Thanks for the text. No not really.

Dearest Mr Turner, I said I was smart, not perfect. Plus I write these blogs on my cell phone. I’m lucky if ten words in a row get spelled correctly. “Hey, remember that time when we huilhff5!!& jjo4.seh!’kf? Oh my god, that was amazing!” 

See what I did there, I actually spelled out the words “oh my god”. Impressive right?

Someone told me I look like Carrie Ann Inaba, but with gray hair. Who? I looked her up. She’s Japanese, Chinese, and Irish. All things I am not. Damn racists! I’d have to see what she looks like with no makeup on. Does she look like a sexually confused 14 year old boy with no makeup on? Then yes, we look alike. 

Why are you people always shocked when you see my tattoos? YOU KNOW I’ve been a fuck-up at least one time in my life. 

Back in the day, Christine and I always asked each other in our most rare sober moments, “How are we still alive?” How did we make money? How did we pay for that? No one knows. Not even us. Not then. Not now. Well, I mean, on occasion, we had (some) idea. And back when I lived across the street from the Whisky in WeHo, I’d wake up days later to find money all over my apartment. Meh. As long as I didn’t wake up with stab wounds, bullet holes, or gonorrhea, all was right with the world. Back then we called it reckless and irresponsible. Today we just call it being old. 

I await the day when I’m old enough to be afflicted with Alzheimers and spend the rest of my waking hours wandering around town in a bathrobe, pink fluffy slippers, and my giant red mug. Even if I don’t get Alzheimers I’m doing it anyway. Maybe next year?

And that’s what you get sir for hiring young writers. They can only steal some of my material, some of the time.;)

In some 48 days I turn 50 years old. 

More importantly in 41 days this blog turns six. I thought it was turning seven. I was wrong - as I am about many things. Thank god I have you to remind me. 

Happy Thanksgiving, Mr Turner.