El Rey Pulpo Wisdom
By Amy Moloney
I hope I offend you
I hope I make you squirm inside your skin
I hope my words and actions
Shake you up again and again
I hope you’re uncomfortable
Inside your tight mental bonds
And you begin to see what is before you and beyond
I wish for nothing more
Than for enough friction to open your eyes
If my words penetrate through your eyes now open
The next step is to open your mind
Taken at People of Letters
Proof that Neil Gaiman is God or possibly Gozer.
And Kim Boekbinder is at the very least Zuul.
A few nights ago I attended a wonderful event here at SXSW. It was called People of Letters, a travelling letter writing brigade from Australia. The panel of letter writers was impressive, from my writing guru Neil Gaiman and his wife Amanda Palmer to my newest, beautiful friend Kim Boekbinder. There were many interesting folks in-between. The theme of the letters was for each panel member to write a letter to the artistic endeavor that they wish they had created. The letters were amazing, some right on the theme and others an abstract interpretation of the theme. Every single participant read a letter that somehow resonated with my personal experience in a profound way, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. I was moved, amused, tortured, and uplifted all at once. As such, I have decided to write my own letter that is sort of an amalgamation of the themes that the panelists chose. (The letter will be a separate post because of reasons, many reasons.) It isn’t exactly an artistic endeavor, but it is the thing that inspired me to rebel and eventually create my own artistic life.
Neil Gaiman, as stated on many occasions on this blog, is my invisible writing mentor, my guru. He is now no longer invisible in my world. Although, I did not regale him with how much I am inspired by him when given the chance to mingle with him in the Green Room after the show. I did eat melted chocolate out of his pocket and discuss the awkwardness of Englishmen and orgies. Specifically orgies instigated via twitter. So in essence, I was able to reveal my strange imagination habits without making an ass of myself. (I can only assume he did not think I was an ass.) I even refrained from telling him that he was the very first person I followed when I joined twitter all those years ago. I was cool, almost as if in shock or face to face with Yeti. In actuality, I was just really tired. But Neil did not need to know that inside I was a total meltdown of exhaustion and writing guru overload bordering on Beatles fan fainting. I do think I mentioned bees and tea, probably incoherently. So he may have suspected that I was seeing him as a possible undercover Yeti.
He asked me to take pictures of him and friends with his phone. I did because I’m a dutiful minion. I’m sure I made terrible jokes all night, because that’s what I do. I make awful jokes when I’m nervous. Thankfully, my vagina did not get mentioned. As that is another nervous habit, mentioning my vagina when things are going too well and I need to prove to the world that I am a completely without social grace.
And by the end of the night I was fighting off giant ceiling bees with my new friend Neil. Ok, my new acquaintance, Neil fucking Gaiman.
P.s. We tweeted the next day. Short little tweets of love. Fine, short little tweets of Neil tolerating a strange little woman who promised to start a band called Neil Gaiman’s Pocket Chocolate. Did I mention that his melted pocket chocolate was delicious? It was.
P.s.s. In case I forgot to mention it, Neil Gaiman is the nicest, most lovely man on the planet. I’ll take on any arch nemesis for him. Including giant ceiling bees. All inference to Doctor Who’s giant Agatha Christie wasps is completely coincidental. And awesome.
No, I did not take a picture with him. Because of that tired, seeing Yeti thing, I forgot I had a camera with me.
By Amy Moloney
We are the middle bloomers
Heeding the call of ancestral souls
Pioneers of an unknown internal jungle
Forging highways from the bricks of forgotten dreams
We’ve begun to take life by its core
Throw out what we’ve been told
“You can’t do that, it’s too hard”
“You are not enough, be someone else”
We are the middle bloomers
Reshaping what once we discarded as misconceptions of youth
No longer do we need to conform, to mold
A long journey home from the doubt programmed into the herd
Picking up faith from only ourselves, the visions that dance inside
Blood has been offered as sacrifice to the sacred cow
To the ancients that guide us back into their arms
From the ashes the bird of paradise begins to grow
From our paradise the middle bloomers take their power back
El Rey Pulpo
“Dream It Real”
Art is as much a part of my soul as breathing. The past two weeks without my hands covered in paint, ink, or clay has made me turn into a shell of my true self. When I pick up a pen, a brush, or an instrument of mass creation I come alive from the inside.
Art is for the soul. At least what I do is for my soul. I do not create for others, nor do I create for their opinions of what I should create. I art to fill my soul, to keep from going stark raving mad. Although, when I’m stopped on the street by someone admiring a necklace that I made, I do get tingles of excitement. I love to see people smile because of something I created. It’s the frosting on the already sweet cake that is my artistic soul. It connects me to the world around me.
When I spend time with other creative souls, artists, it raises me to a higher artistic plane. The collective mind fuels me to reach into myself and try things I haven’t thought myself capable of. I’m finally giving myself permission to be what I’ve always been but was too afraid to embody. No one gets to tell me that I’m unworthy of my dreams, my desires. No matter how out of the scope of my previous experience those dreams are. I can and will be the artist/writer/creator I see in my dreams.
On the “red carpet” at the Texas Film Hall of Fame Awards
I still look exhausted from travelling.
I have had the privilege to be in the presence of some beautiful artists this past week. Since arriving in Austin last week, I attended the Texas Film Hall of Fame Awards after party, like a rockstar, with a rockstar. I’ve experienced SXSW energy in a major way. My new friend Kim Boekbinder, an amazingly talented woman, musician, and gorgeous human being has inspired me to keep plugging away at making things happen for myself. She has inspired me to reach up into the universe and hand pick the stars I want to shine in my sky. Molly Crabapple, a beautiful soul and jaw-droppingly talented artist that I had an immediate connection with, has inspired me to continue with my Alzheimer’s book, the vagina project, and my jewelry art. I truly believe that people come into your life for a reason. I am floating in the sky after jumping from the cliff of pure faith and these two women were clouds for me to balance upon while I was finding my feet in this new space. They are part of the dream I have been manifesting into this physical world through art.
The move to Austin is proof that I have the power to manifest the fantasy into reality, no holds barred. I think it, then I do it. And what I want comes to me because I’m no longer afraid to meet it halfway. I’m willing to take action and get my hands dirty. (Not exactly in the same way that Nurse Bitterpill gets her hands dirty. But that does show how far I could go if need be.)
I have learned to be unapologetically myself. That is in itself 1 part age, 2 parts letting go of all the nay-sayers, and 1 part embracing myself exactly as I am. Every quirk, every grey hair, every curve, every ridiculous brainstorm that comes along is uniquely mine and beautiful.
I keep coming back to the power of words. Not just words said to others, the words said to myself when no one is around to hear. Words hold power, they can create or destroy worlds.
Gleaning from my experience as Nurse Bitterpill, the power of words becomes so much more apparent when forced to communicate with individuals unable to connect on a basic cognitive level. Every word can stem from a delusion, a fear, a state of infinite confusion. Words in response need to be chosen carefully without forcing my world into theirs. This translates just as profoundly into my daily life as it does in my professional life. I have to remember to choose the words I speak to myself carefully and with the openmindedness to the fantasy. Also, it is just as important not to force another person’s dream into what I consider “reality”. My reality may differ drastically from theirs. Who am I to determine real from dream when I am living my own dream that I never thought could become real? So in essence, Alzheimer’s trained me for real life more so than Algebra ever did.
Now I am looking closely at what I really want, trying to abstractly define this fantasy I built around myself. It is time to make myself a project board so I can focus on projects/brainstorms as they come. And with someone like me, they come fast and can be diverse. I have two books, one video, a comic strip, some musical endeavors, and my jewelry line on the table right now. Austin is the perfect place for me to be in order to make this all happen.
P.S. You should all be so proud of me. I stood an arms length away from Quentin Tarantino and did not challenge him to Hugageddon or call him a hug title stealing motherfucker. I just stood there and laughed at the circus he was encased in. Next time, Tarantino. Next time.
Meet Ramirez, my creepy unicorn persona. Ramirez wants to eat waffles with you on Sunday afternoons.
Still under the beguilement of exhaustion and adventure, I make my way towards manifesting exactly what I set out to do in Austin. I am truly living my dreams right now in this magical realm that I am building around my life. The warrior goddess is animated like she has never been before. Also, caffeinated like she has never been before.
I have been an Austinite… Austintine… err, I think I’ll be an Austineer, for a whole week now. And I love Austin more than I could have ever anticipated. At this moment in time, I am exactly where I need to be.
The world has been something of a whirlwind three-ring circus since my arrival. I am experiencing the joys, amusements, and traffic woes of SXSW during a Mercury retrograde. Which basically lends to a world of fun with miscommunication. But even with moments of hazy intentions and poorly communicated needs, this has been an amazing week. A truly amazing week.
I managed to kidnap my best friend for the journey. I would say it was selfishly to keep from being all alone on a long drive. But no, it was to save her from a life of being only half a SMay. (See below for definition of SMay.) In this case, kidnapping was a good thing.
My best friend and I arrived in Austin on Monday night after a 30 hour trip in a Uhaul from Northern Kentucky. Let me repeat that, A FUCKING 30 HOUR DRIVE IN A FUCKING UHAUL, TOWING MY FUCKING SUV. Along the way we had a few minor mishaps with the tow dolly not wanting to stay attached to my car’s right tire. We had to battle hurricane force winds. All the while trying not to murder my GPS, Spooky Garmin. He and my mother’s AAA triptick did not always see eye to eye. And lets face it, Spooky Garmin is kind of a bitch.
It was smooth sailing until Nashville. That is where a parade of truckers and concerned drivers kept telling us to roll the window down. The dolly was throwing sparks from the road where a chain had broken. Then the battle to find a place to pull over began. There were no shoulders, and of course no exit ramps. When we did find a place to pull off the highway we couldn’t find a place big enough for our huge truck. Apparently, where we found refuge from the highway in Nashville was considered a bad neighborhood. After being in the parking lot of a hotel for an hour the roadside assistance guy called to say he was coming to meet the mechanic “for security.” As we have been sitting there for an hour with no incident or hint of mischief, we were slightly confused about needing security. But hey, what are two girls alone in a Uhaul supposed to do when a man wants to ride in and save the day?
Our knight arrived in a grey Mustang (his steed) and immediately opened his trunk to reveal a rather intimidating shotgun. (This is where I remind you, dear readers, of my intense fear of guns.) “I’m a 40 year old ex-Navy Seal and I wouldn’t be caught dead in this neighborhood. This here shotgun is for your safety.”
(My best friend and I have the same name, hence we call ourselves the SAmy’s or as we often misspell it, SMay. Someday we will regale you with the awesomeness that is Smay.) SAmy and I exchanged glances of “where the fuck have we landed?” The mechanic fixed the the chain on the tow dolly by rigging it with a huge bolt then set us free.
The second time we called for roadside assistance for the exact same thing was in a place called Mt. Pleasant, TX, in an IHOP parking lot. Let me tell you how grateful I am that I decided to pay the extra for roadside and insurance on this journey. I somehow managed to get the truck stuck in the parking lot and was unable to back out of it. This wasn’t necessarily due to my inexperience with driving a big truck, but more due to the fact that the right tire kept coming off of the dolly as I was backing it up. Two women, not one, but two, came out to help us stating, “this is what we do for a living.” Samy and I took it as a good sign that we were almost home when it was the women who come to our rescue with their big truck know-how and the men just stood around watching. Warrior goddesses always find one another along our journeys. (And have I met some warrior goddesses of my Amazon tribe since I’ve arrived in Austin. These ladies are more than goddesses, they are galactic superheroes. That will definitely be the next post)
After a few more hours of waiting and eating omelettes, we were again back on the road to Austin.
We arrived late, exhausted, and restless to the welcoming arms of our beautiful friends.
And I am still unable to articulate in intelligently constructed sentences. Or maybe I never have been able to articulate in such a fashion. Either way, my creative flow is still struggling to unblock itself after all of this reality that has invaded my life over the past two to three weeks.
The rest of the story is to be continued (after the ingestion of much more coffee)….
This is not a real post. It is a reminder to everyone that I haven’t completely disappeared into the land of Austin.
I have arrived safely. Currently I am in a whirlwind of getting settled and making new connections. There is so much that has happened in the past 5 days. All the stories deserve their own posts.
So consider this a teaser and a to be continued…
Austin is the perfect place for a warrior goddess to reanimate.
On the road, Texas bound. It’s been a very busy week leading up to this journey. Basically, my entire life is boiled down to this silver box…
This post has taken me a week to write because it is such an emotional transition in my life. I am sorry if it seems disconnected and rambling, as I am typing this with a quivering lip and watery eyes. I am also going to cross post this to the Alzheimer’s blog, NurseBitterpill.com.
“You’ll make it wherever you go because you can make people smile.” –One of my favorite patients when she heard I was moving to Texas. What breaks my heart is that she will not remember that she and I used to dance around the dining room like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire while I sang made-up songs to her on nights she could not sleep.
It is with a heavy heart that I tell my patients that I will be leaving them. Most will not remember I told them by the time tomorrow comes. Other will not remember I was even their nurse after I’ve gone. But a few will know, will feel my absence even if they are not exactly sure what it is that is missing.
Nurse Bitterpill is not just a character I created; she is a vital part of my life. She is me. We are a symbiotic force that takes great pride in the healing we bring to our residents. She is a part of the fabric of my soul. These crazy, beautiful demented old folks have become my children. I protect them as I would a child. Some of my co-workers even refer to me as Mother Hen. And I am.
I have had a lot of people comment on my nursing style, mostly because I always put my patients first, which seems to be a rare thing to be able to do these days. They are humans not diseases. They are faces not insurance policies.
I was once called the Patch Adams of nurses. Which is one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received. And tonight one of my nurse’s aides told me that when she enrolled in nursing school she didn’t know what to expect. The other nurses she worked with scared her to the point that she about to change her mind. Then when she started working with me she continued with her plan of becoming a nurse. She told me it was because she saw how I treated my patients; how I showed her what kind of nurse she would want to be. I am practically in tears to know that it was my actions that inspired someone. Not just my words, but the observation of how Nurse Bitterpill cares for her children.
I have spent a lot of my recent days thinking about what it takes to do what I do. I fully comprehend that not many people on this big rock could do it. Each moment of my work day is different. Nurse is only a small part of what it is that happens on the job.
There was a whole lot I was going to write about, but it seems that I am having trouble putting it all into words. Thank you all for supporting Nurse Bitterpill and the Alzheimer’s quotes. I have every intention to continue the blog. I have a stockpile of quotes that have not been uploaded as of yet. And I would also like to invite you to submit quotes and stories for me to post. It would be nice to make Nurse Bitterpill an interactive site where we can exchange stories and hope. I would also like to announce that I plan on working towards turning the Alzheimer’s blog into a book.
“Tomorrow is a state of mind. And around here you can have up to 300 tomorrows in one night.” –Nurse Bitterpill
Kids, the word is bra, not brawl. Although, my tits do tend to brawl with the wire bondage of my bra. 
A long time ago I had a dream about these happy little fuckers attacking me with broken beer bottles. They had devil horns and their smiles turned into twisted snarls of demonic possession. Since that nightmare I have always viewed these delicious bastards as very suspect. What makes it worse is that they are unbelievably delicious. Addictively delicious. I sometimes get freaked out when I see them smiling at me from an unsuspecting table of desserts, like they are taunting me with flashbacks of that one time when they almost killed me with broken glass bottles. In today’s case they taunted me from the countertop behind the nurse’s station and in an article about how awesome Cincinnati food is. The fact that these two things both appeared within minutes of each other proves how deep the evil runs in these motherfuckers. Those poor chocolate cream pies and lemon bars don’t know that the innocent looking smiley face cookie sitting next to them is a psychopathic killer. The other desserts make small talk, tell the cookies their hopes and dreams, then deviant little bastards begin plotting ways to torture them with jagged glass and possibly switchblades. It could easily become a very Jets and Sharks scenario.
Here I sit, unable to stop myself from consuming pure evil by the handful, er… bowlful. Whatever, I ate them all dammit. It’s a trap, I tell you! Sugar cookie crack. A delicious, sugary trap with a misleading smile stamped on its evil little face. It’s a good thing that I’m moving out of Cincinnati so that these demonic assholes can no longer fuel their bloodthirsty desires from inside my sugar sated tummy.
Here is the latest doodles of El Rey Pulpo. He and Nurse Bitterpill had some fun while the power was out on the Alzheimer’s unit.
El Rey Pulpo quotes Nurse Bitterpill
El Rey Pulpo quotes Nurse Bitterpill
El Rey Pulpo quotes Nurse Bitterpill
Today is my birthday.
This is how it feels to grow older when you are a motherfucking warrior goddess. Years only add to the awesome.
By Amy Moloney
I had forgotten I had wings
But I’m better now
I unfolded my feathers
Shaking the dust from their tips
And when I took to the sky
I remembered
I have never stopped flying home
I’m trying to write something profound, but instead all I can manage until the dream fog clears is to finish another El Rey Pulpo. Yes, this is me procrastinating the whole putting all of my shit into boxes.
My brain is on overload with the reality of change. My heart is practically exploding with joy. In 15 days I will be en route to Austin, TX, my eyes filled with stars, my soul filled with hope.
New Pulpo: I affectionately call it “Suck It Tarantino“.
El Rey Pulpo
Hug Master
Since today is Valentine’s Day and everyone is all excited in one way or another over it, I thought I’d share an old (I mean old) online personals ad description of me. I think it still applies. Although, I am not really interested in the online dating thing these days. I really wasn’t then either to tell the truth.
I am a multi-faceted woman. Some have said I am a combination of Lucille Ball and Xena Warrior Princess. I find humor in everything. Laughter is my medicine.
One of my greatest loves in life is music. I appreciate all genres of music. I have yet to learn how to create music. That is next on my list.
I am rather quirky. I love the kitschy pleasures of life. Just knowing that busts of Elvis, concrete lawn ornaments, and lamps with grass skirts exist makes me unbelievably happy. Hence the adjective quirky at the top of my bio. (adjectives: I am whimsical, energetic, and quirky)
Not much else to say. I love life. I’m the kind of girl who shows up at fancy parties wearing pajamas.
Now you all are going to be knocking down my door for a date. It’s true, I’m the perfect woman. But have no fear, I’m keeping my browser window pure for Skippy these days.
Happy VD, my lovelies. Hug someone special. Or hug a tree. Whatever.
My dreams have been elusive lately as stress begins to build heading toward the big life changing move. The fact that I am certain that there is at least one significant piece of my soul waiting for me to find it in Austin adds to the anticipation of this move. I knew it was only a matter of time before the dreams began to re-emerge with full force. And they have.
I was already in Austin, a man asked me to do voice over work on an animated movie he was working on. I met him at a studio where we went over what they wanted from me. I was in a sound booth when David Bowie came in to read his lines with me. I was really pissed about being blindsided by having to work with my hero.
Me: You can’t be here. I’m never supposed to meet you!
David Bowie: I am here. Why don’t you want to meet me?
Me: You are never supposed to meet your heroes. You are going to ruin the myth I’ve built with your realness.
DB: I’m sorry, Love. But there’s no turning back now.
Me: Just be god-like, will you?
DB: As you wish, my dear.
We began to read our lines. I was shaking a bit. He reached over and held my hand, laughing a little. Then we sang China Girl together. It was very Shatner-esque. It was also terrifying.
Me: [After the song is finished] Someone in that little room with all the buttons needs to bring me food.
DB: I agree. Feed our little bird. She’s shaking with hunger. [He’s still laughing at me.]
Me: [I make a face at him] Shush you. Be more god-like.
Sexy male voice from the darkened room with buttons: One more scene and I will take you both to dinner.
Me: Good. Dinner is the least you can do for putting me through this stress in front of David Fucking Bowie.
Voice: [Laughing at me too] It adds color to your cheeks. I think it’s kind of cute.
DB: You are looking extra Irish right about now.
Me: I’m going to show you exactly how Irish I can get if you both don’t shut up and shove some sort of cooked meat into my mouth NOW.
DB: One more scene, dear.
Me: [I take a deep breath] As you wish, Lord Bowie.
DB: [Giggling] You are good for my ego.
Me: You are shattering my paradigm.
Voice: You both are trying my patience. Get on it so we can eat.
After the next strange animated scene, I enter the dark room with buttons and standing in the doorway is Skippy. My lovely, velvety voiced Skippy.
Skippy: Are you ready for dinner?
Me: You?
Skippy: [Smiling] Me.
DB: I’m here too, guys.
Me: Yes, of course you are David Bowie. [I’m still staring intently at Skippy with disbelief.]
Skippy: Shall we? [Ushers us out the door to his car]
At dimly lit restaurant where we are eating large quantities of heavily meated dishes.
DB: Tell me more about this secret society you created, The Bowie’s Templar.
Me: Yes. We pretty much just sit around talking about how amazing your music is while dressed like Ziggy Stardust.
DB: How many members do you have?
Me: I can’t tell you, it’s a secret.
Skippy: [Leans over and whispers in my ear] Quit pumping up David Bowie’s ego and try this. [Puts a fork filled with whatever he is eating in my mouth. I make a yummy noise.]
DB: Here try my dish. [Puts his food in my face. I feign a yummy noise.]
Me: Guys, I have my own food here.
David Bowie moves his chair between Skippy and I, pushing us apart.
DB: This is better. More wine, Amy?
Me: Why did you move your chair?
DB: To give us more privacy.
Skippy: You know, you could have just asked to move seats. You were already sitting next to Amy.
DB: You were getting too comfortable. She isn’t ready for that.
Me: How does David Bowie know what I’m ready for?
DB: I am a god, remember?
Me: Fuck, thwarted by my own damn myth.
Skippy: [Laughing at me again.] You know, you are going to have to accept that even David Bowie is merely a human. I’m ok with letting him have you tonight, I get you for longer.
Me: Do you now?
Skippy: Yes.
DB: What am I missing here?
Me: Everything, Mr. Bowie. Everything.
And back by popular demand, my old series Sharpie on Cardstock. Now featuring El Rey Pulpo.
(this is just an initial sketch of how ERP will roll with the sharpies)
Sharpie on Cardstock
El Rey Pulpo
I have been laying low in order to pack and prep for the big move, which is happening in less than 3 weeks. So much has been crammed into the past few weeks that I haven’t had time to write terrible poetry or even have trippy dreams.
So to keep you in the loop of what’s been going on, here is my life right now. In pictures.
I have a few things to say about this huge transition in my life, but so far it has been so emotional that writing it makes me cry and it’s hard to see the screen when you’re all teary eyed like that. It’s hard to say goodbye, even if it isn’t forever. And when it comes to my patients, it kind of is forever. They are at the end of their journey and knowing my time is running short with them is more difficult than I anticipated. I really do think of them as my children.
So for now lets look at my blue face from last night and think happy thoughts about the long journey ahead.
I promise that my next post will be a million times better than this one.
P.S. I love you all.
In case you haven’t gathered yet, I have a vividly exciting astral life. The other day I met a new spirit guide type guy. He is my official Guardian Ninja. His name is Hal. Yes, Hal the invisible Guardian Ninja. He dresses in fuchsia silk and leaves a trail of glitter in his wake. Why is he a ninja you ask? Because he just fucking is, that’s why.
I was particularly distressed on this day, feeling overwhelmed with the amount of work to be done before the big move. My mind was buzzing with the To Do list that keeps growing.
Suddenly, there stood this tiny man in fuchsia silk wielding a katana with a green dragon hilt. It was obvious to me that he was there to kill me because things were going way too well with my plans for moving. Instead he threw a piece of paper in the air and chopped it into three pieces, in a very Ginsu display. All of the pieces of paper had To Do written on the top. Which seemed to be his way of reminding me that there was way more to do than I had actually counted on. Guardian Ninjas are assholes.
Hal: You are not ready for this journey.
Me: I know. That’s why I have a To Do list.
Hal: If you want this journey to be successful you must first re-evaluate your choice in lipstick.
Me: What’s wrong with my lipstick?
Hal: Easy. You never wear any.
Me: I hate make-up. Why should I wear lipstick when I do just fine with chapstick?
Hal: This journey will test your lips. They must be ready to bloom. A soft pink petal will work well with their blossoming.
Me: What the fuck are you talking about and why are you here?
Hal: I am your guardian ninja. The fabulous ninja that will help you find the disco palace of your soul. In other words, I’m your astral gay ninja match dot com.
Me: Why do I need a gay ninja involved in my love life?
Hal: Everyone needs a gay ninja in their love lives, dear. We cut out the crap and find you the brightest jewel. And I know you want to shine. [He sang that last bit. It was very irritating.]
Me: Who exactly are you fixing me up with?
Hal: Oh, he’s a dreamy, delicious morsel. Just you wait; he’ll jumpstart that engine of yours with just one look.
Me: Sounds nice. When will I be meeting this morsel?
Hal: No spoilers. First things first, pucker up that kisser and paint it properly, with color.
Me: I really do hate wearing make-up. Why do I have to make such a production of my lips in particular?
Hal: He likes your lips. And you must learn to use your natural gift; your mouth is one of your best talents.
Me: Is this a reference to blow jobs?
Hal: Sometimes blow jobs are the best way to show you care. But I was referring to your gift of gab, your bullshit ability, the crap that spills from your piehole sounds better if it’s wrapped up in pretty colors. Put some glitter on your bullshit, it sells better.
Me: You’re kind of a dick.
Hal: Only when I’m doing my job properly.
Me: Fine, I’ll wear lipstick when I get to Austin. That is what you were talking about, right?
Hal: Honey, the world is your Technicolor oyster, why wait.
Apparently, my subconscious thinks I’ll find true love in Austin and give a lot of blow jobs. I’ll wager at least half of my subconscious is correct. (It’s totally correct.)
This is the third year I’ve watched the Superbowl through the eyes of Alzheimer’s. Football is so much better through the eyes of Alzheimer’s.
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Amy Moloney