Diary of a Mad Diva Read Online Free PDF

we’re through!” The last was from a man I met at an AARP meeting. It was a big card that said simply, “I Pacemaker You.” Years ago I faced the fact that I really have no sex appeal. Cupid saw me naked and shot an arrow into his own head.
    FEBRUARY 15
    Dear Diary:
    I’m sad because on Valentine’s Day men everywhere were buying their wives flowers and candy and jewelry in the hopes of getting a mediocre blow job (or at least a hand job with K-Y) in the laundry room later that night. And I sat all by myself, heartbroken that my vibrator didn’t even have the decency to send me a card or an email. I’ll show it; I’m off to the supermarket today to buy a cucumber.
    FEBRUARY 16
    Dear Diary:
    Woke up not feeling well. I spent the entire day online, on WebMD, and after eight hours of exhaustive research I’ve connected my symptoms to a diagnosis. And I can say with 100 percent certainty that I have pleurisy, tuberculosis, brain stem cancer or an enlarged prostate. I found a great cure for whatever ails you. God bless the Internet! A coffee enema. It worked like a charm. Not only are all my symptoms gone but I also lost twelve pounds. The only negative: I can never go back to Starbucks.
    FEBRUARY 17
    Dear Diary:
    I’m in a post–Valentine’s Day depression. Well, according to my shrink it’s not really a depression—it’s “appropriate sadness.” Actually he’s not really my shrink; he’s my trainer, and I talk to him a lot when I’m on the treadmill. He’s pretty smart for a steroid-riddled behemoth with huge pecs and itty-bitty nuts. Squirrels have seen him naked and said, “Pass.”
    FEBRUARY 18
    Dear Diary:
    Today is Presidents Day, when America honors George Washington and Abraham Lincoln by offering linens half off. I think we should have a second Presidents Day and honor JFK by offering heads half off.
    FEBRUARY 19
    Dear Diary:
    Going on a mini tour for the next week. Giving concerts all across Canada. My agent, Shivering Steve Levine, has booked me in Toronto, Montreal, Winnipeg and Saskatoon. Steve is so proud of himself, you would have thought he’d gotten me a command performance at Buckingham Palace in front of the Queen. What he actually got me is a booking in an ice bowl in Manitoba in front of a couple of old queens. I said, “Steve, thank you for booking me in Canada in the dead of winter. Any chance of getting me a week at the North Pole next January? How about a couple of days on the face of the sun in July?”
    FEBRUARY 20
    Dear Diary:
    Driving to Toronto. No matter where I look all I see is snow. White, white, white as far as the eye can see. It’s like being at Paula Deen’s office party. Hundreds of miles of snow is pretty for about five minutes, then it becomes a frigid bore, like Martha Stewart.
    FEBRUARY 21
    Dear Diary:
    Driving to Winnipeg and all I see is more snow. Boring.
    FEBRUARY 22
    Dear Diary:
    Driving to Saskatoon. More snow. But saw a couple of people frozen to death lying like roadkill on the side of the highway. Not quite as boring.
    FEBRUARY 23
    Dear Diary:
    The Canadian audiences I performed for were great, but I can’t figure out why people live here. I think maybe they ran out of gas on their way to someplace warmer.
    FEBRUARY 24
    Dear Diary:
    Back home from Canada. The audiences were so wonderful—they clapped until their frozen little fingers snapped off. Now I’m going to treat myself to a perfect evening—I’m going to take a bath, have Pingpong make me dinner (which I’ll immediately send back), and watch TV.
    Later . . . Just finished watching Girls on HBO. If I have to see Lena Dunham’s ass, boobs or tattoos one more time, I swear to God I’m going to convene a tribunal and charge HBO with crimes against humanity. Every time Lena takes the stand it’ll be like Nuremberg with cellulite. Why do homely girls insist on showing off their bodies? Who’s clamoring to look at them? Even Stevie Wonder would say, “Pass.” On tonight’s show she