The Little Old Lady Who Lives in My Brain

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of taking an extremely long subway ride with a lovely lady by the name of Bobbie (and…of course that was her name, there is no other name she could be) who started every sentence with, “So I says to Nancy, I says--Nancy that’s my boss, that’s Nancy--so I says to Nancy, I says…” and then she said whatever she said to Nancy, she said. She, apparently, said a lot of things to Nancy. And she said a lot of things to Nancy, she said, about those gosh darned Democrats and about how they keep calling to complain about this ad that they say is a baldfaced lie and she said to Nancy, she said, ‘Do they know it’s a baldfaced lie or not, have they read the research? Do they know it’s a lie? Do they know for sure that it’s a baldfaced lie?”

I kind of think, if those gosh darned Democrats had just said the ad was a regular lie, I would have nothing to write about right now. It was the baldfaced part that seemed to rub Bobbie just the wrong way and kept her from ever, ever stopping with the talking.

The point though? About Bobbie? Is that I’m OBSESSED with her. I’ll likely never see her itty bitty little frame in her hot pink terrycloth jumpsuit, her bleached “kicky” haircut, and her gigantic glasses ever again but a little part of her? Lives in my heart. The part that is super mean. A bigger part of her though, lives in my brain. And ever since that day? I have started almost every thought in my itty bitty little brain with, “So I says to ______, I says.” For example:

So I says to Paul McCartney and Heather Mills, I says, did you ever think that you all are getting divorced because you are both annoying as fuck?

So I says to the show “Alias,” I says, I have no interest in you. Just go. And put something vaguely interesting on in your place, because you are at best? Dull.

So I says to the show, “Grey’s Anatomy,” I says, I know my sister has more than put you in your place but godDAMN you are the worst show on television. Of course women can’t be good doctors! They only want men. They only play doctor till the big boy doctor pays attention to them, or sleeps with them in an empty room, and then they are truly happy because they never wanted to be a doctor. They only wanted a boyfriend! I hate you. And not just because I hate Ellen Pompeo. I hate her because she just seems mean.

So I says to the guitar player of The Eagles, I says, so Bravo put your concert on TV, do you really think it’s a good idea to remind everyone that you’re just a bunch of whiny-voiced assholes by wearing a yellow construction hat and Hammer pants for no apparent reason? And nobody likes “Hotel California.” Shut up…I says.

So I says to MTV, I says, nobody, and I mean from the deepest part of my soul, NOBODY wants to watch another Road Rules/Real World Challenge. NOBODY! Aren’t all these people like 40?

So I says to the fucking bumps that are reappearing on my hands, I says, I will fucking burn you off before I will deal with you for the rest of my life. I suggest you deflate…now.

So I says to American Idol, I says, you make me very uncomfortable. When are you going to go away? When is Paula Abdul going to rehab? She could not even hold herself together on the Home Shopping Network (HSN) to sell her star-shaped jewelry!

So I says to you, I says, I prefer not to discuss why I know about Paula Abdul’s visit to HSN.

So I says to the people on Channel 4, I says, is it really that cool to ask people who you are warning that a TORNADO is soon to arrive at their abode to send any film or video of that tornado to you? Do you not think that could be a little, I don’t know, fucking dangerous?

So I says to that toenail fungus commercial or whatever the fuck that commercial with the yellow thing is for, I says, I will pull my toenails off myself before I use whatever the fuck you are selling to cure whatever the fuck might be wrong with them.
(That was a little gross, huh? Sorry. I think Bobbie has taken over my body because I appear to be full o’rage.)

So I says to myself, I says, why are you cussing so much today?

And then I says to myself, I says, I swear in ordinary conversation I do not talk like this but in my head I am basically waiting for the day when my grandchildren sit me out on the lawn with a poker visor, a webbed plastic chair, and some pink lemonade so that I can flip off the neighbors without fear of reprisal.

Later.