It’s the country music awards, cut him some slack.
Mary and Joseph, the guy runs off with another and I’m still defending him. I have to get some cream for that codependency.
All due respect, this isn’t going to last. It’s like Miley Cyrus and that 20 year old. Okay, it’s nothing like that and I’m sure they’re perfectly happy and have a hideously lovely relationship, but $50 you see that guy on next year’s Bachelor.
Good start, Amanda! But when you’ve cruised through the 8 stages of grief, (or is it 12 or 16?) let’s get down to business. You want Craig Ferguson and the only stumbling block is his recent marriage to the hot blonde no one has ever heard of. I mean she isn’t even a reality TV star for chrissakes! So, let’s calm down and attack this thing directly. Riddle me this, Batgirl. How do you think Mr. Ferguson would feel if he got a FedEx envelope filled with pics of his new wife kissing another man? What would Mr. Ferguson think if his new wives’ cell phone rang every morning at 4:12 AM with drunk, rambling messages from the heartbroken man she left behind? How devastated would Mr. Craig Ferguson be if he saw his precious Megan’s medical records which prove that she was once in fact Mark. Cut to: Craig and Megan break up ugly. He cruises through his stages of grief. And while all this is happening, me ‘n my team are working behind the scenes. We get you a job on his show. You’re the cute new chick on staff, the sympathetic ear with which he will cry on. He looks at you one day and sees you differently than the girl that fills his single malt scotch glass. And wham! he’s in love with you. Yeah, it all sounds like a bad Lifetime TV movie but I like bad Lifetime TV movies and sometimes they come true. Don’t give up here. I can help.
You’ve got some funny in you, Anonymous. Enough so I’m starting to think you’re really Craig Ferguson toying with me while I’m down. Go get the girl and start kissing her. I’ll bring the camera. Breaking up “Craigan” starts now.
You can’t see me right now, Amanda, but I’m jumping up and down with glee. I mean I haven’t broken up a marriage in weeks! So, so, so, much fun for me. So, so, so good for you. It’s a win-win thingy. Here’s what I’ve done so far. I just yesterday hired a private investigator based in Los Angeles. And he ain’t cheap, either. He actually expects me to pay for his spray-on tan and hair highlights because as he put it: “I need to look good while I work for you two kids.” Don’t worry, I don’t plan on asking you to chip in for this. But when we get you ‘n Craig together if you wanna write me a nice scented thank you card or maybe buy me a cup of tepid Sanka that would be nice. Your call.
So our PI has already “cased the joint.” (the Ferguson house) and planted a bug in Megan’s walk-in closet which will someday if all goes well become Amanda’s walk-in closet. He wants to get her routine down before making his first move. (as the kids say) It’s all good!
I know you suggested I go find Megan and kiss her but she’s blonde and not my type. I tend to like my women dark. Greek, Italian, Shiite Muslim, manic depressive…you know what I mean.
So there’s our start. I will keep you informed of every detail.
Anonymous Commenter
P.S. Hope you received/enjoyed the live George Harrison concert I mailed to you.
I’ll apply for grant money for this “project.”
No, I did not receive a cd from any anonymous sources. Not sure that the person who receives the mail at Joe’s will know who I am. Thanks for making it, though. Although, it’s my 8 year old niece who loves George Harrison, not me. I only love Craig Ferguson. Can you burn me a cd of HIM singing? That I’d love. Did you reveal your identity on the envelope, at least?
If a CD exists of Craig Ferguson singing (and I think one does actually) I will find it and burn it for you. If not, I will have the PI we hired “bug” his shower and if he sings while bathing I will burn that for you.
I’m sorry you didn’t receive the George Harrison CD I sent. It’s probably sitting underneath a pile of mail on someones desk at Joe’s. I’m also sorry you don’t love George Harrison. If that CD does find its way to you give it to your niece although the significance of one of the songs in particular will most certainly be lost on her. Funny how you can listen to a song a thousand times until that one time you hear it and it means something else entirely. Know what I mean? Perhaps not.
I did not reveal myself on the outside of the envelope. I checked nine times to make sure I didn’t do so accidentally before dropping in the mail box. I’m beginning to think I’m coming off as cruel by not revealing myself, too. I mean you have every right to know when someone has a crush on you and I’m sorry if its upsetting you in any way. I once read that before Richard Nixon married his wife he used to drive her and her dates around simply because he wanted to be with her. Kind of pathetic, yes. But also sort of sweet. She never knew how he felt about her until the day that he told her. Then they married and he ended up resigning the Presidency in shame but I digress.
We met once briefly. It was not memorable at all. Then almost by accident I came to a reading then another and another and I was totally taken with you. I never said anything because, well, I think I explained myself in an earlier post. But even though I don’t really know you I think I get you. It’s very odd I know but so often you say things at your readings that make me smile b/c I feel the same way, or have had the same experiences, or just understand the pain you so lovingly and openly display before a roomful of friends and strangers.
You’re a smart, beautiful, very intuitive woman who is much funnier than you give yourself credit for. And if my little comments here make you laugh then that might be just enough for me. Sure I might be an asshole for not walking up to you and introducing myself but sometimes (like here) a crush is just enough. And the lack of risk is safe, too.
So here’s where I let you off the hook. If you elect not to post any or all of this, I’ll take it as a sign that you don’t want me to write anymore. And if you do post any or all of this, well, you know where this is going. But remember, Amanda, I just this morning wired $6500 to a private investigator on another coast in the hopes he will help us end the brief marriage of Craig and Megan Ferguson. That’s gotta be worth something, no?
First the bad news: the private investigator I hired to help us was convicted this past Friday in a Federal Court. The crimes: racketerring, mail fraud and jaywalking. In California oddly enough jaywalking carries the stiffest penalty…eights years in prison. The only consolation for us is that the spray-on tan and the highlights he insisted I pay for will make him most attractive to the other inmates. Sixty-five hundred dollars down the drain! More bad news: As I write this I’m in a crawl space underneath Craig Ferguson’s house. I felt so bad I’d let you down I flew west and bought a Map to the Stars Homes electing to take matter into my own hands. Not to worry—I have half a bottle of water and some hard candy so I think I can survive for a few days until I can get into his empty house and help our plan along. Now some good news: when Megan and Craig are in their foyer I can hear their conversation. Get a load of this from last night:
Megan: I hate this painting!
Craig: It’s an original Kandinski. It cost $1.2 mil!
Megan: It’s ugly. Lose it.
Craig: Ok. What would my love like me to replace it with?
Megan: Dogs Playing Poker.
Craig: Consider it done.
Megan: And those pants you’re wearing…
And it went on and on with her criticizing virtually everything in the house. So you see, Amanda, there’s Malice in Wonderland. Breaking them up might be easier than we thought. To save the battery on my laptop I need to end this update. More to follow!
btw: I think I got bit by a rodent. What should I do about it?
So the water and the hard candy ran out on Tuesday. I haven’t showered or had a decent bowel movement since yesterday. And, I’ve missed the season premiere of “The Millionaire Matchmaker” on Bravo! Maybe the Ferguson’s TiVo’d it because, I’M IN THEIR HOUSE! I waited for Craig to go to work and for Megan to go shopping at Costco (she’s white trash, Amanda!) and crawled out through a drainage pipe. Guapo (the Ferguson’s Nicaraguan pool boy) looked at me kind of funny but I engaged him with my 9th grade Spanish but I think I averted trouble. Did you know that Honduras joined the Allied Nations one day after Pearl Harbor? Me, either! Anyway, he let me in the house. I grabbed a shower, made myself a sandwich and took a look around. Despite the Kandinski, Craig has lousy taste in furnishings. Ikea couches and chairs and cheap discount carpet remnants. You have your work cut out for you when you move in here. And apparently he ain’t much of a reader which will probably frustrate you the most. He’s a big fan of the, “…for Dummies” series. He’s also a fan of celebrity autobiographies. I counted five from the cast of the Brady Bunch. I’m gonna snoop around some more, maybe try and gather more info. According to Guapo, Craig doesn’t get home til 11 and who knows when Megan will be done shopping. More to follow.
You are ridiculously funny. I pegged that girl for white trash years before I knew she existed. Years before I even heard the term, white trash! Tell me this, does he have any posters of clowns in sad face clutching balloons? Did you find her secret drawer of self-help books? Does she have, “Codependency No More?” Which pages are dog-eared? Do they have a sunken bathtub with flavored balls of bathing salts? I’m very sorry that you’ve missed Millionaire Matchmaker. I’ll call the network, tell them to run in syndication until your work is done.
Here’s what I need you to do. Go into their bedroom and check the thread count on the sheets. See if they use a humidifier or anything we might fill with “alternative” liquids to stink her out. Then, I want you to check his night table drawer and see how many empty candy wrappers are in there. Oh, and while you’re in there, if you come across Lunesta or Ambien, pocket a few, put them in an envelope and leave them for me at the Joe’s Pub box office.
Oh, and let’s fill up the other comment sections shall we? The others are feeling as empty as Megan’s anorexic stomach.
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