Thanks Bone for the words. This is a continuation of the Dinah storie
It was early on one of the longest evenings of the year. Early summer is still fraught with possibilities. The heat hasn’t lingered too long nor has the humidity made its way down to the concrete then back up again. Actually she loved that about summer. Concentrated humidity never failed to amaze and delight her. Unlike most she shone, and not just skin, in hotter than hot temperatures.

She loved getting off planes in the middle of New York winters in some tropical island, the humidity with whatever smells enveloping and folding into each crevice of her body.

But it was New York she craved and not the New York of today. Not a sentimental old fool but a pragmatist she knew the New York she had loved couldn’t be replicated in a city so pricey people were constantly in bad moods. Of course Brooklyn counted but to get to a less pricey section one had to traverse past any die hard New Yorker’s comfort zones.

And then. back in the 80′s, never back in the day, it was different, though felt mundane, the experience one felt walking down Prince or some similar street while catching the attention of some Versace clad, long styled hair tied in a pony tail artist who had made it and his differently clad best friend who would make it exactly four years two months and three days later but of course had no way of knowing that then.

Her name was Dinah. She was to make it in two years two months two weeks and two hours from that early June day so hot businesses with failing AC were closing early. Dinah wasn’t prescient but she kind of knew that success was to be hers if she continued taking photographs, deconstructing them, adding paint and little stories. Though she knew that wasn’t what she going to be famous for but short stories that talked about life in this city.

Now she was older and divorced from both the Versace clad artist and his best friend.
“If I have no attention span”, she asked her therapist one day, “how am I too remain interested in any man?”

Though Dinah was known for her iconic use of irony the question wasn’t ironic but one she asked everybody. As a young girl she had jumped from project to project, interest to interest. Unlike many she never had to worry about money and for that she was grateful.

In the 80′s there were the obscenely rich as exemplified by Gayfryd and Saul Steinberg, and the merely wealthy who never flaunted their money but took full advantage of it by traveling far and wide and recovering from such jaunts at The Breakers in Palm Beach rather than Miami.

Dinah had been a rock star’s wife in the 70′s. Dinah had loved the life, the constant touring suited her temperament and ADHD if they were different. She never minded the groupies, and found each rumor about her husband to be sexually stimulating. She hadn’t left after their second marriage because she was bored, out of love, or for any of the usual reasons. She had left because she craved something uniquely hers. Quite possibly that was the usual reason and the cliche of the 70′s.

“Shake, rattle and roll,” Dinah loved old rock & roll. Her interviews with pioneers of rock had become a staple in Rolling Stone She wasn’t content with the interviews They were too easy. She could listen to the music, listen to both the lyrics and the music and feel it in her bones. The questions just came flowing out, and the spontaneous answers worthy of recording.

Her coffee table book, Shake it! was unexpected in 78 and probably the first time Dinah really made it but it was too simple.

Only now in her 50′s when Dinah came to New York to see friends or on business did she appreciate simple
This is Gay Pride weekend in New York and many places. If I don’t write about–many of my best friends died before becoming 35. I prefer to think of them before the monster that ruined so many lives. In a way I live in a fantasy world where everybody lived to be old
Sex is wonderful. Keep it safe. That goes for everybody.
I had a page about non verbal learning disorder. Oh sweet irony of life, it didn’t work. This is an old post about what life’s like with it.
This is another
The thing is when you have a neurobiological disorder it truly angers you when people say that everything can be solved by living in the moment and by other self help methods.
My life has been easier than many as I have loving friends. family and some resources. But I had to figure out what was wrong. I deprived myself of so much and still am not a bitter person. That’s a miracle and I do feel blessed.
I’m just beginning to get back into form. This is a pure exercise and a continuation of the Dinah stories. God knows why but I’m in love with names like Dinah and Delilah. The title is really for a longer story. I haven’t written that part yet but have it in my head. I’m also in love with the character Dinah as there’s so many places I can go with her.

Mea Culpa. Parts of high school are a blur as I was really out living not staying home listening to music or studying unfortunately–except for Eleventh Grade American History as it was easy for me and my Senior Class Thesis. Murray the K was an important part of my life in elementary school through whenever. I listened to WOR but don’t remember it as distinctly as WNEW FM.

My test is eclectic and my books reflect that. The realtors asked me to leave my CD’s which make me seem as if ten people inhabit my body. I took many of the actual CD’s and left the jewel cases. If I’m not making much sense lately forgive me. This is a difficult move and summer is my favorite time in New York. I will be back for Labor Day week and I guess part of the week before. It’s the single best time to be in the city.

This is an article about the station that defended George Carlin’s “Seven Words.”

It’s a more important article than it seems to be on the surface as it shows how much we have regressed as a society and as people in the past 35 years.

It talks about Larry Josephson who was the program manager then. When I was in the early years of high school he was the DJ who had the morning shift. His program was supposed to start at 7 AM but he often didn’t get to the station until 7:30 or slightly before. As my clock radio was set to the station I would sleep late and have to wake one of my parents to drive me to school.

“Larry’s late,” was an acceptable lateness in my house though I doubt in my school. My father slept until 9;30. He believed in kids paying dues, working from the bottom up etc., but he thought everybody should be able to sleep late.

I’m sure Larry played music but i don’t remember most of it. i remember him talking about rancid bagel juice or butter.

Then WNEW FM, the first album oriented station began and I stopped listening to BAI. There was no contest. I was a rock chick not a folkie. The morning DJ and I forget who it was, wasn’t late so I almost never missed the bus again. My idol Murray The K was the evening DJ. Allison Steele who had a voice I emulate was the nightbird, but Roscoe (the first big Black msm DJ was too, I’m a bit confused but not going to look this up.)

The most difficult part of becoming an adult was realizing that unlike my parents I needed two hours at least in the morning, not fifteen minutes to get ready. Most of the time i spaced out to the mirror in my bathroom and held my coffee cup.

I would listen to BAI once a year–the Thanksgiving Song “Alice’s Restaurant,” but FUV took over or continued that tradtion. I always feel bad that I’m an FUV person not a BAI one but I like rock.

My father was a closet BAI listener. He claimed to hate music but would tell long long long anecdotes about Carly Simon, for example. It was in character for a man who went to Stockbridge to get a ticket from Officer Oppie who was a real person and a character in “Alice’s Restaurant.”

I go visit “my post” as I think of it. When I return to South Carolina I will put a page of blog posts about me, maybe even pay Newsday for the interview they did though why I should pay is beyond me, and get the LIP to put back the cover story.

I’m into shameless self-promotion as I admit it just gets more and more difficult for me to blog. I was talking tp somebody this afternoon and I think I sounded delusional when I explained what this blog used to be, a long long time ago in blogspeak.

It amazes me how “literary” blogging has become. My first eighteen months if I wrote fiction or just a memory piece the radical right would come swooping down telling me how unwanted I was. I wear those psychic scars and scars from life but they’re melding together and healing into something different. Problem is I’m not truly sure what yet.

Yesterday I was reading a book about writing and it said “don’t try this if….” and I realized that the biggest “no” a major move is what my life has been reduced to.

Living in New York makes you think differently than anywhere else. I might rent instead of buying after selling and i pay my credit card bill every two weeks so I can have an “excellent” debt to income ratio. That’s crazy. That’s New York. I went to a hair salon, near my house, to find out how much a blow dry and flat iron costs. “$65 for normal hair. It begins at $85 for thick hair like yours.” Then I went to a chain salon on Broadway “It begins at $45.” Lucia said she will do it for $85 plus tip

This visit I have been getting many “you in South Carolina? What are you going to do?” Think straightly for one thing. Yet damn I’m back to loving this city. This morning I walked to the dentist. My dentists are on Fifth Avenue in a building my sister and I cleverly call “the dentist’s building” as it seems when a dentist “makes” it in New York he/she moves offices to 800 Fifth Avenue.

It was misting and i walked the long way through Central Park–to Seventh Avenue. It felt as if I were in a Impressionist painting or at least Green or Hyde Parks in London.

i passed the building I always wanted to live in when I was a child and teenager–a roundish building on Central Park South. Not that I have ever been in it and I did want it moved down to The Village.

I hadn’t been in Bloomingdales in years. It was the last place I saw my father alive and….So i went in, bought a dress that reminds me of my mother and had a long talk with a saleswoman about her mother.

On my way to another appointment I stopped at a discount optician, bought prescription swim goggles and two pairs of incredible glasses that I know I would have a hard time finding outside of New York.

I couldn’t stop looking at buildings (my true museum) and people with very uncritical eyes.

I haven’t been away from New York ths long since I was in my 20′s and I was continually struck by the New York flair. It’s so unique and amazing. It’s not that people other places don’t dress well it’s that New Yorker’s add something and I’m not really sure what it is.

I hope I have it. I hope that I add something New York to South Carolina. When I wrote about Sex & The City I didn’t mean to diss it. I just hope that people realize real New Yorkers are different and in many ways more exciting than the girls in the show.

I hope that I get back my writing moxie; I miss it. Maybe that book was right and a major move is so traumatic writing must be put to the side but if i didn’t have an outlet i would explode.

When I recently met a blogger, said blogger expected me to be loud, abrasive I think, and probably have a New York accent. This blog is where I’m loud, sometimes abrasive and the New Yawk accent comes across clearly.

Delta rocks. The plane was on time unlike Spirit which makes a lifestyle of being at least an hour late usually much more. I heard a Delta flight being canceled over the loudspeaker. Spirit lets you go through to security thinking you’re checked into a flight you learn is canceled.

The plane was tiny and we had to walk outside to board it. I haven’t seen anything like that since I took nine Areoflot flights in the former Soviet Union. The difference being Delta was clean and smelled good. They even gave food and free drinks.

When I arrived at the apartment I pay all the bills for but no longer feel at home in, I thought “my god you’re gorgeous. I would buy you.” Then iI remembered I had thrown out the keyboard and mouse as they looked old. Circuit City doesn’t sell things for Macs so I had to walk to 59th and Fifth. Not for the first time I realized that it’s a quicker walk, almost, than my walk to Krogers. The things I do to make this apartment look model pretty.

The Upper West Side only has six avenues: Riverside, West End, Broadway, Amsterdam, Columbus and Central Park West. It’s about a ten to twenty minute walk depending on lights and how many people are on the streets. The walk across Central Park is about ten minutes. And then I get to go all sentimental for my adult/youth as I lived in the exact Fifth Avenue hood I walked on for sixteen years.

I love the Apple store so it was fun but then I walked home and had to do Fairway. The sticker shock was amazing. If I had any doubts that I’m doing the right thing I lost it then.

Lucia, my best friend who cracks up at her own jokes and so i do, lives in a type building most people identify with the Upper West Side. We stood on the stoop with Little Luce who is graduating high school on Wednesday and George, Little Luce’s father. He’s a news cameraman and lives in Florida now. Neighbors kept coming out.

First there was Eleanor who is probably the Upper West Side’s most famous Jewish/Republican. She’s 82 and works full time for the city. You just have to love her and vote for her when she runs for an office she knows a Republican will lose and doesn’t want a “poor young good person” to lose. This past year she ran for Assemblywoman. One year she just might win. She’s the tenant who has lived the longest in the building–since around when I was born which kind of makes me feel a bit young.

More and more neighbors came out. My sister called and i put her on speakerphone so she could hear what we all imagine and want a neighborhood to be like. If I lived in Lucia’s building I probably would have stayed forever also. It’s rent stabilized. Law & Order, the franchise, often films in the building.

i think Little Luce has experienced something increasingly rare and wonderful–her entire life in one Manhattan apartment. The building is across from Barnes & Noble which she calls her “second” home. I wanted to go in as I miss my two Barnes & Noble but left too late.

We saw the vid George did that won him an Edward R Murrow award and others that were breathtaking and achingly sad. They turned him into a Christian but he doesn’t try to convert his daughter. Couldn’t really.

I gave her the name Little Luce and thus Lucia, Lucia as Little Luce was into all things Lucy. She’s sentimental so she doesn’t want me to change her name to Anna Mae. (Way too obvious but I’m not feeling particularly clever.) At 5’10″ she’s a bit tall and at seventeen a bit old for “Little” however. Her ambition is to move to Japan and learn Zen from a true master in a small town. She was president of the Asian Society in her school and is in love with all things Japanese.

I’m in town for her graduation. Since I came in for that I made appointments with dentists and doctors. Tomorrow , Monday is a real hard day for me. I have to face my inner demons and hope to. Life is too short and precious. But I didn’t see why I should explain certain things to certain people about what tomorrow means to me. Having an invisible disability is better then a visible one but can cause havoc and drama and I’m into neither right now.

The best part of being back aside from seeing loved ones is sleeping in my own bed and visiting my things.

I don’t want to go to New York tomorrow. I want to go there when I no longer own an apartment and can have a vacation. I was going to take my apartment off the market but suddenly there was much interest in it. I rejected some people before it came to a formal bid either because the offer was too low or I knew they would have a hard time passing the board.

Then my realtors told about me about a person who was going to bid at the full asking price and at the same time was going to give financials and a prequal letter meaning that the person had a mortgage in place. It was going to come Wednesday day. Then Wednesday night or Thursday morning. This began on Sunday.

The person loves it but can’t commit. This isn’t a love affair. Why does it sound like one?

Supposedly that’s typical of a first time buyer. I wouldn’t know as I believe it rude not to follow through or to say I’m interested if I’m having any doubts. I probably lost some good apartments as I would tell the realtor I had to think and couldn’t make an offer.

I was a serious buyer but I was scared. I understand that. I understand people thinking the market’s going to come down even more. But my apartment’s very fairly priced. And I don’t understand keeping a person waiting for three days. Yes it’s a buyer’s market and I feel stupid for saying this. Sellers have feelings and needs also. Sellers pay the damn realtor fees (6% in Manhattan–people think we make so much money but few people have our taxes and fees.)

I feel so sad as I thought I was going to go home with this taken care of. It is a big deal and I can’t pretend that it’s not.

Selling is too dramatic for me. I want the bid, without the she wants it, she doesn’t want, maybe she wants it, possibly, yes, no. As I said I understand hesitation but I’m the queen of anxiety and almost and I have spent a year doing things to destress my life and instead it’s been the most stressful one ever.

I went to Wal Mart to replace the phone that fell into the sea. I knew I would have to pay, but first the Wal Mart customer service rep said Verizon didn’t have my phone number on record. I have had this number for eleven years–it’s a 212 which confuses people as that’s not a cell area code. But you are allowed to take your number and i want to be a 212 for life. Then she said Verizon told her not to sell me one–she wouldn’t be allowed to activate the phone. Of course I wasn’t allowed to talk to whoever the woman was talking to.

I had to use the one pay phone in the customer service area. The woman I spoke had no idea why the first woman was told that. I have been a Verizon customer since it began. My bill is automatically paid each month.

As I was tethered to a pay phone I couldn’t stand in the Wal Mart customer service line and ask the questions the Verizon customer service person was asking me. The Wal Mart people were slightly very angry at me for asking the questions out of line and had I been able to I certainly would have stood on line.

They finally answered my questions and I went back to the electronics department to buy the phone. The Verizon customer service person, I had spoken to on the pay phone, was actually able to get through to Wal Mart. It would have been very nice but the Wal Mart woman tried to get me to fill out an authorization for Verizon to check my credit.

As I have been a customer so long I filled it out and didn’t sign it. I did hand it back to her and it took her awhile to notice my lack of a signature.
“Did anybody ask you to do a credit check on me?”
“No.”
“Why do you feel the need to do one?”
“I’ve never had an experience like this.”
“Neither have I and I might be in the rent an apartment mode in a few months so I would appreciate if you don’t do an unnecessary credit check.”
“OK.”

Sometimes life is that simple. But damn was today surreal.

Usually I delete spam pingbacks and rude comments. I wasn’t in the mood yesterday. To Natalie who asked how to unsubscribe from this blog and left a no repy email and didn’t have a url. Get a life. I will delete the next comments. I am in a bitchier than bitchy mood.

Have no idea how the password protect came on
I just loved that title. It’s been three months for me. I’m the only person who comes to the state with the cheapest cigarettes and gives them up. Story of my life. Do everything backwards.

I wish Obama luck. (This article is about how he should stop giving them up. ) I don’t do nicorette as I was never physically addicted and would probably begin craving gum. My mother chewed gum though only in the car I think and I couldn’t stand it. I had banned the family from eating apples as the smell of raw apples makes me want to vomit–but I love all cooked apple products.

OK, TMI. It’s very hot; I’m waiting on some important things and all I want to do is sleep as I was in shock yesterday from falling into the ocean at the shore line.

Thing is I miss cigarettes at the beach. It’s one of the few places the smell isn’t scuzzy, and people still smoke here. Not that many people and more and more restaurants are going all non smoking.

I have had to walk out of clubs as the smell grossed me out but at the same time I wanted.

I don’t feel incredibly better nor did I feel any of the things The New York Times told me I would feel but I never smoked much. I always knew I would think about it more when I gave it up. I know very few people who smoke in New York but I’m scared I might begin again as I associate New York with smoking.

I also associate it with Rock Hudson, Doris Day and Tony Randall–all in my big bathroom. They’re forever young and probably smoking. I associate New York with a worldiness and sophistication I don’t think ever existed during my tenure in Manhattan.

If you had told me in my 20′s and 30′s during the 70′s and 80′s I would have wanted to have been a part of that life I would have laughed. Except that I watched a Cary Grant movie on my 9″ black & white TV one day in my 20′s and fell in love. It was the first time I liked a man who didn’t have long hair and it shocked me.

It took me another seven or so years to actually date somebody with short hair. I had to live with Zachary first. He cured me of many things including a love for long haired men, men in the arts, dependent men, and I could go on.

He smoked. My house was a giant ashtray with butts and roaches. The one who came after Zachary smoked too–anything also but he was a professional with a lot of money and James Dean hair.

After him came the six month to two year one night stands. Or men I wouldn’t bring home to meet my family. The non smoking crusade was in full force and most of my friends had given it up.

Girls who blew smoke in guy’s faces were no longer considered sexy. My smoking was more a private thing and pretty much given up in the 90′s. I thought 9/11 gave me license to smoke more and so I did. It didn’t of course. The further we go from that time the more I realze how many of us used it to satisfy urges that we personally wouldn’t normally have condoned.

Writing this I went from thinking it would be great to share a cigarette with Obama to thinking it gross. I would probably be too timid to open my mouth anyway.

I don’t think of myself as a non smoker. Though I only smoked three cigarettes a day–sometimes more, sometimes less, I now understand the concept of “recovering.” I am a recovering smoker and will always be one.

I could have done this in 85 when everybody I knew joined an A group, if not for a real addiction to meet people.

Coulda woulda shoulda–oh that’s a Hill and Bill thing and I so wish people would stop writing articles about how women should like Hillary Clinton. I’m not in the mood to whine about Hillary. I might have reason to celebrate later or tomorrow. So I will just revel in the thought of not smoking with Obama.

I hope to be an official resident of South Carolina by October so I can vote here and my entire vote will count for the first time. I don’t know if I can stand so much excitement. it will feel as if I’m voting for president for the first time.

I don’t usually pay attention to the many newspaper articles here that tell you to fill a hole in the sand if you make one as I’m not very big on making holes.

I was walking on the shore line. There was a very pretty castle. I didn’t see the accompanying hole that goes down to China as water had filled it. I fell.

Everybody knows you just get up from a hole. Not. The sand and water were whirling. I was caught up to my rip cage. When you swim if you’re in a riptide you swim to the side. But when caught in a hole, I had no idea what the hell to do. I didn’t feel fear; I felt angry. I finally pulled myself out.

The entire North Myrtle roving lifeguard squad stood and watched. A very nice old couple came to help me,

I didn’t need any help. My pride however….

The old couple and I talked a few minutes. The head of the North Myrtle roving lifeguards came over. I was out of the water. The lifeguards were watching me when I was in the water. I will be nice and say that I didn’t look like I needed help. Must have looked worst after I dug myself out.

That was me in the dark lime tee and white clamdiggers–the white clamdiggers that looked transparent. I felt like America’s biggest idiot.

My cell was in my pocket. I hear it might dry out. It has my life. Fortunately it’s Verizon–they don’t use Sim cards and I have a back up cell. Sweet talked the man at Circuit City, on Broadway in Manhattan, into doing that.

I live about four blocks from the ocean. It’s usually a beautiful walk. I spent it in fear that somebody I know would pass by. Fortunately most people I know in my immediate hood come for weekends except for the very nice mommy and three year old daughter, Isabella. Isabella became my newest bff Saturday.

My neighbor, Jimmy and his wife who I have had three conversations with and have gone from thinking she works with Alzheimer’s patients for thirteen hours a day to knowing she has Alzheimer’s thirteen hours a day weren’t home fortunately. They spend their time peering out the kitchen window and would have come out.

She’s a very proper Southern lady, and I thought I was losing it as I don’t understand two thirds of the things she says but W the male half of my landlord/friend combo can’t understand her either and W understands everybody and everything.

When I got to the townhouse I faced another dilmena. How do I get into the house of extraordinary cleanliness without tracking in sand? The outdoor showers near the beach don’t work. I tracked in sand and spent the next hour cleaning. Yet my Teva’s never even made it into the house.

The towels are in the dryer. My body hurts in places I didn’t think fell into the water.

I had been resisting going out all day. From the moment I woke up this morning something–mainly my head said “stay in bed.” But did I listen? It was a beautiful day. I was supposed to get some personal news that has been delayed until tomorrow. I was attempting and failing to be productive as the news I didn’t get yet is important to my life though mundane to the world.

When I get one of the “you must go out because it’s beautiful and there’s a beach with an ocean less than a five minute walk from your house, but I really want to stay home,” urges, I’m going to live less dangerously and stay home.

If I make any sense at all let me know. For the record my head didn’t touch water. Actually I went into kind of an altered state and made sure that my hair didn’t go anywhere near the water as I didn’t want it to get frizzy.

I called my two bff’s and my sister who claims I sound salty. Not in the cursing sense.

I will never laugh at those articles again and will go around the beach telling people to fill their frigging holes.

If this sounds familiar I was walking on what passes for the beach in Cancun and fell into a sandbag. That was a minor stumble and only my camera was ruined not even my pride. Really nobodies pride can be ruined in Cancun. Oh I do feel better. I think the shock is wearing off.

I want to thank Cooper, Patrick, Doug, and last but not least by any means MizzyB for this incredible post that makes me cry but not from pain.

I was going to write about my weekend with Bone. It was a wonderful experience. After Bone left North Myrtle, he found out that a post of his was in a book. Coincidence? I think not.

My body might be turning black & blue but my heart is filled with adoration for these five bloggers. I met other bloggers first but in my revised blogging history they were the first.

I don’t really like to talk about my political blogging experiences. It’s the reason I don’t moderate comments. I have learned things from each of the above bloggers.

I don’t want to get soppy. I never meant to even get wet today, except for my feet and in the shower.

Let me stop before……

Oh someday I will learn my own categories and explain them.

I wasn’t going to put anything in but I can be shameless and this post about my blog captured my heart. I was going to link to each blogger that said something but that will wait until after I hear news about the sale of my apartment. When I will also put in some beautiful older posts about this blog, and get the LIP to put in the article again.

Patience is a virtue I guess and I have it up to a point but my entire life seems to be about waiting and I feel that the old joke about collecting Social Security and whatever at the same time won’t be a joke.

I have no idea why I got into the Italic thing. It was pouring and it rarely rains here suffices I think. This person was in my class. It was the smallest, in student body, public school in Nassau County, and we all knew each other. I just don’t remember him and that’s more than strange.

I had a fascinating two and half hour phone conversation with somebody I was supposed to have known but absolutely didn’t remember-and I’m supposed to have the memory of an elephant especially for my early life. Very early–as in those years after elementary school and before college.

He’s an intuitive healer who told me that I have back problems. “No, never. I have neck problems.”
“That’s how the back problems manifest.”
“Not according to the x ray. I have that problem lawyers love a pinched nerve as it shows in x rays as opposed to whiplash.”

Then he told me that I’m bipolar. He also told me I nothing I could say would change his opinion. I had told him that I suffer from severe anxiety so it’s easy to put depression and mania into the mix.

I know I didn’t sound bipolar. I neither sounded manic nor depressed, and couldn’t figure out a third way a bipolar would sound. I would go for normal if I had to bet.

There are times my voice is very soft and bored sounding though I’m not. But on the phone my voice just sounds young and preppy. Like the average Ralph Lauren/Calvin Klein publicist, but softer I know as I have met more than a few–and in two cases was asked to guess their profession.

I have many problems with people diagnosing people who didn’t ask to be diagnosed over the telephone or in person, actually. He told me he didn’t like clinicians who label everything and then offer cures for much money. Or not with non verbal learning disorder which I didn’t bring up. If he were to guess disorders I would have loved him to guess spatial problems and me having learning disorders. I mentioned the later. He doesn’t believe in them. But he does believe in bi polar which is weird as he told me he doesn’t believe in anything in the DSM-1V.

What was he doing if not acting as a diagnostician?

He didn’t ask for money after he had me walk to cure my back problem. He told me that I would sleep well that night. I sleep well most nights so….I let him talk so much as I was fascinated by his apparent belief in his own powers.

I did let him think that I believed him a bit. I kept wanting to hear more. I am more “educated” in these things than he is and I wanted to be able to tell somebody we know in common why she shouldn’t believe anything he says.

I think he was going to tell me he could cure my bipolarism when we met. Only that’s not going to happen.

I’m at an age when many people have back problems. Actually I have friends who have had back problems forever. There’s always some problem many people will have.

I don’t doubt that some people are true intuitives and might be able to heal. But he told me that he cures cancer on a regular basis. Now if I had cancer and somebody cured it by intuitive healing I would broadcast that. I would want the world to know. If financially able I would establish a clinic for him. I’m factoring out normal treatments as I assume they would stop, or he claims that the cure is immediate. If my cancer stopped immediately I would call every news agency. People might think I’m crazy but I would want to share this with the world.

But when I googled him, and of course I did, I only found complaints.

It’s stupid to try to con people who know more than you do about the subject they’re trying to con you in–and hey anybody who watches Oprah or Dr Phil does.

I loved Sha Na Na.
This was the “other” teenage death song
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9gjCdDu90s&hl=en]
This is more Sha Na Na–as I remember then in the 70′s imitating 50′s music. It’s actually one of my favorite early rock songs from the days I would drink coffee and listen to Murray the K–I was twelve so I can’t be trusted as I was a pre-teen Saturday night (my parents were always out) coffee addict.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJaKv9dgQPU&hl=en]


It’s a beautiful day and this was going to turn into the longest post in my posting history, and I have written some long ones. Tiger Woods just won The US Open and I had no idea how much I wanted that.

I hesitate to ask this as I know how many people can’t sell at any price–but I have been living like a grad student for most of my adult life.

Please hope that one of the people who see my apartment this week decide that it’s for them at around the price I ask. Need the vibes
..
Congrats Bone! He submitted to You’re Not The Only One and was accepted.

I so wish that I wrote poetry as these words seem to be perfect for it. They’re almost too easy, too cliched for me: I’m dizzy with all the change in my life. Can somebody give me a key to understanding the world as damn it I don’t?

If I wrote the above in poetry it would seem profound. Writing it in prose seems whiny. One of the earliest posts in this blog was partially in poetry but that was posted 9/04 when exactly one friend read it, aside from the people who stumbled on it at Blogger and would occasionally leave me comments telling me to move to France and other such things.

I felt much freer then. I had no expectations. Then I had many. I became blog obsessed. Writing for two blogs 24/7 will do that to you if you allow it to and I did.

In recovery now she tries to get on with her life. Dizzy from too much sun, she has to change her mindset, and find the damn key, the only one around to this house.

She has an article coming out in July that she hopes will help people understand her more. She asked for somebody else to write the article as it’s not a subject she’s in love with but she wants awareness of the subject. It’s not one of the usual “mental” disabilities. As long she’s baring her soul and letting the key to her heart out….

She hopes that she can fashion a book around it. She has another book based on something that almost happened. She feels dizzy with possibility. Really she has a migraine but that’s not one of the words. And a change is coming. Might as well be positive.

She hopes that people don’t think of her as a dizzy broad with a big mouth. Her mouth is small and she’s soft spoken. Even soft spoken for the South. The key to understanding her is knowing that she’s not her blog. No not her blog at all. Some people view her as a person who can change personas with the wind. Really the key is that her blog is one small part of her.

This change to South Carolina has been good for her. The temperature is higher in New York. She likes hot weather and sort of wishes she was there for an early June heat spell as they have always been magical. She fell in love during one. She doesn’t really talk about him here as he was truly nice. They almost got married but….Understanding all the marriage proposals and how she didn’t want to change for each man is another key element to understanding her.

Men would try to change for her. That man wanted to be known to her as an East Indian James Dean. He would come to work in his best Dean imitation clothes. He never had to change clothes at work or after.

They, she and him–not his clothes, were key to the operation of the office and could dress and do what they wanted. She remembers him with much affection. His mood swings made her dizzy then. She did have an ability to pick men who could change moods with the turn of a key.

Really now she wants what she has wanted since she can remember. She wants to hear one song, just one that holds the key to life.

She won’t be participating in the next two 3WW’s as she’s going to New York to witnesss a big change in her favorite seventeen year old’s life; high school graduation. She has to see her favorite almost fourteen year old before last summer at real camp and real high school.

She has been accused of being an eternal optimist as if that’s a bad thing. OK, they also call her Pollyanna and Miss Mary Sunshine. She’ll take the optimist label thanks.

It’s so hot the pigs are sweating. No I don’t have any pigs or know where any are but….So hot pigs are sweating is an expression M the male owner of the house I’m living in uses. I find it funny and am not above thievery–he said he didn’t care about credit.
Yesterday evening I was walking into town and passed a teen rock service at the mega church. There was a cook out and the music was decent. I would have gone but I haven’t been a teen in many a decade. I’m Jewish. I was on my way to a mani/pedi appointment in a place that’s worth going just for the message chairs which can cure anything. They have Opi nail polish. North Myrtle is very civilized.
This town is beginning to remind me of a continous episode of Friday Night Lights the best show on TV that will be back due to a very strange deal.
I hesitate to say what happened next as it sounds not American, 2008 but what the hey. I came home to find out that my brokers had rejected an all cash offer for me as I won’t go below a certain price. My brokers believe as I do that my apartment is a worthy commodity.
I do miss New York but between my friends and sister I can go back every two or three months and always have a place to mooch off stay.
What happens if I don’t get another offer by the end of August–the time I have allotted to this? I go to Plan B and beg the coop board to let me rent out the apartment for two years. I beg extremely well. If Plan B doesn’t work I have a Plan C: move home, find an office as I absolutely can’t stay in that apartment during the day, and continue to bitch about it.
However I feel that Plan A was a good plan; and I didn’t time it too late but too early. Now people are going to wonder why they want to spend 900K on a one bedroom when for less they can get slightly less but a great apartment, prestige address and I will make a book of every restaurant, diner, take out place and food store on the Upper West Side with copious notes on each. For example you want to order waffles from one diner but not oatmeal and oatmeal from another but not waffles. Yes I order oatmeal. I do prefer to make it myself or go to Sarabeth’s, but diners are uncomplicated. Diners make the food quickly; diners are like Chinese restaurants, the delivery is quick and uncomplicated.
I will be in New York from June 20-30th for doctors and dentist appointments, a high school graduation, a visit with a thirteen year old before she goes to camp and her parents and to see many friends. I have two hours open on Thursday afternoon if anybody cares.
I will make a list of all the restaurants I go to with notes and websites. I just looked at Sarabeth’s and had no idea she has a restaurant in Key West. My mother knew her mother. This isn’t really newsworthy. My mother seemed to know everybody’s mother in New York
She was truly interested in people and they would find themselves telling her their life story. I have often wondered when she would meet the mother of so and so how she felt having such unfamous children. She would tell us how wonderful we were and how nobody else had children who were so fascinating and good to their mother.
Have I mentioned that my completely reality based mother was delusional when it came to me? I don’t think I’m supposed to publicly state that however…
She always said my day would come. I think I’m beginning to believe her.
And I’m still on an Obama high.