Feel the Burn

Earlier, I went to sign up at the local gym and Wonder Woman was the person who took all my information. Then she turned me over to Blackbeard the Pirate who tried to sell me on the idea of hiring a personal trainer for ten weeks.

PIRATE: Hey! First, how often have you ever worked out in a gym?
ALICE: Um...never.
PIRATE: Well, how often have you ever worked out...not in a gym?
ALICE: Never.
PIRATE: Hmm. Well, how often have you just done a little exercise?
ALICE: That would be...never.
PIRATE: Have you ever just stood in a gym?
ALICE: Only today. Hang on, though! I am sitting not standing, so the answer is...never. Are you getting the whole picture?
PIRATE: Yeah. Okay. Well, why now? Why are you in this gym?
ALICE: Oh, I don't know, really. Sometimes there are no good answers to questions, you know? For example, has anyone ever come up with an acceptable response to, Why is a raven like a writing desk? Heck, no. Let me tell you, if I knew all the answers I would lead a different life, eh?
PIRATE: What?
ALICE: Never mind.

So, it was decided that I should have a trainer help me, for a little while anyway, because left on my own, I would probably just do two jumping jacks and call it a day. After that I was turned over to Beelzebub, who explained all the small print and then handed me a pen.

BEELZEBUB: Now sign here for me, sweetie. Sign here and forfeit your soul to me!
ALICE: You people do take halloween a little too seriously around here, yes?
BEELZEBUB: Just sign on the dotted line, already!

I did. I was also a bit worried that I would need to give blood to seal the deal, but Beelzebub didn't bring it up and I wasn't going to remind him. As I left, Little Red Riding Hood was standing by the door with her basket filled with candy.

Honestly! As if trying to tempt me with sweets while I was at the gym was a good thing. I didn't cave, thank you very much.

I waited until I was a block away before I looked for a drugstore to buy chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

I'm seeing the trainer on Saturday. She'll know what to do with me.

Be Still, My Heart

Well, I thought that I could get away without having to go to this year’s haunted house extravaganza in downtown New York. Last year’s experience was bad enough, but this time, I KNOW what to expect -- and it isn’t good, for the heart or the nerves. I don’t like to be scared! I don’t want to be scared! But my sister is the one who arranged this newest excursion to Psycho Clan’s 2006 production, and I can’t say no to her because…well…because it would scare me to do so. Yup. I’d rather die of fright in that haunted environment than tell my sister that I won’t do it. She wouldn’t accept it anyway.

SISTER: Well, don’t forget about tonight!
ALICE *pretending*: Forget? Oh. About what?
SISTER: Going to the Nightmare show! You forgot?
ALICE : Oh, is that tonight? Well, I’ve read that it’s so popular that it’s impossible to get tickets, so I guess we’ll have to wait until next…
SISTER: Don’t worry! I’ve already gotten them and we have to be there at 7:30. I’m so excited. Aren’t you?
ALICE: Yeah. Excited. That’s me, alright.

It doesn’t help that this show is new and improved with better ways to horrify even the most jaded New Yorker. My sister promised that afterwards, our group would go to a bar to have a drink and laugh about the experience. Maybe I can convince her that it makes more sense to go to the bar before the show. And laugh during the experience.

But, on second thought, it’ll be better to have a level head. After all, I’ve seen those movies – with lots of people around me – where some dumbass group walks through a haunted house and, believing that it’s all a joke, meet their doom because their spidey senses are not functioning. That won’t be me. Nope. I will on full alert, and if our group finds itself in a situation where all bets are off, I’m handing over my sister to the ghouls and running out of there like a bat out of hell.

Wait! What am I saying! I’m afraid of bats!

Michaelangelo Never Had to Do This

I went to stay with my friend Jane in Washington, D.C. because we were going to attend an art opening of her work. We were going to drink champagne and eat really cute food and talk to lovely artist-y people; I really wanted this.

We left an hour before we had to be there because Jane was driving and it's only fifteen minutes away. Well, we spent fifty minutes--yep, that's 50 minutes--looking for a parking spot. We were resigned but not defeated. We knew that we would find one...soon. Actually, we prayed that we would find one...soon. Then we could rush into the building, throwing kisses and laughing with everyone about the PARKING SITUATION, as the gallery manager pressed champagne flutes into our hands.

However, no spot opened up. Hmm. Plan B was for me to drop Jane off and I would park the car. Somewhere. We drove in front of the building and we saw that it was dark. What? Where's the champagne? Where's the food? Where's the lovely artist-y people? Where's the art?

Next week. That's where.

So we drove home. Not really speaking because what is there to say, except, thanks for bringing me here from New York City so we could be driving in circles for an hour. I feel rejuvenated.

Because of an accident, there was a traffic bottleneck on Jane's street; it was bumper to bumper and we were ANOTHER hour just...sitting. Then it began to rain. Yeah. Then it began to thunder. Uh huh. Then there were very bright, sharp bursts of lightening. Alrighty. Then it began to hail. Of course. I was expecting locusts but they apparently were busy somewhere else. Then the winds picked up and later we found out they were almost 50 mph gusts. I mean, where is a cellar when you need one, huh? Great! So this is how the end of the world ends for me. Stuck in a car in a traffic jam. And we were NOT going to be singing and dancing with munchkins at the end of it all. How pedestrian an ending.

Eventually, we began to move -- an inch or two. We were only five houses away from Jane's house, but 40 minutes later, we were there. We had called her husband to let him know of our troubles. He was waiting for us with a large shrimp and pesto pizza, and he had white wine and he looked a bit abashed and said that while it wasn't the gallery, he hoped that it was alright.

So here I was. Wine, food, and talk with lovely people; one of them actually an artist. And she does have art all over her house. It was perfect.

Take Two Aspirins

I am always learning on the job, every single time.

One first phone call of the day was from a patient I knew was expected to come into the office later in the afternoon. It was news to him.

PATIENT: Hey, I want to cancel my appointment for tomorrow, alright?
ALICE: Your appointment is for today.
PATIENT: No, it isn't, it's for tomorrow. I wrote it down. Here it is, yeah, it's at 2:00 on Thursday.
ALICE: Well, today IS Thursday.
PATIENT: SHIT!

Then I hear him shout to someone.

PATIENT: Ma! Did you know today was Thursday?
MA: Wha? Yeah, I did!
PATIENT: Why didn't you tell me?
MA: What am I, your mother?
PATIENT: Yeah you are! Cut it out, Ma!

After Alice, patient, and Ma get all this sorted out, the phone rings again. It's from a young woman who wanted to leave a message for one of the doctors. Apparently she had forgotten to tell the doctor about one long-standing problem she has been having for weeks.

It seems that every morning at 5 a.m., this patient wakes up burning hot. So hot that she is sizzling. So hot that she wakes up her boyfriend.

HOT PATIENT: So, what do you think this is?
ALICE: I can't answer that, I really don't know.
HOT PATIENT: Well, you know, my boyfriend always says, why are you so freakin' hot?
ALICE: And he doesn't mean it in the good sense.
HOT PATIENT: Yeah! Exactly!
ALICE: Well, I'll leave a note for the doctor and...
HOT PATIENT: Wait, I haven't finished telling you.
ALICE: There's more?
HOT PATIENT: Yeah, I am so hot that I jump up from the bed and tear off my clothes.

At this point, I wanted to ask something along the lines of, and does hot sex ensue?

But, I am at the doctor's office and I do have to maintain a professional demeanor, and why is the boyfriend annoyed?

I promised Hot Patient that I would leave an EXPLICIT note for the doctor and moved on to another call. Apparently, people are asking for me by name because...well, I don't know why they want to talk to me.

This third patient starts out with a lowered voice.

THIRD PATIENT: Hi, sweetheart. You know, I feel like I can confide in you.
ALICE: Oh, well, please don't feel...like that.
THIRD PATIENT: Oh, no, sweetheart, it's important that a patient feel comfortable and I do. But, listen, I seem to have a problem with going.
ALICE: Going? Where?
THIRD PATIENT: You know. To the potty.
ALICE: Oh.
THIRD PATIENT: Yeah, sweetheart, sometimes it seems like it's stuck. You know, in there. And no matter what I do, it won't come out.

Well, I never wanted to be a doctor. And now I really know why.

THIRD PATIENT: Sweetheart. My late grandma had a recipe for this. She told people in her village who had this problem to swallow a tablespoon of oil. Wait a bit. Try again. That's all. Do you think I should do this?

I promised Third Patient that I would leave an EXPLICIT note for the doctor.

Yes, yes, I am learning plenty on the job.

Double Indemnity

The medical transcriptionist came to the office to pick up the latest batch of files she has to...well, transcribe. Her name is Marjorie and I was in for a surprise when she arrived. Her manner of dress, her long wavy dark hair, her makeup, her dominant jewelry, and her demeanor suggested film noir.

Why, even the office lost its colors and became a world of grey, black, and white. The venetian blinds on the windows were drawn and closed, which is amazing because the windows don’t have blinds.

Marjorie walked in languidly and I think that the doctor said to us:

DR: She has the look of a dame who spells trouble, with a lower case “t”. She could make men murder from love and then pay the price.

But maybe I misheard.

Anyway, Marjorie did not have a sultry voice; it was rather worn and raspy, as if she had spent too many years smoking and…um…well, doing other things that annoy the throat.

She only had eyes for the male doctor in the group, and he smiled and gave her the files and smiled some more.

When she left, she stopped to smooth out her stockings and didn’t even say goodbye. I think the doctor said to us:

DR: I didn’t get the money and I didn’t get the woman.

But maybe I misheard.

Now that I think of it, that probably is a line from some movie. Yeah. I’m sure of it.

Sticks and Stones

A friend had been at an LSAT class in the neighborhood, so she stopped by the apartment afterwards late last night. I am always happy to see Dana because we can talk and laugh about anything and everything. This is how she started the conversation:

DANA: My mother is a liar, and a whore.

We heard about the liar part…something to do with money that her mother had said she didn’t have but really did. But Deacon and I were waiting to hear about the other part; Dana, however, didn’t continue.

ALICE: So…um…what about her being a whore?
DEACON: Yeah! How did you figure that?
DANA: Oh, she is such a liar.
ALICE: But that doesn’t make her a whore, you know.
DANA: Yeah. But that’s what I want to call her. Because she’s a liar.
ALICE: I see.

So my logical friend then started talking about her ex-boyfriend, Tate. She had phoned him recently, after not speaking for over a month. She told us that she missed him terribly and that she needed to see him.

ALICE: Well, when are you two meeting again?
DANA: Oh, I can’t see him until I lose ten pounds!
ALICE: What?
DANA: Yeah, I gained ten pounds since he last saw me and I don’t want him to see me fat!
ALICE: But, that could take some time, and Tate will think that you aren't interested. Just having a texting relationship is not…satisfying, no? And you are NOT fat.
DANA: Do you have any cookies?

Right before she left, Dana looked at herself in the mirror.

DANA: Ugh. I’m so fat. I’m a whore. I’m a fat whore.

I think that for her birthday, I will buy a dictionary for Dana.

Went Out to Buy Milk, but...

I was with Val all day yesterday. We had been walking around and had decided to visit a tiny store that only sold headwear and accessories. Val was seriously shopping for a hat but I was just playing around, trying on different ones on and running over to her and speaking in the voice of the character that would have worn such a hat. So I was Rocky--Bullwinkle's squirrel friend--Sherlock Holmes, Nanook, a 40's flapper, and a jockey, among others.

We were laughing and the owner of the shop was staring at us, displeased that we were not showing the proper reverence for the "toppers".

The last hat Val tried on was really cute and it looked great on her. A man standing next to us looked at Val and said that in that hat she reminded him of a certain celebrity.

ALICE: Oh. Who?
MAN: What's her name. You know. The one with the eyelashes.
VAL: You don't mean Liza Minelli, do you?
MAN: YEAH! That's her!

Val doesn't look even remotely like Liza. She doesn't even want to look like her. Remotely or not. She was rather insulted and decided not to buy the hat.

VAL: Why does that fool think I look like her?
ALICE: Oh, maybe because of the spikey eyelashes you wear?
VAL: Yeah. Or maybe because of the dependence I have on drugs and alcohol.
ALICE: Or maybe, just maybe, it's because of your unbridled need to be married to a gay man who makes a very good punching bag. Or so he says.

We were still laughing loudly as we headed for the door. The owner of the shop cleared her throat and caught our attention. She's probably going to say, have a good afternoon, I thought.

OWNER: Thank you, ladies, for visiting.

But she couldn't keep the fuck you and never come here again tone out of her voice.

So. We didn't belong in that store. We were contrite, really we were. Then we decided to go to another store where we really didn't belong: Prada.

Mutant Power!

Last night Vicky and Harry came over to “hang out.” As soon as they arrived, Vicky turned on the television and began watching some forensic science style of show. This kind of visit is difficult because Vicky seems to only want to speak in tongues during her programs: psst, shush, tsk, shh, SHUSH! Even during commercials; she does NOT want anyone talking to her. Nope. No interruptions or interactions, or you get the talk that only snakes can understand.

Except for one thing.

A few minutes into the program, she falls asleep. As does Harry. Why do they visit? I guess they need the rest.

Last year, they both came to spend some days with me in Washington, D.C. and I couldn't wait to see them. Once they arrived, they asked to go sightsee at the Smithsonian Museum. They begged—begged—me to agree to see a 20-minute show in the planetarium; it cost $8.00 each. I was skeptical that they really wanted to see this but they insisted.

So, $24.00 later, we were seated. I was in the middle, Harry to my left and Vicky to my right. The lights dimmed and this absolutely fabulous show of night sky with stars and planets and moons zooming across assaulted the senses. Loudly. Laurence Fishburne was the narrator and during a spectacular look at the canyons on Mars, I said to my friends, "How nice that Morpheus is speaking to us about space." I looked at Harry and saw that he was...sleeping. I looked at Vicky and saw that she was...sleeping.

After 15 more minutes and $16.00 worth of sleep, the show was over.

Apparently, just being near me is a great soporific event. Why, that could be my superpower! Think of the possibilities. Anywhere hostilities break out, send me. Oh, yeah. Although the sounds of war would be loud and clear, they would be something like this: Zzzzzzz.

TGIF

The end of the week is always an extremely hectic time in the office because patients seem to wait until Fridays before it occurs to them to get prescription refills. They also try to lure the doctors to the phone to make allowances for them after they are informed that an appointment won't be available for a month or so. When they can't get the doctor to take the call, they want to shoot the breeze with us and ask questions that only a doctor could--and should--answer.

PATIENT: Listen, sweetheart, I know the doctor can't come to the phone but have you ever heard of this procedure: a needle is stuck in one's throat. This is for a thyroid test. Have you ever heard of this? Hah?
ALICE *not wanting to think about this*: Only on CSI.

So I was losing my mind trying to keep up with the patients who were on hold on the phone when the very last number that had been free, rang. It was my office mate's boyfriend. When told that she was stuck on a long conversation with a woman who spoke Ukrainian, the boyfriend was surprised.

BOYFRIEND: But Joanie doesn't speak Ukrainian.
ALICE: Don't we know it.

After hanging up with the boyfriend, the phone rang again. This time it was the mother. I got worried because I thought something was wrong at her home, so I slipped a note to her and she handed me the phone and went to speak to her mom. It was alright because even though I don't speak Ukrainian either, the woman was shouting and complaining about the doctor and the insurance company so I didn't need to say a word.

When Joanie came back and took the phone from me, I asked her if everything was alright.

JOANIE: Oh, yeah. It's just that my mom had to tell me about the woman who sells me cigarettes.
ALICE: What do you mean?
JOANIE: Well, I buy boxes of cigarettes from this woman who gets them...shall we say, cheaper...on the internet. My mom was calling to say that the woman was arrested last night at the Bingo parlor. That's all.
ALICE: Arrested? At the Bingo parlor?
JOANIE: Yeah. That's where she sells them. I think the Bingo manager sold her out.
ALICE: Well, what are you going to do now? For cigarettes, I mean.
JOANIE: No biggie. She'll be back on Sunday.
ALICE: Won't she stay away from the Bingo parlor now that she's been arrested there?
JOANIE: Nah. She'll be back. Hey, do you smoke?
ALICE: No.
JOANIE: Well, if you ever decide to, let me know. I can get them for you wholesale.

The Ukrainian woman had stopped shouting and the only words that we had understood were: doctor, bad, stupid, why, never, in mother tongue, and do it now.

Joanie and I entertained ourselves for a little bit rearranging the words to form this kernel of brilliance: Stupid, bad, doctor! Why it? Now never do tongue in mother.

Yes, yes. That was part of my day. A big part.

"A Tree is Known by its Fruit”

It is now that time when my family unit spends too many moments talking about where to meet for Thanksgiving. So far, it has never been quick and easy conversations, but rather fraught with the emotional agitation that brands family members who know that despite it all, they will never get kicked out of the group, no matter how much they fuss. Well, so far, anyway.

One memorable year, my mother was on the phone and she was not happy to learn that we wanted to go to my sister’s in Brooklyn for the dinner.

MOTHER: What? No! I had this planned for ages and you all have to come here.
ALICE: Well, wouldn’t you like to take a rest and be waited on hand and foot…
MOTHER: Not if it’s Brooklyn! I don’t want to be on the road with all that traffic.
ALICE: Well, it will be harder on everyone else to go to you.
MOTHER: NO! You will all come home. We will sit down to a lovely dinner that I am cooking—and you should be grateful that I’m doing this at all. You know that I can’t cook. We will be together like the loving family that we are and WE WILL BE HAPPY AND ENJOY OURSELVES! GOT IT?

Well, Matt Groening certainly knew what he was talking about when he said, families are about love overcoming emotional torture.

This year, particularly, everyone is where everyone else is not. The D.C. family members want the New York contingent to travel there. The New York contingent wants the D.C. ones to come here. And the New Jersey member, who is my mother, now doesn’t care where it’s held as long as someone comes and gets her.

I don’t know why, but I am usually the one who is chosen to speak to everyone and get them to sign on the dotted line. I hate being the go-between because in my family one DOES shoot the messenger.

So the family members have now begun to call.

FM#1: Where are we having Thanksgiving? I hope you're going to say at my place because that’s how it has to be.
ALICE: Well, I thought that we might…
FM#1: NO! Whatever you’re going to say, no! I missed out last year on being with the family and I can’t travel this year, so I want to have you all here.
ALICE: Well, let me find out from the others.
FM#2: What? No, it has to be here. I can’t travel there. It must be here.

Today, Deacon and I were discussing this and I was lamenting that this year some feelings might get hurt because I can’t figure out a way that would satisfy everyone. And mind you, we are not speaking about organizing dozens of people. No sir. Just eight. I told him that we might have to stay in New York with my mother. The D.C. three will have to be together, as will the Ithaca two. I also told Deacon that I was putting off having to relay this bit of news to the family.

DEACON: Yeah, I feel for you. They are a prickly bunch.

Well, how about that. My family tree is a cactus.