A Friend Indeed. A Note for the Offended. Don’t Not Love Me because I am Not Beautiful. Mothers and Daughters. Guilty as Charged

--JT, one of my longest standing friends, and most certainly one of the smartest people I know, emails me. She writes, “your blog is revolting, baby. it is!... you sound like that big-dong guy from boogie nights or whatever that movie is.”

She’ll probably want to kill me for quoting her.

I’m pretty sure that it’s not that I sound big-donged according to JT, but, you know, just like an idiot.

--Others have made me reconsider the anecdote about the hummer (last entry). To quell the crowd, I’ve tacked onto it the following:

“A NOTE FOR THE OFFENDED--I've gotten your messages, thanks much:

Please don't read the above anecdote as a story about how nice it is to get a hummer for a birthday present
Or how women just aren't smart.
Or, for that matter, how men just aren't that deep.

It is simply a story like all the ones in this entry about how people are so often at cross purposes.

No wonder it's a lonely world.”

Think it helped?

--KH, another very smart woman, tells me that sleep is the number one factor in beauty.
I believe everything KH says. So now I’m worried.

I was hoping that I was growing a kind of haggard handsome; I was trying to believe that these long nights with short naps were turning my eyes lucid; that kind of sickly charisma Val Kilmer offered up in Tombstone.

--A friend of mine who is far away—countries and countries away—and will always be, ends her most recent email like this:

“Today is mum's Birthday. We quarelled again... not even quarelled, she just strongly offended me, I HATE HER.
And she hates me I suppose.”

I don’t know. There was something just perfectly poetic about that.

--This is a short entry and it is rushed.

It sounds neither big donged nor completely idiotic, I imagine.

I hope.

--Incidentally, I know JT is my real real friend when she tells me that my blog revolts.
I know KH is my real real friend when she tells me I’m getting old.

And if this sounds like sarcasm, read me again and read between the lines. It’s not.

--PS: And a final note. I love it when a woman calls me “baby”. (“you’re blog is revolting baby…”)

I don’t know. It just does something for me. Or honey. Or lover. Or especially angel.

I once received a hummer from a woman solely on the strength of her having called me “angel” repeatedly.

--Damn it. There I am being revolting again.