If you live in Chicago and you take the 145 or the 146 bus to and from the Loop, I apologize.
I admit it. I'm the guy in the back of the bus cackling like Paula Deen on acid with his nose stuck in a book entitled, Wishful Drinking.
I picked up Carrie Fisher's new book just last week and I am purposefully reading it at a snail's pace so that I can enjoy her brilliant, quirky, dark humor for as long as is humanly possible.
And I'm not kidding about the cackling. People on the bus with me stare - - lots of people... more than the usual "Oh, look at this tired, old queen" people - - because I read just one sentence and I can't hold in the laughter.
For instance, when she talks about waking up to find her friend Greg laying beside her, dead in HER bed, Carrie says...
"So he didn't just die in his sleep, he died in mine."
Describing the event in more detail, she says...
"Greg was one of my best friends. He wasn't my boyfriend or anything. Meaning he didn't die in the saddle.
That would make me the saddle."
As Carrie was dealing with Greg's death, her friend Dave said to her...
"Honey, I know this is a pain in the ass."
To which Carrie replied...
"If I could isolate the pain just to my ass,
it would be awesome."
See what I mean?
Then, there is my favorite paragraph in the book thus far...
"You know what's funny about death? I mean other than absolutely nothing at all?
You'd think we could remember finding out we weren't immortal. Sometimes I see children sobbing in airports and I think, 'Aww. They've just been told.'"
Go buy Wishful Drinking. Now. And get this walking carpet out of my way!