I met a young woman today who had just come back from Uganda and was putting together her photography exhibit and it was quite obvious that life had been treating her well and it was exciting and hopeful and I am so draggy because of this open wound that I didn't even have the energy to shout out, "FOR GOD'S SAKE, CALM DOWN! HORRIBLE THINGS ARE GOING TO HAPPEN TO YOU SOMEDAY. I CAN GUARANTEE THAT BECAUSE THEY HAPPEN TO EVERYONE! AND ESPECIALLY ME. CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I DON'T FEEL WELL? HOW CAN YOU BE SO HAPPY."
And then I realized that I was feeling just a little too sorry for myself. That my inner voice had gotten out of hand. To want someone who is having a good time to NOT have a good time is so wrong and petty. Oh, I am such a small human being. And getting smaller.
Actually, I AM getting smaller. Today for lunch I ate one shrimp. Without sauce. One. A shrimp. One shrimp. And then I started thinking...What if I become really small? Pocket sized. Like Tom Thumb? Or Stuart Little? And I'd have to have a little mouse door to get in and out and I'd be chased by cats and terrorized by rats and I'd have to vie for little crumbs on the floor with my dog and my shoes would be way too big and what if my hair stayed the same size that it is now and didn't shrink with me and I was just a bunch of hair running around the living room and the sound of the vacuum cleaner made me screech with horror but nobody would hear me....................................................
Okay, that was insane. I really need to get rid of this infection. It is sucking the life out of me. And the brains. So Monday I go in and they operate and they take out...Something. Maybe they'll take out my pettiness. Hey, maybe they could replace that with William Faulkner's work ethic. Certainly no harm in asking.
So I sign off for a few days. Don't worry. Be happy.
Just not TOO happy.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
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.....................
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.....................
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
What Is With Her Ears!
First of all on a happy note in an otherwise slightly dark day...Cedric the hot dog man (and boy is he more than that) gave me a big hug and a kiss today upon seeing me. Oh my gosh he is such a tower of positive energy he practically glows. So he asked me where I was going and I told him I was going home to try and write a......................novel...................( I am barely able to say that word because it seems so wrong or like I'm kidding myself or something highly neurotic.) Anyway, Cedric said in his inimitable style..."Nothing to it but to do it."
"NOTHING TO IT BUT TO DO IT!!!"
Why can't I think like that? Simple and straight to the point. Why must I jump up and down and feel sorry for myself and look things up on the internet that are meaningless like traveling to somewhere I don't really want to go to and all just to keep myself from writing that.......... novel................I have got to harness some of Cedric's secret powers of living. I am way too cynical to read a self help book but if Cedric published one, I would be the first in line to have my copy signed.
And by the way, Andy, my blog takeover pal, actually found Cedric and ordered some very spicey dog and called me while he was chewing and gave it a full thumbs up although next time he said he would not order the extreme spicey dog. I, personally, would order a simple dog with the works. Just for starters. And give yourself a few minutes to sit at one of Cedric's chairs and chat. You will not be disappointed.
Today I had my pre-op exam and the drawing of the blood was grueling but I got through it and I was lucky to have about twenty minutes with Dr. Miyakawa to talk about life and death. And I realized as I left that I was much more comfortable with death than I am with life. I need help. And I'm not even kidding about that. I am all set to die, have no problem with death. It's living I'm having a hard time with. I do think that part of that is my infected wound. I cannot wait to see how I feel when that thing is gone and over with. And I have got to get out of this house and I don't know if I mentioned this before but the man formerly known as my husband only took his clothes and LEFT ALL OF HIS STUFF HERE. I probably mentioned that but it's been almost a year and a half and I am sick of looking at it and feeling like a storage unit. Why, you ask? Why didn't I do something about that sooner? Well, I should have but I did have cancer so I got a bit way layed. (Or wailaid or how the hell do you spell that and what the hell does it mean?)
So I'm sort of in a dark Sylvia Plath mood and I think it's the wound at least I hope it is but I did observe something interesting today. A couple came into the vitamin drip room. Around seventy I would say. He with a bad hair dye job and she with a face lift that did some serious Dumbo damage to ears. Her face was all fucked up and it made her ears look enormous! I cannot imagine that she had them fixed to look like that. Unless a Circus Vet did her face lift. Anyway, thank goodness they were a couple. They had come all the way from Orange County for her drip. They sort of hated Orange County but all they could afford was Leisure World which he refered to as Seizure World. But the one thing they did like was taking Fox Trot lessons. They went on and on about it and he suddenly got up in the middle of the drip room and showed us the proper posture and moves for the fox trot. And one woman was trying to read and one guy was sticking his fingers in and out of the holes in his sweater and this dancing guy kept dancing and it was sort of amazing to not even think that there might be people in the room who wanted to relax and spend their drip time in some type of meditation. But I liked his dancing. He had very good posture. The fact that he tripped a few dozens times could happen to anyone just learning the steps. The fact that the Dumbo ears seemed to get red with some sort of sickening erotic anticipation made me a little sick to my stomach but I'm sick most of the time anyway so why connect it with her ears?
Anyway, I'm already hoping that 2009 is a better year. Do you think that's being much too much of a pessimist?
I just don't know. I just don't know......................
"NOTHING TO IT BUT TO DO IT!!!"
Why can't I think like that? Simple and straight to the point. Why must I jump up and down and feel sorry for myself and look things up on the internet that are meaningless like traveling to somewhere I don't really want to go to and all just to keep myself from writing that.......... novel................I have got to harness some of Cedric's secret powers of living. I am way too cynical to read a self help book but if Cedric published one, I would be the first in line to have my copy signed.
And by the way, Andy, my blog takeover pal, actually found Cedric and ordered some very spicey dog and called me while he was chewing and gave it a full thumbs up although next time he said he would not order the extreme spicey dog. I, personally, would order a simple dog with the works. Just for starters. And give yourself a few minutes to sit at one of Cedric's chairs and chat. You will not be disappointed.
Today I had my pre-op exam and the drawing of the blood was grueling but I got through it and I was lucky to have about twenty minutes with Dr. Miyakawa to talk about life and death. And I realized as I left that I was much more comfortable with death than I am with life. I need help. And I'm not even kidding about that. I am all set to die, have no problem with death. It's living I'm having a hard time with. I do think that part of that is my infected wound. I cannot wait to see how I feel when that thing is gone and over with. And I have got to get out of this house and I don't know if I mentioned this before but the man formerly known as my husband only took his clothes and LEFT ALL OF HIS STUFF HERE. I probably mentioned that but it's been almost a year and a half and I am sick of looking at it and feeling like a storage unit. Why, you ask? Why didn't I do something about that sooner? Well, I should have but I did have cancer so I got a bit way layed. (Or wailaid or how the hell do you spell that and what the hell does it mean?)
So I'm sort of in a dark Sylvia Plath mood and I think it's the wound at least I hope it is but I did observe something interesting today. A couple came into the vitamin drip room. Around seventy I would say. He with a bad hair dye job and she with a face lift that did some serious Dumbo damage to ears. Her face was all fucked up and it made her ears look enormous! I cannot imagine that she had them fixed to look like that. Unless a Circus Vet did her face lift. Anyway, thank goodness they were a couple. They had come all the way from Orange County for her drip. They sort of hated Orange County but all they could afford was Leisure World which he refered to as Seizure World. But the one thing they did like was taking Fox Trot lessons. They went on and on about it and he suddenly got up in the middle of the drip room and showed us the proper posture and moves for the fox trot. And one woman was trying to read and one guy was sticking his fingers in and out of the holes in his sweater and this dancing guy kept dancing and it was sort of amazing to not even think that there might be people in the room who wanted to relax and spend their drip time in some type of meditation. But I liked his dancing. He had very good posture. The fact that he tripped a few dozens times could happen to anyone just learning the steps. The fact that the Dumbo ears seemed to get red with some sort of sickening erotic anticipation made me a little sick to my stomach but I'm sick most of the time anyway so why connect it with her ears?
Anyway, I'm already hoping that 2009 is a better year. Do you think that's being much too much of a pessimist?
I just don't know. I just don't know......................
Monday, January 7, 2008
I have to have another what?................
Oh sure, there you are with your positive outlook and encouraging comments telling me how fabulous this year is going to be and that there is such a thing as karma and I am so overdue and you just know that everything is going to be coming up roses and you will not believe what I have to do next Monday..............
But first...
I want to talk about forgiveness. So I was reading the paper yesterday and there was an article about a woman who was in the death camps when she was ten and she was there with her twin sister and Dr. Mengele loved experimenting on twins, which he was doing with this poor woman and this woman received a letter maybe twenty years ago from an SS guy asking for her forgiveness and she gave it to him and said it felt like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. And I, being the selfish self centered person that I am, started thinking immediately about the man formerly known as my husband and if I could ever forgive him. Nazis... my husband... my husband... Nazis. Come on, I thought, if this woman could forgive people who did not give a shit about her as a human being and a CHILD then certainly I could forgive someone who let go of a family and left me for another at a very vulnerable time in my life. There is no comparison. Be reasonable, Trish. The man formerly known is not, after all, Mengele. Surely I could forgive.
Ah..............Nope. Can't go there yet. And of course I realized that that woman was so much more of an enlightened human being than I could ever be. I love to hold on to my petty little anger. Don't you? Oooooo, it just makes you feel so good to have someone you don't like, someone you can celebrate when they're going through a rough patch. Someone whose life might occasionally be WORSE THAN YOURS. That is how petty and unformed I am. I don't know, I try to be enlightened. Forgive. Try to love my enemy. But my little nine year old nasty girl self keeps whispering in my ear, "I hate you Susie Collins because you're pretty and you're perfect and you're really good at volley ball and you hurt my feelings because you won't invite me over to your apartment and I hope something horrible happens to you."
And then Susie just goes on with her lalala lovely life and you're holding on to all of those bad feelings that just eat you up inside and turn your eyebrows grey and I am so impressed with that woman who forgave the Nazis. I'm going to save that article.
Okay, remember the feeding tube? The supposed cauterization? WELL I HAVE TO HAVE ANOTHER STUPID LITTLE FUCKING OPERATION NEXT MONDAY. Because the wound has been infected for over two months and there might be a small part of the tube wrapped around (get ready for this) my intestine! And it's only the seventh day of the new year. Why on earth did I let myself believe that things would be a breeze after the first!! Maybe it's my attitude. But no, that would mean that the world has something to do with ME and I know I am but a speck of dust in the universe so I guess it's just a bit of bad luck that has surrounded me for the PAST THREE YEARS. Like that kid in Charlie Brown who walks around surrounded by dirt.
But it's not like the bad luck that poor woman had during the Holocaust. Or the people in Darfur are having. Or in Kenya. I know that. I am so lucky in so many ways. I just have to look at a picture of my son that sits on my desk and I know how lucky I am. I think it's just this......I'm Jewish...I complain. I whine and I complain. I am not complete without a complaint. Now that I think about it, I realize that's why Jews stick together. Who else would listen to such whining for four thousand years? Oy, I hate my nose. Oy, I'm way too fat. Oy, I need some land. Oyoyoy.
Thank goodness there are some that break the cycle and learn how to forgive. So I'm having another operation. So I'm getting more stitches in my belly. Surely, I can handle this with a smile on my face. Surely, I can do this without complaining.
Yes, I am going to break the four thousand year old cycle of Jewish girls complaining. Yes! That is what I am going to do.
But first...What the hell should I wear to this next operation? There is like absolutely nothing in my closet............................
But first...
I want to talk about forgiveness. So I was reading the paper yesterday and there was an article about a woman who was in the death camps when she was ten and she was there with her twin sister and Dr. Mengele loved experimenting on twins, which he was doing with this poor woman and this woman received a letter maybe twenty years ago from an SS guy asking for her forgiveness and she gave it to him and said it felt like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. And I, being the selfish self centered person that I am, started thinking immediately about the man formerly known as my husband and if I could ever forgive him. Nazis... my husband... my husband... Nazis. Come on, I thought, if this woman could forgive people who did not give a shit about her as a human being and a CHILD then certainly I could forgive someone who let go of a family and left me for another at a very vulnerable time in my life. There is no comparison. Be reasonable, Trish. The man formerly known is not, after all, Mengele. Surely I could forgive.
Ah..............Nope. Can't go there yet. And of course I realized that that woman was so much more of an enlightened human being than I could ever be. I love to hold on to my petty little anger. Don't you? Oooooo, it just makes you feel so good to have someone you don't like, someone you can celebrate when they're going through a rough patch. Someone whose life might occasionally be WORSE THAN YOURS. That is how petty and unformed I am. I don't know, I try to be enlightened. Forgive. Try to love my enemy. But my little nine year old nasty girl self keeps whispering in my ear, "I hate you Susie Collins because you're pretty and you're perfect and you're really good at volley ball and you hurt my feelings because you won't invite me over to your apartment and I hope something horrible happens to you."
And then Susie just goes on with her lalala lovely life and you're holding on to all of those bad feelings that just eat you up inside and turn your eyebrows grey and I am so impressed with that woman who forgave the Nazis. I'm going to save that article.
Okay, remember the feeding tube? The supposed cauterization? WELL I HAVE TO HAVE ANOTHER STUPID LITTLE FUCKING OPERATION NEXT MONDAY. Because the wound has been infected for over two months and there might be a small part of the tube wrapped around (get ready for this) my intestine! And it's only the seventh day of the new year. Why on earth did I let myself believe that things would be a breeze after the first!! Maybe it's my attitude. But no, that would mean that the world has something to do with ME and I know I am but a speck of dust in the universe so I guess it's just a bit of bad luck that has surrounded me for the PAST THREE YEARS. Like that kid in Charlie Brown who walks around surrounded by dirt.
But it's not like the bad luck that poor woman had during the Holocaust. Or the people in Darfur are having. Or in Kenya. I know that. I am so lucky in so many ways. I just have to look at a picture of my son that sits on my desk and I know how lucky I am. I think it's just this......I'm Jewish...I complain. I whine and I complain. I am not complete without a complaint. Now that I think about it, I realize that's why Jews stick together. Who else would listen to such whining for four thousand years? Oy, I hate my nose. Oy, I'm way too fat. Oy, I need some land. Oyoyoy.
Thank goodness there are some that break the cycle and learn how to forgive. So I'm having another operation. So I'm getting more stitches in my belly. Surely, I can handle this with a smile on my face. Surely, I can do this without complaining.
Yes, I am going to break the four thousand year old cycle of Jewish girls complaining. Yes! That is what I am going to do.
But first...What the hell should I wear to this next operation? There is like absolutely nothing in my closet............................
Friday, January 4, 2008
A Very Special Episode
This is my one hundredth blog. When a TV show does it's one hundredth episode they always call it..."A Very Special Episode". Or if some main character is going to die on the show or get married or have a baby...They call that A Very Special..............................Of course, nine times out of ten when a show has been on the air for a long time and the lead couple has a baby it either means the show is on it's way out or it certainly will have "jumped the shark" when the baby is born because babies are not funny and no one knows what to do them on a TV show. You'll notice that Raymond and his wife were barely with their kids because how could they bicker and argue and have problems in bed if the kids were around. And anyway, TV kids tend to be way too precious. You just want to smack them. They are these little kids who talk like Letterman because the writers usually write them to sound like adults. "Hey mom, I've got a top ten list. The top ten reasons why I don't want to go to school today. Ten, because Billy Franklin is going to be there and if he shows me his wiener one more time I'm going to throw up..."
I have no idea why I wrote about TV kids because I was thinking of what "Very Special" thing was going to happen for me because I am writing the one hundredth blog. And the answer is...Oh joy of joys...I'm going to get my wound cauterized today. Now isn't that special? Remember, many moons ago when I had cancer and I had this feeding tube and then they took it out? Well, that resulting damn wound has been bothering me ever since. And oh I just can't wait to get that Novocain shot in my stomach again before he pours some science fiction type stuff on the wound to YUCK, get ready for this............CLOSE IT UP. Yes, I have had a hole in my mid section for the last two or three months and to say it's not pretty is an understatement. Not that anyone is looking at my belly these days except the people I swim with and they have been very kind not to remark on it except for a little girl in the summer whose eye level was just about at my belly while we took a shower and she was mortified. There is that Frankenstein aspect and it was very hard for me not to walk, with that little girl staring at me, like Boris Karloff and grunt and lurch back to my clothes. Instead, I covered my wounds with my towel and tried to act like a normal person. But when I left I smiled at her and she ran to her mother in horror. I don't know. Kids usually like me. But I guess I usually have my shirt on when I meet them.
Oh do I wish that there was some sort of alternative something or other that could cauterize the wounds to one's heart. People always say things heal with time and I always wish that time meant five minutes or maybe eight. But it means YEARS and when you get to be my age you want every minute to count and you don't want to feel the bad stuff anymore because it's too damn tiring. And if you only have a finite amount of time left why would you want to feel the bad stuff at all...If you had the choice.
AND I CAN'T EVEN DRINK!!
Here's a tip.....Do NOT buy a French cheesecake. It looked good to me when I walked into the French Bakery and pointed out La Cheesecake and paid quite a few francs for it but then I got it home and almost the entire cake was made of whipped cream. Oh, that is so French. And maybe I'm just a fat eating Jew because I really love those deli cheesecakes that are mostly made of cream cheese. (Or is it, creamed cheese? Or is that creamed corn?)
.................I think I'm nervous about that novocain shot. That's why I'm rambling. I don't know what I'm saying anymore. And this is my one hundredth blog and it should be special. So I will leave you with this..
Did you know that in 1913 Henry Ford poineered the assembly line, Thomas Mann published Death in Venice, the first Charlie Chaplin movie was screened and Richard Nixon was born?
Now if that isn't special I don't know what is................
I have no idea why I wrote about TV kids because I was thinking of what "Very Special" thing was going to happen for me because I am writing the one hundredth blog. And the answer is...Oh joy of joys...I'm going to get my wound cauterized today. Now isn't that special? Remember, many moons ago when I had cancer and I had this feeding tube and then they took it out? Well, that resulting damn wound has been bothering me ever since. And oh I just can't wait to get that Novocain shot in my stomach again before he pours some science fiction type stuff on the wound to YUCK, get ready for this............CLOSE IT UP. Yes, I have had a hole in my mid section for the last two or three months and to say it's not pretty is an understatement. Not that anyone is looking at my belly these days except the people I swim with and they have been very kind not to remark on it except for a little girl in the summer whose eye level was just about at my belly while we took a shower and she was mortified. There is that Frankenstein aspect and it was very hard for me not to walk, with that little girl staring at me, like Boris Karloff and grunt and lurch back to my clothes. Instead, I covered my wounds with my towel and tried to act like a normal person. But when I left I smiled at her and she ran to her mother in horror. I don't know. Kids usually like me. But I guess I usually have my shirt on when I meet them.
Oh do I wish that there was some sort of alternative something or other that could cauterize the wounds to one's heart. People always say things heal with time and I always wish that time meant five minutes or maybe eight. But it means YEARS and when you get to be my age you want every minute to count and you don't want to feel the bad stuff anymore because it's too damn tiring. And if you only have a finite amount of time left why would you want to feel the bad stuff at all...If you had the choice.
AND I CAN'T EVEN DRINK!!
Here's a tip.....Do NOT buy a French cheesecake. It looked good to me when I walked into the French Bakery and pointed out La Cheesecake and paid quite a few francs for it but then I got it home and almost the entire cake was made of whipped cream. Oh, that is so French. And maybe I'm just a fat eating Jew because I really love those deli cheesecakes that are mostly made of cream cheese. (Or is it, creamed cheese? Or is that creamed corn?)
.................I think I'm nervous about that novocain shot. That's why I'm rambling. I don't know what I'm saying anymore. And this is my one hundredth blog and it should be special. So I will leave you with this..
Did you know that in 1913 Henry Ford poineered the assembly line, Thomas Mann published Death in Venice, the first Charlie Chaplin movie was screened and Richard Nixon was born?
Now if that isn't special I don't know what is................
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Just As I Thought.............
I hate to say this. I don't want to bring anyone down. But day three of 2008 just sucks.
BUT
Hey, I got two good days out of it and that ain't bad. Here's the thing...How many of you go to a therapist? Raise your hands...Aha...Well, I just got screwed by a therapist (not literally) and I took some advice to heart and it was the wrong advice and I KNEW it was wrong when he gave me this advice but I was vulnerable and I listened and boy do I feel like a fool. And it's not even MY THERAPIST. I don't actually go to a therapist though I think I probably need one because it's only day three and already I feel like I'm falling off of the earth.
I don't think I ever mentioned that I had a nervous breakdown when I was about twenty one. I sat in a bathtub in New York City and let hot water in and cold water out everytime I'd feel chilly. And this lasted for THREE DAYS. Hot water, cold water, hot water, cold water. And then my dad came and got me and we rented a car and drove to Beaver Falls Pennsylvania to see my sweet Russian grandparents and my grandma took one look at me and said, "Vat's da maddah? You don't look so good, shveetheart." (Actually, she didn't sound like Humphrey Bogart but I'm not sure how to spell what she sounded like.) And then we drove to Wisconsin where I went to therapy five days a week and worked for headstart and tried to figure out what the hell was happening. And it took about nine months but finally it dawned on me...MY MOTHER! That was the problem.
And then I was all better and I was in Madison Wisconsin and I went into the Commons and there was an LA Free Press, a very groovy sixties newspaper and I saw some friends in the paper who were in a play and they were starting a theater group so I found a guy I didn't even know who was traveling South and I went with him as far as I could go, then I got on a train and went as far as that could go before the tracks got flooded so then I got on a bus that went to downtown LA and then I got on a city bus which dropped me off on Robertson Boulevard where my friends were starting the theater and I walked in with my little suitcase and that was that.
So I guess I had a therapist years ago who got me to the great "My Mother" epiphany and I truly believe therapy can be a great help but they, like doctors or teachers, are all just human and they are not always right and you just pray that your surgeon does not make one of those human errors while he's got you cut open on a table. And a therapist has your head cut open sometimes when you are really a mess and they can accidentally put your brains back in all scrambled up and you walk around thinking, hmmmmm, I'm doing everything just like I always did but I don't feel quite right and you may or may not realize that this person you trusted has actually made a huge mistake and you are paying for it with your life. Oh, it's a long story and you know I want to tell you but just know this.............I didn't listen to my heart...My intuition. Stupid. And though I know the year of the shit (in small letters, you will notice) is over on paper, I have to make sure that my head is convinced that it's actually really, really over. And I think I was actually convinced of this until someone (a therapist) whispered in my ear..."I think you're going in the wrong direction to find happiness" so I changed direction and found myself, to my surprise, back where I had started months ago. AND IT WAS AWFUL.
But I am turned around now and I'm once again on the right road. And I think January one and two will repeat themselves in some way as the months appear and sometimes January three will rear it's ugly head but I know I will not be getting into that bathtub again and I am waiting for that new epiphany to strike so I can get on another bus and be driven to life's next great adventure, whatever that may be.......................
BUT
Hey, I got two good days out of it and that ain't bad. Here's the thing...How many of you go to a therapist? Raise your hands...Aha...Well, I just got screwed by a therapist (not literally) and I took some advice to heart and it was the wrong advice and I KNEW it was wrong when he gave me this advice but I was vulnerable and I listened and boy do I feel like a fool. And it's not even MY THERAPIST. I don't actually go to a therapist though I think I probably need one because it's only day three and already I feel like I'm falling off of the earth.
I don't think I ever mentioned that I had a nervous breakdown when I was about twenty one. I sat in a bathtub in New York City and let hot water in and cold water out everytime I'd feel chilly. And this lasted for THREE DAYS. Hot water, cold water, hot water, cold water. And then my dad came and got me and we rented a car and drove to Beaver Falls Pennsylvania to see my sweet Russian grandparents and my grandma took one look at me and said, "Vat's da maddah? You don't look so good, shveetheart." (Actually, she didn't sound like Humphrey Bogart but I'm not sure how to spell what she sounded like.) And then we drove to Wisconsin where I went to therapy five days a week and worked for headstart and tried to figure out what the hell was happening. And it took about nine months but finally it dawned on me...MY MOTHER! That was the problem.
And then I was all better and I was in Madison Wisconsin and I went into the Commons and there was an LA Free Press, a very groovy sixties newspaper and I saw some friends in the paper who were in a play and they were starting a theater group so I found a guy I didn't even know who was traveling South and I went with him as far as I could go, then I got on a train and went as far as that could go before the tracks got flooded so then I got on a bus that went to downtown LA and then I got on a city bus which dropped me off on Robertson Boulevard where my friends were starting the theater and I walked in with my little suitcase and that was that.
So I guess I had a therapist years ago who got me to the great "My Mother" epiphany and I truly believe therapy can be a great help but they, like doctors or teachers, are all just human and they are not always right and you just pray that your surgeon does not make one of those human errors while he's got you cut open on a table. And a therapist has your head cut open sometimes when you are really a mess and they can accidentally put your brains back in all scrambled up and you walk around thinking, hmmmmm, I'm doing everything just like I always did but I don't feel quite right and you may or may not realize that this person you trusted has actually made a huge mistake and you are paying for it with your life. Oh, it's a long story and you know I want to tell you but just know this.............I didn't listen to my heart...My intuition. Stupid. And though I know the year of the shit (in small letters, you will notice) is over on paper, I have to make sure that my head is convinced that it's actually really, really over. And I think I was actually convinced of this until someone (a therapist) whispered in my ear..."I think you're going in the wrong direction to find happiness" so I changed direction and found myself, to my surprise, back where I had started months ago. AND IT WAS AWFUL.
But I am turned around now and I'm once again on the right road. And I think January one and two will repeat themselves in some way as the months appear and sometimes January three will rear it's ugly head but I know I will not be getting into that bathtub again and I am waiting for that new epiphany to strike so I can get on another bus and be driven to life's next great adventure, whatever that may be.......................
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
So?
Okay, I don't want to run out the front door and scream for joy just yet because I am sure that it would immediately start to rain with much thunder and lightening and a branch would pop off a tree and fall directly onto my head and I would be skewered instantly...
BUT
I did wake up yesterday morning feeling pretty damn.........GOOD. Yes...G...O...O...D. And positive and almost, dare I say it, euphoric. Now I know that is actually a very bad sign because how good can one actually feel on the first day of a new year when we all know that that day is really just like the day before and the day before that but in our heads we hold that day up as a new beginning and we make resolutions (which I have never done for new years because it seems that I make resolutions every day like "I promise to wash my face every night even if I'm tired" and we know that is never going to happen and I am going to go to bed with a dirty face almost every night of the week) but still it's THE NEW YEAR and we tell ourselves that everything is going to be just fine (if things were bad in the first place which, if you've read this blog, you know THEY WERE!) but then I wake up on January first and by golly (always wanted to say that) I FELT GOOD. I felt like maybe I was going to get a break...For a few days. So I'm going with the good for right now and I am not going to name this year because I've got to feel it out first but I do know this...
THE YEAR OF THE SHIT IS OVER. Hoorahhoorah! And I am hoping, oh Lord am I hoping, that this will not turn out to be The Year of the Crap because I am not sure I would make it to Spring nor would I want to. So good it shall be for as long as it lasts.
And the best...The very bestest thing happened today, on the second of January. While I was having my vitamin drip I talked to a beautiful girl named Natalie who was born in Mexico and is of Middle Eastern decent and lives in France and sings and is just here for the vitamins drips because she's not feeling very well and is weak and the time flew and we dripped and then I walked out the door and there was...
CEDRIC THE HOT DOG MAN. I was so excited I practically skipped to his cart and his back was to me and I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around and gave me a huge smile and said he was so glad to see me. AND...He told me he liked my outfit!! Oh my gosh, it isn't even an outfit it's a sweater and jeans and it's only the second day of January and I got a compliment from Cedric my idol. I am sure I am going to be hit by a car at any moment now because life should not be this good. A compliment! I am not an animal! (A reference, by the way, for those too young to have seen it, to a great David Lynch film, Elephant Man.) Anyway, learned more about Cedric...He was in the Navy and this truly handsome guy is 42 which is much closer to my age than I had imagined but still too young for me but the best part is he is going to try and have regular hours. So, those of you who live in LA listen up. Cedric and his truck will be there Tuesdays through Saturday from around 11 to 4. He will be in front of Best Buy on Olympic and Corinth in West LA just east of Santa Monica. He told me he went to a Veterans New Years Eve party and it sounded like he went alone so for all you thirty/forty something year old gals out there I would say RACE over to get that dog.
So, I am not crossing my fingers, I am not going to stop looking for lightening bolts or waiting for earthquakes but I am going to remember the first two days of 2008 with great fondness and I am going to try and hold on to that feeling and find it whenever I need it and I am also never ever going to change my "outfit" for the rest of the year.
BUT
I did wake up yesterday morning feeling pretty damn.........GOOD. Yes...G...O...O...D. And positive and almost, dare I say it, euphoric. Now I know that is actually a very bad sign because how good can one actually feel on the first day of a new year when we all know that that day is really just like the day before and the day before that but in our heads we hold that day up as a new beginning and we make resolutions (which I have never done for new years because it seems that I make resolutions every day like "I promise to wash my face every night even if I'm tired" and we know that is never going to happen and I am going to go to bed with a dirty face almost every night of the week) but still it's THE NEW YEAR and we tell ourselves that everything is going to be just fine (if things were bad in the first place which, if you've read this blog, you know THEY WERE!) but then I wake up on January first and by golly (always wanted to say that) I FELT GOOD. I felt like maybe I was going to get a break...For a few days. So I'm going with the good for right now and I am not going to name this year because I've got to feel it out first but I do know this...
THE YEAR OF THE SHIT IS OVER. Hoorahhoorah! And I am hoping, oh Lord am I hoping, that this will not turn out to be The Year of the Crap because I am not sure I would make it to Spring nor would I want to. So good it shall be for as long as it lasts.
And the best...The very bestest thing happened today, on the second of January. While I was having my vitamin drip I talked to a beautiful girl named Natalie who was born in Mexico and is of Middle Eastern decent and lives in France and sings and is just here for the vitamins drips because she's not feeling very well and is weak and the time flew and we dripped and then I walked out the door and there was...
CEDRIC THE HOT DOG MAN. I was so excited I practically skipped to his cart and his back was to me and I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around and gave me a huge smile and said he was so glad to see me. AND...He told me he liked my outfit!! Oh my gosh, it isn't even an outfit it's a sweater and jeans and it's only the second day of January and I got a compliment from Cedric my idol. I am sure I am going to be hit by a car at any moment now because life should not be this good. A compliment! I am not an animal! (A reference, by the way, for those too young to have seen it, to a great David Lynch film, Elephant Man.) Anyway, learned more about Cedric...He was in the Navy and this truly handsome guy is 42 which is much closer to my age than I had imagined but still too young for me but the best part is he is going to try and have regular hours. So, those of you who live in LA listen up. Cedric and his truck will be there Tuesdays through Saturday from around 11 to 4. He will be in front of Best Buy on Olympic and Corinth in West LA just east of Santa Monica. He told me he went to a Veterans New Years Eve party and it sounded like he went alone so for all you thirty/forty something year old gals out there I would say RACE over to get that dog.
So, I am not crossing my fingers, I am not going to stop looking for lightening bolts or waiting for earthquakes but I am going to remember the first two days of 2008 with great fondness and I am going to try and hold on to that feeling and find it whenever I need it and I am also never ever going to change my "outfit" for the rest of the year.
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