Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Just wanted to share a little tidbit from last night....

I was sposed to meet Deeanna at a bar (Campbell's Apartment) in Grand Central - I arrive early - get my Apple Martini and people watch...

I, seeing a more open spot, move to the other side of the bar - Deeanna arrives, gets a Grey Goose Martini...

We drink, and we're ready for another - since we're at a different spot - hence a diff bartender - than when I ordered my drink, I tell the bartender...
"She'll have another grey goose martini and I'll have an Apple Martini"
"An Apple Martini?"
"Umm, yeah, apple martini." He sniggered and got our drinks.
Deeanna, who's a regular there, said - through tears of laughter - its the first time she ever saw him smile.
I was half-expecting him to come back with my drink with a lil dainty umbrella in it

I'm surprised that never happened to me on a date

btw -

snig-ger 1.n. - a disrespectful laugh
2.v. - laugh quietly

Just so ya'll know, i'm in the midst of writing the tale of my writing class - it's gonna be looooong (like novella size) - dunno how good it'll be but we'll see - here are some excerpts so you don't, don't, don't don't, don't you...forget about me. Like most movies though, these are prolly the only funny parts. Anyway, it'll begin thusly...


Mem-oir n. - 1. An account of the personal experiences of an author. 2. An autobiography. 3. A biography or biographical sketch. 4. Personal essays written by someone who thinks their life is just so damn fascinating that he or she thinks others will want to stop living their own lives to read about the writer’s life.

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I can see me at my book signing in a Barnes and Noble that they would have to close to the general public due to the huge throng of my adoring fans. In fact, extra security would have to be brought in – with stun guns – yes, stun guns after The Incident last week at the Borders in Binghamton signing

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WEEK ONE (I smell trouble...or is it me) – I walked into the classroom a half-hour early to see seven people already seated. I looked in one middle aged woman’s direction and asked loudly enough for all to hear “Is this for genital herpes or all herpes?”
“Excuse me?”
“This support group…is it only for people with genital herpes or for all herpes sufferers?” I asked.
She stammered while looking around for help, “I…think…you’re…in the wrong room. This is a memoir writing class.”
“Oh wait, I’m sorry. Today’s Thursday, isn’t it? Oh wait its Wednesday…silly me. No, I’m in the right place, just had my days mixed up. Sorry.”

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I scanned my thirteen classmates to size them up and immediately realized one thing – I can beat them all up. Sure, there were about seven or eight women in the 30-44 range, three to four in the 45-60 range, two gay men - trust me, they were gay - and one other guy who was about 50, but still, it was the first time I could ever say that in a classroom. If anyone was going to threaten and fleece classmates of their lunch money in this class, it was going to be me.

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I couldn’t help but think I was in the wrong class. I thought of Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin pulling aside her commanding officer to explain that she didn’t sign up for this army – no, she signed up for the other army. I think I was supposed to be in the other memoir writing class, you know, the one with the people who knew basic English

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