Tag Archives: Hugh Hefner

Bob Dylan and Me

I thought it would be hard to write 300+ words a day, every day, but it’s not. I realize I should be editing more carefully. Sometimes I read what I wrote and it makes perfect sense to me but I can’t be sure if anyone else understands what I am trying to say. But, hey, this is not Pulitzer Prize material. This is me blabbing about me and those around me. I know if I go back to an older post I’ll find something to correct or something that doesn’t sound right. But the point is, I’ve kept up the writing. At this time I’d like to take a break to pat myself on the back — good girl, keep it up. Pat. Pat. Pat.

This morning Drew told me that he doesn’t read my posts every day. He waits a few days and then catches up. That does not help my numbers any, my dear darling dandy drew. And then he said, “Shouldn’t this be on Facebook? It’s so personal. Don’t you think the people who know you should read it?” “No, I dont’ think so. I certainly wouldn’t want to log on to Facebook and have a 300+ word post every day about someone I may or may not know so well. Nope, let them find me.

You could reinvent yourself like Bob Dylan (Again?)” Drew’s excited now. “If people don’t know you why not create a whole new world?” Now, why would I want to do that? Should I write about what it’s like to be one of Charlie Sheen’s goddesses, or Hugh Hefner’s wife, or how about Joan River’s plastic surgeon? Nah, I don’t think so. I think I’ll write about me and if that is not exciting enough, then I don’t know what is! Really now, I’m busy. My market list today: Kosher salt and dishwashing soap. I’ve managed to write about something everyday. And for those of you who are thinking, “Where does she find the time — such adventures, always writing?” Well, okay, a job would be nice — a meaningful one would be even better, but I don’t havea job therefore I have the time.

And you know what else  you should know about me — I did reinvent myself and all the telemarketers know my name!

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Filed under Baby boomer, Empty nesting, Everyday Woman, Long Island Living