It’s an age-old question: If you could have dinner with any famous person, living or dead, who would it be? For a lot of women living that #blessed Hollywood lifestyle, the answer is obviously Marilyn Monroe. Not only was she talented, intelligent, and troubled, she probably has some bomb makeup tips. Well, for those of us lucky enough to possess a deep connection to the spirit world and also some herbs purchased from a shady-looking guy on the boardwalk, hangin’ with NorJay can be more than a fantasy. In fact, it can be somewhat less than a fantasy. I recently spent an evening with Marilyn Monroe’s ghost, and I gotta tell you, she was a real drag.
Even dead celebrities need their privacy, so I won’t tell you how to contact the spirit of Marilyn Monroe, but right off the bat, she was super eager to talk. Like, a little pathetically so. I’m flattered and everything, and I never thought I’d say this, but be cool, Marilyn Monroe. The problem was she could only communicate in fragments, and at first, it was just letters. She kept saying “A…C… I… A…C…I…A…C…. ” I guess she’s really into acai, which makes sense; she was such a trendsetter.
I seized on the opening to discuss diet, fitness, and beauty with the most beautiful woman in the world. How did she manage to keep her hair gold but never brassy? Exactly how do you get an ass like that with a waist like that? “Murder,” she responded. Was … that a joke? I pressed on. Real talk, was the beauty mark fake or what? “Cover-up,” she said. Now we’re getting somewhere! What about cover-up, I asked her, and by the way, we call it concealer now. “Coroner,” she insisted. No, no, no, con-ceal-er, I told her. Then she was back to the letters, “I… A…C…I…A…. ” I was clearly getting nowhere with this line of questioning.
I tried a different tack. What was JFK like in bed? She really responded to that one, I could feel it in her energy, but all she would say was “secrets.” Like, okay, I don’t see the harm in a little locker room talk when all parties are long dead, but fine, don’t kiss and tell. What about DiMaggio? Did he hit it as well as he hit it? “Murder,” she said again. Maybe a few dudes told her she was funny during her life, but I really don’t get it. At this point, she had the audacity to start getting frustrated with me. “Murder,” she said again, as well as “exhume,” “needle,” and “toenail.” It might seem redundant to say that a ghost was being creepy, but man, she was into some freaky shit.
I was pretty done with her by then, but she wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote down the name and location of a bank and a series of numbers. I have no idea what it means — probably just the ramblings of a tortured soul — but at least it made her go away. Honestly, what a needy bitch.