I'm back, I think!

I'm back. It's not that I wanted to stop blogging or anything like that at all. It's just that I'd sit there, and start remembering that when I wrote half of those posts, Sinatra was alive. And it hurt. After he died, I dropped 15 pounds in a week. Since I am only five foot two and a half (yes the half inch counts) 15 pounds made me look like a refugee. Did I mention that I was also smoking my brains out???

Yeah, it took awhile for me to start feeling like me. But I'll never forget the night I had to leave him in ICU at the Emergency Hospital. I came home and standing in the kitchen, I heard him scream. It was the most wretched feeling on earth. I have to stop this train of thought, I'm crying and that's not good for the contacts.

Let's get onto something silly. Celebrity sightings---two weeks ago, I'm wandering around the West Village and who do I see on Christopher Street enjoying the street fair? Alan Cummings. Okay, I could have screamed. I looked at him, making very sure that he didn't notice me and them scampered away.

During the summer I watched Richard Dreyfus being filmed walking down West 4th Street and a few weeks ago, they filmed part of the TV show "Rescue Me" three blocks from my house.

Interviewed Sonic Youth, Two Gallants and Gabriel and Dresden. If you'd like to see the interviews (they were filmed) check out UGO.com The SY and Two Gallants are VOD or video on demand interviews. You don't see me at all.

Saw Armin Van Buuren spinning--religious experience, okay.

Had very few dates. Yeah me, not really dating. Stop laughing.

These were my horrid dates:

1) Date number one got a phone call from his Mum and had to go home. I'm not kidding (said mum as he's a Brit).
2) Date number two tried to pick a bar fight in Pianos, kept egging on a drunk guy. Then date calls the police and pretends to be the victim
3) Date number three--well we actually had two good dates, he asked me out for a third and I actually said yes (shut up all ready) He blew me off. I deleted his number from my cellphone. A week later, he calls because he was fired and could I help him get another job.

So, I've been laying low. Under the radar. And at my height that's easy.

I also have (gasp) a dog. Me, with a dog. This is what happened. Almost a month after Sinatra died I was being pressured to get another kitty from friends. Personally I thought it was too soon. I mean if a relative dies, do you run to KMart and immediately buy another? I was surfing on the net and saw that a rescue league was looking for foster parents. I thought about all the wonderful people who helped me with Sinata, all of those compassionate souls and thought that I'd take care of an animal in honor of them and Sinatra. I called, went through a bunch of interviews, was deemed sane and was told that I was going to get a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel named Ocean. What I got was a Brittany Spaniel with an unclipped tail who has serious separation anxiety. I promptly renamed her Sophie. After bringing her to Union Square to show her off to respective parents and telling them that she was a special needs child. Did I mention she had very special needs? She's special dammmit. I adopted her.

The only thing I can say about Sophie is that if she had opposable thumbs, the world would be in serious danger.

Here are some of her escapades.

To get even with me for some imagined slight, she pooped on my Prada tee, Helen Wang Dress and ate my Christian Dior stilletoes. Mind you, she ignored all the inexpensive stuff and went right for the high ticket items.

I collect vintage hats. I had a lovely vintage cocktail hat from the 40's. It was made of red feathers. You wore it cocked over one eye. I had it hanging in the hallway of my apartment. Over five feet off the ground. I come home one day and there's feathers everywhere. Half of the couch is covered with feathers and there's feathers all over the floor. I stumble to the couch, screaming. "oh no! Oh no!" Look down and what do I see? Sophie had taken the dustpan out of the kitchen and put it (right side up) on top of what was left of the hat on the couch.

I run out to get mail and leave Sophie behind. I come back and Sophie is curled up on the couch watching TV. No, she didn't turn it on, I left it on for her. Next to her is a bag of pasta with a neat slit down the top, she's picking them out like popcorn. While I was gone, she opened one of the food cabinets, gently grabbed the bag, took it to the couch and you know the rest.

I come home one day and she's taken my makeup bag out of the bathroom and opened it up on the couch. Fanned out next to her are the contents. They weren't chewed or destroyed. I think if I had come home an hour later, she would have put some on. I grab the stuff and put it away. I have to go out again. I come back and she's done the same thing with my toolkit (I leave my tools--I think I have three-in a bag).

Scary, huh