Silly, silly World.

Christ Almighty, I went down to Unemployment yesterday.  It was a goddamn nut-house down there.

Let me just say that I have been on Unemployment for about 42 weeks now.  And it’s my job to have to report there, down to Jamaica, every 8 weeks or so to assure the good folk down there that I have been ACTIVELY SEEKING EMPLOYMENT.   But this last time…whew.  NUT-HOUSE.

I dunno if It’s because of THE HOLIDAYS or something, but this time was different.  Every other time I went down there, everybody was pretty civilized and normally-behaved.

But this time was 2 days after Christmas, and they were like rabid freaking dogs or something.  First of all, it was crowded as hell.  I had never before experienced this type of Unemployment Crowd.  There was like a total shortage of CHAIRS, even, for us Unemployed souls to sit their Unemployed asses in.  The Unemployment Helper Girl had to go in search of some, even.  And STILL there weren’t enough – some folk still STOOD…

Anyway, this little pasty woman at the front of the room was trying to give advice about getting jobs and shit, but everyone was being noisy and crazy… and I sat and watched while this little pasty broad just got tired and eventually stopped talking. 

As soon as she stopped talking, one woman up front piped:  “So are we DONE here?”

But then some young dude in the back of the room yells:  “ECKS-KEY-OOOOOOOOZ   MEEEE, MAY-UM.  But ‘zactly W’HUT is thuh qualifications of d’at last thang yooz said?”

And this of course throws the entire works into a tailspin.  The pasty broad starts scouring her notes.  The sickened, tired woman up front starts sucking her teeth and she ends up being the over-riding factor here as she groans:

“MUTHAH FUCKAH AH AHM GONNA SLAP THAT CHILE’ ‘CROSS THE HAYDE.   GO HOME, BOY.  LET US ALL GO THE FUCK H O ME …” 

This somehow unleashes a fury…

And before the pasty broad could answer, everyone just jumps up – nearly simultaneously – and floods the doorway, pushes out the door.  AVALANCHE.   Or whatever.

Unemployment. 

Everyone there was so fucking pissed about having to actually BE someplace for ONE HOUR out of ONE DAY in 8 WEEKS… 

Oh, well…

See yaZ in 8 weeks, kids…

Teen Nature Walk Gone Bad - Pt. 2

So yeah, we’re like 15, tripping on either THC or acid, running down Park Lane, trying to wasted-ly escape from our weird class trip of taking a lame Nature Walk.

The poor teacher was a sad-sack of a dude.   Honestly, I felt just terrible running away from him and his whole nature walk situation.    I remember glancing behind,  seeing his dejected expression as we departed.   He just seemed so resolved.   The look on his face said: “Women will always leave me.”   

So I did feel terrible.   I almost wanted to run back to just give him one last hug. 

Yet, run AWAY is what I did.  What we did.  It seemed the only feasible thing to do at the time. 

So me, Lee, Camille and (presumably) Disco Rosa end up at Forest Park. 

We’re wacked.  Now that we’ve escaped the field trip, we’re just sitting around on benches laffin’ and talkin’ semi-nonsense.   Lee was seeing a guy named Rock at the time, and somehow he ended up meeting us up there and strangely enough he brought balloons up with him.  He musta had a clue-in from Lee that we were planning some kinda stoner hi-jinx…

The water fountain was running at the basketball courts, so we started filling the balloons and we had a water balloon fight, all of us tripping (except for Rock…but who knows, maybe he was tripping independently of us…)  And I think some Miller Nips were also involved.  Suddenly we had a few of those Nips in the equation….

So then after a bit, we had to go take a whiz, of course.

Me and Lee and Camille head off to one of the lesser-traveled areas of the park.  We’re walkin’ there, laffin’ and stuff, and Lee’s leading the pack.  She heads in to this little dense area to whiz.   And suddenly, she comes charging out, yelling:  “OH SHIT – IT’S A NUDIST!”

And sure enough, there’s a totally naked-from-the-waist-down dude in there, on the little trail where she went in.  He has a wife-beater t-shirt on and sneakers, but other than that HE’S NAKED!  He's just swingin' in the breeze in the noon-day sun!

So me and Camille follow suit, yellin’: “It’s a NUDIST!  It’s a NUDIST!”

But then the dude just split, all naked, on his merry way.  And we all took a whiz and everything was fine.  Everybody was happy.

But from that day forward, I will always know that little area of Forest Park as “ITSA NUDIST”.  

I’m thinking of putting a plaque up.

And there ain't no Part 3. 

For now.

Teen Degenerate

One time we had a class trip.  It was during our first year of high school.  Me and Lee and Camille (and maybe Disco Rosa…?)  all decided to take either acid or THC.    We timed it.  We figured by the time it hit us, we’d be almost outta Home Room.

No dice.  We were way deep inta Home Room by the time the shit hit.   But we somehow handled it.  All the sudden, we’re being dispersed to our various TRIPS and we chicks all just look at each other like: “What The Hell…LET’S GO I GUESS!”

For some frickin reason we ended up being on a NATURE WALK.  What the hell!   We’re like fucked up out of our minds and now we hafta follow some nature walk guy…

Well, I have to admit that I’ve never been the type to adhere to procedure.

So we’re all fucked up out of our young minds, following the nature walk guy…and I just suddenly take it upon myself to SCREAM:

                “RUN!  FUCKIN’   RUN!  WE’RE OUTTA HERE, LET’S G O !”

And DAMNED  if 3 or 4 of my best buds don’t just haul ASS and just start running WITH ME… down Park Lane…down past the tennis courts…HAULING ASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.... Yeah, there's a Part 2...

               

Sometimes You Just Don't Know

I love a good story.  My husband has been known to regale me with a good one here and there.  Well, more than here and there.  He’s always got a good one stashed away, to whip out at the ready - bless his big-hearted, story-tellin’ soul.

Before we started dating each other, waaaay back in the day when we wuz a coupla  rambunctious, flirty band-mates, we were on our way home from our very first gig together.   

Chris had just joined the band, and my car was on the fritz, (and also he was really cute)  so I hitched a ride with him.  It was just us two,  toolin’ along in an old Chrysler New Yorker that he borrowed from his folks.   We were feeling really good, had just played a great show at a club called Nightingale’s on 2^nd Avenue in the East Village and we were just buzzing and on top of the world.

I remember looking at his profile as he drove, his easy smile and his thick black eyebrows.  And then for some reason, he just started telling me a story.

Chris use to work for Greenpeace.  Part of his job entailed driving a Greenpeace van.  Sometimes at the end of a working day, he’d “borrow” one of the cars or vans for the evening, drive it around  wherever, then eventually take it home to Queens and then bring it back to work in the city the next day.  Nobody was ever the wiser…

Chris:  “But one morning, coming back in to work, as I was driving it started overheating.  It lost power going up over the bridge – it was all uphill, so….I was on the B.Q.E. Overpass – the highest part just before the Kosciusko.  Way up in the air over factories and graveyards and maybe even some kind of canal…the Gowanus?   Whatever the fuck.  Whatever is under there is not good.  Not wholesome.  And then my car just stops dead.

“So I was sitting in the driver’s seat – kept trying to start the car back up.  When along comes this guy, just walking along on this narrow, 3-foot shoulder of sorta-walkway.  He comes walking up and stops at my car window.  He goes: “Hey, what happened to you?”

Now, keep in mind that no person should be walking along there on this suicide-walk where 18-wheelers are roaring by.  But then again, he was not your average Joe.  He was obviously mentally disabled.  But he wasn't afraid.  He was doing his thing, man.

SO anyhow, yeah - he goes: “Hey. what happened to you?”

And I say: “I don’t know.  What happened to YOU?”

And he thinks for like a second, and then he looks at me and goes: “I don’t know.”

And then he just starts walking again, truckin’ on down.  I sit there in my dead car, and I watch him walk away.”

* * * * * *

It may have been at that moment that I knew I’d spend the rest of my life with Chris, I don’t know.  But I knew I could definitely love anyone who would decide it was a good idea to tell me a story like that one.

 

Help

When you’re faced with uncertainty

You put your hopes on a date

Or in a basket

Or

Somewhere

You just put them.

 But then you realize

The only hope you have

Is to look in the face of

Love.

 And that’s all you do.

Just that.

That’s all.

* * * * * *

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

My aunt is nearly 90.  She’s my Godmother and also like, my biggest fan.  I call her Tanti Honi (pronounced: DAHN-TEE  HAHN-NEE with my pristine Glendalian accent.)  Her name is actually Johanna, a name which I truly love for what I feel is its exotic sound, compounded by my tremendous appreciation of Bob Dylan’s classic: “Visions of Johanna”.

Tanti’s gorgeous.  Her skin never bothered wrinkling.  She has this smooth, moist complexion that’s unsettling almost (and that I sure hope I inherited).  But she doesn’t have a computer, so I send her my work in hardcopy.  I try to clean it up a little, but she tells me not to worry about it.  She’s a very hip lady.

Last week my beloved cousin (Tanti’s daughter) brought Tanti to town for the day and we got to spend some real quality time and have a few laughs.  Anyhow, at some point Tanti started talking about one of my short stories and she goes: “I swear, you should send those stories of yours in to get published.  You would make A MILLION DOLLARS.”  I just thought that was adorable and just so great.  It made me feel like I’m already a millionaire.  So, thanks, Tanti.  I knew there was something about you I liked.  (Aside from your kind, loving heart and your gorgeous skin.)

Yeah, you can always have certain people in your family who turn out to be infuriating and weird, even downright creepy.  But sometimes you get lucky with a good one here and there and those can be inspiring.  They can serve to spur you on when you feel like you just don’t have any Oooomfff  left in you. 

Friends are like that, too.  In the past year especially I have found my friends to be an invaluable source of strength and support.  I only hope I can measure up and reciprocate some day, because these true friends are God’s-honest gems and I just love ‘em all to pieces.

You gotta be selective with the ‘friend’ thing, tho’, and use your intuition (which, sadly, can also fail you).  Can’t be so fast and loose to let any yahoo barrel into your Inner Sanctum of friendship, I’ve found.  We all know the big motto: YOU CAN CHOOSE YOUR FRIENDS, BUT ….blah blah blah…  Which should make you feel like there’s some safety and control in the matter, but make no mistake, choosing friends is something you need to be real careful about.  

That being said, I’d love to share a wonderful poem.  It was introduced to me by my very well-read and very entertaining husband many years ago.  I recall Chris reciting this poem to me as we sat across from one another sipping our brandy one winters’ eve.  Well, maybe he sipped a beer and I’m pretty certain I was hitting the wine, but brandy sounds so civilized when you’re talking about spouting poetry… 

So this was written by the fine poet Gregory Corso.  It made me laugh (and almost cry) because it rang with a truth so very bittersweet.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we did and do.

Friend

Friends be kept
Friends be gained
And even friends lost be friends regained
He had no foes he made them all into friends
A friend will die for you
Acquaintances can never make friends
Some friends want to be everybody's friend
There are friends who take you away from friends
Friends believe in friendship with a vengeance!
Some friends always want to do you favors
Some always want to get NEAR you
You can't do this to me I'm your FRIEND
My friends said FDR
Let's be friends says the USSR
Old Scrooge knew a joy in a friendless Christmas
Leopold and Loeb planning in the night!
Et tu Brute
I have many friends yet sometimes I am nobody's friend
The majority of friends are male
Girls always prefer male friends
Friends know when you're troubled
It's what they crave for!
The bonds of friendship are not inseparable
Those who haven't any friends and want some are often creepy
Those who have friends and don't want them are doomed
Those who haven't any friends and don't want any are grand
Those who have friends and want them seem sadly human
Sometimes I scream Friends are bondage!  A madness!
All a waste of INDIVIDUAL time --
Without friends life would be different not miserable
does one need a friend in heaven –
                       
* * * * * *

Fresh Start

The new Jayhawks record is so crazy-good, I just don’t know what.

The whole sound of it screams ta me:

“Fresh Start”.

Yes fresh start, fresh start, every second of

Every day now feels like

it wants to be a

Fresh start.

New beat

New riff

Old feel

Cozy feel

But still…

Fresh

Start.

* * * * * *

5 and a Half Months Ago

We said:

“We’re so happy!  Fortunate, right?!

   Economy?  What?

     It barely affects us.

        We’re poor and we’re happy

               What’s better than that?”

That’s what we said.

* * * * * * *

Hi, There ~ *

Once I got locked
Into the concession stand
Of the Forest Park Carousel.

I was about 16 years old, with 2 or 3 girlfriends.
We use to slip in the concession stand in the dead of winter
While we were cutting school.  It would be freezing.  But alot of times, for some reason
We'd find it open.

So we'd go in and smoke a J
And shiver and jump up and down.
And laugh.
Alot.

Anyhow, one day we're in there
And these Parky's come and SLAM the door on us.
And like dicks, they call the cops.

And me and Lee and Camille and maybe Disco Rosa ???...
We're in there yellin: "LET US OUT.  C'MON, MAN! PLEASE!~!!!"

But then the cops come, pretty quick, too...
And they open the door, semi-lecherous themselves...
And they take our 'contact information", so much bullshit. 
They never called our parents or anything
It was just retarded.

But you never know what you're gonna think about.

                                           * * * * * * * *

Fickle (Yet Beautiful) Life - Finale (Pt. 4)

Went for another swim today.  What a beautiful, windy, wild autumnal day it was here in Queens!   And I have to say that I’m just so grateful for each day that I wake up beside my darling man.   Every day he makes me laugh, and often.  And the love that we have for one another brings me to tears, mostly unexpectedly, in the midst of the most ordinary moments.   Our lives together continue to make me a better person, a better spirit, a better soul.   My Honey Rocks.  And I’m just so incredibly grateful.  So.  There.

And something else made me feel grateful today.  I was swimming, doing my usual laps, and I hear one of the regular swimmer-guys say to another swimmer guy:  “She’s always a good one to get in a lane with.  She’s a very courteous swimmer.”   And I realize that he’s referring to ME!

Okay, now, I don’t wanna seem like some kind of conceited swimmer-babe here.  But I honestly felt like screaming HALLELUJAH!!!  when I heard this.  Because there are so many frigging thoughtless, never-staying-in-their-lane yahoos at that pool and I always feel like I’m trying my best to be…yes…COURTEOUS…and that finally…FINALLY SOMEBODY IS GIVING ME MY PROPS ABOUT THAT!!!

So that was thrilling.  For about 10 minutes until some other yahoo slammed into me.  But what can ya do.  Grab your thrills where you can, I always say.

                                                            * * * * * *

Anyway, I’ve been ranting about this LISA gal for my last couple of blog-posts and today I’m gonna wrap it up with her. 

So back at the office, and Lisa’s back on the Atkins.  She’s been on the phone all morning ordering what sounds like a freight-load of goodies from OMAHA STEAKS.  (“Didn’t you use to have FILET MIGNON wrapped in CANADIAN BACON?  No?  Are you SURE?  I could SWEAR you used to carry that…Well, I guess just send the steaks then and I’ll have to get the bacon separately.  Dammit…”) 

And here’s what happened next.  She’s apparently all caught up in the important phone call, and a homeless man wandered in off the street.  He shuffles past Rita at the front desk.  Rita was busy on an actual business call and assumed he was a client of Lisa’s.    So the homeless dude pokes his head into Lisa’s doorway and asks her if he can use the bathroom.  And she just nods “yes” and points in the direction of the bathroom.  And he goes in to the LADIES ROOM.    He stays in there for a pretty long time.

Meanwhile, I have no idea any of this is going on.  I’m sitting in my little back office, surfing the web and listening with half an ear to Lisa babbling on the phone. 

But then Rita appears in my doorway, her face ashen.  She really looks sick, almost like she could faint.

Rita: “Lynn.”  Her voice is filled with dread.

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Rita: “Lisa let some homeless man into our Ladies Room.”

Me: “O my god.  What happened.”

Rita: “I don’t know.  I thought he was a patient of hers, but he wasn’t.  He went into our LADIES ROOM…”

Me: “And?…. AND???…”

Rita: “Don’t go in there.”

Me: “WHAT???  IS HE STILL IN THERE?”

Rita: “No, he left.  He was a horrible mess, completely decrepit.  I went to look and…just…don’t go in there.”

Me: “WHAT DID HE DO?”

Rita: “I don’t know, I just opened the door a tiny bit but then I had to slam it quick.  It’s bad, Lynn.  It’s really bad, whatever he did.  It’s…it’s like he had a TOXIC MISCARRIAGE in there or something…”

Me: “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE…What are we supposed to DO now?”

Rita: “Use the MEN’s Room, I guess…”

Me: “And what?  Just leave the Ladies Room door closed FOREVER while whatever is in there festers until it gains momentum and destroys us all???”

Rita just stares at me, wide-eyed, her hands clapped over her mouth. 

“JESUS,” I spew, standing up: “I AM GONNA KILL that idiot LISA!!  I’m gonna make her clean it up, whatEVER the fuck it is…”

Rita: “I think she left.”

I get up to go look for Lisa, but sure enough she’s not around.  She went and slipped out, real sneaky-like. 

I turn in the hallway to look at the closed LADIES ROOM door.  I sure as hell wasn’t gonna open it.  The MENS ROOM would have to do until we sorted out this ungodly mess.

                                                            * * * * * *

That LADIES ROOM door remained closed for another 2 full days before we finally got the gumption to call a cleaning service to come in and exorcise the works.  It wasn’t a matter of laziness or neglect.  We were just horrified at the prospect of calling ANYONE in to have to deal with whatever was behind that door. 

Lisa was chastised about her role in the whole thing, but she steadfastly claimed that she thought the homeless guy was one of our clients.  Which, if you’d ever seen some of our seedier clients, I guess it could be possible.  So anyhow, in a civilized manner, we all agreed it would be fair to split the cost of the cleanup job. 

                                                            * * * * * *

The poor cleanup man who came.  That poor, poor man.   He came in, bright and chipper. Cheerfully telling us that OURS WAS HIS LAST JOB for 2 weeks…that THIS VERY AFTERNOON he would be on an airplane, going to visit his family in Antigua or Barbados some fucking thing.

And all I can say is that he left our office a broken man.  We will never know what had been perpetrated in that LADIES ROOM, what the (once) cheerful cleanup man encountered.  He certainly did not provide us with details.  We tipped him handsomely, but it hardly mattered.  He was broken.

To this day, I pray he enjoyed the best vacation of his life and in addition, has since won the lottery.

                                                            * * * * * * *

On the final day that we were moving out of that office, Lisa comes busting in on me.  I am surrounded by boxes, dismantled computer gear, and deep in the process of emptying my desk.

Lisa: “I HAVE A PATIENT COMING IN LIKE 4 MINUTES, BUT I WILL DIE IF I DON’T GO TO DUNKIN’ FOR A COFFEE.  CAN YOU PLEASE COME UP AT THE FRONT DESK AND WAIT FOR HER WHILE I GET MY COFFEE?”

Me: “No.”

Lisa: “What do you mean?  Just for a minute!”

Me: “No, I can’t do that for you.”

She shuts her mouth for once, looks genuinely puzzled.  I can actually hear her brain:  Is she serious?

I look at her: “I’m busy here.  Take care of your own patients, Lisa.  Take care of your own shit.   Ever think of doing that?”

She pauses for just a moment before huffing out.  And she heads over to DUNKIN’.

I never saw her again after that.   I don’t know if her client ever came or not, because I started blasting AEROSMITH and therefore wouldn’t have heard anything from up front. 

She never even picked up on that fact that we were moving, despite all the boxes and stuff.   She never picked up on much.  

Yeah, it’s certainly a process.  But sooner or later, you start to figure out what’s important.

* * * * * * *

Fickle Life - Pt. 3

I went for an early morning swim today at the Aquatic Center here in Queens.  I’ve gotten pretty hooked on these swim sessions, this marvelous form of moving meditation, if you will. 

But sometimes ya get these other swimmers, they just can’t stay in their lane.  They have no concept of what a lane IS.  To them, it’s just one, big free-for-all of flailing, spastic, grunting, splashing, gasping, what-have-you, motion.  And they’re in your lane.  And they inevitably smash into you.  You TRY like hell to avoid them, but they always manage.  And then they either say SORRY and keep going or they try to pin it on YOU like YOU did something wrong and then everybody gets all pissy like I did today with this one guy. 

But it only lasted for maybe 20 seconds, this back-and-forth: 

Me: “DUDE, stay in your LANE.”

Dude: “I IN LANE.  YOU STOP.”  (the dude was Chinese)

Me: “What?  Stop what?  JUST  STAY  IN  YOUR  FREAKING  LANE, DUDE.”

Dude: “NO.  YOU DUDE.  YOU  STOP.”

So of course I was not gonna get very far with this guy, and I just went to another lane.  And the rest of the swim was nice and mellow.  But the whole thing got me to thinking kinda philosophically about relationships in general, and why we get annoyed a lot of the time…

We get annoyed because many people are spatially challenged.   They don’t respect or even understand the “boundary” thing.  Whether it be in how they speak to other people or how they don’t have the sense or the decency to KEEP YOUR DISTANCE a little, you know?  FEEL THINGS OUT before you get all up in somebody’s B.I. Bidness.  It should be a simple thing, but all too often it’s just not. 

Hey, I’ve been guilty of it, I’m sure.  But you live and you learn these things and some folks are slower on the uptake, which brings me back to LISA, the gal from my last two installments here.

I guess Lisa annoyed me so much because of her lack of boundary awareness.  Constantly talking about her own stupid shit all day long, regardless of whether anybody wanted to hear it or not.  I mean, she was probably just a hapless soul who needed someone to talk to and undoubtedly she annoyed LOTS of people but instead of picking up on the boundary thing, she just went the other way and went all whole-hog with the boring, retarded details of her life until everyone wanted to puke from boredom and brain-deadness.   But be that as it may…

* * * * * *

Lisa charges in to my office one fine day: “I’m going over to PAPA JOHN’S.”

Me: “You off the Atkins?”

Lisa: “NO!  Are you KIDDING?  I lost 10 pounds in 10 days!  I’M DOING GREAT!”

I should interject here that Lisa is not particularly overweight.  She’s a short gal in her early 30’s, of average weight and bodily dimensions.  Not a bombshell or anything.  Just a short, average-built gal.  With one hopelessly whiny, shrill, cloying speaking voice.

I have noticed that she’s lost some weight, tho’.  You can mostly see it in her face, which is looking drawn and she’s sporting some darkish circles under her eyes that are new.  Oddly, you can also see it in her hands.  They look very fragile and vein-y.  I don’t know what makes me notice this, but I do.  She also seems even more jittery and neurotic than usual (if that’s even possible).  And you can smell her breath from clear across the room. 

Me: “So you’re just going to torture yourself by smelling the pizza?”

Lisa: “NO!  I’m gonna order 3 slices and JUST EAT THE CHEESE AND THE SAUCE!  I DON’T KNOW WHY I DIDN’T THINK OF THIS SOONER!”

Me: “Eureka!”

Lisa: “AND I’m gonna get pepperoni and sausage and MEATBALLS and EXTRA CHEESE, even.  Because I can have as much of THOSE as I want!  I LOVE this diet!”

Me: “I know you do, Lisa.  I can hear it in your voice.”

Lisa: “So DO YOU want the CRUSTS?”

Me: “What?”

Lisa: “I’ll bring you the crust parts after I scrape the cheese off!”

Instead of saying: Fuck you, Lisa (my first inclination) I say: “Hey, I’m gonna pass on that.  But thanks!”

Lisa: “O, COME ON!  I don’t want to WASTE IT!”

Again, sooooo close to a Fuck you, Lisa, but instead: “Then give it to pigeons on the sidewalk.”

Lisa: “Should I?  Or maybe Rita wants them?” 

Me: “Yeah, that’s a great idea.  Go ask Rita.”

Turns out Rita didn’t want the crusts, either.  Shocker. 

                                                                        * * * * * *

But anyhow, things get hectic at work and I forget about Lisa’s big PAPA  JOHN  PLAN.  That is until I am passing by her little office on my way to the bathroom.  I glance in to see Lisa sitting at her desk despondently gnawing on a Snickers Bar of all things.

I cannot resist: “Hey, what’s this - a Snickers Bar?  Ole’ Doc Atkins getting a little bit relaxed with his program or what?

Lisa: “Please.  It’s gonna take me a whole ‘nother week to go back into ketosis.  WHY DID THEY HAVE TO OPEN THAT GODDAMN PAPA JOHN’S.  GOD DAMN THEM.  AND I HAVE SUCH A BAD HEADACHE.  DAMN IT.”

Apparently, the pigeons also turned down THE CRUSTS because she ended up eating all three pizza slices in their entirety and then chasing those down with not one but two Snickers Bars.  

I remember trying that Atkins Diet once.  Years ago.  I was on it for about 3 weeks, actually, and I did lose some weight.  But the whole time I felt like somebody was tightening a giant rubber band around my forehead and I was horribly aware of my breath stinking to high heaven from that ketosis jazz and after back-sliding on 3 or 4 saltines I slowly gained everything I lost back and then some.   

So I can definitely relate to that headache thing.

To be continued…

* * * * * *

Fickle Life - Pt. 2

Boy, Halloween was a real bust around here this year.  Terrible-to-non-existent costumes, lackluster children, many of whom bordered on dirt-bag adulthood.  My favorite holiday really took a dive this year, at least in the trick-or-treat department.   But I don’t care.  Me and my peeps still had a really, really good one.  You just can’t ruin that day for me.

So speaking of SCARY - where I left off on this blog thing, I was sort of tee-ing off about that audiologist chick Lisa from my last office gig.   That oblivious idiot.   The one who neglected her poor, deaf, elderly clientele and who only cared about her daily fast-food jaunts.  Oh, and the Atkins Diet.  At some point she became manically obsessed with the Atkins Diet but I’ll get to that later…

And I have no idea why this broad needed to commute from Jersey like a lunatic nearly every day to come to this crappy little room she rented at our place.  Her husband owned a car dealership, for chrissake.  They were apparently loaded.  So it’s like she just needed to get out and keep busy and drive all day long, and eat fast food 3 hours away from home for some reason.  Lunatic. 

She also had this nasty little daughter who she brought to the office with her every once in awhile.  This was the nastiest little bitch-child you ever met.  And she was only like 3 years old!  I didn’t know 3-year-olds could be so horrible, but she was definitely one of those bad seed types you hear about.  Granted, she had a horrible mother-figure as an example, but she was really over the top.

So you’d hear, (loud from the hallway because they were both loud) Lisa talking to this kid:

Lisa: “Honey, don’t touch that machine.  That’s mommy’s SPECIAL HEARING MACHINE…”

Devil Child: “I’m just LOOKING AT IT.”

Lisa (after a long pause and some suspicious rattling/clanking noises): “Honey…please don’t do that.  Why don’t you play with the new Barbie I bought you this morning?”

Devil Child: “I don’t WANT the stupid BARBIE.  She’s UGLY.  I’m PLAYING WITH  THIS…”

    Or….

Lisa: “Honey, do you want some chocolate milk from DUNKIN’ DONUTS?  Should mommy go get you some?” 

Devil Child (roaring, pounding the desk): “GET ME SOME NOW.”

Lisa:  “Okay, honey.  But do you want hot cocoa or regular chocolate milk?”

Devil Child (hissing like a demon): “JUST GET ME SOME NOW.  NOW, MOMMY. NOW.”

Lisa: “Okay, honey.”

I guess this was the basic child-rearing protocol in that family or something: The Insane, Disgustingly Disrespectful Method, and this kid was right on board with the program. 

Next in line on the bitch-train and passing with flying colors.

                                                * * * * * *

One day Lisa comes busting in to my office.  She’s got some big news.

Lisa:  “I’m sooooooo pissed off!  They’re opening a PAPA JOHN’s across the street!”

Me: “You hate pizza or what?” I don’t even look up from my computer.  These tirades are typical.

Lisa: “NO!  I LOVE pizza! But I started THE ATKINS DIET THIS WEEK!”

Me: “Oh, right.  No bread.” 

Lisa: “Well, I don’t care.  You know what I’m gonna do?  I’m LEAVING WORK EARLY and STOPPING ON MY WAY HOME to pick up some LOBSTER TAILS and BUTTER.  On the Atkins Diet, you can eat as much lobster and butter as you want.  You can have like FOUR TAILS if you’re that hungry.  And a WHOLE STICK OF BUTTER...I don’t care.  I’ll eat a whole stick if it comes to that.”

Me: “That’s showin’ ‘em Lisa.”

Lisa: “But I still can’t believe they’re OPENING A PAPA JOHN’S  THIS WEEK OF ALL WEEKS!!!  I’M SO DEPRESSED!”

Me: “Try to be strong.”

Lisa: “But you know what ELSE?  THAT’S NOT EVEN THE WORST OF IT…”

Me: “Wow, really?”

Lisa: “REALLY!!  My LANDSCAPER doesn’t have the TREES that I want put into my front walkway at home.  I ordered SIX of these GORGEOUS TREES…I don’t remember what they’re called…but they’re NOT AVAILABLE until NEXT MONTH.  And we’re throwing a HUGE PARTY FOR MY DAUGHTER NEXT WEEK because she’s GRADUATING NURSERY SCHOOL.   How the HELL can I throw a party without these trees?  I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.  DAMMIT, WHY IS ALL OF THIS HAPPENING TO ME??  WHY NOW?  WHY MEEEEEEEEEEE?”

Me: “You can’t question these things, Lisa.  You just have to hang in there and pray that life will improve at some point.”

                                    To be continued…  * * * * * *

Oh Life, My Fickle Friend...

I feel like I have to write a little bit.  Also, I hate when writers or whatever say things like:  I feel like I have to write a little bit.  Congratulations to me, I am officially at the point in my life where I’m completely annoying myself, effortlessly and with full acknowledgement.

Anyhow, I’m still riding the unemployment train.  Won’t be for much longer, tho’.  We’ll see.  At any rate, I’m almost done (I think) with my MANUSCRIPT.  Oh, the omnipresent MANUSCRIPT.  But goddammit all anyhow…I know I said I was happily unemployed a few scant weeks ago.  But fact of the matter is I do miss one co-worker in particular:  Rita.  We’ve been in touch ever since the lay-off, but it’s just not the same as seeing her every day and chewing the fat together, talking shit about everything and everyone else in the world.   Just not the same. 

This woman Rita is so funny, I swear.   She’s got a heart of gold.   We worked together in the same office for nearly 12 (or 13?) years.  Very small neighborhood office, right on Myrtle Avenue.

When I first get hired, Rita has already been there for quite a few years.   She’s about 15 or so years older than me.  A trim, attractive blue-eyed blonde.  Queens all the way, hardcore.  Seemingly the quiet type but from the get-go, I sense she’s got some of the devil in her.  And I’m not wrong.

We moved our office location 3 times in the time I worked there.  It felt like we had to keep moving constantly because of some weird, retarded circumstances.   But anyhow this next story that comes to mind took place during the first month or something after I first got hired.

So I was a real “newbie” (ßI hate writers who use that word, too.  And now I’m annoyed at me again) at the time.  And me and Rita shared our office with this asshole AUDIOLOGIST woman who, I have no idea how she ever became an audiologist.  I don’t know what it entails to become one, but this broad was a complete mental patient.  Her name was Lisa. 

All she wanted to do all day was go across the street to BOSTON MARKET, or DUNKIN’ DONUTS.  Every minute Lisa would be running out the door, but coming to either me or Rita first to let us know: “I’M GOING OVER TO BOSTON (or DUNKIN) – SO IF ONE OF MY PATIENTS GETS HERE BEFORE I GET BACK, JUST LET THEM IN AND TELL THEM TO WAIT FOR ME…”  and EVERY FUCKING TIME, of course, her patient would arrive while she was still AT  BOSTON  and they’d be like 50 thousand years old and falling over and we (although it was usually Rita because she sat at the front reception area and I was mostly situated in one of the back offices) had to help the poor old person into the audiologist room and then they’d be waiting for that bitch LISA forever in there but she was too busy sucking down chickens or donuts or whatever and then the old person would eventually come out to either me or Rita (and we’d be totally swamped with our own shit)  and be like: “EXCUSE ME…BUT WHERE IS THE AUDIOLOGIST…IS SHE GOING TO BE BACK SOON?  BECAUSE MY SON/DAUGHTER IS COMING TO GET ME SOON AND…” and it would be a whole big thing because we’d be like: “Well, she’s across the street at Boston Market…” and they’d be like: “WHAT???? WHAT????” Because of course, they’re deaf.  They’re 50 thousand years old and deaf and that’s why they’re even HERE because LISA the AUDIOLOGIST is supposed to be helping them to get a new HEARING AID, only she’s NOT because she’s at fucking DUNKIN DONUTS…

So this one time, this jackass LISA just happened NOT to be at DUNKIN’, she’s actually in her little audiology room.  Actually on the premises.  And one of her patients comes in, this elderly woman.  And damned if this poor lady didn’t walk into the front door and BLAMM, falls right on her face, right on her nose and is bleeding like a mother all over the carpet.  Saint Rita jumps up to the rescue and helps this poor old lady, swabbing her nose, mopping up the blood all over the place and that crazy LISA bitch DOESN’T EVEN COME OUT OF HER LITTLE  AUDIOLOGY  ROOM.   No, instead she HIDES in there and never even came out until Rita has cleaned up the poor old lady and the worst of it was over.  Then this bitch comes out and is like: “Oh, hi!  I’m ready for you now!”  I’m ready for you now!   Holy shit.  That’s the kind of person she was.  A real prize.

But the absolute best Lisa-The-Audiologist-Debacle was yet to come…

* * * * * *