I Know Myself So Well, I Finish My Own Sentences

My friends call me: Suzy Joad.

My uncle once: sneezed while driving and crashed his car into a tree.

Another uncle once: shot and killed an armed robber fleeing Tiffany’s in Manhattan. He was a traffic cop at Fifth Ave. and 57th Street.

Never in my life: will I answer any unbidden knock on my apartment door — which happened  just minutes ago. That’s a definite no-no, to all  would-be knockers. This isn’t Mayberry RFD. Call, e-mail, leave a note. No knocking! Stop it!

When I was five: I started kindergarten in Brooklyn. My teacher was a pervert.

Those Hallowed Halls…

High School was: a trip. My French teacher called my homeroom teacher a Nazi. It was rumored the drama teacher employed a “casting couch.” My English teacher was frequently drunk.

Billy Joel was in my art class over the summer of my sophomore year. He was a senior making up credits and trying to graduate. I’d say he did all right for himself.

I will never forget: when I saw The Cramps at Max’s Kansas City. They headlined. The opening act was Blondie, before she was famous:

I once met: David Byrne at the Mudd Club and grubbed a Tareyton from him.

Shades of Mad Men

There’s this girl I know who: went into mourning when Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols died.

Her old-school Italian mother (I’m talking, all dressed in black-, rolled-down stockings-, crossing herself every second-old-school) called me up begging that I talk to her despondent daughter, who refused to come out of her bedroom. Back in my 20s, the two of us worked together in a shrink’s office in midtown; that is, until she quit one day and started working as a hostess in a floating crap game, which operated out of the back of a tractor trailer, downtown. The last time I saw her was at a Devo concert. She and her groupie girlfriend went backstage, never to be seen (by me) again.

Once, at a bar: in Queens, I was sitting at a table during an attempted robbery. The bartender, a man in his 60s, grabbed a baseball bat from behind the bar and chased the robber out onto the street.

By noon, I’m usually: roaming the streets of midtown Manhattan, Monday through Fridays.

Last night: at 10:00 pm., the tenants upstairs were responsible for the horrible brain-numbing noise vibrating through the ceiling of our living room. It sounded like a compressor or power tool. “What is wrong with you people!” I shouted. Of course, they couldn’t hear me…with all the sirens and car stereos and honking going on outside.

If only I had: a place in the country.

Next time I go to church: it’ll probably be an a early morning, pre-work stop-over in St. Thomas’s on Fifth. I’ll be sitting in a pew, chilling, and gazing at the stunning gothic altar and electric blue stained glass windows.

Jonathan Frid: was someone I never watched on T.V. I wasn’t a Dark Shadows fan. I’ve read but a single vampire book in my entire life: Interview of a Vampire by Ann Rice. It was a fascinating book. But, I ask you. How many vampire books does it take to feel satisfied? In my case? Only one.

What worries me most: is that April is almost over and how did that happen so fast?

When I turn my head left, I see: a sombrero.

When I turn my head right, I see: an Elvis mousepad.

You know I’m lying when: when I’m on my back on the couch.

What I miss most about the 80s: is big hair. I loved big hair.

If I were a character in Shakespeare, I’d be:

Ophelia in Hamlet

By this time next year: I want to be out of this apartment!

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