Eva in Heat

I, Tiresias, dream of writing romance novels for a ton of money. One of the greatest human traits is our ability to perpetuate these illusions that keep us hoping we'll get our stinking heads out the toilet and beget better lives full of better food, better clothes, hot fitness trainers, and victory over the fear of bills.

I don’t even like romances, though I read them when the better-sounding option is running flat-flooted into a wall. They take my mind off things … the haves, the wants, etc. See above. I like to write. I think I could write one if I really, really tried (and swigged lots of bourbon while writing the sex scenes … or better yet, make Cass write them and say I did). It’s a very good dream to have.

Sometimes, though, the dream will be interrupted while I'm staring down the last bite of street pretzel (thank you, Arkansas tourist who asked for directions to the Empire State Building) at the northwest corner subway entrance for the A, C, E trains, where I get a good angled view of the old Penn. In this case, it's when Eva Longoria becomes the prize bone of publishing houses looking to stamp her name and immense literary talents on their next bestselling hothouse spectacular.

I saw this tidbit on the smart bitches trashy books website, which made me see red and curse and elicit startled glances from my fellow hobos and assorted commuters. Of course, Ms. Longoria has been tapped to write a romance novel, when she probably didn’t have to write a single paper for her P.E. major, not even a do/don’t column on how to rock sweatpants and hoodies … not a single essay on nutrition or how to look like you’re glowing and not sweating out your gonads … and in Texas, this is some feat. She looks fun, maybe a bit of a bitch, but I figure you have to be to survive the whole celebrity rigmarole. She’s busy. She has jobs! She’s Gabrielle, she’s Tony’s girlfriend, she has to be there for him during the games, she’s got red carpet gigs, photo ops, celebrity scoop tell-alls in Star and UsWeekly. What the hell good is she hidden away penning her hot salacious Latin-flava romance?

So will Apple give her a Macbook Pro and will we see pictures of her tapping away in SoCal Starbucks cafes?

What possessed her to even consider agreeing to something that would require the use of more than the brain cell closest to her viscera?

I just have to wonder what the hell she's going to write. Is she still hiring ghostwriters? Not that I would have a chance, not after I eviscerate her in subsequent postings (I’ll continue giving faithful updates), but if nothing else, at least I could write her jacket bio.