun to read.

Mitzie (our new polydactyl kitten) has just come out from under the bed. I mean just this minute. She's been out before, when she thinks no one is looking, but this is the first time she's been out and made eye contact with me without running back under. I'm going to have to ignore the fact that she's chewing on the phone cord because she is soooo sensitive that if I make the slightest movement or raise my voice even slightly, she'll bolt for the nice dark safety of my Leeds mattress. Oh shit, I blew it -- I honestly couldn't resist so I said, "Hi Mitzie girl. I love you," and with that she leapt right back under the bed. Damn. I can't even take my own advice.

We had her confined to a huge carrier/kennel for about four days and that was working great. She could see the other kitties, and all of us, but she felt safe in there behind the gate. I was able to take her out, work with her, and pet her, and I could feel her getting used to me and giving in. Then the other day as I was holding her, my attention strayed for just a second and she was out of my arms and back under the bed. She'll come around soon, I can just feel it.

Beau and I had our first snowboarding-on-a-simulator lessons tonight at seven. I was so tired from all of the cat upset of last night, and the dramas of today that I really, (Oh look Mitzie's out again, woohoo, I'm not going to say a word, just gonna sit here and type, yep, clickety, clickety, click, I don't want to cuddle that adorable twenty-six toed kitty, nope, not me), didn't know if I could keep my eyes open long enough to safely drive Beau to his lesson, let alone take one myself, but you know how sports coaches can be -- won't take no for an answer -- especially if they think they can get you to sign up for another thousand dollars worth of lessons, if they throw in your first lesson for free. I'm glad the coach encouraged me to do it though, even if I can't afford lessons for myself : ( It was hard, but not as hard as I thought. For a super out of shape gal I think I did really well and I'm proud of myself. My muscles are exhausted, but I love conquering my fears by doing things I'm afraid to try, (remember me, the gal who goes scuba-diving with sharks and forgets they can be dangerous), and it was fun. I teased the guys by asking them where the weed simulator was for all of the future snowboarding stoners.

Okay, so, back to planning for Beau's birthday and trying to knock a few of my many To Do items off of my ever-growing list.

Love you guys,

PS: Oh look at this, The Angry Chinese Blogger. Woah, and this one, Diary of a London Cokehead, interesting.

PS: And since I've already invoked the curse of Tennessee Williams by appearing in one of his many wonderful plays, I just wanted to mention that a previously unpublished poem of his has been unearthed. Isn't that exciting? I think it is. I wish I could find the whole poem on line somewhere. It's titled Blue Song and this is all I've been able to find of it;

"If you should meet me upon a
street do not question me for
I can tell you only my name
and the name of the town I was
born in..."


  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded