Was It Something I Said?

I went to an Al-Anon meeting last night because a friend of mine is working on his sobriety and I wanted to be supportive. I walked in to find it was a Men's meeting. I was told this by two slightly strange gentlemen who quickly walked up to me as I entered the cozy room to warn me that there might be questionable language used but that this happened every once in a while that a woman showed up by mistake and they allow you, as a member of the opposite sex, to attend the meeting just one time. One of the men left and I continued talking to the other man and after about two minutes he reached over and grabbed, I kid you not, A GAS MASK!! which he proceeded to put on the bottom half of his face and without missing a beat he continued talking to me about Al-Alon and life and this meeting and I was standing there thinking My God, this guy really does hate women.............

And finally he took a breath and told me he was allergic to perfume even though I don't usually wear perfume except for very special occasions which I didn't consider this to be one of those occasions so whatever I smelled like was me but I guess this poor guy just couldn't take it. I felt like I was talking to a creature from Pluto which is actually no longer a planet but I must say I enjoyed our somewhat muffled conversation.

Anyway, these meetings are very private and you're not allowed to talk about what went on inside of the meeting and I will respect their wishes only to say that for one night a week I do wish I could be a man.

I am blue these days. I don't want to wear it on my sleeve and I hate to kvetch and I'm pretty sure it's the infection but I just feel slightly shitty most of my waking hours. Can you tell?

I was asked by a reader to reveal a bit more of the DeNiro part of the story. Because, truthfully, who really wants to read about someone being blue or turning blue or throwing up and wounds and IVs and it's obvious that the title of this blog is ROBERT DENIRO in big letters and of course I did that on purpose because who the hell would really care about ME but if you put DeNiro in front of my name now that's interesting. I have gone to a few Hollywood parties and I went to one where I felt like the Wallflower from the Poconos and I ended up just sitting on a couch nursing a glass of champagne (ah, those were the days) when a couple of people sat down next to me and we chatted and they were so very bored with me and I can't remember exactly how it happened but I blurted out, "I slept with Robert DeNiro." And suddenly I was interesting. Oh, it's such a great ice breaker.

But right now, feeling the way I do, it's hard to imagine that I ever experienced that exciting bit of life. Not just sleeping with someone who became famous but running around the earth with no care in the world, no thought that one day there would be big bummers thrown at me to keep me from smiling and keep me from eating an orange or a clove of garlic.

"Trish, stop it right now! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. At least you ATE an orange once. And plenty of garlic. Just SNAP OUT OF IT, dammit!"

Okay, you're right. I have soooooo much to be thankful for. Cheesecake and chopped liver, for one. Or two. Who knew that my grandparents who always encouraged me to, "Eat! Eat!" would be the one's with the recipes for recovery.

Maybe I need a gas mask. Yeah. It was one of those masks that crazy people on bicycles wear. You know, where you breath out of both sides of it like Darth Vader. A gas mask. Hey, maybe that's what I'll wear to my next operation. A gas mask. And a pair of red shoes. I'll tell the anesthesiologist I slept with Robert DeNiro. She'll think I'm important. She'll take good care of me.

Or she'll think I'm completely nuts. Or possibly very BLUE.....................