Madonna and I are like this

Harper's Bazaar hits the stands this week, indulging me, I must admit, in my lifetime dream: The Queen of the Universe and The Famous Author taking the same stage.

There are too many similarities to mention. While they title her piece, "Madonna's Secrets," and talk about her "oxygen facials", "buns of steel" and penchant for "foie gras" (funny that), they name my piece, "Dirty Little Secret", and call my debut "sharp," and a "Hot Pick Read" for April.
(They do not mention my buns of steel or intake of oxygen and overlook my love of goose gullet completely...but you can extrapolate.)

What's next?
Dinner and a day of riding lessons in Dorset-Wilshire?

Where have all the groovy chairs gone?

I've basically been sleeping since Monday. I took a two-pound bag of dried satsumas and a box of Kleenex to bed hoping that 4 or 5 consecutive Ambiens might cure the horror of the New York Magazine gossip column piece about the book.
Did they read THE BOOSTER? Is the story NOT about a kleptomaniac who joins a Peruvian high fashion shoplifting ring? AN ENTIRE BOOK on Donny Deutsch? Hello! Anna Wintour he aint'. Woa is me.

So it got me thinking...remember all those cool chairs they used to have? Remember that album where Bobby Sherman is sitting on that really big red hand? Now THAT was a cover! Remember bean bag chairs when they were fer'real....like beans came out when you jumped on them?

Or maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I'm feeling a little like Jessica Simpson, caught looking all ugly n' stuff walking out a hotel room wearing the shirt off her one-night-stand's back. Or maybe I'm just thinking about those great Bobby Sherman lyrics (okay, I'm making you think I'm really, really old here, right?)....Being' alone at night makes me sad. Yeah it brings me down all right. Tossin' and turnin' and freezin' and burnin' and cryin' all through the night.