You know you are losing your mind when you have an actual HEART ATTACK because your manicure went wrong. Sigh. At least I know I'm crazy. And knowing is half the battle.
So I am slightly ashamed to admit that I have been literally EATING UP a free copy of Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis. It is oddly fascinating. He talks in detail about what sex was like with each of his different girlfriends, some of whom are slightly famous (Ione Skye, Sinead O'Connor). I wonder if these women had to sign a release before he could say something like "She told me she never had an orgasm except when she was in the bathtub with the shower head." (Okay, that little nifty tidbit was about a not-famous-girl but he gives her first and last name and there are pictures of her taken WHILE SHE WAS STONED ON HEROIN throughout the book. What would you do if your now-famous but formerly-dirty-and-homeless ex-boyfriend asked you to sign off on letting him write about your relationship and give details about your naked body? I might smack him over the head with the book. Or ask him to mentally photoshop me until I looked like Heidi Klum -- coincidentally ANOTHER one of Mr. Kiedis' former girlfriends, although I haven't gotten to her section in the book, yet.
How much do you love this headline about Fidel Castro? Those Aussies. They're a regular riot.
Okay, so its so hot here that people are actually collapsing. So hopefully my fellow New Yorkers are sitting in the dark with the shades drawn and an iced coffee in their greedy little mits.
Meanwhile I am at work trying not to commit hari kariover my smudged manicure. Who else thinks I need a vacation? I'll be at Coliseum Books after work trolling the travel section if anyone wants to meet me for a literary discussion or to make fun of the grownups buying Harry Potter books. Come on, they're pretty funny.
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