Do The Right Thing...

I have been accused of being naive. I am not naive. I am a rule follower. The problem with that is I believe that most rules don't apply to me. That said, I do follow societal rules - you know, the ones like it's better for everyone if I don't run this red light. So in my naivete of trying to do the right thing and follow the rules, behave, pretend God is watching or my mother or Mother Teresa, I took a Facebook gag and tried to make it right.

I have the crappiest luck when it comes to dating. I think that's because I assume that everyone out there is a rule follower like I am. And like me, believes in the best in themselves. I am the type of person to look past the trappings in everyone and get to the person within. Sometimes, though, not even the person I'm looking into sees what I see - and they end up disappointing me.

If you look back through my earlier blogs you know what I'm saying. Others would have run from the men I have dated - but not me. Sane people call it care-taking, insane people (oh say, like me) call it putting out your heart and taking a chance by helping someone through... After the last schmo I obviously need to have more sane people surrounding me.

In fact, quite a few sane men in my life have rallied around me in an attempt to stop my madness. One of them in fact even decided I should have a date with my dream man. Stanley Tucci. I was blathering away about how I was going to take a recent upset and turn it into art - come back doing stand-up and singing in this teeny tiny musical I'm writing called Stalking Stanley.

I have admired Stanley Tucci's work since his Levi's commercial in the 1980s - ok and truthfully? In that ad? Just his arms. I lost track of him until one night I was sitting with my brother and his wife watching the movie Big Night. It ranks right up there with my other faves Rocky and Fatso. It was a rental. So when everyone went to bed I took it out and watched it again. OK, watched Stanley.

I had a crush. A big one. He is adorable. So talented on so many levels. Funny. And in my heart I think I have always looked for the Stanley Tucci type. The last guy I thought might have been, he was kinda sorta (not really) pointing in that direction. OK truthfully? Just his arms.

hahahahahahahahahahaha...

My friend then asked why I didn't just date Stanley Tucci. And I pointed out to him that while I am hugely famous with the under-5-feet-tall-crowd, I don't actually know Stanley. And at this point I am so burned that, if I could get past the whole kissing thing I would just get me a wife. And he said, whatever you do, do not print that. And well, here you go I just did - and he KNEW he had to step in.

He crafted a petition calling on Stanley Tucci to ask me out on a date and then posted a link on my Facebook page. When I first read it I laughed so hard my stomach ached. I didn't take it too seriously because I have ZERO degrees of separation happening with my man the Stan. I don't know anyone who knows him. I don't think he has ever watched an episode of Dexter's Laboratory or would recognize my voice as Cheese in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. It was harmless.

Then people started to sign it. And when I read it thoroughly I smiled because my friend got right to the heart of my matter - I would love to have a date with Stanley Tucci. Not someone like him.

So on the petition went. And after a few days I forgot about it. Then I got an email from a fan disparaging me for wanting to date someone I didn't know and saying that he was not a nice man. I asked her if she knew him. She admitted she didn't. And I said, well neither do I - and the last guy I DID know turned out to not be a nice man, so I'm going to take a chance that Stanley is out there hunting for a woman who does cartoon voices and commercials and is writing a musical about trying to date him - and if that happens, damn it!, I am going out on a date with him!!!!

The petition was getting a little heat. And I got a few more missives talking about my choice in a man. I tried to explain that the petition was an act of love and humor from a dear friend and his circle of friends and then I thought...oh hell. The best way to put this in perspective for everyone is to put my money where my mouth is.

I went online to the Food Bank For New York City - and posted this challenge; for every signature that I get on my petition I will donate ten cents ($00.10) up to one thousand dollars ($1000.00) to the Food Bank For New York City. I have already honored the existing signatures by donating $100.00 right off the bat. I have faith that there are a thousand, and hopefully ten thousand people out there who love both of our work and would like to see these two crazy kids get together... :)

We should be together. Or at least have a meal. And a make-out session.

Use your super powers for good. Do the right thing. Go online to http://www.petol.org/Tucci. Sign the petition. Sign it in your stage name. Sign it as one of the people who live in your head. Sign it again. I don't care. I don't think that the gremlins living in online petition world care either. Let's get as many signatures as we can so that the Food Bank For New York City can put out as many meals as they can.

You know you love me - Candi

Jesse James...

Wow. And sitting there with the big crocodile tears. Again, there is no gloating. No joy in anyone's pain. No, see what happens?!

There is only America's sweetheart...an Academy Award winner...who suffered the same as millions of other America's sweethearts (who don't have Academy Awards - but trust and love just the same) suffer.

Lied to. Betrayed. Embarrassed.

So, what did Sandra do when she discovered the infidelity?

She kicked his ass to the curb. And this is why I love her.

And what did poor Jesse do? I bet he dropped to his knees and thanked God she was not holding a nine iron.

Good, successful, brilliant and talented women require in a man - strength, courage and honesty above all. And I believe that if any guy is texting or emailing or "facebook-ing" women, especially those who look like they need a flea dip - while in a relationship with the real "prize," a good girl that many men dream of being worthy of? Well, hell boys, that automatically makes you a tool.

Now. My tools are kept in the shed.

After of course, their ass is kicked to the curb.

Miss S - showing America's Sweethearts - all of us, each and every one - how it's done!

You know you love me - Candi

Is This The Party To Whom I Am Speaking...

I am emboldened by opportunity. I am one of a gazillion American homeowners trying to stay on top of my mortgage and all it's shenanigans as it changes shape faster than Kirstie Alley on reality TV.

I read everything. Directions. Ingedients. The trades. The Times in NY and LA. Fine print. Side effects on pharmaceutical ads. So, when reading how we Americans bailed out the banking industry and how our government is on top of them to do right I decide to call my bank and get a little slice of the pie I baked, paid for and sliced.

So I call my bank...let's just call them...Bank of Airheads...or BofA for short. I have a weird, monstrous loan, that I didn't understand when I got into it, but I understand much better now that I have received the 932,000 items in the mail explaining my loan to me. Now I get it completely, if only Russian were my native tongue - cause that's what it looks like to me folks. Cyrillic writing. As far as I can tell, and this is ALL I can tell, the punctuation is brilliant.

I ring the bank up and get the cheery announcement - happy that some voice over person is working and then immediately wondering why I didn't go up for it - to hold on because my business is very important to them. I never believe that. Because if my business were important to them, I would have gotten a birthday card. Nonetheless, I am willing to let that pass (for the time being) as I hold for a loan servicer. The word servicer leaves a little guck taste in my mouth. Servicer. I don't even want to go there. I'm hyped up on coffee, good carbs and desperation - and if I get side-tracked I will never reach my goal. So I brush that thought aside...after I write it down.

Click. Click. Clack. Music interrupted. I wonder if The Red Hot Chili Peppers know that someone re-recorded "Snow" while high and quite possibly dead, but most certainly slightly talented.

"Hello. Is this the party to whom I am speaking?"

I don't know what to say. I truly don't. Well. I do. But I know I'm being recorded. But I'm so dumbfounded to hear Ernestine the Operator from Laugn-In I say,

"I don't know, is it?"

This stumps her. She regroups and asks,

"For security purposes, can I have your name and last four of your social?"

"Can I have yours?"

"Why do you need mine?"

"Why do you need mine?"

"Because Miss. Because I need to access your file."

"But how do you know you need to access my file, you don't even know why I am calling? There isn't a stitch in there about any prior arrest for any disorderly conduct, and if he had only listened to me explain why I was speeding I would never have gotten out of my car. And you haven't introduced yourself. You know, you're supposed to give your stage name to those of us calling about our loans. Unless, you know, because you've written so many bad ones, including those that are no longer legal in the state of California (only I say it in my Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, Gall-ee-vor-neeya), you get a little afraid that someone might come and look you up..."

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

"By going back to Miss for starters. And I hope you can. I've called about my loan. Do you need the loan number so you can access my file?"

Silence.

"Can you hold a second please?"

"As a matter of fact, I would prefer not...hello?..."

Tall and tan and long and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking. And each time she walks all blah blah the men go blaaaahhh.... Right now, he's probably standing up behind her showing her how to shoot a combo, but he don't know... If ever I would leave you, it wouldn't be in blah blah... Come to believe I better not leave before I blah blah to ride... 'Scuse me while I kiss the sky... I just haven't met you yet...Stanley Tucci...

"Hi this is Thomas. How can I help you?"

"Thomas, what happened to the nice nameless lady I was speaking to?"

"You were turned over to me. Now is there something I can help you with?

"Why, do you know Stanley Tucci? Kidding. As a matter of fact I've been kidding all along, but I am about to get quite serious. Have you seen the new collection at Saks - who is buying for them?!"

"Miss..."

"Miss Milo. Thank you for going back to Miss, by the way. I do look fabulous and I like when that is reflected in my personal address. It makes me really happy."

"Well we are all here to make you happy, Miss Milo."

"Glad to hear that. Glad that is on tape. Because here is exactly how you can make me happy. I want my margin spread to come down from 2.5 points to 1. I want my interest rate to reflect the current market rate - dropping a solid 2 points. And I want a refund of the usurious interest charged to my loan over a loan I did not understand and is no longer viable for the property it was written for. How's that? Can you make me happy, Thomas? Think we can wrap this up today, or do I need to listen to some Hot 100 tunes?"

Peg I will come back to you... Ever since I met 'ya, seems I can't forget 'ya... Reunited and it feels so good, reunited cause we understood... Baby we can talk all night, but that ain't getting us nowhere, I told you everything I possibly can...

"Miss Milo, we are going to need your income tax returns for the last three years, plus all W2s, a profit and loss statement and copies of your last three paychecks to go any further on this today."

"All without knowing my loan number?"

Silence. Then click. Click. Clack.

"Is someone joining us on the line, Thomas? And remember, you have to answer honestly because this is being taped - and you don't want an 'i' un-dotted in case you really have to help me here. You know, God forbid you guys should simply not make as MUCH on my loan as you can and I can end up keeping both arms and both legs AND my house. Wouldn't that be great? Wouldn't that be helping me? Wouldn't that be what my people would have wanted when we gave you all the taxpayer money to stay in business?"

"This is Mrs. Simmons, I'm a supervisor here. How can I help you?"

"Is this a rhetorical question? I mean, can't you just replay the tape you've made over the last...oh...55 minutes?"

"Miss Milo, under the federal program for loan modification we need the items requested before we can go further. How long do you think it will take you to compile these documents and send them to us?"

"Do you have a fax? I have everything right here. Because this is the fifth time I have called and been asked for the same documents - only this time, without being asked for my account number. So I'm thinking either you guys have a picture of me under the word STALL - or this is a huge run-around. I bet you if you ask me my account number, you will see you have everything you need to make a determination. All I need Mrs. Simmons is a yes."

"I'm sorry to do this to you. Would you please hold."

It wasn't a question. Click. Click. Clack.

"Thank you for calling Bank of Airheads Home Loan Processing Center. Your call is very important to us. Please listen to the following menu. Para asistencia en espanol, oprima numero dos."

I press numero dos. I am nothing if not emboldened by the opportunity to be hung up on again.

You know you love me...Candi