Some conversations that occurred in the Doctor's office on my third day working there:
DOCTOR: Oh, Alice, just want to tell you that there will be a discrepancy in your paycheck this week.
ALICE: Oh?
DOCTOR: Yes, but don't worry, the problem will be fixed next week.
ALICE: Oh?
DOCTOR: Yes. Sorry about this. But, you see, it's my accountant's fault.
ALICE: Oh?
DOCTOR: Yes. I have an accountant who can't add.
ALICE: Well, then. How...lucky for you that you were able to find such a one; they're very rare, you know.
DOCTOR: Yeah, well, I try...
Later in the afternoon, I answered the phone and a Bishop McCormick was calling for an appointment. When I told him that there were no openings until November, there was silence. I became nervous because here I was, telling a man devoted to God's work (hmmmm) that he had to stay sick until several months from now. I was not happy about that. He was even more...not happy.
BMc: Well, young lady, I have been a patient for over ten years and I cannot believe that the doctor cannot make room for me in his schedule. Is this what you're telling me, my child?
Oh. I was back in Catholic school, having to defend myself again.
ALICE: Oh, no, your ...
I was quickly thinking about what to call him.
ALICE: ...Bishopness.
Well, fortunately, he had a bit of a sense of humor. But in order not be told that I had to say many Hail Marys as penance, I told him that I would talk to the doctor and try to get him an earlier spot.
BISHOP: Bless you, my child.
Well, I certainly need plenty of that! I was pleased when an hour later, after much shifting appointments around, the doctor was able to find the bishop a place next week. I call the bishop, happy in the knowledge that he would bless me again! When I told him the date and time, there was silence.
BMc: No. No. I cannot make it there on that day.
ALICE: WHAT! But you were so...adamant...about needing to see the doctor right away.
BMC: Yes. But not on that day.
It all got sorted out, eventually. I wasn't blessed again, and I was thinking that maybe working in a doctor's office was not really a good place for me. The phone rang.
ALICE: Doctor's Office.
PERSON: Hello, this is Rabbi Kaplan and...
No, no, no. I will not be a part of a joke that starts with a bishop, a rabbi, and a doctor...
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
Working Girl...Again
O.K. I am getting ready to go to work again this morning. It's early. When my alarm woke me up and it was still dark outside, I relived a memory of my waking Eddie up on his first day of kindergarten. He was astonished because he thought it was the middle of the night and he wondered what kind of school wants people to come in when the moon is still out.
But off he went and when he returned in the afternoon, he was full of wonderful stories about how much fun it had been, what great snacks the kids had shared, how nice the teacher had behaved, and on and on. I was so relieved because even though I was the one who had burst into tears when Eddie left on the bus, I just was worried that he would be unhappy with the whole thing. I mean, it was school, you know?
Anyway next morning, when I awakened him again in the dark, Eddie turned over and looked at me with wide eyes.
ALICE: What's wrong, sweetie?
EDDIE: What! I have to do this AGAIN?
It turns out that while it had been a great experience...for one day...making a habit of it was not on his agenda.
Yes, my alarm woke me up and it was still bloody dark outside. I thought of Eddie.
But off he went and when he returned in the afternoon, he was full of wonderful stories about how much fun it had been, what great snacks the kids had shared, how nice the teacher had behaved, and on and on. I was so relieved because even though I was the one who had burst into tears when Eddie left on the bus, I just was worried that he would be unhappy with the whole thing. I mean, it was school, you know?
Anyway next morning, when I awakened him again in the dark, Eddie turned over and looked at me with wide eyes.
ALICE: What's wrong, sweetie?
EDDIE: What! I have to do this AGAIN?
It turns out that while it had been a great experience...for one day...making a habit of it was not on his agenda.
Yes, my alarm woke me up and it was still bloody dark outside. I thought of Eddie.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Working Girl
I am finally gainfully employed. My family would put the emphasis on finally! Part-time, though. I work in the office of an endocrinologist from Wednesdays through Fridays. The doctor is someone I have known over the years and when he called and asked me if I would be interested in helping out in his very hectic office, I said yes. At first I thought it wouldn't be such a great idea because he is a friend and all, but I was there yesterday and it will work out fine for all involved.
One of my office mates is a woman named Liz. A lovely woman who owns three cats. So throughout the day, while she brought me up to speed about what needed to be done, she also told me about her three cats, especially her favorite who is a Maine Coon and weighs 20 pounds. Because Liz spends most weekends at her second home near Woodstock, New York, she is afraid that her cat would be run over by a car so she walks him on a leash. Many times, she said, men have stopped her to admire the cat. One man told his girlfriend that he wanted a Maine Coon cat, too. She was astonished because he always told her that he hated, just hated cats. The man looked at Liz and said, "I don't like those stupid little balls of fur. I like a cat that looks like a ... dog. If your cat were a man, he would eat red meat and curse. Yeah, that's what I like!"
Oh, the cat's name is Puff Snooty, and he is also an actor. Yes, an actor. He has an agent, a groomer, a handler, and Liz. He has done a commercial for Bounce, though Liz said that only one paw and his tail appear in the spot. But more exciting is that he snagged a role in a movie that will be shown at the Sundance Film Festival called Murder Party. Liz told me that when he had to film his part, she stayed on the set with him to make sure that he was happy. The human actor in the lead was playing the role of a killer, and he was dressed in a suit of armor that was made out of cardboard. Puff Snooty was playing the role of Sir Lancelot. Yep, that's what Liz said.
Anyway, when everyone was setting up for Puff Snooty's big scene, Liz came across Cardboard Killer as he walked past her. His cardboard armor was totally covered in "blood" and he looked at her and said, "I had a bad night." Then the director called for quiet on the set. The next thing Liz heard was the director saying, Will Puff Snooty please come and take your place on the set?
LIZ: So, Alice, I was just tickled by it all.
ALICE: Hmmm.
LIZ: Then, guess what? It was time for my Snooty's big scene with the killer.
ALICE: Oh, no, did Snooty have to die?
LIZ: No.
ALICE: Oh. Did Cardboard Killer get murdered by Snooty?
LIZ: Oh, no, no. What happened was that Cardboard Killer walked over to Snooty who was sitting in a very comfortable chair. Then Cardboard Killer leans over and says to Snooty, "Sir Lancelot, I beseech you to give up your seat!"
ALICE: Wow.
Apparently, the cat's BIG moment was to stare down Cardboard Killer with a look that said, "Hell, no, bitch, you ain't getting my seat!"
ALICE: So, did Puff Snooty do it in one take?
LIZ: YES! He was such a trouper! He is a natural in front of the camera. Everyone was impressed.
Liz was watching her cat through a monitor and she saw how the camera kept on moving in for a closeup of Puff Snooty's fierce look.
LIZ: You know how a mother always just knows when her child is going to do something?
ALICE: Um, yeah...
LIZ: Well, as the camera got so close that you could see nothing but Puff Snooty's face, I just knew he was going to do it.
ALICE: What? What did he do?
LIZ: Well, he narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth and said, rrrrrrrrrrrrooow. Brilliantly, I might add.
Well the director was taken aback. He yelled CUT and then Liz heard him shout out: "WHO gave Puff Snooty lines?"
So, that was my first day at work.
One of my office mates is a woman named Liz. A lovely woman who owns three cats. So throughout the day, while she brought me up to speed about what needed to be done, she also told me about her three cats, especially her favorite who is a Maine Coon and weighs 20 pounds. Because Liz spends most weekends at her second home near Woodstock, New York, she is afraid that her cat would be run over by a car so she walks him on a leash. Many times, she said, men have stopped her to admire the cat. One man told his girlfriend that he wanted a Maine Coon cat, too. She was astonished because he always told her that he hated, just hated cats. The man looked at Liz and said, "I don't like those stupid little balls of fur. I like a cat that looks like a ... dog. If your cat were a man, he would eat red meat and curse. Yeah, that's what I like!"
Oh, the cat's name is Puff Snooty, and he is also an actor. Yes, an actor. He has an agent, a groomer, a handler, and Liz. He has done a commercial for Bounce, though Liz said that only one paw and his tail appear in the spot. But more exciting is that he snagged a role in a movie that will be shown at the Sundance Film Festival called Murder Party. Liz told me that when he had to film his part, she stayed on the set with him to make sure that he was happy. The human actor in the lead was playing the role of a killer, and he was dressed in a suit of armor that was made out of cardboard. Puff Snooty was playing the role of Sir Lancelot. Yep, that's what Liz said.
Anyway, when everyone was setting up for Puff Snooty's big scene, Liz came across Cardboard Killer as he walked past her. His cardboard armor was totally covered in "blood" and he looked at her and said, "I had a bad night." Then the director called for quiet on the set. The next thing Liz heard was the director saying, Will Puff Snooty please come and take your place on the set?
LIZ: So, Alice, I was just tickled by it all.
ALICE: Hmmm.
LIZ: Then, guess what? It was time for my Snooty's big scene with the killer.
ALICE: Oh, no, did Snooty have to die?
LIZ: No.
ALICE: Oh. Did Cardboard Killer get murdered by Snooty?
LIZ: Oh, no, no. What happened was that Cardboard Killer walked over to Snooty who was sitting in a very comfortable chair. Then Cardboard Killer leans over and says to Snooty, "Sir Lancelot, I beseech you to give up your seat!"
ALICE: Wow.
Apparently, the cat's BIG moment was to stare down Cardboard Killer with a look that said, "Hell, no, bitch, you ain't getting my seat!"
ALICE: So, did Puff Snooty do it in one take?
LIZ: YES! He was such a trouper! He is a natural in front of the camera. Everyone was impressed.
Liz was watching her cat through a monitor and she saw how the camera kept on moving in for a closeup of Puff Snooty's fierce look.
LIZ: You know how a mother always just knows when her child is going to do something?
ALICE: Um, yeah...
LIZ: Well, as the camera got so close that you could see nothing but Puff Snooty's face, I just knew he was going to do it.
ALICE: What? What did he do?
LIZ: Well, he narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth and said, rrrrrrrrrrrrooow. Brilliantly, I might add.
Well the director was taken aback. He yelled CUT and then Liz heard him shout out: "WHO gave Puff Snooty lines?"
So, that was my first day at work.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Pounding Hearts
Oh, no. It’s back again. I read that for many New Yorkers, it’s time to gather up the nerve to join other freaked-out people for another evening at Nightmare, an interactive production by Psycho Clan, which runs through Halloween. This is a guided tour through what Psycho Clan describes as New York’s most “horrifying haunted house.” A thirteen-room tour that is “guaranteed to rattle the nerves of even the most jaded thrill seeker.” This house of horrors is touted as an experience more ala David Lynch than John Carpenter.
I remember this time last year when my sister invited me to join her and her friend, Celeste, for this thrill. I hesitated because I do not love to be scared, especially when I don’t have to be. Sister was being very convincing, though.
SISTER: So. Are you coming?
ALICE: Aahhh. Well, let’s see. The brochure says that one will never sleep well again.
SISTER: Yup.
ALICE: And you do remember that my doctor says I am stressed and need peace and no…er…horror?
SISTER: In for a penny, in for a pound!
ALICE: What? That so does not make any sense!
SISTER: 8:30 tonight, right?
So Celeste, Sister and I were there. I was timidly ready for it all. Yeah, I was ready for the horror, the nightmares, the haunting dreams. Who was I kidding? I was there because Sister made me go and a happy Sister is…well, anyone who knows her knows the ending to that!
We were allowed through the rooms in groups of ten. Let me just say that there were no cute little witches and goblins going boo at every turn. Oh, no, my pretties. This WAS more David Lynch than David could ever dream up.
We all had to walk in single file down very dark passages and grotesque people would appear suddenly and shout at us or try to grab our arms or legs when least expected. At one room, a distraught young man was fighting to not place his arm into a large fan that was turned on. He lost the fight and as he yelled and plunged his hand into the rapidly spinning blades, the lights went out and we were splattered with liquid. Everyone screamed, even the burly young men. Well, especially, the burly young men.
The next room’s scenario: A young girl anxiously asking us not to go “beyond the black line on the floor.” She was in pajamas and she went to lie on her bed when suddenly we all heard loud thumping coming from a window over her bed. We all thought that some creature would come in from that window. Nuh uh. When the girl jumped out of bed to look out the window, something GRABBED her leg from under the bed and pulled her away through a hole in the wall while she thrashed and screamed ⎯ loudly. Our nerves WERE rattled!
Then a door burst open and a woman looking manic, feral, and dangerous turned to us and, with a look that promised a slow and painful death, waited. One of us, apparently, was to tell her where the hell her “daughter” went. How did I know this? Well, maybe because she kept on moaning, Where is my daughter, to us. If nothing else, I catch on quick!
Sister decided at this moment to shake her head at the woman and say, “You’re a bad mother!” HUH? What the hell was Sister doing? Shut up! Bad Mother looked at Sister in a very menacing way and started walking toward us. One of the men in the group gasped and said, “You shouldn’t have antagonized her!” Yeah, no kidding. We all started moving a few steps back and left Sister to her fate.
Well, the rest of the 20-minute walk through hell had us buried alive, subjected to a madman in his blood-splattered bathroom pulling out his teeth because of the voices in his head, being unsuccessfully grabbed at by gargoyles, as we walked slowly through directed passages, seeing a nurse smothering a baby in it’s crib (just a doll, of course) and then turning to us, hissing that we were next and chasing us after the group decided to run like bats out of hell.
Of course our group had bonded at the start of the tour. We had no other choice because each one of us walked together holding on to one another. I had misplaced Sister and Celeste almost at the beginning, so I found myself holding on tightly to the shirt of a guy in front of me. A very cute Asian guy with long dark hair was following me and I so wanted him to be my “savior” but he was super glued to my back and was not in the hero business.
Yes, it was unsettling and it was a rather shaky group that left the building. A quote about fear has been attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt:
You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.
Our next thing? We went to a bar.
Apparently, this year the haunted house will be even scarier. The production group polled thousands of New Yorkers to list their top 13 fears, and then incorporated these fears into the new design of the rooms.
Lovely.
One of my fears? Rats. I’m sure there will be plenty of those running around. I’m not going to say anything else because I don’t want to give Psycho Clan any more ideas. Just in case Sister calls me up and tries to get me to go again.
Maybe she won’t remember this year. Yeah, maybe.
Hmm. O.K., here’s another fear: Sister never forgets. Anything. EVER.
I remember this time last year when my sister invited me to join her and her friend, Celeste, for this thrill. I hesitated because I do not love to be scared, especially when I don’t have to be. Sister was being very convincing, though.
SISTER: So. Are you coming?
ALICE: Aahhh. Well, let’s see. The brochure says that one will never sleep well again.
SISTER: Yup.
ALICE: And you do remember that my doctor says I am stressed and need peace and no…er…horror?
SISTER: In for a penny, in for a pound!
ALICE: What? That so does not make any sense!
SISTER: 8:30 tonight, right?
So Celeste, Sister and I were there. I was timidly ready for it all. Yeah, I was ready for the horror, the nightmares, the haunting dreams. Who was I kidding? I was there because Sister made me go and a happy Sister is…well, anyone who knows her knows the ending to that!
We were allowed through the rooms in groups of ten. Let me just say that there were no cute little witches and goblins going boo at every turn. Oh, no, my pretties. This WAS more David Lynch than David could ever dream up.
We all had to walk in single file down very dark passages and grotesque people would appear suddenly and shout at us or try to grab our arms or legs when least expected. At one room, a distraught young man was fighting to not place his arm into a large fan that was turned on. He lost the fight and as he yelled and plunged his hand into the rapidly spinning blades, the lights went out and we were splattered with liquid. Everyone screamed, even the burly young men. Well, especially, the burly young men.
The next room’s scenario: A young girl anxiously asking us not to go “beyond the black line on the floor.” She was in pajamas and she went to lie on her bed when suddenly we all heard loud thumping coming from a window over her bed. We all thought that some creature would come in from that window. Nuh uh. When the girl jumped out of bed to look out the window, something GRABBED her leg from under the bed and pulled her away through a hole in the wall while she thrashed and screamed ⎯ loudly. Our nerves WERE rattled!
Then a door burst open and a woman looking manic, feral, and dangerous turned to us and, with a look that promised a slow and painful death, waited. One of us, apparently, was to tell her where the hell her “daughter” went. How did I know this? Well, maybe because she kept on moaning, Where is my daughter, to us. If nothing else, I catch on quick!
Sister decided at this moment to shake her head at the woman and say, “You’re a bad mother!” HUH? What the hell was Sister doing? Shut up! Bad Mother looked at Sister in a very menacing way and started walking toward us. One of the men in the group gasped and said, “You shouldn’t have antagonized her!” Yeah, no kidding. We all started moving a few steps back and left Sister to her fate.
Well, the rest of the 20-minute walk through hell had us buried alive, subjected to a madman in his blood-splattered bathroom pulling out his teeth because of the voices in his head, being unsuccessfully grabbed at by gargoyles, as we walked slowly through directed passages, seeing a nurse smothering a baby in it’s crib (just a doll, of course) and then turning to us, hissing that we were next and chasing us after the group decided to run like bats out of hell.
Of course our group had bonded at the start of the tour. We had no other choice because each one of us walked together holding on to one another. I had misplaced Sister and Celeste almost at the beginning, so I found myself holding on tightly to the shirt of a guy in front of me. A very cute Asian guy with long dark hair was following me and I so wanted him to be my “savior” but he was super glued to my back and was not in the hero business.
Yes, it was unsettling and it was a rather shaky group that left the building. A quote about fear has been attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt:
You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.
Our next thing? We went to a bar.
Apparently, this year the haunted house will be even scarier. The production group polled thousands of New Yorkers to list their top 13 fears, and then incorporated these fears into the new design of the rooms.
Lovely.
One of my fears? Rats. I’m sure there will be plenty of those running around. I’m not going to say anything else because I don’t want to give Psycho Clan any more ideas. Just in case Sister calls me up and tries to get me to go again.
Maybe she won’t remember this year. Yeah, maybe.
Hmm. O.K., here’s another fear: Sister never forgets. Anything. EVER.
Monday, September 25, 2006
At Long Last...Love
A dear family friend was married several days ago. This was truly momentous because Anthony had been trying to find someone to share his life for many, many...ahem...many a year. Oh, he dated, but he was truly awful at hooking up with people who were at least on the road to mental health. Oh, yeah.
There had been Camille, who reapplied makeup frequently throughout the day and added more mascara, eyeliner and lipstick before she went to sleep. Whenever Anthony and Camille would spend the weekend, I would say goodnight to Camille and good morning to a crazed raccoon. I think she would wash her face once a week. Not sure though.
Then there had been three others who lasted mere months. Stalker, Daddy's Girl, and Kleptomaniacal Lesbian. Yes, that pretty much explains everyone.
Melissa came next. She was a bit older than Anthony and had a rather colorful way of conversing. You could count on one hand the words she would utter that would belong in the category of things you could say in polite company. Though I never understood those two terms because most of my company is bloody... oh well, I digress.
Anyway, this is how a note to Anthony from an angry Melissa might look like to the naked eye:
Dear %$*+@#,
You &?$#%^! Don't even think, +&^%$%, that you will ever &*%$ me again, %$*+@#!
&*%$ you!
Melissa
As if that's not enough, Melissa would punctuate her comments with punches to my arm. Hard ones. So, it would be: Well, what do you &*^%$#@ think about that, Alice? BAM!
Finally, Natalie came along. Anthony had placed an ad in the Personals section of his local newspaper. It was titled, Take A Chance, and it was short, sweet, and charming. When he first brought Natalie to meet us, I liked her immediately. I mean, what's not to like. She didn't spackle on her makeup, she didn't dog Anthony's every step, her father was dead, she paid for things, she didn't have a girlfriend she was trying to make jealous, and she didn't like to punch.
A few of us were walking with Anthony one balmy evening; Natalie had stayed home so that she could do the dishes. She had insisted. Really, she did. So on our walk we were singing her praises to our Anthony.
FRIEND #1: So, Dude, you finally are gonna do it, eh? Marriage!
FRIEND #2: I am sooo happy for you. Natalie is great!
ALICE *dreamily*: How romantic! How ...
FRIEND #1, FRIEND #2, ANTHONY *in unison*: Magical, yeah, we know.
ALICE *irritated*: Shut up! Well, yeah, I was going to say magical. But just think, Anthony, if you hadn't taken a chance and written that ad, you wouldn't have found that someone that you wanted to...
ANTHONY: I just wanted to get laid, O.K.?
Alrighty. This did not make me to laugh, as the aged Italian great uncle of my dearly departed friend used to say. And to set the record straight, I did not kill her, even though many people heard our argument when she told me to go to hell and I answered, You first! I mean, haven't people ever heard of sticks and stones...
I will confess, however, that after Anthony' comment, I did take a page from Melissa's book of how to make friends and keep them. BAM!
Anthony was joking. I'm sure of it. Yeah.
The wedding was lovely, Anthony and Natalie looked elegant, joyful, and very much in love. Romance and magic, oh yeah. At our table, I overheard Lolly talking to someone who had been running around taking billions of pictures and now was sitting down with our little group. I was talking to a Bill on my right, so I didn't pay attention when this person sat next to me.
LOLLY: Ah! The photographer is joining us.
PERSON: &*%$ you! I'm not the photographer. I'm a veterinarian, %$$*+@#! Isn't that right, Alice?
BAM!
ALICE: Hey, Melissa. Long time no see. You haven't changed one bit.
MELISSA: &*%$, yeah, it's true, bitch.
I'm sure that there's a Mr. Right out there for our Melissa. Yeah. I'm sure of it. If anyone is interested, just email her at fuckingbossynutjob@hellonearth.com. Good luck.
There had been Camille, who reapplied makeup frequently throughout the day and added more mascara, eyeliner and lipstick before she went to sleep. Whenever Anthony and Camille would spend the weekend, I would say goodnight to Camille and good morning to a crazed raccoon. I think she would wash her face once a week. Not sure though.
Then there had been three others who lasted mere months. Stalker, Daddy's Girl, and Kleptomaniacal Lesbian. Yes, that pretty much explains everyone.
Melissa came next. She was a bit older than Anthony and had a rather colorful way of conversing. You could count on one hand the words she would utter that would belong in the category of things you could say in polite company. Though I never understood those two terms because most of my company is bloody... oh well, I digress.
Anyway, this is how a note to Anthony from an angry Melissa might look like to the naked eye:
Dear %$*+@#,
You &?$#%^! Don't even think, +&^%$%, that you will ever &*%$ me again, %$*+@#!
&*%$ you!
Melissa
As if that's not enough, Melissa would punctuate her comments with punches to my arm. Hard ones. So, it would be: Well, what do you &*^%$#@ think about that, Alice? BAM!
Finally, Natalie came along. Anthony had placed an ad in the Personals section of his local newspaper. It was titled, Take A Chance, and it was short, sweet, and charming. When he first brought Natalie to meet us, I liked her immediately. I mean, what's not to like. She didn't spackle on her makeup, she didn't dog Anthony's every step, her father was dead, she paid for things, she didn't have a girlfriend she was trying to make jealous, and she didn't like to punch.
A few of us were walking with Anthony one balmy evening; Natalie had stayed home so that she could do the dishes. She had insisted. Really, she did. So on our walk we were singing her praises to our Anthony.
FRIEND #1: So, Dude, you finally are gonna do it, eh? Marriage!
FRIEND #2: I am sooo happy for you. Natalie is great!
ALICE *dreamily*: How romantic! How ...
FRIEND #1, FRIEND #2, ANTHONY *in unison*: Magical, yeah, we know.
ALICE *irritated*: Shut up! Well, yeah, I was going to say magical. But just think, Anthony, if you hadn't taken a chance and written that ad, you wouldn't have found that someone that you wanted to...
ANTHONY: I just wanted to get laid, O.K.?
Alrighty. This did not make me to laugh, as the aged Italian great uncle of my dearly departed friend used to say. And to set the record straight, I did not kill her, even though many people heard our argument when she told me to go to hell and I answered, You first! I mean, haven't people ever heard of sticks and stones...
I will confess, however, that after Anthony' comment, I did take a page from Melissa's book of how to make friends and keep them. BAM!
Anthony was joking. I'm sure of it. Yeah.
The wedding was lovely, Anthony and Natalie looked elegant, joyful, and very much in love. Romance and magic, oh yeah. At our table, I overheard Lolly talking to someone who had been running around taking billions of pictures and now was sitting down with our little group. I was talking to a Bill on my right, so I didn't pay attention when this person sat next to me.
LOLLY: Ah! The photographer is joining us.
PERSON: &*%$ you! I'm not the photographer. I'm a veterinarian, %$$*+@#! Isn't that right, Alice?
BAM!
ALICE: Hey, Melissa. Long time no see. You haven't changed one bit.
MELISSA: &*%$, yeah, it's true, bitch.
I'm sure that there's a Mr. Right out there for our Melissa. Yeah. I'm sure of it. If anyone is interested, just email her at fuckingbossynutjob@hellonearth.com. Good luck.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Where there's Smoke...
I went with my mother to have lunch with her best friend. After spending the first moments hugging, kissing, hearing things like, how long has it been, you look wonderful, how are you, good to see you, we sat down to eat. Beba, the friend, invited my mother to an evening gathering at Tati's house later on in the week for food, wine, and conversation. Tati was planning on making this type of gathering a monthly event, maybe even spending some time talking about favorite books. Listening to them discuss the proposed book club meetings, for that's what it really was, reminded me of the only time I participated in a similiar event.
It was a year ago, and I was staying in the house on the Eastern Shore. At first I did not not really want to go because I was fighting what I knew to be an ultimately doomed tussle with a head cold. But off I went because I did not want to be a party pooper. As further inducement, I was told that the evening would not consist of just staying in the house and quietly reading, but rather included an invitation to a soiree.
Hmm. Soiree. Eastern Shore. Did not compute. It seemed that a local friend of my host had a friend who pined for the literary salons of 19th century France, and decided to gather people for an evening of food, drink, intelligent conversation. Now, the house I was staying at in the Eastern Shore was an agreeable 50 degrees when we first arrived. More importantly, the main heat was NOT GOING TO BE TURNED ON. Only the kitchen had heat; the bedrooms would rely on those portable radiators. So my thought was that the visit to this other house would give me some time to warm up because surely that house was hot.
It wasn’t. Oh, the heat was on. But all the large windows were opened and it must have been an agreeable 60 degrees. However, the hostess was friendly and there was wine and sandwiches. After getting pleasantly tipsy the, um, intelligent conversation part of the evening began in earnest.
HOSTESS: I was married twice, for ten years each time.
ALICE: Ten years? Each time?
ANOTHER GUEST: Why the number ten?
HOSTESS: Well, I was happy for the first seven. Then put up with the husband for the last three. They cheated, so that was that.
ALICE: You managed to marry two people who made you happy for seven years and then cheated on you? For three years? Each time?
HOSTESS: Yup.
Murmurs of so sorry came from all those gathered, but I didn't know if it was a so sorry you had bad luck, or so sorry you were an idiot. Twice. The hostess was smiling benignly at us.
The conversation turned to a scandalous occurrence that had transpired several months before. It concerned a man, his daughter, her boyfriend, his wife, and her boyfriend. Holy balls! Never mind salon francais, this was getting good!
So the man, named John, was once the owner of the local tavern and he and his wife were just not getting along. Hence, the boyfriend in the picture. So Mrs. John is telling everyone one afternoon that she was going to ask Mr. John for a divorce…that very evening… and if he would not agree, then she would make sure that he would change his mind.
Apparently, he didn’t think much of the idea, so on to Plan B -- the changing his mind part. They thought it was a foolproof plan; it consisted of daughter’s boyfriend and Mrs. John’s boyfriend going to see Mr. John and convincing, er, whacking him. Yes, Mr. John was bludgeoned. Repeatedly. And for good measure, they set the house on fire, with him in it.
We all stared at our hostess with horrified expressions and gaping mouths.
HOSTESS *looking shyly at us*: Now, promise you won’t laugh if I tell you something?
I privately thought that whenever you hear something like that you know that not only are you going to laugh, you're going to cough up a lung doing it!
ALL OF US: Oh, of course we won’t laugh. Just tell us!
HOSTESS: Well, my friend and I were coming to my home early in the morning after a long night out, and we were riding in my convertible when we smelled something. Yummy, I said to my friend. Someone is barbecuing ribs and it sure smells good!
I began to get uneasy because I just knew where this was headed.
HOSTESS: We finally saw the fire truck and the ambulance and I found out that it was John’s ribs that were cooking! Later on, people at the bar had a laugh about that. They poked fun at me.
We didn't laugh. We didn't smile. Basically we stopped breathing. And eating.
When we left, hostess told me that she thought she wanted to continue meeting monthly at her house because she really had had a lot of fun.
Well, that was some salon evening. Maybe we should call it a saloon evening and leave it at that.
Though barbecue is a word that comes to us from French, n’cest pas?
It was a year ago, and I was staying in the house on the Eastern Shore. At first I did not not really want to go because I was fighting what I knew to be an ultimately doomed tussle with a head cold. But off I went because I did not want to be a party pooper. As further inducement, I was told that the evening would not consist of just staying in the house and quietly reading, but rather included an invitation to a soiree.
Hmm. Soiree. Eastern Shore. Did not compute. It seemed that a local friend of my host had a friend who pined for the literary salons of 19th century France, and decided to gather people for an evening of food, drink, intelligent conversation. Now, the house I was staying at in the Eastern Shore was an agreeable 50 degrees when we first arrived. More importantly, the main heat was NOT GOING TO BE TURNED ON. Only the kitchen had heat; the bedrooms would rely on those portable radiators. So my thought was that the visit to this other house would give me some time to warm up because surely that house was hot.
It wasn’t. Oh, the heat was on. But all the large windows were opened and it must have been an agreeable 60 degrees. However, the hostess was friendly and there was wine and sandwiches. After getting pleasantly tipsy the, um, intelligent conversation part of the evening began in earnest.
HOSTESS: I was married twice, for ten years each time.
ALICE: Ten years? Each time?
ANOTHER GUEST: Why the number ten?
HOSTESS: Well, I was happy for the first seven. Then put up with the husband for the last three. They cheated, so that was that.
ALICE: You managed to marry two people who made you happy for seven years and then cheated on you? For three years? Each time?
HOSTESS: Yup.
Murmurs of so sorry came from all those gathered, but I didn't know if it was a so sorry you had bad luck, or so sorry you were an idiot. Twice. The hostess was smiling benignly at us.
The conversation turned to a scandalous occurrence that had transpired several months before. It concerned a man, his daughter, her boyfriend, his wife, and her boyfriend. Holy balls! Never mind salon francais, this was getting good!
So the man, named John, was once the owner of the local tavern and he and his wife were just not getting along. Hence, the boyfriend in the picture. So Mrs. John is telling everyone one afternoon that she was going to ask Mr. John for a divorce…that very evening… and if he would not agree, then she would make sure that he would change his mind.
Apparently, he didn’t think much of the idea, so on to Plan B -- the changing his mind part. They thought it was a foolproof plan; it consisted of daughter’s boyfriend and Mrs. John’s boyfriend going to see Mr. John and convincing, er, whacking him. Yes, Mr. John was bludgeoned. Repeatedly. And for good measure, they set the house on fire, with him in it.
We all stared at our hostess with horrified expressions and gaping mouths.
HOSTESS *looking shyly at us*: Now, promise you won’t laugh if I tell you something?
I privately thought that whenever you hear something like that you know that not only are you going to laugh, you're going to cough up a lung doing it!
ALL OF US: Oh, of course we won’t laugh. Just tell us!
HOSTESS: Well, my friend and I were coming to my home early in the morning after a long night out, and we were riding in my convertible when we smelled something. Yummy, I said to my friend. Someone is barbecuing ribs and it sure smells good!
I began to get uneasy because I just knew where this was headed.
HOSTESS: We finally saw the fire truck and the ambulance and I found out that it was John’s ribs that were cooking! Later on, people at the bar had a laugh about that. They poked fun at me.
We didn't laugh. We didn't smile. Basically we stopped breathing. And eating.
When we left, hostess told me that she thought she wanted to continue meeting monthly at her house because she really had had a lot of fun.
Well, that was some salon evening. Maybe we should call it a saloon evening and leave it at that.
Though barbecue is a word that comes to us from French, n’cest pas?
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Saint Me
I am visiting my mother in New Jersey and we were talking about my sister and how she never likes to stay in her apartment; she always loves to go places. I decided that once I return to New York City, I will plan on going to a museum with her.The last time we did this was in January. On a Friday night, my sister, her friend and I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ostensibly to look at the Rauschenberg exhibit. As we waited and waited for her friend, Mary, my sister decided that the very first thing we were going to do was to have a drink before we quenched our need for art. When Mary arrived, I went with her to check our coats. A young man called out to us and in a singsong voice asked me if I wanted our coats to share the same ticket.
ALICE: Um. O.K. Sure.
YOUNG MAN *singsonging away*: AH, GOOD! Because it will be a happy thing! You two will be happy to share the same hanger, right?
Mary looks askance and I am not because . . . what the hell . . . I know what my role is and I do it.
ALICE: YES! We will share! We will be happy!
YOUNG MAN *inordinately pleased*: GOOD! When you come to get your coats you will be happy because you were together!
ALICE: Well, what if we break up before we come to get our coats?
YOUNG MAN *in a stern tone*: Then it will NOT be a happy thing, no?
Mary wants to leave -- quickly.
So before Rauschenberg, it’s off to the second floor, to the Great Hall balcony for wine (New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc) and live classical music. We talk. And talk. And talk. We drink. And drink. And drink. No food, except I ate all the olives. It turns out that we only had 40 minutes left before the museum closed so we paid and dashed off. Mary did not really want to see Rauschenberg anymore. She’d rather look at religious paintings.
So, do you know what it’s like to look at Fra Angelico’s work completely drunk? It’s the first comprehensive presentation of this Renaissance painter in half a century and I was so tipsy that I managed to walk into a wall. Mary was enraptured. She wanted to see everything. My sister was not enraptured. She muttered at one point, “Good grief, Fra Angelico definitely doesn’t know how to draw children. This baby looks atrocious!”
Sister was referring to the baby Jesus. Mary hushed her as if she expected thunderbolts to strike us down for our blasphemy. I almost fell down some stairs.
My sister has had it with the religious experience thing and we must go. As we try to find our way to the coat check place, Mary said that she hopes we don’t get that “unbalanced young man.” I assured her that he probably went home. He hadn't.
YOUNG MAN: AH! YOU ARE BACK! AND HAPPY?
Of course, in my state of . . . well, you know . . . I could not find the stupid little ticket.
ALICE: Well, you must remember our coats?
YOUNG MAN: No.
ALICE: They are sharing, remember? The happy coats!
YOUNG MAN: Yes, your coats are happy but I would be happier with the ticket!
All gets sorted out, eventually. Time to head back downtown. Of course, my sister and Mary wanted to stop somewhere and get a drink!
I didn't do this. I go home. Happy. . .maybe too happy. . .and a whole lot of holy!
ALICE: Um. O.K. Sure.
YOUNG MAN *singsonging away*: AH, GOOD! Because it will be a happy thing! You two will be happy to share the same hanger, right?
Mary looks askance and I am not because . . . what the hell . . . I know what my role is and I do it.
ALICE: YES! We will share! We will be happy!
YOUNG MAN *inordinately pleased*: GOOD! When you come to get your coats you will be happy because you were together!
ALICE: Well, what if we break up before we come to get our coats?
YOUNG MAN *in a stern tone*: Then it will NOT be a happy thing, no?
Mary wants to leave -- quickly.
So before Rauschenberg, it’s off to the second floor, to the Great Hall balcony for wine (New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc) and live classical music. We talk. And talk. And talk. We drink. And drink. And drink. No food, except I ate all the olives. It turns out that we only had 40 minutes left before the museum closed so we paid and dashed off. Mary did not really want to see Rauschenberg anymore. She’d rather look at religious paintings.
So, do you know what it’s like to look at Fra Angelico’s work completely drunk? It’s the first comprehensive presentation of this Renaissance painter in half a century and I was so tipsy that I managed to walk into a wall. Mary was enraptured. She wanted to see everything. My sister was not enraptured. She muttered at one point, “Good grief, Fra Angelico definitely doesn’t know how to draw children. This baby looks atrocious!”
Sister was referring to the baby Jesus. Mary hushed her as if she expected thunderbolts to strike us down for our blasphemy. I almost fell down some stairs.
My sister has had it with the religious experience thing and we must go. As we try to find our way to the coat check place, Mary said that she hopes we don’t get that “unbalanced young man.” I assured her that he probably went home. He hadn't.
YOUNG MAN: AH! YOU ARE BACK! AND HAPPY?
Of course, in my state of . . . well, you know . . . I could not find the stupid little ticket.
ALICE: Well, you must remember our coats?
YOUNG MAN: No.
ALICE: They are sharing, remember? The happy coats!
YOUNG MAN: Yes, your coats are happy but I would be happier with the ticket!
All gets sorted out, eventually. Time to head back downtown. Of course, my sister and Mary wanted to stop somewhere and get a drink!
I didn't do this. I go home. Happy. . .maybe too happy. . .and a whole lot of holy!
Friday, September 22, 2006
"A lost battle is a battle one thinks one has lost"
Now that cooler weather is coming to stay, I am happy that I am no longer in my very small, very overpriced East Village apartment. Not too long ago, I had been exhorting the landlord of the apartment to please, please put in radiators. I mean the pipes were all there and such, but he kept assuring me that when “the time was right” the actual radiators would appear.
After several really cold mornings, the Ukrainian Super appeared with two radiators of different lengths. He was not comfortable speaking in English. I didn't mind if he spoke to me in Ukrainian, but I was sure that he wanted to be understood, so he plunged into my language.
US: Please, miss? Can I put this in bedroom?
ALICE: Of course, of course, put it wherever it belongs.
US: I know you want 24 inches in bedroom, but only 19 inches for you there.
Ukrainian Super spreads his hands apart and shrugs in a there's only so much I can do gesture.
ALICE: Uh. O.K.
US: 24 inches won't fit there. Too big.
ALICE: Well, you're the expert so...
Perhaps I looked crestfallen, though I really didn't care which radiator went into my bedroom as long as the heat came on right away. Anyway, the Ukrainian Super furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and thought for a few moments. Then, he made his decision.
US: Maybe I try to get 24 inches to fit in bedroom. You want?
ALICE: No, no. It's not necessary.
US: Is alright, then?
Me: Yes, yes. 19 inches is o.k. in the bedroom. Really. More than enough, actually.
So the radiators were installed; Ukrainian Super was pleased that I did not have a meltdown about the size in the bedroom; all was fine. Well, except for one small hitch: the lovely radiators, looking quite spiffy in their new coat of white paint, did not radiate. Not even warmth. Nothing. Niczoho. No Ukrainian Super on the premises, either.
So, size really didn't matter. At that point I would have settled for even six inches of really hot…well, anyway, I had to track down the Ukrainian Super and tell him that the radiators should be useful not merely decorative. Of course, he told me that he was too busy to come over and "fix trouble." I told him that he did not need to fix anything, just go to the basement and push the bloody switch from Off to On.
I had been in this dance with him before; he was always unable to fix things right away. He probably thought, then, that by waging little wars with me, I would hang the white flag from the door.
I do not own anything white.
After several really cold mornings, the Ukrainian Super appeared with two radiators of different lengths. He was not comfortable speaking in English. I didn't mind if he spoke to me in Ukrainian, but I was sure that he wanted to be understood, so he plunged into my language.
US: Please, miss? Can I put this in bedroom?
ALICE: Of course, of course, put it wherever it belongs.
US: I know you want 24 inches in bedroom, but only 19 inches for you there.
Ukrainian Super spreads his hands apart and shrugs in a there's only so much I can do gesture.
ALICE: Uh. O.K.
US: 24 inches won't fit there. Too big.
ALICE: Well, you're the expert so...
Perhaps I looked crestfallen, though I really didn't care which radiator went into my bedroom as long as the heat came on right away. Anyway, the Ukrainian Super furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and thought for a few moments. Then, he made his decision.
US: Maybe I try to get 24 inches to fit in bedroom. You want?
ALICE: No, no. It's not necessary.
US: Is alright, then?
Me: Yes, yes. 19 inches is o.k. in the bedroom. Really. More than enough, actually.
So the radiators were installed; Ukrainian Super was pleased that I did not have a meltdown about the size in the bedroom; all was fine. Well, except for one small hitch: the lovely radiators, looking quite spiffy in their new coat of white paint, did not radiate. Not even warmth. Nothing. Niczoho. No Ukrainian Super on the premises, either.
So, size really didn't matter. At that point I would have settled for even six inches of really hot…well, anyway, I had to track down the Ukrainian Super and tell him that the radiators should be useful not merely decorative. Of course, he told me that he was too busy to come over and "fix trouble." I told him that he did not need to fix anything, just go to the basement and push the bloody switch from Off to On.
I had been in this dance with him before; he was always unable to fix things right away. He probably thought, then, that by waging little wars with me, I would hang the white flag from the door.
I do not own anything white.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Douglas Adams Understands
Arthur felt happy. He was terribly pleased that the day was for once working out so much according to plan. Only twenty minutes ago he had decided he would go mad, and now here he was already chasing a Chesterfield sofa across the fields of prehistoric Earth...
Douglas Adams - Life, The Universe and Everything
Before I moved to New York City, I was a slave to a large house that was filled with too many things. Books, furniture, clothes, etc. etc. I wanted to get rid of it all, and while it was hard to do, it's been done. Now, I am staying in Deacon's apartment and I have brought some clothes and one sofa, though not a Chesterfield. A few family members ( mother and sister) are probably saddened by the thought that their Alice is basically homeless and living in a son's apartment. A real live Blanche Dubois, my sister described me to me recently. I do not think that is a compliment, right? I mean...
The difficulty with this conversation...is that it is very different from most of the ones I've had of late. Which, as I explained, have mostly been with trees. --Arthur Dent
Douglas Adams - Life, The Universe and Everything
Family conversations tend to revolve around the what ARE we going to do about that Alice dilemma. It seems that my out-of-orderness only seems to make sense to me. My conversations with them are never satisfactory, at least for them, I think. But that's because I'm out of practice, and I don't really know what I'm doing. More importantly, no one truly listens to anything I have to say. That's because I am wrong many of the times. But once in a while, I get it right.
What was that?" hissed Arthur.
"Something red," hissed Ford back at him.
"Where are we?"
"Er, somewhere green."
"Shapes," muttered Arthur, "I need shapes."
"This your sofa?" said a voice.
"What was that?" whispered Ford.
Arthur looked up.
"Something blue," he said.
"Shape?" asked Ford.
"It is shaped," he hissed at Ford, with his brow savagely furrowed,"like a policeman."
Douglas Adams - Life, The Universe and Everything
The other day I was sitting in a car with Lolly and we were waiting for Sarie to come out of work. Lolly was parked in a No Parking spot, and I was trying to tell him that it was a fire lane and we had to move.
LOLLY: Nonsense! We can stay here for a bit. We are both in the car and no one else is around so it's okay.
ALICE: No. Sarie warned me that we were not to park or even stand here because we can get ticketed, taken away in chains, and eventually drawn and quartered. That's what she said. No lie.
LOLLY: Rubbish! You are always so anxious and wrong about the silliest things. Just calm down and don't say anything more about this. You are NOT going to make me move with your hectoring!
Yes, yes, the professor said hectoring.
ALICE: Well, then. I won't tell you that a cop is tapping your window...
LOLLY: What? Where?
POLICEMAN: Sir? I've been tapping here for the last few minutes. Don't ignore me. Can't you read? This is a fire lane. No stopping, standing, or parking! Move it, please.
LOLLY: Sorry, Officer. Will do.
ALICE: Sorry , Officer. Please forgive him. He's deaf.
POLICEMAN: Deaf? Then he shouldn't be driving.
LOLLY: I am not deaf! She is saying that because she doesn't have a job and hasn't made, what I consider, a good faith effort to find one.
POLICEMAN: What?
ALICE: Sorry, again. He's also dumb.
POLICEMAN: Look, have you two been drinking?
LOLLY: No, of course not. It's four in the afternoon, you absolute . . . er, officer.
ALICE: He's not blind, though.
Sarie arrived at just that moment and we were allowed to drive away because she knew him. Before she got into the car she gave him the look that suggested, just think how I feel having to be related to them.
Douglas Adams - Life, The Universe and Everything
Before I moved to New York City, I was a slave to a large house that was filled with too many things. Books, furniture, clothes, etc. etc. I wanted to get rid of it all, and while it was hard to do, it's been done. Now, I am staying in Deacon's apartment and I have brought some clothes and one sofa, though not a Chesterfield. A few family members ( mother and sister) are probably saddened by the thought that their Alice is basically homeless and living in a son's apartment. A real live Blanche Dubois, my sister described me to me recently. I do not think that is a compliment, right? I mean...
The difficulty with this conversation...is that it is very different from most of the ones I've had of late. Which, as I explained, have mostly been with trees. --Arthur Dent
Douglas Adams - Life, The Universe and Everything
Family conversations tend to revolve around the what ARE we going to do about that Alice dilemma. It seems that my out-of-orderness only seems to make sense to me. My conversations with them are never satisfactory, at least for them, I think. But that's because I'm out of practice, and I don't really know what I'm doing. More importantly, no one truly listens to anything I have to say. That's because I am wrong many of the times. But once in a while, I get it right.
What was that?" hissed Arthur.
"Something red," hissed Ford back at him.
"Where are we?"
"Er, somewhere green."
"Shapes," muttered Arthur, "I need shapes."
"This your sofa?" said a voice.
"What was that?" whispered Ford.
Arthur looked up.
"Something blue," he said.
"Shape?" asked Ford.
"It is shaped," he hissed at Ford, with his brow savagely furrowed,"like a policeman."
Douglas Adams - Life, The Universe and Everything
The other day I was sitting in a car with Lolly and we were waiting for Sarie to come out of work. Lolly was parked in a No Parking spot, and I was trying to tell him that it was a fire lane and we had to move.
LOLLY: Nonsense! We can stay here for a bit. We are both in the car and no one else is around so it's okay.
ALICE: No. Sarie warned me that we were not to park or even stand here because we can get ticketed, taken away in chains, and eventually drawn and quartered. That's what she said. No lie.
LOLLY: Rubbish! You are always so anxious and wrong about the silliest things. Just calm down and don't say anything more about this. You are NOT going to make me move with your hectoring!
Yes, yes, the professor said hectoring.
ALICE: Well, then. I won't tell you that a cop is tapping your window...
LOLLY: What? Where?
POLICEMAN: Sir? I've been tapping here for the last few minutes. Don't ignore me. Can't you read? This is a fire lane. No stopping, standing, or parking! Move it, please.
LOLLY: Sorry, Officer. Will do.
ALICE: Sorry , Officer. Please forgive him. He's deaf.
POLICEMAN: Deaf? Then he shouldn't be driving.
LOLLY: I am not deaf! She is saying that because she doesn't have a job and hasn't made, what I consider, a good faith effort to find one.
POLICEMAN: What?
ALICE: Sorry, again. He's also dumb.
POLICEMAN: Look, have you two been drinking?
LOLLY: No, of course not. It's four in the afternoon, you absolute . . . er, officer.
ALICE: He's not blind, though.
Sarie arrived at just that moment and we were allowed to drive away because she knew him. Before she got into the car she gave him the look that suggested, just think how I feel having to be related to them.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Breakfast Not At Tiffany's
Lolly is visiting from D.C. and as such he burst into the NYC apartment bringing two dogs, two fax machines, stacks of articles to edit, two overripe bananas, and talking rapidly and loudly on the cell phone. He could be descended from the whirling dervishes. Except for the fact that he has no bloodline to the Ottoman Empire. Or the Sufis. Or Turkey. But aside from that, definitely. So this morning we had breakfast at the local Ukrainian “soul” food diner. Lolly was reading the paper and I was just minding my own business when in walks a young man, wearing a dark blue suit, carnelian-toned tie, tasseled loafers without the pennies, trimmed dark hair and beard. He was carrying a mattress. An air mattress. Not in its packaging. Totally pumped with air and expanded to its twin- size dimensions.The restaurant was not crowded; it was rather early. Too early for me since I had gone to sleep only scant hours before. Plenty of room to find a table that was NOT NEXT TO ME.
MAN WITH MATTRESS: Excuse me, but can I get past you to that table?
ALICE *startled out of believing that she had made herself invisible*: You mean, here? The table right smack dab next to mine?
MAN WITH MATTRESS *looking at me with eyes that said, Move it, bitch*: Yes. Thank you.
I looked over at Lolly whose narrowed eyes screamed WHY CAN'T GOING OUT WITH YOU EVER BE NORMAL?
ALICE: Uh, of course, let me just move all the jackets, books, papers, messenger bags and sundries that are in your way here and make room for you and your, er, companion, to reach that other table.
MAN WITH MATTRESS: Thanks!
We were so close to each other that it looked as if I, Lolly, man, and mattress were out together for a leisured breakfast. I just knew that somehow the mattress would be trying to share guffaws and affectionate insults.
MATTRESS: You know, Alice, you are such a cheap slut!
ALICE: Well, look whose talking! Except for right now where you are propped against the chair, you spend all your time on your back!
MATTRESS: Honey, you’re just jealous that I gots me a man who appreciates my sophisticated nanofiber shell that is breathable, repels liquids, and minimizes stains.
ALICE: Hey! It’s too early in the morning to hear dirty talk!
Man and mattress ate quickly. Well, man did; mattress was probably dieting and had nothing but…air. Then off to pay the bill. Of course, I had to move again to let them out. After they left, Lolly looked at me.
LOLLY.: How much do you pay?
ALICE: For what?
LOLLY.: To always pull off these lunatic stunts to make me feel that you are in dire need of an intervention.
ALICE *quite airily*: Oh, well, you know, sacrifice here, sacrifice there and…
LOLLY: If you spent half as much time using your brain and finding a job instead of convincing your out-of-work actor friends to play parts in your juvenile skits, you would be ruling several countries!
ALICE: I so did not know that man and his mattress. This IS the East Village, after all. Strange couplings should not be judged. They should be…you know…celebrated.
MAN WITH MATTRESS: Excuse me, but can I get past you to that table?
ALICE *startled out of believing that she had made herself invisible*: You mean, here? The table right smack dab next to mine?
MAN WITH MATTRESS *looking at me with eyes that said, Move it, bitch*: Yes. Thank you.
I looked over at Lolly whose narrowed eyes screamed WHY CAN'T GOING OUT WITH YOU EVER BE NORMAL?
ALICE: Uh, of course, let me just move all the jackets, books, papers, messenger bags and sundries that are in your way here and make room for you and your, er, companion, to reach that other table.
MAN WITH MATTRESS: Thanks!
We were so close to each other that it looked as if I, Lolly, man, and mattress were out together for a leisured breakfast. I just knew that somehow the mattress would be trying to share guffaws and affectionate insults.
MATTRESS: You know, Alice, you are such a cheap slut!
ALICE: Well, look whose talking! Except for right now where you are propped against the chair, you spend all your time on your back!
MATTRESS: Honey, you’re just jealous that I gots me a man who appreciates my sophisticated nanofiber shell that is breathable, repels liquids, and minimizes stains.
ALICE: Hey! It’s too early in the morning to hear dirty talk!
Man and mattress ate quickly. Well, man did; mattress was probably dieting and had nothing but…air. Then off to pay the bill. Of course, I had to move again to let them out. After they left, Lolly looked at me.
LOLLY.: How much do you pay?
ALICE: For what?
LOLLY.: To always pull off these lunatic stunts to make me feel that you are in dire need of an intervention.
ALICE *quite airily*: Oh, well, you know, sacrifice here, sacrifice there and…
LOLLY: If you spent half as much time using your brain and finding a job instead of convincing your out-of-work actor friends to play parts in your juvenile skits, you would be ruling several countries!
ALICE: I so did not know that man and his mattress. This IS the East Village, after all. Strange couplings should not be judged. They should be…you know…celebrated.
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