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2005-06-19 - 7:54 p.m. Bad Citigrrrl I suppose I made the mistake last weekend of asking my sister if when she called on my cellphone and didn't get me, she'd do me the favor of leaving just a message or a question, and I'd get back to her. She'd begun to use my voicemail as a second-by-second description of her drive home from work..."Well, it's hot, there's construction - why is there construction? I have to make a right now...this guy is cutting me off...wait, OK...Ahh, I'm pulling up to the house. There's Zorro (her cat) at the window...he's got this expression on his face...Hi, Zorro! Now I'm checking the mailbox...and the grass has to be cut again, isn't that a pain? Where's my key? Oh, here it is. Maybe I should wash my hair before I go out tonight, hmmm."...She has come to use time on my voicemail as a personal recording device that is her, talking out loud to herself, and has nothing at all to do with communicating with me. She took this all very well and hung up on me, and hasn't spoken to me since. I did try calling her up, but she wasn't at home. So. I thought this would be a good time to start a week-long series on Bad Citigrrrl. Got to say, when I mentioned this (excitingly daring, to me!) idea, my bf was very cautious and sweetly protective, a bit worried about who at work, etc. would see these entries. But the people I'd have even a tad to concern myself about are the ones who couldn't figure out how to plug in a computer in the first place, and everyone else is smart enough to be my friends; so there! Plus everything took place over 25 years ago; I am, but am not, the same person. These have become distantly remembered but well-loved personal fables. And, who cares what you-all think of me! This is my life. In honor of my sister, I'll start with Painting Melody On Acid. Melody was a colorful queen my sister knew pre-Studio 54 disco days; he wore platform heels and tights and makeup, and I remember driving home over the Queensboro bridge in my green VW beetle, my sister and Melody doing um, something in the back seat...although I can't remember where exactly where we were coming back from, it might have been Max's Kansas City downtown. We drove to my girlfriend Linda's house in Queens that night and took some tabs of acid, and lay back and listened to the music on the stereo. After time passed we decided we just had to paint, and, using Melody as a canvas, all of us made up Melody in many colors and swirled designs as he lay back on Linda's living room floor. Later the human painting showered, the acid trip wore off, and in the early morning I dropped him off at the subway to get back into the city, and Val and I went home. See, wasn't that such a lovely little suburban tale? I have several more.