Note to person behind me now in 20th minute of phone conversation about the beach house you’ve put a contract on:* Maybe your mom cares about the number of rooms, income potential, appraisal, Zillow, etc., etc. I’m not your mom.

Time for Pentatonix headphone therapy.**

*Do not annoy me about ending a sentence with a preposition. If it was good enough for Winston Churchill, it’s good enough for me.

**Yeah, I know. I should have done that at the four-minute mark.

The ceiling leaked, it seemed like everyone on the Beltway was driving on Valium, it took two hours to book a pianist for a gig, and I forgot to send out a contract. Yet, I sit here writing, peaceful and centered. The power of iced lattes and chocolate chip cookies once again proven.*

*I have no idea if that’s grammatically correct. Also, I don’t care.

There is a website with a minute by minute forecast re rain and the severity & presence thereof. In exactly 22 minutes I will be able to put away my computer and sprint to my car without drowning. This gives me approximately 20 minutes to finish my brownie.* Isn’t modern technology wonderful?**

*Not that you should care.

**This is rhetorical. You don’t have to decide.

Never meet with two different critique groups in 48 hours. Your brains will fall out.

A while back I tweeted facetiously that if I went to Hell the music I’d hear for eternity would be Zamfir. Today he graciously and inexplicably ‘liked’ my tweet. I want to say for the record, I meant Yanni.*

*Also, for the record, if I hear from him, I’m going to say I meant Nickelback. Wait…that is what I meant.

When someone finds my blog through a search engine, I can’t help but wonder what they were actually searching for.

So I finally get to my favorite writing place despite the snow mountain range formerly known as crosswalks. Then two guys stand next to the table behind me and start a conversation…well, actually one of them delivers a monologue (20 minutes and counting), about how painful it is to be an artist.* The gist is, nobody values or helps artists. No, young man. NOBODY WANTS TO HELP YOU. YOU ARE ANNOYING.

*I am tempting to show him the meaning of pain

I’m latte and cookie-deprived, can’t dig my car out, and I’m too uninspired to do anything more than to decide whether my chapters need to be shorter or longer.* I have sold my soul to Netflix. Good thing I don’t own an xbox or I would have succumbed to controller-induced psychosis.

This is what thirty inches of snow can do to an otherwise sane person. Also to me.

*The answer is both of the above.

Betty Buckley. Followed her into the role of the Blue Fairy in Pinocchio with the Prince Street Players. It was a really neat costume, and, also, the Blue Fairy always gets the most fan mail. This is me, shot slightly before the invention of pixels.

I was waiting for a friend  in the Cafe Edison in Manhattan when Louis Guss (Raymond Cappomaggi in Moonstruck) asked if he could join me until his friends (three other old actors) showed up. We had a great conversation, mostly about his son who was moving to DC and was looking for the right synagogue to join. My friend showed up. His friends showed up. End of conversation.

He is no longer with us. Neither is the Cafe Edison. Sigh.

 

*Do not nag me about my ending a sentence with a preposition. Everybody does, ok?