I’ve come back from a weekend in the country, which was much needed, but and now back in NYC. It’s too soon, I cry. Too soon. Why or why? On the upshot I’m about to be too busy to shake a stick at.

I’ve got two days to edit a tv pilot.

I’ve got to read two more romance books on the fly so I can learn the formula.

I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow over a reading/production.

But I’ve got a production of Social Darwinism coming up in March in Ithaca. I’m so stoked…and sometime in the next 3 weeks I have to finish a full-length play and write a book for a musical.

Help me. Send my successful thoughts…oh and I still gotta find out more about this friggin brain tumor.

So at this moment I am putting together a romance novel series. Yep, you heard me right. Momma has to pay some bills, and get some more publications. Heaving breasts dripping with desire, here I come. And I will make sure they are the best written romance novels ever…or as good as I can write them

I’m ready to take over the universe. I’ll be spending the weekend out of the old NYC. Yep. Gonna go sit in a hot tub, drink some wine, and chill with some friends. I love NYC, but to love it, ya gotta get the hell out of Dodge sometime (good thing I’m not writing westerns ya’ll).

Yep. In case you didn’t get that. I read my first romance novel ever…last night. It was as well written as you would expect it to be.

That’s right. I pitched my lit agent a romance novel series without ever having read a romance novel. He suggested two that I might read, but Barnes and Noble were out of the titles.

I explained to the information desk what I was doing. And asked if they could recommend a good place to start. The guy stared through me and said I looked like the type who would read that stuff. Well, I look like a romance book reader (whatever that means). So score one for blending. I was wearing a leather trench…he was just jealous.

I wonder what he would have said if I’d shown up in my Shiny new Star Trek uniform I bought yesterday for Halloween. Ahhh if it’s and buts were…

So I read it. I now realize, at least this particular author uses cock more than I do in my regular vocabulary…and believe me that’s alotta cock. There are bands of roving rooster probably looking for the author now so than can avenge having their sullied good name .

Now you all know I’m no blushing bride, but surely there is a synonym for cock somewhere. There seems to by a synonym for everything else. I think the author lost her thesaurus on that one.

Now I just await my titles from Amazon to poke their way in. I can’t wait. Maybe Angie Grant will get her first publication after all. (I always threaten to give her credit since that’s all people call me anyway.)

I would like to say that having a brain tumor makes flowers smell sweeter, babies look cuter, and make life a beautiful place…however…

Since I already have a brain tumor I picked up smoking so I can’t smell the flowers as well, there are some babies that are just plain ugly (I just can’t help it), and getting “hey mommy” on the street still gets old.

On the upshot I’m in a much better mood about non-smelling flowers, ugly babies, and catcalls on the street.

Funny that.

I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I still don’t know how bad, bad is. I have a big fat tumor sitting there like a bump on a log, and all I got was a lousy phone call to show for it. Still haven’t gotten into a neurologist, just a quick phone call in the busy day of a doctor. Hence, doctors don’t look cuter to me, and neither do phones.

Enough bitching.

I’ve got more deadlines and projects than I can shake a stick at. Live to write and write to live. And if all else fails there is Ben and Jerry’s half baked.

So that’s the kinda brain tumor I got. So many people have asked me about my brain tumor…well I thought I would let it out a little. It’s a squishy kind.

Mine’s on the bigger side, and it can be treated a number of medical ways. Endocrinology can try and shrink it down, still might need surgery though, Egyptian style up the nose. I dunno if you’ve seen the size of my honker, but these guys got some room to work.

It’s a 90 percent shot of being benign. It’s busy shooting hormones through my body…as if I wasn’t moody enuff, now I have an excuse. I wish I could tell you more, but I got the brain tumor notification over the phone, and I will find out more on October 28th when I go back to the neurologist.

Other than this pesky little think my life is going great. Picked up a literary agent yesterday, Eric Ruben.

I’m well on my way to finishing my Ph.D. NYC is being good to me, and I have a production of Social Darwinism happening in Ithaca NY in Feb. I am up for publication of the same title by Samuel French as we speak, and I have an amazing, wonderful girlfriend in my life who is my inspiration. Please no feeling sorry for me.

In the last few years, I got to go to Sundance, won two National Awards from the Kennedy Center and started my writing career.

Better to find a tumor now than in autopsy.

So there you go, you know as much as I do for now. I blog everyday over different things. So read it if you like it. For a harmless plug check out the trailer of my film, Backpage. It should make you laugh. And watch the trailer it will take two minutes of your life. We shot it for almost nothing two years ago. It shows what you can do with a bunch of friends. If you really like it buy the film. It’s 10 bucks and what the hell you might enjoy it. All funds will go to my medical bills or my bar tab which ever is greater.

I can’t believe my director from Backpage the movie is trying to get me to respond to his penis online…that being said you can check it out by following this link to the movie and check his latest blog…his manhood vs. Brett Favre’s.

I think to myself is this a fight I want to enter the ring on. I am not a cockologist nor do I have any plans to study his or anything penis for…well let’s call it a lifelong decision. Though I must say the backlighting is rather nice.

He’s trying to force a response (because we went to undergrad together) by implying my delicate flower of a mouth ever came into contact with said penis. I have to say richard…as cute and fluffed as it is. I was never that drunk. Nope. Never happened.

If you don’t know me very well, though I never lie, following Richard’s instructions, I will deny it for three days, vilify Richard (fucktard) and create a circular argument that makes no sense whatsoever.

As there are countless cats in the jungle that’s how many times it didn’t happen. Showing thru I rapier wit I deny it implicitly, as much as I am in self denial that Brett Farve has a penis since he never sexted me. There you have it, because Brett Favre is a Ken doll, and there are cats in the jungle I never struck Richard’s endowment with a flounder.

And I’m sticking to it.

i am always suspicious of bar popcorn. It rates up there with cow sex in my book. Btw the way I’m not down with cow sex…you just can’t help but wonder what all is in that…like bar popcorn. At least if a monkey throws feces at me I know not to eat it. I’m not that smart with bar popcorn. ( I am smart enuff not to have cow sex either) but with bar popcorn I could be putting anything in my mouth a disgruntled employee left behind.

That goes with ordering mayo too. Anything that comes free or on the side is suspect in my opinion.

Just remember cow sex, bar popcorn, and mayo outside ur house is at your own risk. If you keep a cow in your house… Ur not reading this blog.

Something about having a brain tumor really loosens my inhibitions. I really want to do all the cocaine in the world while having wild sex in the middle of Times Square. Both these things could be easily accomplished since I live in NYC. So then I want to go further…

Push all the “hater” ministers of the world off the Brooklyn Bridge. I’d attach them to bungee cords, ’cause I’m nicer than they are, but I wouldn’t tell ‘em. Mike them all, and play their confessions as they stand on the bridge. Brooklyn Bridge probably can’t hold them all have to work them in shifts.

Skydive into a pile of money equal to our national deficit.

Find a cure for the common cold so more parents can sleep at night and have wild sex in Times Square…what can I say I’m a lover not a fighter.

Tie a cape around my neck and run around naked in Times Square (since I live in NYC this is the only safe place to do it without worrying about getting gang raped by hoodlums (I’m still practical). It’s where all the NYC cops go to flex their muscles for the tourists.

See above, but add asshole bosses to the list.

Think I’ll keep this theme going for a while…

So Mormon’s hate queers, what else is new? It seems to be no one likes to be at the bottom…like people who follow a laughable religion less than 200 years old. So those that are marginalized must marginalize others. It’s the only way to explain after all these gay teenage suicides over bulling rank 2 Mormon guy, Elder Boyd K. Packer, comes out with all but expletives against gays. Elder what a joke. Made up title for a made up religion.

Since the religion is laughable, but rich as hell, they have to keep guys in there place (does this sound familiar?) so they aren’t at the bottom rung with the Scientologist. Why do you think white trash is so opposed to giving them rights that every other person in this country has?

Yes, I just succesfully lumped together fat wiggly white trash, Mormons, and Scientologist. Keeping the gay men and women down is the only way these fringe groups can keep from appearing as ridicules as they are. Remember the Bible has been used to help stop women’s suffrage, the civil rights movement, and now apparently homosexuals the right to life according to a very tiny man with way too much power.

Should we laugh at such clowns or just feel sorry for them. Neither we should attack them back in blogs and show their buffoonery for what it is. Little tiny people who are scared to be at the bottom.

Sorry Elder your just a small man who preaches hate…sad, sad, little man, who obviously wants violence to continue against queers. I guess we know who’s in the closet.