Fifty Shades of Drunk

Children, you may be wondering where I've been for the last month or so. What I'm about to say may scandalize you, but you are old enough to hear about what grown ups really do on vacation. Plus there's a sweet video of me in action at the end, so stay awake.

Anyone can read "Fifty Shades of Grey" at the beach. And I tried, but Anastasia and Christian were not cutting it for me. Instead, I spent half of my hiatus on a windy Hilton Head Island beach reading a batty dead movie star's memoirs. I got some life tips from Katharine Hepburn's autobiography "Me." The book taught me three things: 

1) Always wear smart trouser pants. Especially on the beach.

2) Call Cary Grant* "chubby" as long as you mean it in a nice way. *(for kids in the audience, Cary Grant is the 1.0  version of George Clooney.)

3) Never dwell on the past, unless you are dwelling on Cary Grant's pant size, and then that's fine. 

 

Also, take up golf, because you might meet an eccentric millionaire. Aviator Howard Hughes landed his helicopter on a golf course and ripped up the turf. This made Hepburn, who was there golfing with her fat friend, think Hughes was an ass. Then, he sweet talked her over dinner one night. They were playing "The Bachelor" before it was cool and then cool in an ironic way.  And then just sad.

Speaking of reckless behavior, I spent the other half of my hiatus drunk -- just not in a bar or even a secluded ocean cabana. On a Saturday afternoon in a nail salon, I sat back in the massage chair and my pedicurist asked if I wanted a drink. I said no thanks, I'm not going to pay $5 for cranberry juice. Then she said it came with the service. It was free.

Yes, I'll have one Margarita please.

My new friend brought me a cold Margarita in a real glass with a real lime and real salt around the rim. I took small sips at first and could barely taste the tequila. Then I picked up the pace. My brain warmed up like a fresh yeast roll in the oven. My sister told me I was buzzed, but I didn't believe her. I was too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote control on my massage chair. Did I want to be flapped, kneaded, or knocked? 

Then, a random 6-year-old ran across the room, wearing the coolest sunglasses I had ever seen. 

"I love this chair; I like that kid," I said to my sister while pointing at said kid, as if we were on "The Voice" and I was putting dibs on this fresh young talent. I was Cee Lo Green, my sister was Christina Aguilera. I was cooler (and thinner) than her in my own mind.

There you have it, kids. Grown ups on vacation read books about deceased movie stars, get wasted while getting our nails done, and yak about stuff we have no right even thinking about. You have a lot to look forward to, especially self-delusion.

I'm back to writing about the hard-hitting issues in Look It's Joanne. Check out my latest report with Fox News Edge. As you can see (at second 46), American Idol nobody Justin Guarini is not going to be happy with me. He will probably stop reading this blog, unless I can interest him in a free nail salon Margarita.

Appropriate Valentine Behavior (and Xtina melting into a drag queen)

Some people call it the most romantic day of the year. For others it’s Singles Awareness Day, when you can eat a very unromantic yet satisfying burrito at Taco Bell. I for one don’t believe in either. Valentine’s Day is a time for me to gorge on heart-shaped Dove chocolates. I look forward to it every February 14. Unfortunately, I bought two bags too many to prove my fortunes wrong.

Actual Photo of Christina Aguilera, "The Voice"

What used to be the best part of Dove chocolates was a happily prophetic message inside each wrapper. I’m always a fan of finding out what’s going to happen to me without asking someone who actually knows me. Now the tide has turned, and I’m no longer simply told to “Remember my first crush.” This is Chinese fortune cookie realness. One morning (yes, that’s right) I opened one to reveal this command: “Watch the sun come up,” and then a second to “Share a sunset.” This had to have cosmic meaning in my life, but I didn’t know what.

I turned to the one person who could succinctly sort this out. My bus friend, we’ll call him Jeff, always has a solution. Since he had taken his car to work, I emailed him my problem, imploring, “Is the universe trying to tell me something?” I waited impatiently for an answer like he was a shaken Magic Eight Ball that hadn’t settled yet. Then the blue triangle finally flipped. “LISTEN,” he wrote, “they are in the wrong order. It should be, ‘share a sunset’ then ‘watch the sun come up.’” Lastly, with his (and now my) juvenile penchant for adding “in bed” to the end of fortunes, I got the message. I was not a very romantic person.

I’ve never watched a sunrise. And romance? Last Valentine’s Day my bestie and I loudly read from “The Vagina Monologues” and baked a giant sugar cookie replica of Christina Aguilera that melted (our goal was to make a drag queen clutching a shank and a baby, so close enough). I never begrudged not having a Valentine because when I did, it was the worst. Such a commitment meant you couldn’t phone it in. You had to wear diaphanous polyester tops to look “soft and feminine” and say “I love hydrangeas” even though you are so Madonna about them.

Since childhood, I have practiced Appropriate Valentine Behavior. Hands to yourself, candy in those hands. In second grade, Timothy Ducey unceremoniously broke my rule of Appropriate Valentine Behavior. He was my first man friend (non-dad category) that I babbled to about my life over lunch. One day at recess, I fell on the basketball court and Timothy used the opportunity to clumsily kiss me. I was not happy.

Source of My "Misfortune"

That Valentine’s Day, I made an effort, thanks to my mom trying to make me less brazen towards non-people. I baked Timothy a sumptuous heart-shaped cookie smothered in fresh frosting. I picked a card that said, “Like You Lots,” with Barbie giving vapid bedroom eyes. If that was not suggestive, I didn’t know what was. What sexually-charged Valentine did Timothy give me in return? A baseball card that said, “You knock it out of the park” or some other lame sports double entendre. I palpitated with liquid hot rage. Here I had poured my feelings out and he replied with a handshake. Going back to being lunch besties was not an option.

Share a sunset? Watch the sun come up? I was still stuck in second grade. Luckily, my "misfortune" had inspired me to school myself on finding romance my way. Which might involve first making a heart-shaped or drag queen cookie. Or both.

By the way, Jeff unfortunately knows all about my Timothy Ducey issue, which just shows how you bring baggage into a new man friendship. Thankfully he gives me sound advice or makes me laugh. I’ll need it. The last two times I went out for Chinese, I got these fortunes: “A chance meeting with a stranger will probably change your life” and “Watch for a stranger to soon become a friend."