It puts the toilet paper in the...

Found in bathroom at an upper west side nail salon.
Sadly, I'm so conditioned that I complied with the request.

When Britney Spears enters your subconscious.

I'm up at 3am tonight because....

Last night -I am not kidding or inflating the truth of my R.E.M sleep- The phoenix of Pop crawled into my brain. I was 17 in the dream which would make Britney about 2 but lets suspend reality for a moment. She was the age she is now and I was living on her compound/ranch. I asked to borrow her burgundy BMW. She asked for my driver's license! Stunned, I asked my mother whose appearance at the compound seemed natural. My mother had forgot to bring it. "I just wanted to drive the car mom, I should be allowed to drive the car."

Heather picking her navel lint while thinking about sleep...

I joined face book this past week, coerced by a friend who I've know for 18 years. I talk to her at least once a week, what could we accomplish on face book. She wants me to view her pictures. After 3 days of face-booking I have 15 friends. I am so popular... Wee!
I can see why face book is so popular:it's easy, simple, and clean. The little blurb at the top is like sending a text message to all of your 567 close personal friends. It's design makes the most mundane of tasks seem special. "Heather is watching Smallville and popping a zit, while petting her dog." Go me!
I just don't get the appeal. Facebook tells me I can search for old high-school classmates, or in my case, the small few who knew I existed. "Reconnect with old friends", they say. Well there is a reason I de-connected with them. "But don't you want to see who is doing what and who married who?" That makes reunions obsolete which is probably a good thing. Marriot hotels around the country will now be spared the former high school jocks slugging on Vodka tonics while hitting on divorced cheerleaders as they gyrate to Debbie Gibson. No, I really don't care that Doug, my first crush, married Pam, head cheerleader and had three kids and now live in suburban bliss. Or that Ian, the wrestler who called me names is a fat depressed lawyer.( Ok, that was satisfying when I ran into him back in West Palm Beach)
Some of my new 'friends' on F-book, I've met once or twice and it easy to stay updated. And that's the issue for me- in the old days communication was hard: hand written letters, paid phone calls, and road trips. If the person is worth keeping, I'll do the work. I keep the page for now and keep my new aquaintances abrest of my business. My close circle, I'll call on the phone and fly a plane to see them. That's why I can count my true friends on one hand. And they are friends forever.

If I win the lotto tonight I will never ask to

To win the Lottery again. I hold two tickets in my hand for the 111 million jackpot. The last time I played was... three years ago in North Carolina. On my way home from a summer camping week, I stopped at a gas station. The man in front of me bought a ticket for the 120 million. I saw it as a sign. I spent the next six hours drive dreaming of how I spend the money. In my Days Inn room I watched the news. I lost.
Do you know the story of the guy who prayed to god every week to win the lottery. After years of prayer. God spoke... "Ok, Ok...stop nagging, at least buy a ticket."
I told this joke to my friend this week and tonight I had to run out to buy my last diet soda. (Tomorrow I am starting a juice fast). My bodega man was running tickets into the machine. It was a sign. The convo:
Heather: "Is the lotto tomorrow?"
Bodega Man: "Mega Million tonight"
Heather: "How much is it worth?"
BM: "one to eleven million"
Heather: "that's all, huh...what about tomorrow"
BM: "only 5 million"
Heather: "Did somebody win the 96 million from last week?"
BM: "Mami, nobody won, ess tonight. one hundred eleven million."

He showed me how to fill out the ticket. I bought two using my and my friends B-days. Now I am dreaming of what I will do.
The wish list:--Pay off Debts--Buy modest two bedroom Central Park West apt near Fairway.--Get my mother the best in hearing treatment.--Quit job and do medical mission trips. --Donate time and money to animals.--Take lots of singing and dancing classes. --Go to for masters in nursing and writing so I can teach nursing and be a better writer. --Audition and make short films.

Put the money in the bank and have my father manage it so I don't become one of those lotto winners who end up worse that they started off.
--Support mad scientist so my father can live forever.

A Chef, I'm a Chef

What is it about Thanksgiving, or any major holiday, that turns the average take-out fiend into a master chef. Or someone who thinks they are a master chef. There's something about the smell of cooking meat that makes one feel accomplished. In my case it was garlic and sun dried tomato. I created a veggie lasagna that won everyone over. Layers of yellow squash, zucchini, and eggplant nestled in between Fontina and Parmesan cheese. I took about two hours and I made my own pesto for the sauce.... Yummy! That's Chopped Broccoli and Sun dried tomatoes on the top. Beware of Over-cheesing, You'll pay in the morning.

Barry Manilow-Always the Punchline

Noise Violators Sentenced to Listen to Barry Manilow

A friend sent this to me, she knows I love Barry. One first glance at the Headline, I thought that he was the sole auditory punishment. In case of noise pollution, the judge forces the dammed into a room to here any music they don't like: Barry, Barney the Dinosaur, and the Platters.
Would rousing choruses of "I love you, you love me, were a happy family...." or "Oooh Mandy, well you came and you gave...." bring out the quiet lover in you?
Looks like it works for this small Colorado town.

Why Fireworks Should be Outlawed in New York City and other Random Thoughts

While stopped at a traffic light on my way to work last night, I heard a bang and jumped for cover ala Joey on Friends. You just never know in Harlem. Driver must of thought he had a tourist in his Cab.

Sitting up in my Harlem faschizzle,
booms and bangs crack the sky,
and colored sparks fizzle.

Someone just got shot or maimed, oh my!
The end is nigh,

Oh, right, it's the day after,
The Fourth of July.

Happy Belated Independence Day.



A dachshund and a Pit Bull can be best friends.



In the News recently

Twin brothers in a paternity battle:
Does this woman have a twin fetish? The article states that the brothers were unaware of the other's affair and that she had sex with both men on the same day. Why then, does one of them have to pay for this woman's complete irresponsibility. Did she know they were twins or did she only scream "oh god, oh god" during the second act? Was she trying to perfect her technique? Did she find the first so unbelievably attractive she just had to have the second one when she saw him.


The court named one, since DNA evidence shows that both men have a 99.9 percent probability of being the child's father, as legal father with all financial responsibility. That's just sad; either both pay or neither pay. I vote for the latter. Women are the ones who get pregnant and, in the case of a casual sex encounter, should be held solely responsible for their bodies. I really feel bad for the poor guys.

This ultra-feminist slant on sex and pregnancy brought to you by the readings of Camille Paglia from college.