Before I go into my rant about Tina Fey, who is a close and personal friend of mine….not, I just want you to know that I was on my Twitter page and my “Who to follow” showed Mitt Romney. Where is my mother ship and how can I get back home to Toto? He needs to be walked.

Okay, let’s go back to my version of reality. Fractured as it might be.

Tina Fey is a very funny and talented woman. Really. She has honed her comedic skills by performing in front of four drunks at 3 AM and now is an award winning actress, comedian, writer and producer who lives in New York City with her husband and two children. I can only imagine that her apartment is quite spacious with a killer view and I bet she eats in fabulous bistros and restaurants every night. I suspect she even gets manicures and pedicures every week – a sure sign of someone who has arrived. Even Maxim magazine called Tina “hot” and People magazine proclaimed “one of the most beautiful.” And I am okay with that. I just want to be called “hot” one more time before I go to the, “My, we were bitter about other people’s successes, weren’t we?” section of purgatory.

What the hell did I do wrong? Tina is even listed in Wikipedia where you can read about all her amazing accomplishments. I find the best time for me to do that is while sitting in my refrigerator and finishing up a jar of outdated mayonnaise. Oh, like I am the only one who does that? Silly me, I thought  that ieating inside an actual refrigerator was being considered for the 2016 Olympics. Note to self – get the low fat mayo. Sweat pants are getting snug.

Now, when Tina was 10 years old (I just threw up a little in my mouth) I tried out to be a writer for SNL. A friend called and said they were looking for writers and performers so I sat down in my east village apartment with no view and a bathtub in the kitchen and sent a very convincing letter. Yes, the type of letter that goes into an envelope and needs a stamp before Mr. Mailman will take it. My three strongest points for being considered as a writer were 1) I was doing this for my mother. 2) I would never wear blue eye shadow while on stage or anywhere else for that matter. I thought Lorne Michaels would jump at that one talent. 3) I would never eat tuna fish during rehearsals.

I sat back and waited for my acceptance letter. And it came. 

“Unfortunately, we do not have a position open for you at this time as we are fully staffed. Will your mother ever understand?”  Lauri thanked me for my humorous letter and wished me the best of luck. I googled Ms. Lauri – nothing came up. Perhaps she is spending some quality time in upstate New York?

And I am okay with that because of all the successes I have had, the one that is close to the top is that rejection letter from SNL. On the other hand, it annoys me so much that I keep it framed in my office. And it mocks me.

One thing very few people know is that Tina stole my memoir. Bossypants was originally about a tall Italian/Irish girl who worked in comedy clubs in NYC and was once compared to a young Woody Allen. And I am wondering Maxim won’t consider me to be “hot?” The publishers changed their minds at the last minute and Tina got $659.27 for it. The only thing that remains of me are my arms on the cover.

Nothing seems to stop Tina and she will probably be first lady of France one day. And when that happens, I will be expecting a call from Lorne Michaels. I might not answer on the first ring. And you know damn well that I am going to be chowing down with a nice big bowl of tuna fish.

© 2012 My Views from the Edge ™

You can become a fan of mine on Facebook at:  elizabeth cassidy Views from the Edge with a Slice of Reality

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I can’t help but think that this little planet earth might not be around for much longer. I don’t stay up at night shaking in my bed sheets, but I believe Mother Nature has grown bored with our inability to get along, to exercise regularly and to share the TV remote. You got to admit that the frisky Mamma has been working overtime lately.

The other day I was getting so overwhelmed by the news of the world that it got me thinking. What would I not miss if the world comes to an end? I have to say it was this first time in weeks that a smile graced my face.

Think about it. When we become tiny little particles floating around the Milky Way, there will be no more:

Taxes

Boxed wine

Glenn Back

Fat free food

Water retention

Knock knock jokes

Charlie Sheen (ahhh…I just want to stay here for a minute)

Scales that lie

Paper cuts

Computer hackers (there is a special place in hell for them).

Songs about women and trucks

Certain shades of pink

A generation who feels they are just entitled to it all (while not doing a damn thing)

Snakes

Vomit of any kind – not that there is good vomit, but my cats like to leave it so I can find it with my bare feet.

Car repairs that you have to sell an organ to finance

Men who say they will call, but never do. Hey Hackers – please make some room.

Public bathrooms

Dressing rooms lighting

Making lists

So I have done my job with making the end sound a little sweeter.

What’s on your list?

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I have been saying for years that growing up, getting old and slipping into sensible shoes is someone else’s future. Not mine.  No levelheaded hair styles for me, and while I am at it, lose the “can I help you ma’am?” attitude. If I needed help, I would call upon any one of my admirers once those silly restraining orders against me have been lifted.

So the other day, I am going about my fantasy life and this little ditty shows up in my email box. I asked if the sender wanted to be identified and she foolishly said, “I don’t care.” So, this is Esme, my oldest friend. We have known each other since we were three when I came flying out of my parent’s house to inform Esme and her mother to stay off my property. The police report noted that I spat at Esme, but I think that was a gross exaggeration. At that age, I was still drooling on myself.

“You know what else I hate? Getting ready for bed. Between the going to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, using the water pic, going to the bathroom, removing the makeup- without which I can’t leave the house anymore- cleansing my face, going to the bathroom, applying numerous anti aging moisturizers, layer by layer because I figure if one doesn’t work, there are 10 more on top to cover for it, going to the bathroom, taking all my various medications and constipation remedies, checking the door and going to the bathroom, it takes me an hour and I’m already tired when I started. There is nothing good that I can think of about getting old.

I forgot to mention, I have to wear glasses if I want to see anyone more than 15 feet away from me and even in the last row of the movies, where I have to sit. They’re very stylish- Do you know how freaking old I feel? This is besides the other glasses that I have to wear if I’m interested in reading anything- like the labels on the increasing medications that I take – do you know how freaking old I feel?

Just a thought…….”

My, she does go on, doesn’t she? I have to admit I laughed my butt off and then I had to go the bathroom. The power of suggestion is very strong.

The photo above was taken before everyone started to use Botox. I do miss the waxed lips days. (we do not dress alike -I was living in NY and Esme was living in Italy so there were enough miles between us.)

I am not immune when it comes to reaching my next birthday. Several years ago, I had to start to take Synthroid because I have a thyroid that refused to get down and give me 50 sit ups. I asked for how long I would have to take this medication and the doctor said “forever.” I started to cry.  So I am not Superwoman. I have to call my doctor out on this one. She told me I would start to lose those stubborn (fill in blank) pounds that were hanging around. Oh, really.  Does it say big, fat liar on your diploma?

And I do find it a little insulting when I go to a new doctor and they ask how many meds I am on and say “two.” They look at me as if this poor dear is losing it. How about good genes?

For as long as I have known Esme, and when we are not in a wine induced haze, we are sarcastic, intelligent, humorous, catty and self deprecating. The latter is to keep those aging police from coming to round us up. We kill them all with our charm.  Charm doesn’t age. Nor does it get brown spots. And in my world those damn spots are freckles. End of story. Oh, but before I really end it, the two of us can hold our own in a room filled with 30 and 40 year olds. Well, as long as they are men.

I can’t help Esme when it comes to wearing eyeglasses. I just look at them as accessories that keep me from falling down the stairs. Sort of like earrings with radar.

Same goes with constipation remedies. To know my family, is to know that we do not have bodily functions. It was never discussed amongst my people. I see the ads for the whole assortment of things our bodies do or don’t do and wonder who are these people who take such things and why do they not live in my village?

So in closing, I want to say to all…what was I talking about?

Not!

Nature gives you the face you have at twenty; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty.
- – - – Coco Chanel

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My hope is that Charlie Sheen will still be breathing when my column is posted.

Could you do that for me, Charlie? I mean, it’s not like I am a former porn star or anything like that. You see, if a man ever hit me, he’d end up in the hospital.  So why would you pay attention to me? I am just a writer who would like to have her say about what you are doing with your life. I am sure you won’t hear me with all those other voices running around in your head demanding three million dollars per episode, but just in case a few go out for air or a drink or some illegal drug or a really nasty combination of the later two, here is what I would like to say to you. And all the fools out there who think that Charlie be the man.

I have never liked your arrogance since you were a young actor. There always seemed to be something menacing about you when I saw you being interviewed. Could never put my finger on it, and truth be told, I didn’t give you much thought. Not with Daniel Day Lewis, Javier Bardem (I am a little miffed at Colin Firth for totally forgetting to thank me for his Oscar) walking around on this earth.

Then your show, “Two and a half Men” comes on CBS and I consciously made the decision to boycott that channel. Except for NCIS. Don’t need to have the Husband having a meltdown.

I don’t get you. I don’t see the appeal. Maybe I am one of these women who dislike sons of bitches who treat women like doormats on TV and in their real lives. And that someone would pay you two million dollars per episode makes me want to set my hair on fire. They cut the arts in schools and yet you get to blow your money on drugs, booze and young women who are probably victims of abuse or become victimized under your roof. Sweet, naive, young women who would never know a healthy relationship if it came up and kissed them gently on their cheek. You seem to go for the ones who can’t defend themselves. And this is only my humble opinion. You bastard.

I don’t think you can really act your way out of a paper bag. And then I look at your sainted father, Martin Sheen, who has the courage of his convictions and is a brilliant actor.  I wanted to live in the set of, “The West Wing.” I voted for him for president in 2000 and 2004.

You have so much going for yourself (even if I don’t see it) and yet you are hell bent on self imploding. And we get to watch it on TV. ABC and NBC have the Sheen Olympics on 24/7 to make sure we don’t miss one second of the insanity. I am afraid Oprah is going to start her second network – The All Charlie Sheen, All The Time Network. If she does, I am going to live in cave with Stedman.

Some days it feels like the whole nation is watching you dangle from a ledge of a building and they are secretly whispering, “Jump.” That has got to make you feel all warm inside, doesn’t it?

People don’t really care about you. They just want to see you spontaneously combust on The View. They just want to see Barbara Walters slip and exclaim, “WTF.”

So since I have not cared for you since the beginning, I will say this and I mean it in the nicest way:

Get help. I haven known men like you who were the life of the party and always a little reckless. Now, I don’t which cemeteries they are buried in.

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Grandma shouldn’t be lying around in a drunken stupor on the roof anyway. She was just asking for it!

I am not a very conservative person. In fact, I don’t think you will find anything about me that is conservative…except for one thing…..Christmas. Not the religious aspect of it,  but the decorations, Santa and his reindeers and the music. Okay, I might be perceived as being a heathen, but let’s just say that I want to keep the look of Christmas alive.

And you won’t find that in an emaciated Santa Claus. Go eat some reindeer food and bulk up or have some of Grandma’s plate full of carbs. She’s been run over by a reindeer and won’t be home for hours. And don’t go to CVS and buy their brand of cotton balls and hot glue them together to make a beard. I have never hit Santa before, but there is always a first time. I know in my younger days, I bit a few, but I didn’t get what I wanted the year before so I felt a warning was in order.

We went to a garden center a few weeks ago. To buy spring bulbs. Walter is living on Australia time. I would too, if it involved waking up with Hugh Jackman. But it probably doesn’t.  I went and checked on the decorations and found Santa’s chair. He would be landing at 10. It’s 9:30 and I can wait. Walter wants to leave, but I use my womanly charms to keep him there. I give him my dagger eye look that I reserve only for him. He melts.

So at 5 after 10, Santa walks in. Like he could care less. By this time I am the oldest person in the room and the only one to catch the blase’ attitude.  Hey, Mr. Idiot, you’re Santa Claus. These kids are so excited to see you. Could ya muster up a little for the little ones? And who does your beard and how long have you been on the Atkins diet? I leave in utter disgust.  I tell a seven year old that that  there is no Santa.  Kidding. Even I can’t be that mean. Well, I can, but you have to be able to vote before I can turn on you.

When I am driving around in my element and in my Element, I put on the stations playing Christmas music. A family tradition was to blast Christmas music on the 4th of July.  And you know the windows are wide open. My father started it and some of us still do it. No wonder we are nomads. The village people burnt us out of our homes. Wait…wrong holiday.

So why does every one-hit wonder have to put out a Christmas CD? Your first song sucked and now you want to sing “Silent Night?” Get away from me and get away from the mic. And we don’t need drum solos nor do we need you to hit one note that goes on for 5 –6 minutes? Mariah are you listening, girl? Don’t change the tempo on “O Holy Night.” I will not be getting down with my bad self when I hear that and I advise that you don’t go there either. Have you ever had reindeer poop thrown at you? There is always a first time.

And who is the horse’s ass who wrote “Dominic The Donkey?”  I may only be half Italian, but I can kill you with a look.  Don’t ever think of ever writing something like that again. if I don’t get you, God certainly will.

Pink is not a Christmas color. End of story.

Santa lands on rooftops by using reindeer power. He doesn’t use a Nascar car. Next thing you will tell me is that you spotted Santa at Daytona. Nope. That is just some fat slob who can’t hold his liquor. NOT Santa. Santa hates Halloween so don’t put him out with all the pumpkins and Harry Potter costumes.  You won’t have to worry about getting coal in your stockings if you do that. We’ll just burn you at the stake.

I think of Christmas as a time for good old fashioned traditions. Beautifully decorated trees, smoke coming out of the chimneys presents for me, candy canes and greeting cards from family and friends we rarely see and more presents for me.. I see strangers wishing me “good tidings, my good woman” before they cut me off in traffic.

Warms your heart does it?

Happy Holidays to all and to all a good night! Wait one second here…..MERRY CHRISTMAS! There I said it.

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