Bancroft, Boobs and Bumbling Over Babes

• Anne Bancroft was 73? Wow. I had no idea. I didn't even know she was sick. When I saw the headline in someone's paper this morning, my heart sunk. Boy, was she a class act. Anne always acted with a capital "A." Some critics are into that, but most aren't. Personally, I really dig that approach to a performance. Faye Dunaway and Al Pacino do it 'til their teeth bleed. Like Bancroft, they embody their characters full throtle and it's captivating. They've got the juice. Never a dull moment when they're on screen. Anne Bancroft, thank you for delivering on camera a line that I could never deliver in life, "Would you like me to seduce you?" You got the guy. I'd get a laugh.
• 85% of the women I rode the F train with this morning had ginormous knockers. Not a little top heavy. More to the effect of mail order bras, bend over and can't get up, way more than a handful, dangerous risk of breast cancer, back problems in a jiffy, woah baby. In any weather, those puppies have to be a nuisance, but in the heat? Ugh. I'd want to buy a bra that'd hold blocks of ice. Mammograms every year, dears. Consider elective surgery, honey. God doth bless, and on ocassion, God over-blesseth.
• Confession: I'm on freindster. Following are the names of people who have sent me messages, who think they'd like to get to know me better - Paul, Hammad, Reuben, Tovanno, Scott and Raj. I am a chick magnet.
• I've aquired a little crush. Oy! It's been a long time since I've been blindsided with a case of the smittens. My knee jerk reaction is usually, "Uh oh." I know, it's miserable. While most romantics think, "Yeah!" or "Can't wait to pursue this," I'm struck with uber-angst. I'm vulnerable, not giddy. I'm distracted, not optimistic. I get gas and lose my appetite. My head shoots up my ass, and my foot's perpetually stuck in my mouth. Not a pretty sight, I tell 'ya. Not at all cool either. I'm just so not good at this part, the chase, the dating. (OFF TOPIC: I'm high quality, sturdy merchandise paired with a ghastly sales pitch. If I were a product, people wouldn't want to buy me b/c my ad campaign blows. But if they did, they'd take me home and soon discover how fabulous I am.) Oh, if only akward encounters marked by stuttering and massive pit stains were sexy! Because there isn't a Smooth With the Ladies bone in my body. Here's how I let you know I LIKE YOU: I don't look you in the eye when we speak. I seem like I could care less, like I'm indifferent. However, I intended to appear breezy and relaxed. Nerves cause my ass to tighten, cheeks clench toward each other until I cannot balance or stay still. I'm tip top when I'm not trying. And with the boys? I can flirt them out of their pants and set a land speed record while doing it! It's fun and it's easy and I don't care about it. But if I actually care, which is the case when flirting with women, I metamorphize into the less than super hero, Goofy Dufus Girl. Mmm hmm. Check please! Here's my room key. You know you want a slice of The Shan. Don't try to resist my utter lack of game. So, I beg of you Rico Suave, L Word Shane, James Bond, Danny Zuko, Fonzie, Pepe le Peu, Keith Patridge, Jake Ryan, Sonny "The Woo Woo Kid" Wisecarver, grant unto me just a grain of your charm, confidence or je ne sais quoi. I'll take anything. All I need is love, but first I need precise, clear-cut directions.