Why do all hotel Amenities Directors think you want to smell like a citrus grower?

We are in a gorgeous hotel in the islands and some asshole decided that everything should smell like a grapefruit. EVERYTHING; the soap, the shampoo, the conditioner, the body gel.

We are a party of six and when we meet for dinner, after evening showers, strange people in various restaurants run up to us with bottles of vodka and try to lick our legs.

 I've been called many things in my day, but never a daiquiri.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

If you are reading this, your life is very sad.

 I am in the islands with my daughter and grandson working on my tan and enjoying a Mai Tai. 

So get off the computer and go have some Christmas cheer with a fat man in a red suit.

I hope that you have all of your shopping done, the presents under the tree, the stocking are hung by the chimney with care...and are pouring brandy into the egg nog as you read this.
 

The thing I hate about receiving gifts at the holidays is that you never get what you really want and then you have to thank some asshole for kindly thinking of you during this incredibly busy time of year. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all stopped being so coy and registered for what we wanted instead of opening up the same old shit as last year and then have to ruin a perfectly good facelift pretending to smile?

For example:

I neither need nor want another bottle of cheap wine or that fucking Fruit of the Month Club. I’m not some wino who will drink lighter fluid in the gutter nor do I live in Medieval England, so I don’t dance around the Yule Log every time I see a God damn orange!

Scented candles are only great if you like the scent. If I wanted my house to smell like an apple pie, I’d bake a fucking apple pie!

And why do you think I want another subscription to Dog Fancy Magazine? I love my dogs, but I certainly don’t want to see provocative centerfolds of Chihuahuas.

Oh, and the worst, those asshole bulbs that you have to wait six weeks to bloom and then you get one shitty Amaryllis. Is Amaryllis ANYBODY’S favorite flower!?!

Okay, it’s fine in the garden, but I can never remember anyone, I repeat ANYONE, saying, “Gee, it’s prom night. I sure hope he brings me an Amaryllis wrist corsage!”

How did the South lose the Civil War? Easy. By being closed on weekends.

I regularly get a catalogue from The New Orleans Auction House and just adore their stuff – I always have this fantasy that the items come from huge, war-worn, antebellum mansions. In one of their latest catalogues I spied yet another thing I don’t need - a really pretty table that I coveted. I picked up the phone on a Saturday afternoon, ready to place a bid, only to be told by a voicemail that they are closed on weekends.

Let me ask you, if you ran a business (especially a catalogue business) wouldn’t you keep at least one person on duty on weekends, especially if one of those days was the day before the auction? Seems to me that weekends are when a person has the time to look thorough catalogues and place impulse bids. Am I wrong? The boredom of a cold Saturday or a snowy Sunday seems like exactly the right time to pick up the telephone and spend Melissa’s inheritance.

Perhaps if the South had kept its munitions factories open on the weekends instead of letting the staff have the days off, Jefferson Davis would be the father of our country.

                                    Now, would that help or hurt Hillary’s campaign?

This is an update on my new play to be done at The Geffen Theatre in Los Angeles starting on February 5, 2008

We did our first reading for an invited audience with the following actors in the cast: Adam Kulbersh as Kenny, Yosefa Forma as Svetlana and Tara Chocol as Evan and I thought that it went quite well. At the end we got a standing ovation, but that could just be that they all got up to get to the exits first.

It is so weird to be acting in a play that I wrote (along with Denis Markell and Doug Bernstein) as all the time I’m performing I’m also listening to how the audience is reacting to the other actors’ lines and thinking, “Good,” or “That needs to be changed.”

Anyhow, I’ve said it for years and, to this day, I mean this, there is nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing in the world more fun than doing live theatre…when the audience loves you.

I am writing this while in Los Angeles at the Geffen Playhouse and am sitting in on auditions for the other characters in my play Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress which will begin running on Tuesday, February 5th and opens on Wednesday, February 13th.

It is interesting and painful to sit and watch these young and youngish actors because it brings back so many memories of my days making the rounds. I must have walked up and down Broadway more in those days than any of the hookers on 42nd Street.

Watching them reading (and interestingly enough, not one was bad which made the process of choosing the cast so much harder!) brought back flashes of auditions that I’d read for but didn’t get. Some really hurt, for example - losing the part of Cordelia in King Lear to a then unknown Sarah Bernhardt.  (Sarah was one lucky bitch, not only did she have a wooden leg, but she also had a trick pelvis).

We finally chose three very talented actors and now the dye is cast. Let’s hope that the color of the dye turns out to be golden and not black.

These comments were excerpted from my "Stupid People" blog, although they should have appeared on my "Halifax" blog. Nonetheless, I felt they deserved a blog of their own.

Knocked up but not barefoot wrote: Bloody fucking brilliant you are!  It was so refreshing to have you light up our rather conservative city of HFX, THANK YOU!  There are some 'stupid' old cronies in this town that could use a couple orf cups of Joan Rivers.  And your energy; the BEST! BTW - this note is not over...

Dear KUBNB - Glad you enjoyed it.  I had the BEST time.  I found the Halifax audiences alive and full of fun.  Would come back in a second. --xxx Joan

Knocked up but not barefoot (cont.)  wrote: I must, however, apologize (as I am Canadian) for the ugly, not so absorbent polyester napkin you were handed.  All I can say is hopefully it didn't smell like food! (This message is simply not going so smooth broken up in 3 stages, my apologies encore.)

Dear KUBNB - The napkin was fine.  There is nothing that lets you know you're alive so much as wiping your brow and seeing sparks. --xxx Joan

Knocked up (cont.) wrote: Discovering you were in town yesterday was music to my ears!  Here I am 35, just moved bk fr TO, married, knocked up for the first time, and thinking "what the hell have I done to my life?" (Don't get me wrong, my life has been great - but husband away, gets me thinking) sorry...not fin

Dear KUBNB - Okay, this relationship is starting to feel a little creepy.  Back away from the keyboard and get a life. --xxx Joan

Knocked up (cont): Final Install):  So, called my still very free spirited younger sister to go.  You simply reminded us: Life ain't close to be'n ov'a, among other lessons :)!  Made our week!  Will tell friends to see you!  And you look great Nana-new-face! (I hope tyhat's not too personal?) THX - END -

Dear KUBNB - Do I need to call a cop or take out a restraining order!?!  Let me just repeat, I loved Halifax and love Canadian audiences.  Have a wonderful baby and please name him after me...especially if it's a boy. This is something that bitch, Melissa, wouldn't do. --xxx Joan

P. S. This is to let you know that I do answer your comments, but not every f*#*ing day.  If you read my blog regularly, you know I have a hectic life.  So, if you've left a comment and wondered if I answered it...check the archives.  You'll be surprised. ---xxx Joan"

Last Wednesday at the Cutting Room I really thought that I was funny. A guy was literally rolling around on the floor and I was so proud. 

Ten minutes later he died from a chicken bone lodged in his throat.

Oh well, easy come, easy go. 

It’s already beginning. Lots of holiday gifts are arriving at my house that lots of people have put absolutely no thought into. My friends must think that I’m either on sensory deprivation drugs or very stupid if they think that I don’t know that these are re-gifts.

A tampon holder for my purse? An H.I.M. Book to keep a record of the new guys I meet? A rosary?  And then I find myself sitting here writing ‘Thank You’ notes about how sweet and thoughtful they are when, in truth, I just wish I could tell the truth. Wouldn’t it be nice to send the following notes?

Dear _______

Thank you so much for your gift. I’ve always wanted to learn Braille and I think this copy of the Karma Sutra is going to finally make me do it.

xoxox - Joan

Or

Dear _______

Thank you so much for your gift. I’ve always wanted a monogrammed men’s bathrobe. I can’t wait to meet someone whose initials are A. H. and then maybe, with a little luck and a bloody regime, we could lead Germany to a glorious Forth Reich.

xoxox - Joan

Or

Dear _______

Thank you so much for your gift. I’ve always wanted a bottle of Eau de Stink perfume, but I thought that the EPA had taken it off of the market at the same time as DDT. I love the scent as it reminds me of my hometown which had both a paper mill and a rendering plant.

xoxox - Joan

I will be performing - no kidding – for the Queen of England on Monday in Liverpool for the 79th Annual Royal Variety Performance.

 I have been told that I can not say fuck, shit, piss, cunt, nigger, kike, mick, faggot or Wallis Simpson.

That means that my act will consist of, “Good evening. Where are you from? You’ve been a terrific audience. Thank you and goodnight!”