Tag Archives: travel

The Airplane Blog

22 Oct

I’m one bottle into two minis of red, (my dinner,  thank you Iceland Air), listening to Bjork via ear buds, because: Iceland. 

…Meanwhile, the quaintly circa 1965 pill-box-hatted-and-scarved stewardesses (Flight Staff? Attendants?) are trying to shill me duty-free jewelry. 
…And I really have to pee. But I’m a window seat in a row of three. So am waiting for the guy on the  aisle, (with two beers in him), to start the stampede.

…Goddamn,  he can hold his beer.

…Don’t you have to pee yet,  guy?!  Beer makes *me* need to pee! *Instantly!* And often! 

When I saw Aisle Guy get two beers and a water I was all, “FREAKIN SWEET! He’ll for *sure* have to pee soon…at *least* as much as I do (already before I decided to drink dinner.)”

…But, no.

…Enjoy that youthfull prostate,  young guy. It only goes down from here.

Focus on distraction. 

…Bjork. 

…What *is* it? 

…(Other than many cellos, synth, electric keyboards, and a small bird voice saying words that are English,  but don’t really make actual sentences together?) 

Meanwhile: finally got to see “Hitchcock. ” I like that it’s an Alma love -letter. That woman was the Eleanore Roosevelt of his career. It’s about damn *time* someone noticed… 

…So, so, so distracted by bladder right now. It’s starting to hurt. But nice,  silent, Nordic Knitting Woman beside me,  makes me wary of making the first move. 

….A silent letter,  sent mentally to two seats over:

Dear Aisle  Guy, 

Remember those beers? And that bottle of water? No?  Well I remember my pre-flight apple juice and dinner of Syrah. 

GET THE FUCK UP. 

With Gratitude,

~Window Seat Lush

***

(Later) 

…Peeing is magnificent. Don’t ever take it for granted again.

***

(Even Later) 

Have given up on Bjork. Maybe I’ll like their breakfast foods or foreign films…

…Am chillin now with my girl Adele, trying really hard not to belt along. It is more difficult than I thought it would be. Am thinking the words and making all the faces anyway. 

Vacation is fun.

…Even in a hollow tube streaking a zillion miles per hour, by magic and science, (but mostly magic) across the sky. 

…Speaking of that: my onboard consul tells me we are roughly half way to this place which is supposed to heavily resemble Mars (according to others who have been there…to Iceland, that is,  not Mars… Though how the fuck they know enough about Mars topography to equate it, I’ll never know.) 

…Because of flight mode,  I have no idea what time it really is,  or what time zone I’m in. I suspect (because I’m still rocking it over Canada,) I’m three hrs ahead… ish. 

…Oh,  Canada… 

(Wonders where Cecil is,  in her journey. Wonders if she drank dinner too. Wonders if anyone lost bets that I chose wine instead of the Johnny Walker Black option. *I* did. I *totally* owe me a whiskey on that loss. Later. Maybe for breakfast.)

(…I’m only a little bit kidding.) 

***

(Later) 

“When Harry Met Sally” because: (no reason besides, “it’s ‘When Harry Met Sally,'” will ever be needed in this life.)

**

(Even Later)

This scene:

**
(Later,  later) 

Whatever creation Nordic Knitting Woman is making next to me,  requires a seven page booklet of number and letter charting, which she’s added math equations to…along with occasional liner notes, all of which are a mystery. Because of her mother tongue. And: math. 

 …Every row’s end, she stops, charts, flips pages, and writes more. With the length she currently working on – and given the tiny,  tiny yarn thickness -she must have started this project about two years ago. Or maybe 20. And I can’t even tell what the hell it’s supposed to be,  yet. 

A scarf? An infant’s blanket? Dear God,  I hope not the front part of a sweater. She’s already well into her sixties. She’ll never survive both arms. 

**

(Later-ish)

WATER!! 

Remember back when I had to piss like a racehorse?  I peed so hard, I caused full Exodus of fluid from my entire body. I’ve been a living Sahara for like two hours now. But the lovely-beautiful-fantastical-retro-badass-ladies-who-take-care-of-us (like magical Stage Managers in the sky) just showed up with another cart. 

I love you, Iceland Air. 

And it’s a real love. 

Not like with Delta.

**

(Later,  still.) 

Reached Iceland. 

Close you eyes. 

That is what I saw of it. Pitch black still past 6 am… They didn’t let us leave the inner concourse if traveling to UK, I was immediately put into a line (and then an all glass holding pen) with no bathrooms or way to get water… until about 20 mins later, when they opened another glass door, and we all pushed through the rain in blackness, on the tarmac, to get to our plane. 

…And that’s what I saw of Iceland. 

The end. 

**

(Flight 2)

I smell. And a lot of people all around me do too. But not as much as the Axe Body Spray walking advertisement, somewhere within 12 rows of me.

..

My nostrils are burning, and am wondering what is truly worse: BO or American Bro.

Jury is still out. 

I need sleep. 

And a drink. 

…And to find a way to put Axe Body Spray out of business. 

***

(At Last) 

OMG. 

I am in England. 

ūüėÄ

~D

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Thoughts (1 Day Before London) 

20 Oct

Have got a lot of travel-time alone, to do all my normal freak-out things tomorrow…as Cecil and I are on totally different flights. She’ll be kicking it with family in Boston hours before I reach Reykjavik. She lands at Gatwick, I’m touching down in Heathrow. 
…And where, in “normal-world” anxiety terms, that’s just fun adventure…for people like me,  the fact I’m getting on a damn plane to Iceland, and have 55 minutes to get through customs and to my London flight… should be seriously freaking me the fuck out right now. 

…I dunno why,  but for the moment at least, I’m totally fine with it. 

…Where last night was my third consecutive one of shit sleep, it isn’t due to crippling fear or pacing. My nights have been 300% consumed in mapping, ticket-buying, and investingating all the stuff we could do (if we want to), will do (cuz we need to), and might do, despite all odds. 

…Between London, Brighton, Warrington, and Stratford (so far on our lists), that is a pretty consuming occupation. So much so,  that my brain doesn’t have time to flip out and require multiple distractions and interfacing from TVs, computers, bright lights, and other people…which is it’s usual demand. 

I prefer this way. 

…In the best of circumstances, it never has time to blip over to the shitty stage. This would be my brain Mecca of Zen….whilst mid world-altering happenings I cannot control,  take place all around me, and I partake, blissfully, and completely okay with it. 

And it might just happen. 

…How I know is, today when the Whs guy was all, “So. Vacation,  huh? Where yuh goin’? Hawaii? ”

…I said, “Nope. London. ”

…And he’s all, “Holy shit! ”

…And for the first time all week, I started to tear up. Not cuz of a 2 a.m. anxiety attack, period emo anger, or night-sweating hypochondriac freak-outs. 

…It was cuz:

Holy shit. 

I am going to fucking London. 

Tomorrow. 

To take theatre classes. 

The number one thing I’ve wanted to do. 

My entire life. 

My top plan. 

For me. 

…I’ve got a lot of people to thank for helping me get here, and a hell of a lot of cheerleaders backing me. 

…But I’m one of those people too. And even with the sometimes cripplingness that is me… 

I. mutherfucking. made it. 

(You’d choke up too) 

ūüėā

~D

Thoughts (4 Days Before London) 

17 Oct

Freaking Out

26 Sep

..But in a good way. 

Today, I received m’student pkt, and picked through my first class syllabus in 18 years. 

…As an International Student and Guest Artist at The Actors Centre in London, (Omg. Seriously, this shit just got real), I’ve 43 hours of five workshops with award winning directors, actors, and writers from the BBC, RSC, National, Globe, LAMDA, London Film School, (and a whole hell of a lot more), picked out, for our two-week stay…which I’ve decided to call my, “If Its Pissing Rain Every Second We Are Here There’s Still Plenty Of Shit To Do” list. This center is a fucking phenomenal resource with a 72 page course option list, just within our three month attendance period…and those I’ve chosen to focus on, primarily work on character development and playwriting. 

…Am particularly freaking out over the Glen Walford workshop, “Confidence Tricks,” as not only will that class be aired, but this woman’s sick International resum√® is secretly topped for me by being the person who commissioned and directed “Shirley Valentine,” (my “Educating Rita”sister show) and being a frequent collaborator with Willy Russell

The schedule I’ve chosen would have me in London proper for both weeks, so traveling to see buds in Warrington and Scotland would mean a secondary cut to a “VIP Must List.” Which is damn hard to weed down from the opportunities just laying here in front of me. But four days’ intensive work with Walford and Jason Riddington are my essential “gotta hit thats, ” on top of (hopefully) making some new acting buds abroad, and bringing home about 47 new dialects to play with on stage sometime. 

…It’s surreal, and kinda freaky, but completely what I’m supposed to be doing and I’m just about to trust that enough not to have an anxiety attack when I think that in 25 days, we’ll be in London… eating crumpets and ramen nearly exclusively, so we can throw all the money we haven’t got at theatre! 

…And with that much appreciated student discount card in our pockets, yo! 

Let’s do this thing. 

~D

Texting: A Holiday Prep Guide

23 Nov

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Am leaving on a jetplane soon to visit The BFF in NOLA.

…I am by turn, excited and nervous about it. Cuz I never go anywhere certainly not alone across the U.S.. Certainly not ’round the holidays. Certainly not with almost no bucks after travel costs are all said n’ done. And I’ve no idea what to really expect…so I just make it up in a myriad of scenarios. Cuz I’m me and can’t just let a thing “be.”

…Which is how texting mini conversations like this happen:

Me: …We can do stuff suuuuuper on the cheap, right?

The BFF: Oh yes. Im basically broke but we can still manage to drink fine wines and eat fancy cheese.

Me: Your version of “broke” and mine are very different.

The BFF: We will go grocery shopping for the week and just cook all the time.

Me: …I love the cooking idea. Just NO jambalaya-gumbo fish food!!

The BFF: …Jambalaya is just rice, chicken and sausage. And gumbo doesnt have fish in it either.

Me: I think you’re lying and will cut em up all sneaky like and slip them in when I’m not looking. But I will know. I always know.

The BFF: You will get a fine sampling of cajun and creole food w/o having to eat any fish.

Me: Well fine. I guess. But I know you…

The BFF: …And there will be begniets. Just think about that!

Me: I don’t even know what begniets are…but as long as it’s hidden with no antenna or crustacean skeleton sticking out…I’ll try it. But I won’t promise to swallow.

The BFF: Subject: Beignet – Wikipedia the free encyclopedia
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beignet

Me: Kay…now I want like twelve.

***
Email exchange #4 of prob’ly 400:

The BFF: Here is a completely preliminary and not at all definitive guide to some of the many New Orleans activities we may take part in on your visit. Just to whet your whistle, so to speak. ūüėČ

Go to this Tiki bar: 
https://www.facebook.com/TikiTolteca 

Eat Beignets 
(You already know about those) 

Get a Po Boy at Verti Marte or Parkway Bakery 
http://www.yelp.com/biz/verti-marte-new-orleans-2 

Drink at Tonique 
http://bartonique.com 

Drink at Bacchanal (weather permitting)  
http://www.bacchanalwine.com  

Day Drink/Window Shop in the French Quarter 
 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Quarter   

Get Pho on the Westbank
http://dpbanhmi.com/DP_Bakery/Welcome.html 

Go to City Park and just hang out/go to Celebration in the Oaks 
http://neworleanscitypark.com/celebration-in-the-oaks 

Go see some graveyards! 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Louis_Cemetery 

Go see a Christmas Carol (we have comps obviously)
http://www.southernrep.com

Eat some croissants at the Maple St. Patisserie 
http://cargocollective.com/maplestreetpatisserie 

Ride Bikes! 

Walk in Crescent Park! 
http://www.reinventingthecrescent.org 

Take a walking tour? 

 
Go see this amazing cellist play in the St. louis Cathedral for free! 
https://holiday.neworleansonline.com/events/cathedral-christmas-concerts-4-3/

Go to the Frenchmen Night Market  
http://frenchmenartmarket.com 

More to come! 

Me: I LOVE Cathedral-playing cellists, numerous drinking establishments, plays, food, and doing stuff when normal people are sleeping!!! This is gonna be too FREAKING COOL.  And also like, super secret-back-door-non-normal-touristy.  I get my own guides who LIVE THERE! And also: Graveyards are like my favorite thing outside of book stores and THOSE ones have got to be amazeballs.

I CANNOT WAIT!!!!

***
The BFF: …So, on your last night in nola, we will be hosting a holiday cocktail party to introduce you to all of our friends. Cocktail attire is manditory.

Me: Shut up I’ll be so socially awkward…we better drink alot! Remind me in like a week. CUZ ILL BE PACKING IN LIKE ONE FUCKING WEEK!

The BFF: You’ll be fine!! And yes, yes I will.

Me: I’m sick excited. And scared. Cuz I’m me.

The BFF: Dont be scared. Its us. We will take care of you.

Me: I know. I’m a nerd. Did you forget? I’ll remind you often in that week…

The BFF: You are a nerd. But dont stress. Its going to be great!

Me: I know that too ūüôā Am having pre shocks of awesome. Like was at World Market yesterday and thought of you (as always) and I was all: “OH! HEY! We gotta stock a bunch of wine for late at night….oh wait they just drink in the streets there! Oh hey, we should bake this thing! Oh hey, what about that?! Xmas cookies!!!! Oh hey, do I need gloves and stuff just in case or will it really be like 60 degrees there….?”

…Things like that. Then I get all excited and happy!

The BFF: ūüėÄ also, yes bring your pea coat. It gets a bit chilly.

***

Me: Um. Do I need bug repellent for monster blood-eating plague passers?

The BFF: Naw they’ll all be dead by then.

Me: …So all I have to worry about is stepping on their decaying carcasses. So: boots.

…also, what’s the swamp death probability ratio in winter, tween alligators and sink-pits?

…luckily I’m on my period now, so won’t have to worry about that part…like when my bff in high school went to the Congo and was warned all the animals off the trail would smell it and go psycho so she’d have to “watch out.” Whatever the hell THAT means in darkest Africa…

(P.S. I’m only partially joking.)

The BFF: No swamp death! Thats not a thing.

Me: I think it maybe is. They just Dont tell the tourists. Also: voodoo. So you’re not supposed to piss off the natives or accidentally desecrate something by say peeing or puking on it.

The BFF: Exactly.

Me: …Which is prob’ly a lot harder than you’d think, what with all that wandering around and drinking freely thing they all do. But I’ll try my best. Gosh. So many things to remember…

***

…Which is why I rarely actually go anywhere. Frankly, even the anticipation prep is exhausting.

But it’ll be so freakin worth it once I’m there, with two of the best humans on the planet to be m’guide ūüėÄ

~D

Advanced Retreat Into A Sunny Day

23 Sep

image

Like zero sleep last night. 

…Started off with a ridiculous cat in heat who decided to yowl right outside my bedroom window.¬† I kept telling her to shut the hell up and have some dignity, but she refused to listen to me.¬† Around two or so she must have stopped, cuz the next time I opened my eyes to look at the clock, it was five.¬† This time, it was Mrs. Johnson’s fault.¬† She wanted her pill-cocktail, so I had to get up, shove some food down m’throat and toss back the meds, then go back to bed clutching my guts and moaning.

…I put on Netflix to keep me company.¬† Ancient Egypt.¬† Mostly stuff on King Tut.

…I’m a little obsessed with mummies and tombs.

…And also serial killers and the Holocaust.

…If my theory is correct, (that whatever you are obsessed with in life, is because you have some sort of formal connection to it in the past…not necessarily in a “past life” per se, but possibly, and at the very least you were somehow present in a spirit or energy form around a person who was having that experience¬† at the time…kinda like a cling-on to a host), then I’ve witnessed me some SERIOUSLY disturbing shit in my time.¬† And yet where I can watch endless documentaries on it without residual affect (besides weeping), I CANNOT watch any of those things in a Hollywood film with viscera and guts just flying all over the place.

I don’t know why.

The REAL things are so much more disturbing.¬† You’d think THOSE would be the ones to haunt me. But no.

…I got this idea for a book a couple years ago, based on the Jack the Ripper case and spent the better part of NINE MONTHS with my nose in German Victorian dissecting books, and pouring over the snapshots of every attributed victim’s remains.¬† It was completely disgusting (and necessary…and gory…and disturbing as hell), yet it needed to be done in order to get the thing done correctly.¬† I’m talking some TRULY gorrific stuff, here.¬† And yet, I can’t even watch Hospital dramas or detective junk on T.V. without nightmares.

…I went through most of my childhood COMPLETELY surrounded in Holocaust literature and history books, because the empathy (yes, “empathy,” not “sympathy”) for these people was totally unexplainable.¬†

…The Romanov family massacre, and possible survival of one of the children, completely fascinates me.

…The tombs of the ancient Pharaohs, are crazy interesting, and I will watch anything regarding Egyptology, at any time.

…The era of WWII in general, (from it’s music to social customs) feels like a natural default that I could easily slip right into, were I to magically teleport into it one day.

…England is clearly my main base “home”…it just calls to the roots of me.

…And I relate to Bronte & Austen era books, character feelings, and frustrations far too much to NOT have (in some way) participated in them, historically.

So, when I can’t sleep…these are strangely, the places I retreat to…either in book form or film…to ease me back to an even keel and drift me off to sleep again.

Weird, I know.  But what are yuh gonna do?

…So through five, six, seven o’clock this morning…I soaked up History Channel explorations and tried not to think about how badly my stomach hurt, and how The BFF was gonna be leaving today.¬†

It was a good sidetrack for a while. 

Until it wasn’t, anymore.¬†

She and The Fella buzzed the door at nine, with coffees in hand.¬† A last “hurrah,” before they started their week-long road trip enroute to L.A..¬† First stop: the ocean for the night, then onto Ashland for a couple of plays at the Oregon Shakes…then two days in Vegas with The Fella’s aunt, and next to visit her brother in S.F..¬† Then: L.A.¬†

…I’ll be pickin’ The Fella up from the airport next Saturday.

Our coffee was had.  Ridiculous teasing and riffing, took place.  I gave her a monster hug. And she was on her way.

…I’m really excited for her.¬† And really bummed for me.¬† And the thing I wanna do most right now is just hermit away this sunny day by watching incredibly depressing history lessons of my possible past lives on Netflix, until rehearsal rips me out of my moroseness at four P.M.

That’s all I wanna do right now.

…But in my head, I can hear her say something like, “Fuck that shit!¬† It’s sunny!¬† Get out in that and play!”

I’m negotiating with Mrs. Johnson right now to see if she’s either with me on this, or I need to beat her into submission. Cuz moping is NOT the answer.¬† And I know it.

…SEE how good The BFF has trained me?!

FUCK it’s really gonna suck to be without her.

~D

A Letter To The BFF, As She Moves To L.A.

22 Sep

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The BFF is leaving tomorrow.

…Not forever, just a few months…but I still don’t like it.¬† I know she’s coming back no matter what, because I’m holding The Fella and all my booze for ransom, but she’s kinda getting in the habit of ditching us…and that isn’t cool.¬†

…This one time, she did it for a whole semester in Dublin, and had WAY more fun than me, then decided to travel the whole fucking continent of Europe, before she ever came back home again. And where I’m way more jealous of her doing that, I still don’t totally agree with the whole “plan” she has mapped out right now. But, I guess she’s going anyway.

…Because she secretly hates us.

The flip side of this is that she’s moving to L.A., where NO ONE has more fun. Because they’re too busy being starving-hungry on purpose all the time.¬† And they have to get everything waxed so they look like hairless rats.¬† And always bleach their teeth and eye whites.¬† And get injections into their faces, of juice toxins they make bombs out of. And meat (outside of the porn biz) is totally outlawed there.¬†

…I heard this one time? A girl gained .002 of an ounce, just by¬†accidentally breathing in beef spores from the lunch meat on the Kraft Service table, and she was totally kicked off the movie set. On breach of contract.¬† That’s when they first passed the law, I think.¬† It’s one of those lesser-known ones that people don’t really talk about, just inherently “know.” Like the one where your boobs have to be bigger than your butt cheeks…and brunettes can only play “evil”, or “the girl-next-door”…and everyone spends two hours applying makeup before they drive into the studio to get their makeup done for “real”, in case of paparazzi.*

(* That last one isn’t a real law, just a good idea in general.¬† Have you SEEN the covers of The Star and National Enquirer? Okay, then…)

…BTdubs…best get used to the rash of arrant-misinformation-factoid-news-stories NOW, cuz they sure as hell ain’t gonna get any better.

…But I digress.¬†

This was all supposed to be a letter. A letter of wise words to send my non-blood sister out into the wide-wide world with. Even though she’s already seen ten times more of it than I have.¬† However, she also almost died that one time…in that Romanian hostel pit from hell, (that she saw fit to spend a night in once and somehow live to tell about.)¬† And it’s because of things like this, that I feel obligated to list out a few “do’s” and “don’ts” for her.¬† You know…just in case she gets the feeling to check into a Bates Motel, or work at a strip joint, or shack up with some roomies that turn out to be Colombian Drug Lords.

I only say these things, because I love her.

…Which I wish she would keep in mind.

***

Dear The BFF,

I bought a tiny jar of dill pickles today, and it was tragic. I couldn’t do the big Costco one this time…know why? You won’t be here to help eat them. And after three months or whatever in L.A., you’ll prob’ly never eat dill pickles, ever again. “Too much salt and food content,” you’ll say.

…And you won’t fry things in butter anymore. Or bake cakes. And you’ll go back to eating tofu sandwiches – minus the bread – which is just tofu really, only you’ll still call it a sandwich…because clearly it is made of at least two foods: “to” and “fu”…so that’s a full meal right there…on the occasion that you still even eat food, that is.

(P.S. I hear they have a new surgery now, where they take out your taste buds so you can just totally give up and not even care about food at all, anymore.)

…When you come home again, I will ultimately just disgust you, with my buttersauce ways, and fat-pudge. And you’ll take out an ad to hold Open Casting for a new BFF…one with less evil chub, who doesn’t smell like meat products all the time. Possibly a blond. With a single syllable name…which doesn’t require spelling and pronunciation lessons every time it is given.

(P.S.S. I heard they have this service where you can just order friends off a menu, on Sunset. But if you get the wrong “package deal,” they’ll send you themed strippers instead. This one chick I know, ended up with a Latina in lederhosen holding a Heineken, on her doorstep…when all she wanted was someone to go shopping with.)

…You’ll also be buddies with all the famous people, after this, and have free designer clothes…and know all the new “in” words, so I won’t have any idea what in the hell you’re even talking about anymore…

“Those shoes are just ralsh of viv for the rycalm of it all. I bet Mila and Natalie have ’em. I was at this dinner once, hashing with Reese, Russell & Amy and they were all: ‘you are monster jade, you know that?’ And, O-M-G…did you SEE what Amanda was wearing at that one award show? What a drosh…it was sooooo last season.”

“…The hell?” I will sadly respond.

“Seriously. I cannot even believe I once thought you were Ivan in the sweet and we were all xadish. What a fucking Kevlar I was,” you will reply.

(P.S.S.S. Someone told me this one time that the real reason it’s so hard to break it into Hollywood, is because of the language barrier. Tons of people just never pick it up. Which is prob’ly why almost all the major stars are Foreign. Cuz they already speak nine or ten other languages, so it’s easier for them to pick it up somehow.)

…Of course, I am just panicking and jumping to conclusions here…(which, hello, is totally what I do)…but the innermost “me” knows this is all ridiculous, because you would NEVER betray food like that. Or me. (And I’m totally fine that that is the order we come in.) But I still worry ’bout things.

…Just…you know what? Do me a favor. Maybe find out where ever Winslet, Fey, Pitt, Clooney, Hathaway…the cast of “How I Met your Mother,” or the Whedonites are hanging out…and go be with them. Cuz they’re “real.” I’m told they still have all their original bone structure and skin, even. It would really make me feel better…just “in general.”

Also:

* Don’t ever “borrow” someone’s office couch to crash on…it’s prob’ly got enough generations of movie-starlette spunk on it, to disgust even a garbage man.

* Don’t walk Hollywood Blvd after dusk…especially after a party…people will stop their cars and offer you money to turn a trick.

* Don’t take money from people, while agreeing to “turn a trick.” It isn’t what you think it is. There are no magic doves, disappearing acts, or decks of cards involved in the kind they want. And if there are, you’re even MORE screwed. (Pun intended.)

* If you HAVE to shop lift, (in total emergency situations), wait until you see which store Winona Ryder is going into. When the alarm goes off, point at her. They will totally believe you. Then, when the security guards start to frisk her: run.

* “Organic” special nature California foods, are just a giant trick. ALL produce grows in or from dirt. The end. So don’t pay extra just because they tell you different. (I know I’ve already been having this same argument with you for two years, but it’s not gonna stop now. Isn’t constancy nice?)

* If you go shopping on Rodeo Drive, keep your sunglasses on the whole time, and sneer at the saleswomen like Patsy in “Ab-Fab.” In the words of Meg Ryan from “French Kiss”: “If you’re nice to them, they will treat you like shit, treat THEM like shit, and they’ll love you.”

* Don’t catch any wild ideas about future children’s names and weird charities you wanna sponsor. There are plenty of real ones in both cases, so use/support them. Just for the record: I absolutely refuse to call your kid “Cumquat” or “Pumernickle” or “Spring Rain” or “Ra-$h8-tra.” And I won’t run twenty miles to support the Pygmy Marmoset Dwarf Monkeys of Ecuador. So don’t ask.

* If you run into any of the list of men I gave you before you left, give them my number and tell them to call me.

…And…

* If you accidentally find yourself rich, bring me back something from Tiffany’s.

…For now, that should do it. I feel like I took care of all the really important stuff. Except to say: “I love you…and don’t forget me.”

…And also, I fucking miss you already.

Sincerely,

~ Your BFF

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