Justification

I am eating this pistachio gelato (a.k.a. lunch and dinner) and my justification for mowing down is that the pistachios must have some sort of protein in them, so I need the protein. I am responding to my body's need for nourishment.
Yeah right, this sh*t is good, and I may eat the whole pint and go to bed without a single shred of remorse, an emotion that was the central idea behind the brilliant marketing campaign of the Puritans. And since they had no style whatsoever, I'm not feeling the power of the message.
Speaking of remorse, did I mention that I had a near-lesbian cage dance at a costume party last night? Hey, when a dude asks you and your friend to dance in a suspended cage above hundreds of people, you put out all the stops. Put out being the operative phrase here. I cannot blame the alcohol since very little was consumed, I blame circumstances and, of course, the pink and black boa.
The only remorse I have about this event is that the photo documentation was taken from below and therefore the shots are, you guessed it, f*cking awkward at best. I actually shudder to think how many people were snapping photos of my sexy suspension.
I was wearing a skirt, people. I hope it was worth it.
The gelato sure is.

Scrub up

Why are kids so f*cking dirty? They revel in their own filth, or maybe they just don't notice it, which I find impossible to believe. Lucian's fingernails are starting to look like something out of the Guinness Book and Anna's face needs a pumice stone just to get back to ground zero. I won't even get into the details of how the bottom half turns out. Usually the dialogue involves me giving a gentle reminder then handing someone a scalding hot washclothe with a few simple instructions.
"Here go wash your nethers."
"Why, I took a shower yesterday?"
"Did you have gym class today?"
"Yes."
"Go scrub up then. You don't want that nasty business hanging around you for another day, do you?"
"You're starting your own business, Mom?"
"JUST GO WASH YOUR PRIVATES FOR CHRISSAKES!!!"
It shouldn't be this difficult, should it?

Life alert

Not much to say. I am in a bit of a depression, but the "I've fallen and I can't get up" commercial just came on and now I'm giggling, a lot. How sick is that? They really need to stop airing that commercial, I'm serious. People will keep laughing at the staged fall and the cataclysmic death dialogue that follows.
I've fallen, but I have to get up to pay the bills, feed myself, and basically not tear off my own skin strip by strip.
Cabin fever and divorce really do a number on the senses. Not a good number, like a number two...
I have also developed or at least cultivated restless leg syndrome, also can be applied to my toes, lips and hair follicles. Somehow, in some way, I, we, will get through this and be better on the other side?????
Or at least more interesting. F*cking great, that's just what I need, more character.

Pamphlematic

I can't help perusing the shopper pamphlets that are jammed in the mailbox every week. Of course, there are no real jobs in the help wanted section. Just work from home make a grand scams where they want you to fill out 500 surveys and then suddenly your inbox is inundated with spam. Then, there are the volunteer positions at local animal shelters, 'cause that's what I wanna do with my time as a I slowly starve to death. Work with dogs and cats who get generous food donations, blankets and someone to love them and take them out every hour to take a sh*t. Gotta love America.
So, back to the shopper mags. I am looking now at a Rite Aid insert and have found amusement in almost every deal promising to change your life because it's only 99 cents. Yeah, it's gonna take more than that to tip this sh*tboat on its head, let me be honest. Here are some of the deals I've found to be among the most optimistic in terms of product versus how product is advertised.
"Poise Pads and Depends--30-60 count" is labelled a "RED HOT SPECIAL", with little flames coming off of the letters. I am certain that the only thing red hot about that is if an elderly person got carried away with onions the night before at dinner time, around 5 p.m.

"Fill Up & FUEL Up" Apparently if you get your prescriptions switched to Rite Aid, they will give you $25 and a chance to win free gas for a year. That means you can buy the Benzos for awhile and the rest of your scripts you can go to Hudson for, without having to worry about filling the tank every time you run out of illegal aderall, etc.

Now there is a product called "Adult Acnomel" for supposed grown ups with acne. This one comes with a healthy rebate because it is $6.99--the rebate is, of course for the 99 cents (once again). No word as to the cause of adult acne, but I think it has something to do with increased obesity, insurmountable stress levels due to joblessness, and just a general feeling of "when will this f*cking end."

My most favorite product in the pamphlet, shopper, whatever you want to call it is, and I quote verbatim, "Anti-Monkey Butt Powder". I'm not really sure what it is because the product description seems a bit reticent. I can deduce from the microscopic words "friction fighter and sweat absorber" that this can only be a product for someone who insists on wearing a thong that is too tight, and has been for several years.
And yes, there is a picture of a monkey with two giant red balloon like butt cheeks. Awesome.

I think my next invention will be "Anti-Ass Brain Powder."

Could you just....?

I had to go to a press conference in NYC yesterday. Well, technically, I didn't HAVE to go, but there wasn't any way in hell I was going to sit around in this greasy blizzard and peel my own skin off layer by layer.
Yes, the diagnosis is cabin fever, in case that wasn't blatantly obvious.
Anyway, I invited my mom to go, which never ceases to make me laugh. She was white-knuckling it all the way to the train station as trucks were flying by us. Mind you, she has a 4-wheel-drive car, the windshield wiper is going so fast I feel like I'm about to puke.
"Ma, you know, you could probably pick up the...."
"Nope, I can't, I can feel it under the wheels, we'll fishtail and that will be it."
My fatalist genetics seem a little less mysterious to me now.

So, after a 2-hour train ride in which my body realized it was hungry and hers remembered that it was crippled with Lyme disease, we got to Grand Central and needed to hit the bathroom. As we are entering the East Bathroom, an NYPD cop walks right in behind us. I thought that was weird, but my urge to pee literally drowned my common sense at the moment. I get into the stall to do my business and the smell hits me like a refugee camp in the heat. Someone in the stall next to me has forgotten to wash herself, and I mean EVERYTHING, about herself. I am peeing and gagging at the clammy smell and through the slits in the door I can see the cop standing outside the stall. That's when the screaming started, the gravelly voice in the stall next to mine.
"I didn't f*cking kill nobody! I hate this f*cking place!"
"Why don't you have any shoes on, ma'am. Were you sleeping in here?"
"Why would I sleep in a f*cking bathroom. I ain't doing nothing in here."
"You never are. Now c'mon get your shoes on and get out of the stall."

Let me tell you something, I stayed in that stall until all was clear. When I came out my mom was standing stunned at the sink.
"Let's go," I said, as if nothing happened.
As we were walking down Lexington in the pouring rain I was bragging about not bringing my cigarettes, how I left them in the car, etc.
Then I stopped in my tracks at the sweet smell of cigars and nutmeg. I forgot about the "gentleman's" shop halfway to East 69th. Of course, we went in, chatted with the manager, and I left with a pack of Dunhills (red, of course) and a smile. Surprisingly, my mom seemed delighted by the purchase.
"Where were they made?"
"London, Paris, you can't get them around here."
"Nice. You know everything French is back en vogue."
No judgment, just one clumsy lady with bad eyesight following the other with addictions and a hearing problem....

Spirals

If you watch a twisted piece of metal on a string, you'll see that when the wind blows it's hard to tell whether the metal is moving up or down. It is an illusion. The metal is just moving, not in any direction. Yet, as humans, even watching this simple motion of a summer mobile, we cast judgment upon its movement.
"It's definitely circling up."
"Nope, that thing is making it's way down. Like it wants to drill through the earth."
This speaks to the power of the lens through which we view, well, everything.
I sometimes can't help but think that the human lens is the fatal flaw, that what we see is inconsequential compared to the way we see. I am a naturally suspicious person. I'm using "natural" very loosely here because it isn't natural that through my life (as I am sure is the case with most people if you ask them) I have been abused, abandoned, disappointed, lied to, etc. And so, through this f*cked up lens, I see my brothers and sisters. Mistrust is at the helm, followed by assumption....you get the point. I want to wear a sign, one day when I have the guts, that says something like "I am a kicked puppy, please ignore my teeth and the way my eye twitches."
I think I'll start by taking the glasses off.

temperance is a blessing

We rolled in this morning at 3 a.m. after a night out with P-Funk. Sort of a nostalgia trip, seeing all the Yale buildings roll out over the abject poverty of the rest of the city. It doesn't help that it's been 10 years since I actually went to Yale, this compounded by the fact the I "celebrated" my 33rd year of existence yesterday.
I tell you what, feels like 43 or 93 due to lack of sleep. I don't regret cutting myself off after two drinks, otherwise I'd be heaving out the weight program of the century. Either way, you can't see P-Funk without dancing your feet raw and wanting to dry hump every body in the room. Just happens.
Of course, I still have my heavy make-up on from last night. Anna's first question after she dumped a container filled with cupcakes into my lap was "What the hell happened to you?"
"I got into a fight." I wanted to see if she would take the bait.
"Huh. Doesn't look like you won. Next time you shouldn't wear heels, I guess."

And that was that, followed by a few comments about my scrawny arms and how clumsy I am. Faith does have rational limits when one is 9. She may, in fact, be the most rational person in the house, which is a scary thought to say the least.

"Free your mind, and your ass will follow."