Info was spotty today and I rarely ran across internet savvy big-rig trucker tricks to check in with the news agencies at the truck stop but I felt the passing of Farrah psychically nonetheless. It’s a sad day a very, very sad day.
I’m wearing black right now. A black spaghetti strapped sequined pantsuit with a plunging neckline. I’m backcombing, feathering and frosting my Farrah Fawcett Make-Up & Hair Styling Center applying her make-up and tanning her skin. Preparing for the memorial followed by graveside services to be held in my backyard.
I was only twelve years old when Farrah first visited me in a dream. I was dazzled by her Ultra-Brite smile, self-possession, and waspy beauty while watching Charlie’s Angels. She had “IT” and more IT than anyone since Marilyn. I wanted to be her. One day I cleaned out a small tool garage attached to our house and declared it headquarters for my own Charlie Angel detective agency and therein resided the Farrah bathing suit poster.
Around that time Farrah visited me in a dream at a disco party at my detective agency, she and Lee Majors were guests sitting on a ledge with me that rimmed the 8’ x 10’ office trimmed with an oriental carpet, beige sofa with burgundy piping, multi-line speaker-enabled business phones, Venetian mirror, ginger jar lamps, and an enormous plaster replica Buddha head sculpture on a gold gilt and bronze doré Louis XIV commode. It was lavish.
Several more dreams have followed most notably the one where it was rumored that Farrah owned a beach house on Ono Island in Perdido Key Florida just down the road. Anyway in my dream I kidnap Farrah and strap her to my roof and make her tan again holding her prisoner in the blazing sun while frosting her hair with an occasional drop of water to drink wrung out from a rag.
The other more pleasant dream was escorting Farrah to a Hollywood party arm-in-arm. She clung tight to me all night introducing her friends. She was tiny and nervous and frail but spectacular wearing a white halter top and a gigantic black handbag over her shoulder. Flipping her hair and laughing.
I felt my psychic link to Farrah being severed yesterday when I woke up and thought about Farrah and heard the news that her condition was worsening. I really would like to have another Farrah dream tonight but that’s pushing it.
I’d like to thank Viva for being such a good Farrah Fawcett friend. She shares the same Farrah connection and has also shared numerous pictures of Farrah that I have never seen including the one at the top of this post. Thank you Viva and it’s understandable that the Mean Dirty Pirate Internet Friends of Farrah Fawcett Fan Club newsletter will be delayed this week. On a totally related note Tatum must be suffering tonight as she once was romantically linked to Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett was her step monster.
It seems only fitting that Farrah be robbed of the spotlight by Michael Jackson in her death much like she was robbed in her career. I imagine Farrah and Michael Jackson noticing each other in the line for Heaven. A single file line of white robed recently deceased set against a backdrop of all white and a golden mane leaning and straining out of formation. “Hey Michael did you die today too? Weird. Hey look up ahead it’s Ed McMahon. Far-Out.”