But what the hell.

The movie will be fun.

By 19, I was a fully formed tomboy debutante.  I liked to drink, dance, smoke, fool around, shoot, drive, read, write, swim, and laugh.  I still enjoy all of these things, actually.  I am not one of those people who “take stock” of their life because they are about to turn 40, becoming maudlin and annoying, bemoaning their age. I can’t believe I’m still here, much less that I’ve lasted this damn long.

I will freely admit that I have become a talented derelict, who has neglected her passion for writing in exchange for devotion to other, various, worldly pursuits, including the joys of lime and tequila, the consequences – both good and bad –  of my limited social filter, cars, travel, education, drag queens, movies, chlorine, a cure for cancer, a decent straight man, Hong Kong Phooey paraphenalia, an Elvis jello mold, babies, dogs, painting, cooking, and a reverent dedication to finding the world’s most perfect BLT, despite the fact that bacon is no longer my life-long friend.

For years I have been working on a memoir with the ultimate goal of publishing it and having a book tour in which I can enjoy crisp clean hotel sheets in the finest cities in America on someone else’s dime.  This is step one, right?

The problem is that I have pissed off a lot of people in my days and some of them are wealthy, some powerful, some mean, some crazy, some who write my paychecks, and some who are even related, so I let fear turn into overwhelming procrastination.

I am happy to report that I have procrastinated for so long that most of these assholes are mentally unstable, in rehab, jail, or dead.  So I am out of excuses.  Officially.

While technically not completely uninhibited by professional development or academic research (that I ought to be doing in order to keep my job) or domestic work (at which I refuse to excel or I will never be able to make my case for a cleaning lady), or philanthropic works (my caped identity is a teacher, so by definition I’m already a missionary), I am WRITING again.  (Watch. Out.)

So this trailer may suck, but I think you’ll find the blog entertaining.

Perhaps it needs more boobs?  A dramatic arrest scene?  Shit catching on fire?

Something should explode or there should be promises of earth-shattering sex?

I can do that…