Universal Arabesques

Today I thought about the Universe.

I was relaxing in my marble jacuzzi ears underwater listening to the silence watching the glistening great beyond above. I wondered, would I be adored beyond the firmament? Do aliens worship me, as my fans do? Would I still be an entity after my immenint demise, and if so, what kind of spirit would I be and what would I look like? Is botox available in heaven, and how much does it cost? Are there coupons - and do they stlll double them at certain supermarkets?

No, I was not 'shrooming I was just relaxing with my rooibos tea and my chef, Manuel, who was saturated in olive oil and rasberry preserve. What would become of me when I came to my...End. My 'cul de sac', as Hemingway once wrote. Would Manuel be there? Would Zsa Zsa Gabor be there? Would my blanket, Tonky, be there? I was heavy in thought as the jets of the jacuzzi roared against my nether regions. What does it all matter? Would people continue to read my blogs? Would Steve Guttenberg ever work again? Would they ever make a sequel to my favorite film, "Showgirls"?

My final response: Yes. I matter. Yes. You matter. Even Elizabeth Hasselbeck matters - because Life matters. Because Love matters, and dammit I Love me. I do. Unquestionably. Actually, overwhelmingly. I have my webcam on myself as I write this blog right now. Damn, I'm f**king gorgeous.

So, I phoned my friend Dionne Warwick. Dionne awnsered the phone as she usually does, "I know it's you". I asked her, "Dionne how do you always know it's me?" She claimed psychic ability. I knew it was caller ID, but I placated her anyway.

-Dionne, you are such a brilliant psychic. How do you know such things?

-Beckett Boo, she replied, it's just about - listening. Stop. Breathe and listen.

For some reason I thought she was psychically telling me I was on fire. So instead, I stopped, dropped and rolled. As, I rolled I did a Petit Battement into a Plie and rounded off into an Arabesque. Manuel was impressed because I did it all with my bluetooth ear piece.

- Beckett, Dionne blurted, have you ever experienced Enlightenment?

I hesitated. Was she referring to my Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn compilations, or the the 'Tao of Pooh' audiobook I received from Jared Leto? Nevertheless, I said, "I don't know, Dionne. How do I find this...Enlightenment?"

- Stand in front of a mirror and stare at yourself for 30 minutes, she spoke softly. Look into the design of your eyes. The richness of its green tint. The pupils and the pure whiteness of the outer circle.

I followed her instructions although my eyes were blazin' red from the Dom Perignon. Yet, I saw a vague green tint. I meditated on my beauty. I winked at myself when I felt charmed. Then I french kissed the mirror. If only I could meet me, and me was a 14 year old greek boy name, Zyylos. But, I saw Dionne's point. How could I question the universe when the universe was in my eyes?

Five hours later I fell into a spiritual coma. My pulse dropped. My extensions were coming loose. Manuel's fingers turned pruney, as I forgot to release him from the jacuzzi. But, I was at peace. Calm and stationary as a stillborn baby.

I spoke 'Pig Latin' backwards, and felt my head swarm with images of elephants having lyposuction. Was this enlightement? I rushed to my Wikepedia and found this, "Enlightenment (or brightening) broadly means the acquisition of new wisdom or understanding enabling clarity of perception." I had several words for Manuel to look up for me in the dictionary. I stalled as he turned the pages. My eyes averted ignoring his wrinkled index, thumb and pinkie.


It seemed to me that I shouldn't have skipped all my Calculus classes. I knew none of these words. Manuel had a lot of 'looking up to do'. Poor Manuel. At least he was nude, shaved and Argentinian. I certainly knew those words. By heart.

So, I'm still searching for Enlightenment. My best friend, Kelly Ripa, told me it would take a lifetime to find. Luckily, I have 7 left. So, I figured that it really doesn't matter and I can go back to doing what I do best - drinking. It was after my 8th cocktail that I fell into my infinity pool and drowned. During my resucitation I found Enlightenment, and it was chapped, shriveled and Argentinian.



Promises, Promises

Today I was, finally, released from rehab. Thanks to all the well wishers who, adoringly, have written and sent discreet packages of "legal" substances to get me through these rugged six (6) months.

In rehabilitation, with my anonymous friends L. Lohan, C. Love, M. Jacobs, H. Joel Osment, E. Van Halen, R. Williams, K. Urban, T. Haggard, M. Barton's sister Hania (oops-named her), I. Washington, and Ms. B. Spears we were forced to watch all 10 seasons of "The View". I've had enough of Joy Behar's Comedy Corner to last me 9 lifetimes. In fact, it caused my friend Britney to jump the gates and shave her head in the San Fernando Valley. That was around the time we got to Season 4 - The Lisa Ling Days.

These days the air smells significantly sweeter, but life is tedious and remarkably boring. I miss my opium infused Mint Julips and my crack dealer, Rajj. But, I have noticed positive changes in my day to day life since my release. For instance, I've read the first 30 pages of about 200 books. I use an escalator instead of an elevator. I tie my own ascot. I like running around nude in the sprinklers. I eat pork chops. My penis grew 14 inches, and I suddenly feel "feelings".

I did miss a lot being away from the news media for so long. I can't wait to eat lunch with the Beckhams and get my face back in the tabloids. I don't care what they say about me I just miss being in the press. Although, if PerezHilton "outs" me I swear I will shoot him with a Super-Soaker full of Cat Urine. Mine glows under a blacklight, so I'll make sure it happens at Club Stereo or Hyde. I'm starting to run out of enemies because now people have all this sudden sympathy for me, so I have made PerezHilton target and Plus-Size enemy #1.

The first thing I did upon my release was call Shoshanna. Shoshanna, as many of you already know, was my assistant that I fired after she forced my grandmother, Heidi Klum, to enter me into rehab. I understand now why Shoshanna did what Shoshanna did - and if you reading this blog aloud it must be fun to have said Shoshanna as many times as I have written thus far. Shoshanna was hired as my "Yes" woman. My Howard K. Stern, if you will, and when she said "No" to my request for a featherbed cot and a bottle of oxycontin I was forced, by terms of her employment contract, to let...her...go. She quickly found employment with my ex-"wife", Michelle Rodriguez. But when I phoned Shoshanna immediately left Michelle at some bar named after Frida Kahlo, and wisked me away from my isolation.

Shoshanna has since received a raise. Largely in part for her participation in my soul's renewal, but also because when I returned to my estate there was the featherbed cot, a Mint Julep, and a freshly filled bottle of oxycontin. Shoshanna, apparently, had had enough of Ms. Rodriguez, as I did during her Sapphic beginnings. Like I've always said, "Too much vagina is - repulsive."

So, I'm home.


Resolute - and resting comfortably on a listless cloud of vapid emptiness.

Shoshanna shall receive medical benefits, and I will re-instate her green card.

I now have my comfortable life back, and my "Yes" woman.

It's good to be home...wherever the hell I am.

Always Yours - well not always,

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!