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past life   
07:19pm 20/10/2003
  I underwent past-life regression therapy today in order to try to figure out the root cause of why my relationships with men always fail. Do I need to mention the disastrous affairs I had with Felicity's father, the opera singer, half the French Foreign Legion, and Ewan McGregor? No, I'm asking you: Do I? Because I don't remember if I've told you or not.

Anyway, things always start out great, but then I always sabotage things somehow, in anticipation of things going sour. For instance, I knew how Ewan felt about Jar Jar, but I kept bringing it up, picking and picking and picking, until one day, he threw his sporran at me and ran away in tears. I'll never quite understand how things went so horribly wrong, although I guess my sing-songing "Ewan and Jar Jar, sittin' in a tree" for hours on end probably didn't help matters any.

My therapist, the very qualified Madame DeBarge, put me into a hypnotic trance by lighting some marijuana incense and playing John Tesh CDs. Before I knew it, I was hurtling back through time and craving Rice Krispies treats! When the fog of time and happy weed cleared, I found myself in a beautiful Egyptian palace. I was, in fact, the last Pharaoh of Egypt, Cleopatra herself! Suddenly it all made sense: Writing Cursed, wearing kohl eyeliner as a teenager, habitually rolling myself in area rugs like a giant human burrito, walking around topless and making guys bow down to me--it was all because I'd been Cleo!

Could it be that my relationship troubles have their roots in the tumultuous affairs I once had with Julius Caesar and Marc Antony? Madame DeBarge lit more incense and handed me the Bong of Remembrance.

Woooooooo ooooooooh. The memories flooded through me! I clearly remembered subjecting myself to the sting of the asp in order to end my suffering, but then I instantly regretted it, because it really hurt like a sonofabitch. I was lying there half naked and DYING when I realized some idiot was trying to paint my portrait!



Through the haze of poison, I saw that it was none other than the Royal Artist, Assholemy the Seventh. He was all, "My Queen, if you could please convulse a little less!" Jerk! Why wasn't he saving me? Why was he just standing there? And was that MY eyeliner he was wearing?

When I slowly came to, the incense had faded and my head was jammed into a bag of Doritos. Along with a face full of neon orange cheese, I surfaced with a stunning realization. My dying thought as Cleopatra was that this man Assholemy had betrayed me. I suppose now in this life, I expect others to betray me as well.

For some reason, I'm not as depressed about this as I was earlier today. In fact, I feel strangely mellow. But I still really want some Rice Krispies treats.		  
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Sainthood   
05:59pm 19/10/2003
  As you may have heard, Mother Teresa was honored with beatification today. This is the last step on the path to sainthood. What you may not know is that Mother Teresa was a fun-loving Europop fan, back in the day, as was the Pope. I'd almost forgotten it myself until a helpful reader sent in this 1984 photo of the nun and the Pope (or "J.P." as she liked to call him) attending a Duran Duran concert.



If you look closely, you might notice that Mother Teresa doesn't look like her usual self. You might notice, in fact, that she looks like me. In an effort to sneak MT backstage in order to meet John, Roger, Simon, and Nick (she never did like Andy), I agreed to switch outfits with her. She snuck away wearing stirrup pants, an oversized neon pink and aqua plaid shirt, and studded leather belt, while I donned her simple white habit. This was not the first time we switched places, nor would it be the last.

If you look even more closely, you might notice that I also appear to be the Pope and the guy directly behind us.

This, I have no explanation for.		  
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More on Felicity   
08:40pm 18/10/2003
  Well, Felicity is on his way home. It's been an interesting two weeks getting to know each other. He grudgingly said I didn't have to call him Bob, after all. I don't know if we'll remain close. So much has happened in my life and his. His father doesn't even know he exists. Mostly because he was abducted by aliens on a spaceflight soon after Felicity was conceived. Every time I hear "Space Oddity", I think of him. Every time I hear "Major Tom", I think of "Space Oddity", and then I think of him.

Sigh.

Felicity gave me a copy of his graduation pic.



You can sort of see the family resemblance.		  
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The time I married myself   
09:49pm 17/10/2003
  As some of you may know, I was briefly a man in the Foreign Legion.



What you may not know is that sometime during the transition from woman to man and back again, I accidentally married myself.

You may remember the stunt where Dennis Rodman showed up for a TV appearance in a wig and wedding dress. He totally stole that from me. Except I didn't wear a wig, and wasn't a tattooed NBA player. Well, not for long, anyway.

Moving on.

This whole Marriage Protection thing bothers me. People just need to leave other people alone. If a man wants to marry a woman, or a man, or himself after drinking a gallon of tequila and betting a French Legionnaire he could climb the street lamp using only his lips... well. I say we leave him to it.		  
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From the past   
06:23am 04/10/2003
  Felicity tracked me down.

No, not Keri Russell--the restraining order says that bitch can't get within 500 feet of me since she tried to cut my hair off and make herself a wig.

This was Felicity Moonrays, the child I gave up for adoption in 1970. (You think I look too young to have a 33 year old child. At least you better. Who are you to judge me?! WHO!!!!??? Anyway it's a long story.) He said he'd been searching for me for his whole life, or at least since he could walk, but his journey had been somewhat hampered by my multiple sex change operations and the 14 months I spent as Mother Teresa. Apparently he hadn't heard of the 3 weeks I spent as Monica Lewinsky, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. (Man, I still can't believe the mistakes I made, the depths of moral shadiness to which I sank. If I could go back in time, I never would have agreed to host that shitty dating show.)

Felicity asked if we could make up for lost time. I just don't know. He also asked if I could call him Bob, because he changed his name after the first time he got beat up. I don't know. I just don't know.

More later.		  
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I'm running   
05:05pm 30/09/2003
  I've decided I'm running for governor of California. No, I'm not from California. No, I don't know anything about California's issues. Yes, I've thrown wild orgies after working out, but none of that is stopping Schwarzenegger from running. And by gum, it ain't stopping me, either!

In fact, I had this publicity shot made today to promote my campaign.



Now, you might think it looks a little like Mary Carey's picture, but that's just because we have the same photographer. His name's Bill. I discovered him one day on the street taking pictures of pigeons mating. "Ah," I thought, "a nature lover like me!" I hired him on the spot.

Vote For Tippi!
Ya never know what she'll discover!
  
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My life is more exciting than yours   
08:16pm 29/09/2003
  I just got back from Oslo, where the Nobel committee and I argued bitterly over who should get the award this year. I'm not actually ON the committee, but they flew me in for a tie-breaker. Lundestad thought the Pope should win, but everyone was like, "Fuck that geezer shit!" Then Lundestad was all, "Oh no you di'int dis the Pope!" And Toennesson went, "Don't get uppity on me, Beeeyatch!" Then it broke out in pimp-slapping and hair-pulling and I had to step in and calm everyone down.

I said, "Why don't we order in some pizza and brews, get some hookers, and deal with this like intelligent adults." Everyone reluctantly agreed, but then another fight broke out when we couldn't decide on what toppings we wanted. Things got better once the beer arrived, but then everyone wanted to vote for the hookers. Most of the hookers were down with that, but then one of them reminded us the prize was for peace, not hummers. He was awesome.

Eventually we did pick a winner, but I'm not going to tell you who it is.

Not even if you beg. A lot.		  
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Emergency   
12:09pm 25/09/2003
  I've just gotten an emergency call from Sweden. I can't tell you what it's about but it's very very very important. I leave in a couple of hours on a private jet, but I'm filled with a mingling of dread.

I haven't been to Europe since I left the French Foreign Legion. There are so many dark memories that threaten to come rushing back like the backwash of a Big Gulp tilted up too high. Regrets like a frozen block of crushed ice and watered-down Coke crash into my upper lip, the tip of my nose, and dribble down my chin to spatter on my shirt like the tears I once wept.

But I must be strong. Many people are depending on me. I can't let them down.		  
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secretippi
 
 

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