Bookwormed!

Beth tagged me on this:

I'm supposed to open the closest book to page 56 and write down the 5th sentence and then the next 2 to 5 sentences. Then I have to convince 5 other people to do the same. Unfortunately, the only 5 people I would tag on this have already been listed by everyone else.

I'm pretty embarrassed by the book that I have next to me. It's not hard to see why."Life with my sister Madonna" by Christopher Ciccone is by far one of the weirdest, badly written books I've ever read. But, here goes:

When one of my college buddies invites me to spend part of the summer at her parents' home in Darien, Connecticut, I call Madonna and ask her if I can visit her in Manhatten.

She says yes. Moreover, she will take us out to dinner when we get there.

So, my friend and I arrive at the airport, rent a car, and drive out to Fifty-third Avenue in Queens, right by the World's Fair grounds, and end up at the synagogue, a big, wide-open space, still with religious carvings on the walls, but with clothes and instruments thrown all over the place. The whole thing seems a bit sacriligious to me.

I feel the need to justify why on earth I have this book. I was a huge Madonna freak in the summer of 1990. Well, it continued well into 1993, but then it ended. Thank God.

My roommate at Indiana State University, my sophomore year of college lived in Evansville, Indiana. During the filming of "A League of Their Own", her cousin was Tom Hanks' driver and her aunt drove for Madonna. This roommate - who was an awful, self-centered BITCH, asked me if I wanted to go down for the weekend and be an extra in the movie. (She wasn't such a Bitch for this.)

I, of course, was very excited. I had had for some time, this dream that I would be the first (and only) person to write Madonna's AUTHORIZED biography. On the 2 hour drive from Terre Haute to my Dad's house in Belleville, IL every other weekend, I would zone out and imagine my life as her biographer and confidant. I was such a moron. (g)

Anyhoo, we get to the roommate's mother's house and she promptly tells me that she has to go meet her ex-boyfriend, but will be back shortly. Her mother and I stare at each other like deer in headlights for about 3 minutes, then Mom disappears upstairs to her room.

6 hours later, the Bitch still wasn't back. No phone call, nothing. I fell asleep, comforted by my pending foray into the world of Madonna. At 6am the next morning, the Bitch calls and says that she doesn't feel like being an extra and we should head back to school. Joy.

Now - she did do two things that saved me from kicking her in the shins:

1) She took me to lunch in the car that Madonna rode around in. It was a Lincoln Town car and my ass occupied the same space as Madonna's for about 6 minutes. It's an odd thing to be thrilled about, but I was an idiot.

2) On the way back to school, she drove me past the house that Madonna was renting in McCutchinsville. The house sat down a hill, surrounded by a horse fence. We got out of the car, and while I was completely imagining myself jumping the fence and storming the house to tell Madonna that her Biographer had arrived, a security guard drove from the house to the street to tell us that "She said you have to leave".

I looked back at the house and saw a woman in the window. Guess who it was? Yep. The Material Girl herself.

Well, this had me flying for about a week. All was forgiven with the roommate.

Until she made out with a guy I had been seeing for about a month. In MY dorm bed.

Bitch.