Charlie Sheen wishes.
Greetings from having internet again. Ugh, I was a wreck. In the midst of waiting for the Verizon man today, biting nails, cursing and screaming at the innocent tech support person on the phone who was located in Mexico, as it goes, I got a text from a friend who invited me to see Charlie Sheen at Radio City Music Hall. My assistant said, “You have to go!” Somewhere in my moment of insanity from the call to Mexico, I had enough clarity of mind to respond, “You didn’t actually buy those tickets, did you?” We bantered back and forth as to how horeene it would be and how many giggles we would have, and though I believe we would, I preferred not to be at this Tiger Blood bath. My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Defeat Is Not an Option Tour was not going to see me. Chuckles would have to pay me to go and listen to him. Just imagining the crowd was more than I could bear. There was no way for me to muster up the energy for such self-degradation and emotional flagellation to listen to Sheen yammer on about some drug fueled nonsense, when I am quite capable of listening to that similar stuff in my own head. The final answer was, “I don’t think I have it in me, but thanks for thinking that I would stoop that low.” Besides, there is now way that Chuckles will turn any of those Rockettes into Goddesses, so why bother?
