Did that get your attention? Don’t get your hopes up. Because I’m pretty sure you’re not thinking what I’m thinking. I’m thinking about how good it feels to relax into a good, thought-provoking, well-scripted, well-acted movie. I’m thinking how happy my brain is with me, when I’ve done such.

And my brain is very happy with me tonight as I gave it sex twice, meaning I watched–count ’em–two movies of “erudite value” (aka artsy fartsy). And there was considerable foreplay, as I’ve been meaning to see these two movies for a very long time. And I do think I heard my brain sigh upon completion.

With the snow I’ve been hoping for finally arriving on the first day of spring, I took the day off and settled in front of the fireplace to watch Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle followed by The Elephant Man. And I had a simply delicious time. As I said, my brain is now sated and happy…ready to get on to the pedestrian matters of everyday life. Me? I found the films so interesting that I want to know more. Which means another book-buying binge is around the corner. But it’s what I live for. I’m not complaining.

Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle is, of course, about writer and poet Dorothy Parker (the Maureen Dowd of the Roaring Twenties) and the notorious Algonquin Round Table of which she was the most famous member. The movie, while starring Jennifer Jason Leigh in the title role, is more of an ensemble piece as there were so many writing luminaries who were a part of that group or at least made an appearance now and then. Miss Leigh studied recordings of Dorothy Parker’s voice in preparation for the role, and it is fascinating to hear her and the rest of her sharp-tongued and quick-witted literary coterie exchange banter.

Directed by David Lynch of Twin Peaks fame and filmed in black and white, The Elephant Man chronicles the relationship between Dr. Frederick Treeves (Anthony Hopkins) and the tragically deformed and terminally ill John Merrick (John Hurt). That Treeves is presented as an ambiguous character–empathizing with Merrick, yet gaining fame in the medical community due to their association–lends a lot of credibility to the truth of this movie. The cinematography is breathtaking, the muted blacks and greys emphasizing the industrial revolution that was taking place in England at the time.

In other words: Two Thumbs Up!

…sometimes.

Or maybe it’s what we need to believe for a while when the world sucks and life doesn’t make sense. Sometimes there just has to be someone to blame. Maybe it makes it easier. Yes, I think it does.

PhoneSex girls….ooh, ahhh…so tempting, so forbidden, so dirty, so other-worldy. The fantasies we create make us urban legends, mythological maidens, illusive visions of perfection. But we are people, too. People to whom things happen. We experience bad hair days, traffic jams and rude sales clerks. We contend with broken promises, cranky parents and burnt popcorn. We curl ribbon, bake cakes, run marathons, and polish furniture. We laugh, we cry. We watch movies, read books and order pizzas. We bitch, we nurture, we complain, we celebrate.

And we get angry with God. Or at least I am angry at God and have been for the last few weeks. Despite being pissed, I know deep in my heart that God is goodness, light, beauty, and–most of all–fucking huge! Much bigger than me and more than I will ever be able to comprehend in this lifetime. I actually am comforted, even inspired, by this…if that makes any sense.

So something happened a few weeks back. And I needed to be with it for awhile before I brought it here. Someone I loved died. His life was troubled, and I am still getting used to the fact that there are no chances left to save him from himself.

Peace comes from knowing that he can’t hurt the world and the world can’t hurt him anymore.

Then I feel the emptiness. And I want to touch his face, his beautiful, warm face. Just one more chance. And I cry. Last night was one of those times. Today is ok.

So now you know.

It comes and it goes.

Ok, I’m not really Irish, but I am kinda-sorta Catholic. Come on! Surely that counts for something. Anyway, this little lass would be wishing you a fine St. Patrick’s Day.  Be safe me fine lads ‘n ladies.

A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he couldn’t stand still. He asked Father O’Rielly for some advice. Father O’Rielly replied, “When I’m worried about gettin’ nervous on the pulpit, I take a wee bit o’ whiskey. Just to calm my nerves.”

So the next Sunday he took the older priest’s advice. Before the mass, he got nervous and took a drink. He then proceeded to talk up a storm. Upon return to his office after mass, he found the following note on his door:

1. A few sips of whiskey. Not the whole bottle.

2. There are 10 commandments, not 12.

3. There are 12 disciples, not 10.

4. Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.

5. Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.

6. We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C.

7. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Senior, Junior, and the Spook.

8. David slew Goliath, he did not kick the shit out of him.

9. When David was hit by a rock and knocked off his donkey, don’t say “He was stoned off his ass.”

10. We do not refer to the cross as the Big T!

11. When Jesus broke the bread at the Last Supper he said, “Take this and eat it, for it is my body”; he did not say, “Eat me.”

12. The Virgin Mary is not referred to as the, “Mary with the Cherry”.

13. The recommended grace before a meal is not: “Rub-A-dub-dub, thanks for the grub, yea God.”

14. Next Sunday there will be a taffy-pulling contest at St. Patrick’s, not a patrick-pulling contest at St. Taffy’s.

Jenna is going to get me in trouble one of these days. Her husband, Jeremy, is always friendly with me, but I feel his sideway glances. I am the single girl, the girl that does phonesex and writes naughty stories…the BAD INFLUENCE! Can I help it that Jenna likes to hang out with me, even participate in a call now and then? (More about that later.)

Despite Jeremy’s suspicions, out of the two of us, Jenna is the naughtier one. Sometimes I think she wants to believe I am a bad influence, wishes desperately that I am a bad influence. She loves to bar hop, while I detest that scene. She likes to smoke…and not just cigarettes, if you know what I mean. She flirts outrageously, while I am very low key (as I believe seduction is not flirtation & teasing is a fine art).

The reason I’m bring this up is that I just got a call from my frisky friend. It seems Jeremy, as is usual for him, has a big computer gaming night planned, which will probably last until dawn. How he plans to put a full day in at his office tomorrow after pulling an all-nighter is more that I can gander. There’s a band Jenna wants to check out at a local nightspot and thinks we could zig over there, then zag to a few other places before she crashes at my place.

I guess Jenna thinks we should get an early start on St. Patrick’s Day? Partying is not my style on weekends, let alone weekdays and absolutely never on holidays. My perfect New Year’s Eve? Me, maybe a few very good (very sober) friends, a good movie and a cheese plate. Perhaps a glass of champagne or merlot. Jenna knows this about me, but refuses to give up the dream that I just might someday lead her into the muddy waters of “bad girl” territory. Like I tell my callers, “Don’t try this at home.” And I practice what I preach.

The last time my lovable, silly friend bamboozled me into a “girls night out” I spent the latter part of the evening fending off and ducking two guys as they followed us from bar to bar, thanks to Jenna’s earlier alcohol-fueled, unabashed coquetry. Of the four of us, I was the only one sober. Even though they were all older than me, I felt like the Den mother amongst a group of wily teenagers.

One of the guys admitted to a foot fetish, and I happened to be wearing an ankle bracelet and toe ring, with these adorable Tommy Hilfiger summer cork heels. So he was falling all over me. I swear if I had told him to, he would have dropped to his knees and kissed my little manicured toes in front of gawd and everybody.

While I circumvented their attempts to continue the partying at my place (the guys tried to follow us home, which took some fancy dancing on my part) and made it home safe and sound–Jenna’s fidelity still in tact–I went to bed with a migraine. Not my idea of fun! Meanwhile, Jenna was in my living room going through my CD collection like a Tasmanian devil and dancing up a storm until the margaritas finally got the best of her and she passed out.

And guess which one of us had the headache come the next morning?

You can bet it wasn’t me.

Yup! I think I’ll be having a quiet evening at home tonight.