OK, in the spirit of accuracy in the media- it does too exist!- let's review the events of the past 48 hours. By now, you know that my life moves at warp speed. Emotions such as obsession, angst, elation and rejection run through me at the speed of light leaving newcomers dumbfounded or awestruck (I prefer the latter) and those who know me exhausted. Which one are you? Am I tedious or fascinating? Well, you're reading so get a life if you find it all so blase'. Sorry, I can be belligerent for no apparent reason. Actually, there are reasons but who has the time to list them all?
So...I am working on a major PR initiative for a bio-tech type firm. It's the first time I've been handed the reins in such a manner. I'm in charge. I can handle it. I actually welcome the challenge of using my media contacts and PR savvy to get shit done for these folks. My top priority will be to tape a corporate video for internal and investor use and re-purpose the b-roll for the media outlets interested in covering the biggest medical story to hit the health care industry since...since, this is why I need to spend less time blogging and more researching! Anyhoo, Boston knew I might be needing a camera crew and had hinted more than once that he could 'help me out' read: give me the work. Since our ill-fated romance imploded in my face, I figured he probably would want to steer clear. Also, because when things fell apart, I decided in my infinite wisdom to allow him to see my blog and what I was writing about him. What? It's "crazy?" Well, if I haven't fucking established that I'm crazy and self-destructive, then really, what blog have you been reading?
So I told him I would be in town and was in the market for a camera crew and editor who could do the work fast, cheap, and professionally. His bid came out lower than other crews who I didn't know from Adam. Plus, he has the credentials. So, he's the guy. He's going to be my cameraman and my editor. But, here's what's weird about it to me. Actually, two things are weird. One is that he's all psyched to be working with me (hello? have we forgotten the texting spree) and two, I'm totally uninterested in rekindling jack. I mean, my brain really should be donated to science for research. I am the ultimate challenge gone, conquest over, commitment-seeking, relationship-endangering, thanks-for-making-men-bitter bitch out there. It's textbook, yeah? Or maybe I'm just romanticizing myself for the purpose of rebuilding my self-esteem after I allowed it to be decimated by a leather-blazer-wearing man. I'm sorry, but men who wear leather blazers are kind of a turn-off. I can't explain why. I'm fine with suede, even velvet, but the whole Wilson Leather-esque thing gives me the heebie jeebies. Maybe I've watched one too many episodes of The Sopranos, it's all a mystery.
There's another noteworthy item. Another prospect has blipped on my radar. He's really funny. Let me share part of his email with you:
Hi,
I;m (not a typo..I really do not know how to use it) glad you enjoyed my last email. Don't think you can distract me with all that 'witchcraft' flattery - you didn't answer a single question that I had posed in my message to you. I've got a little eye of newt that should get you back in line.
First, I think it is only fair that you tell me your real name. Also, I think it is kind of serendipitous that you are an ace reporter and I have always been a Superman fan. I mean a huge Superman fan (I wear glasses and people can't recognize me without my glasses). I think I was the only one who watched the one where there were 2 supermans. Remember that one? Chirstopher Reeve (may he rest in peace) was all dirty and scruffy looking...kind of like David Hasselhoff in Knight Rider. I would hate to start referring to you as 'Lois'.
I will send you some more pics. Here is the excuse, I recently upgraded my computer so I do not have any pics of me on my computer. This is the reason why I used the one from my website. I assure you, my mom's my witness, that this is what I look like. I am not exactly photogenic but I do just fine in the physical attraction department.
Now, I think it is your turn to tell me more about you. I want to read your personality through your email. So, I humbly request (read in an uncle at a desi function voice) that you send me some pics and tell me more about yourself. I'm really curious.
Well, so am I. The love pariah is intrigued by any man who first has the sense to ask a journalist about the use of a semicolon and then the self-deprecating wit- the whole witchcraft reference made me chuckle. Truth be told, I never really "chuckle," it's not me. I guffaw. So perhaps it made me do that. He's a chiropractor.
So in my initial approval of his request for contact, I acknowledged the fact that he was a witch doctor and praised his profession. The last chiropractor I went to was this gay guy in the West Village who told me that he wanted to 'cleanse my energy and spirit' in addition to cracking my back and fixing whatever the hell had screwed up my coccyx. Women have a coccyx, too- it's your tailbone, honey (please note the picture on the left, googled for your viewing pleasure). Mine was killing me and this chiro pointed out that it was my soon-to-be ex-husband who was the real pain in my ass. Speaking, figuratively, of course. It wasn't until after I lost my husband that I got any real relief and you can see how cleansed my spirit is these days. Come to think of it, my ass is hurting again...
