I received a message through the wonders of Instagram. It is from a stranger.
She: Hello Alexis! My mother said she met you while she was at tea with her friend this morning and has just been telling me what a charismatic person you are. You really made her day! She even showed me her blog card which led me to your Instagram. What an interesting life story you have, Keep sharing the positivity.
My goodness gracious was I ever flattered beyond belief, as one might imagine. I fired back an answer.
Me: How darling of you to reach out to me. It is actually sort of lonely blogging and rather esoteric. My number are mind boggling – something like 250 people a day read me.
She replied and the conversation went on.
She: Wow, Crazy! You’re right, it must be odd knowing so many people read your blog when most of them you have never met in real life,
Me: Yes, particularly since I am so intensely personal. The weirder part is that a number of my exes (lovers. friends, relatives) also read me. No one forces them to read the blog. They do not get to get over me. Hahahaha I am like a guilty little secret. I did, incidentally, get the permission of the wonderful woman to put the conversation on the blog.
But she got me to thinking. I definitely do not write for my exes, increasingly I write for myself. It is entertaining. I do not seek out situations to blog about, they just happen, or I read something or I have a strange conversation. This blog is not the core of my existence any longer. It is an accessory – not the dress. I have begun to change my habits and often send Chris the blog in the evening knowing I will wake up to it. I read it and the relates stories. So I begin the day with me – past and present. It is rather like an extremely public diary with conveniently placed flashbacks. It is making me become more self reliant and I am loosing my life long habit of looking for unavailable people to see me, recognize me. I now can clearly see that some people are not capable of recognizing others and that no matter how I might try it is not going to work. I am not angry at their silence, just as I was not angry with JRM.
Me: Your silence shows me you have no empathy. Good bye.
I had an interesting email communication with Chris, my tremendously supportive guru. I complained about the heat, mentioning that I knew he was suffering as well.,
He: Yes, they’ve issued warnings in the media to keep out of the sun this week, I think that’s a first
Me: I should think that a media warning be unnecessary. I guess mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the mid day sun still holds true, Hahahaha Alexis
I was strolling down the street in the heat yesterday and encountered an employee at the Trump International Hotel. He was so helpful to me during my stay. He confirmed what I already knew, that their numbers have been decimated and basically only two of the huge former staff members remain. He and good old CCC, who works 16-18 hours a day. So it is more than a little eerie reading of my glory days there, a year ago. How quickly things changed. I think the demise occurred because it was built on a lie. There is a story to be told, but I do not think that I am the one to tell it.
So ever mindful of my unknown public’s need for humor I am now going to supply it. I went to VPL and borrowed a boo with a fascinating titled. The World’s 100 Weirdest Museums written by Geoff Tibbalis. I shall begin with a museum in Prague – I have been to Prague but not this museum. The museum is the Sex Machines Museum. Geoff waxes eloquently:
“When visitors was lyrical about the romance of Prague they usually have in mind the Charles Bridge, the Tyn Church, or the hilltop castle – and probably not the Sex Machine Museum. That might be an oversight because if there is one place guaranteed to remain in your thoughts long after all the chocolate box images have started to fade, it is this. “ The museum has three floors and is housed in an historic house close to Old Times Square. It is an exposition of mechanical
erotic appliances, the purpose of which is to bring pleasure and allow extraordinary and unusual positions during intercourse. Some of the machines date back to the sixteenth century. There is apparently instrumentality for the prevention of sex including chastity belts. Sounds like such fun. Prague here I come.
One could also, on that trip, go to Zagreb, Croatia and go to the Museum of Broken Relationships. So a couple broke up and wanted to do something with all of the detritus, the keepsakes of their time together. They got very serious about it and asked for contributions of other that had suffered from failed relationships. The artifacts of failed relationships consist of letters, photographs, wedding dresses, a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs, nasal spray, a prosthetic leg and an axe. There is a gift store – the best selling item is a ‘Bad Memories Eraser. Apparently it attracts 1,000 people a week, The items are accompanied by stories – the axe was used to chop up the philander’s furniture into tiny pieces. The axe and the woman was from Berlin. More stories are related in the book. Funny, I really want to go there. I have been to Croatia but not to that museum. What have I been doing with my time anyway?
So people (even me) question my ability to be cheerful and positive. Here is my free advice just remember you get what you pay for. Do not sit around waiting for Mr. Right to knock on your door or for your kids to call you and ask you for dinner. Go the library, find a funny book. The phone just rang. It was my very handsome financial adviser, we made an appointment and then he announced that he wanted to apply for the position of Cabana Boy. Poor Sir Richard is facing some serious competition here. The new applicant said that he would supply the fan. New readers need to be reminded that I always tell the truth – slight exaggeration here and there – but always the truth.
The word of the day is detritus . It is a noun, synonyms are provided:
areas littered with military detritus: debris, waste, refuse, rubbish, litter, scrap, flotsam and jetsam, rubble; remains, remnants, fragments, scraps, dregs, leavings, sweepings, dross, scum, trash, garbage; informal dreck.
So i am thinking of going back to the museum book and perhaps planning an itinerary of places all over the world. Then I shall rent a private jet and off we shall go. I used to know someone whose parents had a private jet but we have lost contact. Too bad. So sad.
Vicky took my picture after she did her magic at Suki’s. I praised the fortune of having white hair, there are some benefits to growing old.
