Celebrity news and a couch, 2003

1. She used to beat the shit out of me in the utility room when we were banished as kids to “go work it out.”

2. Seriously. Like crotch kicking, fists pummeling, girly slapping, hair pulling. It hurt.

3. One time I entered the house topless so as to avoid having her find out I wore her red shirt with the tiny flowers all over it.

4. She was a gray box in the yearbook when she transferred into Catholic high school her freshman year.

5. She transferred into Catholic high school her freshman year because after her first day of public high school, she came home and told my mother, “Guess what, mom? Susie’s going on the pill. Can I too?”

6. She used pliers to zip up her jeans before going down to the bars in Tijuana in high school.

7. She brought me down to the bars in Tijuana when I was 13.

8. She taught me that side-to-side, titties-out dance that is a guy magnet when you are 13.

9. Let’s face it, that dance is just plain timeless.

10. If driving, she always had on the ready “You Shook Me All Night Long,” “Come On Eileen,” and some variety of Yaz.

11. She warned me, “Just because clove cigarettes don’t seem like regular cigarettes, mom and dad can still tell you’ve been smoking.”

12. She placed in the state on swim team.

13. During her brief career in modeling, she was told that she would star in a movie about a band of crime fighting hot women called the I-Team.

14. The money man behind the I-Team was then convicted of statutory rape. Amie noted, “He seemed gross.”

15. Scott Peterson was in her high school class. Amie noted, “He seemed quiet.”

16. She dated an Indian guy whose name she could not pronounce for quite some time.

17. She earnestly tried to sell cuff links in San Francisco that said “Dot Com” in the year 2000.

18. The Knob Hill Gazette (“Not just a zip code, an attitude”) called her a local fashionista.

19. She wonders why you did not get that present she sent because she definitely sent it, maybe there is something wrong with the Post Office or something.

20. She is helping to raise two adorable little girls and one hilarious baby. Her husband is the ultimate party nice dude.

21. She would faithfully read my diary as a child (“Eric was looking at my legs today; he’s in the fourth grade”) and then faithfully sign the dotted line where I wrote, “If you are reading my diary, please sign here. DON’T READ IT, BITCH!”

22. She Googles this blog 29 times a day.

23. She writes in big loopy-lettered handwriting.

24. When she was upset at my mother in high school once, she covered my parents’ entire bed in birdseed.

25. When the entire staff of the Sea World merchandise store was fired for stealing during her first summer job, she was kept on for her honesty.

26. She prevented her friend from sleeping with that one guy in the Indian costume at the Halloween party.

27. She gave me a quesadilla maker for Christmas. There are about 17 dishwasher-unfriendly components. I do not know how I ever made quesadillas before.

28. She had never been on the World Wide Web but was still offered a job at Yahoo during the Exuberance. “What is your favorite Web site?” they asked. “Oh, Victoria’s Secret,” she said. “I love the use of pink.”

29. She owns the second oldest motor home in the United States. The owner’s manual is really funny.

30. Her 7-year-old stepdaughter likes to sit on the bathroom counter as I put on makeup and say, “I like seeing all the things you and Amie do that are the same.”

31. She was known as “Arnie” because of an administrative error during her first year of college.

32. She does not relate to “A Boy Named Sue.”

33. I am six days past her 33rd birthday in writing this, which inspired her to observe, “I might be too tired to make my children food, but I still do it, Mandy. I still do it.”

Fly over

Live from Faces in Manhattan…

I’m going through a divorce right now, and there are so many great things about it, but probably the best part is dealing with all the relatives. My grandmother is the most excited. She’s taking me out, getting me registered at Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, Smith & Wesson. It’s really a lot of fun.

I’m so busy with everything, like I’m having six showers, three for each coast, which is great. The bachelorette party is going to be pretty raunchy. I’ve started that already. I basically wear the inflatable penis balloon wherever. It can get awkward, but it usually makes me look a little less stupid ordering my extra soy vanilla shot no foam double latte so that’s a bonus.

For the honeymoon, we’re going to line up all the people that we’ve cheated with and turn it into a game of Twister. If Twister doesn’t work out, we’ll probably go to Russian Roulette. Something that goes with the ivory napkins in the sun room, that’s all I know.

We didn’t have any kids before, but it seems like a good idea now. Every kid whose parents are divorced has that extra edge, that special mark that makes them interesting. I don’t do a lot for the children, but when I do, I believe in making a commitment.

I can’t imagine I’ll have any trouble conceiving, but I’m planning to go to an infertility clinic to make sure that we do have twins. I’m also launching my perfume line right about that time. I’m going to call it Fragrant Meadows. Either that or I Hope You Fucking Die. Or perhaps Mystery. Maybe Mystery Meadows. There are so many choices, really.

I’m not sure what shoes I should have my divorceemaids wear, but I’m thinking I might pick out something in taupe. Taupe seems like a color that you can rely on because it’s only one syllable, and it rhymes with dope. Plus it starts with T like Tupac, and I think that Tupac would have gone with taupe. If he hadn’t been shot down for speaking the fucking truth, man.

One thing I do know is that on the special day I’m going to be wearing white. I’m just traditional that way. I think it’s important to wear white because Paris Hilton has redefined white as a concept. White to me means heiress, sex tape, empire, marketing, brain death, taking it in every hole, suck and fuck, propriety, etiquette, good breeding, and then probably unicorns. Definitely unicorns. And you can’t have a proper divorce without unicorns.

There’s always the question of what deejay we should hire, but I’m thinking it’ll be someone who plays off a cassingles-only list. Because that will ensure “I Touch Myself” by the Divinyls and “Naughty Girls Need Love Too” by Samantha Fox. Then hopefully if we play our cards right a little Adam Ant. You cannot have a good divorce party without a little Ant.

I’ll admit I am getting more and more nervous as the big day approaches, but one thing I do know is that nothing is going to go wrong. You dream about a day like this your entire life. You imagine how he will phrase it to you, like will you be on a deserted island somewhere that he’s paid his chauffeur to take you to so that it’s just the two of you, and then he’ll say, “Oh my God, can I have a little coconut milk?” and you’ll say, “What, you know that I hate coconut milk,” but then out of the coconut will come the court papers wrapped in a tiny little diamond. And that’s just how it happened with us.

He hired a photographer to be there on the island because we’re going to do a big collage of impromptu photos from the day that he asked me to the actual day of, and then we’re probably going to make special books for all the people standing up so that they can keep them. Because if you can’t have keepsakes, what do you have? You have forgetsakes, and that’s just sad. That’s no kind of life.

Of course, I don’t want people to throw rice at us because you know everyone has heard about how it makes the poor pigeons’ stomachs explode, and no one wants a downer on a day like that. So I think that we’ll probably have stuffed pigeons to throw because that seems very practical. You can get a good grip on the bird, you can aim, you can fire, you can have a little fun with it.

I’m not sure yet who to bring as a date, but I’m looking at a few options. Do you bring the lawyer? That just seems so cliché. Everyone brings their lawyer to their divorce. Why not mix it up? My chiropractor has been there for me during this time, too. And my dentist because I had this one sealant put on my lower right quadrant.

Then there are the caterers. Do you do the Baked Alaskan or is that too pre-dotcom crash? Do you have the three-tiered cake with the decadent fudge sauce or is it better to go with something more low key? I was reading in Modern Divorcee magazine about this amazing opium den one couple had at the reception, and I thought, see, you think everything’s been done, but it hasn’t.

I’m still debating how I should do my hair. Should I go with the up-do or wear it down like he likes it? Every man likes the hair down. Kind of sexy, tossed around. Or do I shave it off completely? Go for the sympathy. Does she have cancer? Or is she just getting divorced?

I’m still having trouble picking the right divorce planner, though. There are a lot of girls I like, but none are as good as J Puffy in that one movie. She sets the bar so frickin high. Because you want someone who treats you well but then can also take you forcefully from behind when the situation calls for it. You need someone comfortable as both a top and a bottom. I’m thinking I’ll probably just ask my dentist.

Puppeteering fantasy camp

Live from Hoghead McDunna’s…

Beheadings are so last year, don’t you think? Kind of like wearing white after Labor Day.

I’m pitching a new show to Comedy Central called “Mind of Menses.” It’s going to be all about me and then a bunch of crazy jokes about punctuation.

I’m opening a new McDonald’s where all the drive-through clerks talk dirty to you as you order your hamburger. “Our quarter-pounder has 400 grams of fat. It’s going to make your arteries rock hard. You’re going to love it.”

I get worried sometimes about the future of our nation, but then I remember that Laura Bush is encouraging reading, and nothing fights hurricanes and terrorism like literacy.

I opened a fortune cookie today, and it said, “Give up.”

Have you ever been to an orgy, and you’re the guy who brought the extra crunchy peanut butter instead of the smooth and creamy? God is that embarrassing.

I’m having a “six of one, half a dozen of the other” party. You should come. If you do, bring eggs. That’ll do you for the entire evening.

Whenever I receive a spam message that tells me I can finally “afford” something, I immediately buy whatever the person is selling. Don’t nobody call me poor, bitch.

I’m not gay, but I don’t have the heart to tell all the lesbians I like to go singing in the rain with. In my top hat.

I’m not religious, but I don’t have the heart to tell all the Hare Krishnas living in my van.

I’m not retarded, but I really don’t want to return the medals.

I’m not suicidal, but I met the greatest guy when I called the hotline.

Skyline

90-year-old aunt: Can’t wait to see you then.

Me: Can’t wait to see you either.

Aunt: What’s that?

Me: Can’t WAIT TO SEE YOU.

Aunt: Bring pictures. Lots of pictures.

Me: Okay.

Aunt: What’s that?

Me: I’LL BRING PICTURES. LOTS OF PICTURES.

Aunt: Is your husband coming then?

Me: No, Aunt Ruth, we’re actually SPLITTING UP. But we’re still FRIENDS.

Aunt: He’s busy then?

Me: We’re actually NOT TOGETHER ANYMORE BUT WE ARE STILL FRIENDS. We’re SPLITTING UP.

Aunt: He’s out of town then?

Me: We’re getting a DIVORCE, Aunt Ruth. A DIVORCE.

Aunt: Well. Can’t wait to see you then.

Me: Me either, Aunt Ruth.

Aunt: Bring pictures. Lots of pictures.

Self-portrait

I have This Friend whose ex used to be a model. Now she’s a travel agent.

After a few drinks at a wedding recently, a stunning woman came up to talk to me for a second time. We compared notes on wedding party attendees and then moved on to the profession question.

“So,” I said cockily drinking my margarita, glancing to the side. “You’re a travel agent?”

She looked at me and smiled.

“No,” she said. “An engineer.”