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Sunday, July 08, 2007

I'm Moving In 

I think that if Billy Joel were my boyfriend, I would make up a nickname for him right away. “Beej,” that’s what I’d call him. Instead of “B.J,” which I’m sure everyone has long ago exhausted. I’d set myself apart from the masses by sidestepping the obvious. I think that if Billy Joel were my boyfriend, I would do anything to keep our relationship full of surprises. By now, however, he’s come to expect that from me, and the pressure to catch him off guard and keep the big guy on his toes becomes excruciating. I do the best I can, sometimes resorting to shtick involving canned fruit and a Swiffer. I think its over, but I don’t want to let go, neither of us wants to let go. I’ve grown to understand him in a way that he has desperately needed yet never knew. I’ve converted for him, dammit, I will not let us grow stale. I will not.

I think that if Billy Joel were my boyfriend I would never ask him to sing for me. I would try every day to remind him that, for a pug-faced, squatty little man, he’s sexy as hell. He asks me why and I tell him that he emits a powerful inner beauty. You can nearly read his thoughts, those deep and precious thoughts that only Beej could think. That’s what I tell him anyway. I didn’t know it at the time, but even Billy Joel has grown sick of “Billy Joel.” He’s sold his CD’s and LP’s to a second-hand music shop in the East Village. He pocketed the money and went to Mister Cacciatore's down on Sullivan Street where he had a big plate of penne. He ran into Brender and Eddie that day. Eddie’s become a transgender by the way, goes by Edith - and Beej thinks about doing a rewrite. We had a nice visit and then he waved Brender and Edith goodbye.

I think that if Billy Joel was my boyfriend, I would ask to see pictures of he and Christie Brinkley dancing, wide-angle of course. I would frame it and put it on his piano for all to see. In the picture that I’ve chosen Christie seems like a tall woman-flower devouring a hairy little bug. Then I would have pictures taken of me and Beej dancing, our bodies perfectly matched-up, the lighting just right so as to make us both look more attractive than real-life would ever permit. I would then have this picture framed and place it on his piano, making clear to him, should he have any doubts, that we are the perfect pair. I would also have copies of it made and send it out as our Holiday Greeting. “Dancing and prancing makes our spirits bright!” On the inside it reads, “Happy Happy Holidays! (And don’t send us any gifts. With a love like ours, we don’t need no stinkin’ gifts!) Sincerely, The Joels.” Then I sign “Karen & ‘the Beej.’” (His nickname has become wildly popular. The NYPost proclaims, “Long Live the ‘Beej!’”)

I think that if Billy Joel were my boyfriend, he’d send me to Finishing School before I was allowed to be around his daughter, Alexa Rae. However, I could teach her the many non-surgical methods available for hair-removal. (It’s obvious she takes after her dad in the follicle department. Which is mostly a good thing. This will allow me to love her as my own even more!) I don’t know much about swank Long Island life, and I’m a devotee of drugstore beauty myself. (Her dad’s working on a song about the time I tried on thirteen lipsticks, having secretly removed their safety-seal caps, only to end up purchasing the very first one I tried! “Thirteen Lipsticks for m’lady” he’s calling it!)
They both agree that I’m a breath of fresh air, me and my lack of pretense.
So all I’m saying is, “Hey Billy Joel, I’m Moving In.”

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