The Reluctant Housewife or Dorothy Parker Ate My Puppy

"When I got married, I said to my therapist, 'I want to do something creative.' He said, 'Why don't you have a baby?' I hope he's dead now." Joy Behar

Thursday, September 01, 2005

My brain is falling out

Oh my lord, a doozy of a hangover today. Someone in today's Times points out that martinis are like breasts - one is never enough and three is two many. I concur.

Memories of last night keep breaking through the fog.

Dan reading a fabulous Time Out statistic - 'Pigeons can see ten miles'. I thought this terribly profound. Clever pigeons! Then I realized that we took can see over ten miles (the moon!) and laughed until I cried. Someone took a photograph of my red, scrunched up, hysterical face.

Smoking a cigar but forgetting it was a cigar and not a cigarette. I imagine my mouth tastes like Burt Reynold's mouth.

Perspiring so profusely in the London heat, sitting on a leather chesterfield, that my dress stuck to my back like a second skin.

Amassing photographs, quotations, snippets as inspiration for the novel tho' my mind's not up for actually writing anything today (this aside).