While the Thanksgiving magic is still in the air, if even at this point only in turkey sandwich form, I wanted to take the opportunity to says thanks.
I have not really been writing for almost ten years. Sure, I have made the occasional stab in the dark, but I’ve never really fought long enough to stand in the morning light and see if I’ve killed anything. But that has been changing. I ha…ve been working with a new friend on something tentatively titled “The Greatest Rom Com Ever” and it is one of the highlights of my days. When we get together we have so much fun and laugh so fucking much it’s been a shock to look down each time and see that a little sculpture is making it’s way out of a slab of stone, even though I don’t remember doing anything that felt like work.
The other day, this friend delivered one of the best monologues I have ever heard. It was about new friends and how it is still a form of falling in love. And how at first you are so excited to just to meet this person that everything about them seems magical. But that fades. They are not perfect, they are just a person. And this is where you either fall in love or you don’t. Maybe I am thinking about it because I’ve been remembering lately why my oldest friends are my oldest friends, but I am increasingly thankful for my new ones.
I wanted to do this song a day thing to make a mark on a year of my life so that I will never be able to forget.
That’s probably the real reason I have tattoos. Because I do forget. That is unless it goes down on my permanent record.
Maybe you spent your Thanksgiving either knee deep in baby shit, baby puke or in a handmade princess skirt. Maybe you found a kindred soul in an unmasked Miss Stephanie at the bar one night while simply riding the wave. Or you have found peace spending your summers teaching Cannonball 101. Maybe you struck a Guantanamo Bay pose behind one of the funniest things you’ve ever seen in a ski lodge hot tub. Maybe you actually are the Cheese Whiz. Maybe you will always wonder if there really is something going on between your husband and Louie Anderson. Maybe you have come into your own as a Zen master while manhandling all those muscles into place. Or maybe you lost all your fucking clothes and still found a way to keep those eyes on the comedy gold. Or maybe, just maybe, the sound of your own death rattle has made you remember why you should be writing too. It’s either that or the salami really has gone bad.
However it happened I’m glad to have found you here. Even if it is just a coincidence.
I for one, I was just hanging out man, trying to watch The Soup.