Don't call me on the telephone!

Well, one cosmo turned into two, and then Drew convinced me that you have to chase cosmos with cheap margaritas, and so we went for greasey quesadillas at this little hole in the wall that hasn't seen the patronage of a health inspector since Ronnie was the Governor of California. Can I tell you? Before it was all over, Cameryn had me in a corner trying to convince me to be in her next movie -- she's directing a re-make of "Year of Living Dangerously," and she thinks I would be great in the Linda Hunt role -- not sure how to take that, but boy is Cameryn aggressive!

Anyway, my brain hasn't felt this achey since the summer of 1978, the morning after I went to a party at Tom Selleck's house. Everyone was there, of course -- the Hustons, Lucille Ball, Chuck Woolery, Diane Keaton, one of the Kennedys, Princess Margaret, Maureen O'Hara, Althea Gibbs, Omar, Wayne Newton, Donna Summer, Betty Ford (not Gerald), Eva Gabor, Zsa Zsa, Sammy Davis, Henry Kissinger, etc., etc. -- you know, the crowd. And there were little cubes of jello, and it was just incredibly hot that summer, and I thought, well isn't this the most refreshing idea I've ever heard of! And so I just kept popping them into my mouth, trying to cool off, and before I knew it I was waking up in John Wayne's bungalow on the Paramount lot. That was the year before he died.

And for those of you with dirty minds, don't even go there! I woke up next to Florence Henderson, Anne B. Davis and Charles Nelson Reilly. How Charles Nelson Reilly had a key to John Wayne's bungalow, I will never know. But let me tell you, Florence can make an omlette! Over omlettes, they told me horrifying stories about my behaviour the night before, something having to do with Tom Selleck's luggage and Linda Blaire's brazier. God, Hollywood isn't what it used to be.

Going to a Hollywood Party

Well, tonight I'm going to a Hollywood party. You know, with people like Milton Berle, although he's dead. So he won't be there, But people like him will be. The person hosting it is Meg Ryan. I vaguely remember her from some frothy little film where she falls in and out of love with that nice Jewish comedian -- Billy something. I couldn't really follow the movie because it was the first year after Ronnie's presidency and I was absolutely obsessed with co-authoring my memoirs, "My Turn: The Memoirs of Nancy Reagan." Everything in every movie that I saw just made me think of something else I didn't want to leave out! Like when Meg Ryan did that scene where she pretended to have the orgasm in the ethnic deli, all I could think was, "Oh, Nancy, don't forget to write about the air traffic controllers' strike.

That's a picture of me with Cher. Maybe she'll be at the Party!