Rehab Diary

My counselor tells me I have to get over my “elitist attitude”. Shit, I’m just a regular guy from Long Island, y’know? But whatever. She asks me if I’m going to be in the ward talent show. She says Mariah did it, and Liza did too. I told her I didn’t realize this was the MTV Divas Wing, and do they have a Wing for SERIOUS ARTISTS? She would NOT back down until I agreed to spend some time in the Common Room. Common Room indeed!

So I sit down at the piano, what the hell, I figured I’d give ‘em all a thrill. Looking around the room I figure I’m better off playing something from The Stranger instead of River of Dreams. These people look mean enough as it is. I start in on “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” and people start circling the fucking piano! I shit you not! And my counselor INTERRUPTS me waving her hands, and pulls me out to the hallway. She says the other patients are getting antsy, with all the talk about “a bottle of red/a bottle of white”. Can I sing something without alcohol in it.

First she nags me about not mingling with the others, then she presumes to dictate my artistic choices? This place is no better than the outside!

Phone call from Twyla this a.m. Do I think Sargeant O’Leary should be in the big dance number. How the fuck should I know? I’m the SONGWRITING GENIUS, not the fucking choreographer! Jesus, it’s no wonder I’m in here. These people have driven me here.

No sooner did I get off that phone call than the costumer calls (WTF is her name, anyway). Should the guy playing Anthony stuff a sock down his pants. Fucking hell, now I’m the costume supervisor??? I don’t think I can handle much more of this.

Today is visiting day, but still no Alexa. She seems to blame ME that she is a bitter bug-eyed brunette and not a leggy blonde supermodel. I don’t see her lamenting her DNA when allowance time rolls around. The credit card bills that girl racks up! It’s no wonder I’m here! What does a teenager need with botox anyway?

Speaking of ALEXA’S MOM, the guy who changes the sheets decides he has the right to tell me “Uptown Girl” is a shitty song. No shit, Sherlock! He tells me “I liked it better when you were with that other chick. You know, the “Just the Way You Are” chick. I told him when he started fucking supermodels, THEN I would take his advice.

Morons! Where the hell do people get off?

Elton John called today. He asked what happened, how I ended up in here. I told him it was the pressures of having my show open on Broadway. I figured he’d understand. You know he had the NERVE to say that there wasn’t any pressure on in me to launch a show with songs that were already written?!?!

This is the support I get? GO BACK TO WRITING THE CARTOON SONGS, NANCY BOY!

I’m not leaving my room ever again! I went into the Rec Room just to stretch my legs, and there’s a PIANO in the corner. I could just FEEL everybody’s eyes going back and forth between me and the piano, me and the piano. Some guy walks up to me but I beat it out of there before he could say “Sing us a song…” (and I KNOW that’s what he was going to say. After all these years you just get a sense for these things.)

Watched second daughter on “Entertainment Tonight” tonight. (Note to self: ask secretary to remind me what second daughter’s name is.) Was sufficiently respectful and toadying, but a little too fond of the spotlight. Must talk to her about this. Was SHOCKED to see Billy Dee interviewed and finding out that it was the first he had heard of my incapacitation! What, is he too busy dusting off his action figure likenesses and filming malt liquor commercials? (Note to self: tell secretary to remove BDW from Christmas Card list.)

All in all, I think publicist is handling this well. With all luck, this will result in at least 25% boost in sales for upcoming concert tour.

Mary Wilson called (no doubt to gloat) just now. I told them to tell her I was much too fragile to talk on the phone. Bitch never did know when to leave well enough alone.

Dinner is over. The food here is terrible. And such small portions. Should do wonders for my pre-tour diet.

New nurse this afternoon. Fucking idiot! Told me she LUUUVED “Do You Know the Way to San Jose”. I politely explained to her that I was NOT her psychic friend and was not in the habit of getting busted for drugs at the airport.

(Honestly, what was Dionne thinking? Carrying her own reefer? Isn’t that what one’s secretaries are for?)

The kitchen ran OUT of Evian today, and expected me to make do with Perrier. The very idea! They won’t let me use the phone, so I asked one of the orderlies out to get me a case of Evian and a pack of Gitanes. He asked to be paid, but he wouldn’t take a check. Honestly, you’d think these people would have a little more faith in others.

Apparently I am the only celebrity in this wing, which is good. This morning there was a group session with four producers, two screenwriters, and Jean-Claude Van Damme’s former personal assistant. Knowing how important it is to keep busy at times like these, I asked the personal assistant to fetch me some Evian from the dining room. You should have SEEN the look she gave me. Such rudeness. I was only trying to help.

The day nurse is a big fan, and has been such a lamb. This morning she took my toast back twice until the idiots in the kitchen got it the shade and crunchiness I prefer. I obliged her with a quick chorus of “Upside Down” and she was so thrilled she slipped me an extra Valium. There’s always been such a wonderful give and take between me and my fans.

All this counseling and dry toast is really such a bore, I can’t wait until Visiting Day.

auidapa aydpasdiudsap dslk;d sd dsiu dsdslau Mahogany aldjas;dsk su siuiiiii 29a[ as9iso .saddfu slT Wiz adljsldfa asdfusaiofu ysduapdoi ldsjasu FUCKING BILLY DEE WILLIAMS! asdisap so siudpaoduispo sdoiaupio8989089898S9 SOID98O SI9IEOIDSKDK SIKDK KDKDI IKAISO IASOA[P
.SKLDA;I

F.

yoURS ever,

D.

Dear Diary:

Hey lookit that! 28 Days, just like the Sandra Bullock movie! She is HOT, isn’t she? Wait, did I just say that? ILIKEMENILIKEMENILIKEMEN. Isn’t it just so annoying how they always hog the remote, though? And how ’bout that premature ejaculation, huh? (Note to self: work on these– promising routines in the making, here.)

So hey, this place isn’t so bad. A little OJ in the morning mixed with some flat 7up — it’s just like a screwdriver. And speaking of screwdrivers, isn’t it crazy how men are so POSSESSIVE about their tool boxes? Like they’re trying to PROVE something.

(Note to self: punch that one up a little. “Home Improvement” reruns are on the local Fox channel back to back starting at 4. Good inspiration.)

No word from the kids for three weeks now. I think they’re still pissed we didn’t make it to Toys R Us before I got a DUI. Apparently I blacked out there a couple times previously after handing my credit card to the oldest one. That was news to me!

I would love to see them, though. I asked them to bring me some new PJs ‘cos frankly, these standard-issue ones don’t really do my boobs justice.